<hr/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Times new roman;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 22pt;"><strong>Kraven's Arena</strong></span></span><hr/><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 22pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;">Match 2: Monk vs. Dragoon</span></span></strong><br/><hr/><br/><div align="center">(https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjEwNi5mMTEyMTIuUjAwLjA/d-day-stencil.regular.png)</div><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong>Tagged:</strong> Xenyora</span><br/><br/><div class="floatright">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9f/56/37/9f5637f3c424a53c9bc84d8411f73e39.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">“We have some pretty strong legs,” he said modestly. The monk had taken the brunt of his kick, and he hadn’t looked at all phased by it. He was strong; and he started to regret wearing his armor. The battle didn’t feel equal. Then again, it could have been. If Xenyora was fighting him without armor, then he wasn’t sure he wanted to experience what it would feel like otherwise. No weapons. No armor. Only his flesh and fists. It made Tristan jealous.<br/><br/>When the monk rushed him, Tristan could have used his spear to cross the distance for him. Normally, trying to get inside a spearman’s defense was suicide, but it was also a spearman’s weakness. Tristan’s lips curved downward with determination. He wanted to show the world that he could fight even within such a vulnerable zone. He wanted to show the world how true dragoons fought!<br/><br/>Tristan fell for the fake for he didn’t have much experience fighting unarmed, martial artists. The spars in his unit always required some sort of weapon. Unarmed fighters were considered dead men or women. He had flinched, jerking back before his teeth flashed in panic to see that it was a faint. The blow he felt slam down on top of his head, caused his skull to fall toward the cement. It hadn’t hurt too much—thanks to his helm—but he had felt the shock pass through his neck and shoulders. Nope; he would rather keep his armor on in this battle. He was going to feel that in the morning. His lower back halted his descent. His hand gripped his polearm tightly and he twirled it, sending the butt of the spear up to collide with Xenyora’s foot before it could strike him.<br/><br/>The action had been more to halt and counter Xenyora’s attack before he turned, horizontally circling the deadly end of his spear around toward Xenyora’s face (0). “Fancy bastard,” Tristan jeered with an aggressive grin.</span>