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The two were battering the other with blow after blow. There were so many strikes that had hit Lucian that he simply lost count of them. His armor was full of different rents and gashes thanks to the damning axe the Orcish warlord was carrying. Each attack the Peasant taking rending a new piece of armor as Lucian had become accustomed to the second skin.
The Orc raised a blow easily cleaving into the heavily damaged left shoulder. Quickly Lucian lifted that shoulder just enough, which disorientated his attack that would have gone for the now cleanly upon spots near the orc’s neck. In doing so the Black Knight felt the entire pouldron sheer off and the axe making contact with his skin. Yet the force that was behind it had all his withered after going through several inches worth of steel.
“AAAAAGGGGHHH!” The Orc gave a guttural growl from the depths of his anger because of what Lucian was. The Black Knight had been holding him down for several minutes, someone the Warboss could not ignore nor kill so quickly. Like an unbreakable fortress that held within it a host of Knight ready to strike at the rear of the enemy the moment they stopped the siege.
Yet Lucian felt the same. Agreeing to this bout he had stuck himself against an enemy who was stronger, tougher, and more skilled than he was. As he accepted a blow that was meant for his right shoulder to go into his chest it was simply known that he was losing so much strength by focusing on staying alive.
There was no focusing on the fight around him. He could not care about the screams that were from the numerous dying peasants or the triumph that the Knights were surely having from their charge. He had to narrowly dodge the blow that was coming right for his head, the armor of which had fallen but a minute ago from the strike against him.
Yet by dodging Lucian brought his scythe up against the armor chest of the Orc. The blow being the last one that caused the block of iron that was laying above the orc’s chest to shatter like a piece of stone being chipped for a statue.
These numerous strikes, each of them not doing much, had finally revealed a place where the Peasant could strike. The raising and lowering of the Orc’s lungs told the peasant that there was at least a pair of lungs in there and he had killed enough of the Orcs to know that the heart was in there.
