Chapter 277: This Is All You Taught Me

"Have we... met?" Sickle stared blankly at Seymour, but he couldn’t recall the man’s name or face.

He had handled countless slaves, and there was no shortage of Zor among them. Sickle found it difficult to remember all those dark faces, much less tell one from another.

Not to mention, Seymour had long since shed his status as a slave. He now looked vigorous and full of life, and the robes he wore were of the finest fabric, not just a scrap of cloth to cover his shame.

"I was ’trained’ under you once. No recollection?" Seymour looked at him, a little disappointed. "How unfortunate. I thought I might give you a little shock."

"Your memory is just like your wits. They’re desperately trying to catch up to you, but you’re just too fast."

"What are you talking about... You?!" It took Sickle a moment to process the insult. Feeling humiliated, the Half-Beastman immediately leaped back several steps and strode to the center of the training grounds. "You filthy Dark Elf, I remember you now!"

"You actually dare to come back? And you want to ’tour’ the place? Fine, fine, fine! Then come on! Get over here and let me teach you another lesson!"

The giant scythe scraped a white line across the stone bricks as Sickle himself let out a continuous, threatening growl at Seymour. "You idiot, walking right into a trap! Get over here and die!"

"I taught you everything you know, and you dare use it against me?!"

"You’re even more shameless than the cruelest Rose Priestess in the Dark Territory," Seymour frowned, drawing his weapons from his waist. "Benefactor, may I peel his face off? Then you would have a shield of refined gold."

"I’d rather not, but... go ahead," Ron shook his head slightly. "This is your business. I will stand here and ensure you succeed."

"Thank you for your grace. It is my honor." The Zor Assassin wasted no more words. His figure instantly blurred into a white shadow, swooping toward Sickle like a goshawk in broad daylight!

"CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG—"

In just a few seconds, countless sparks flew from the giant scythe Sickle swung in a flurry. Seymour’s short blades danced and flashed around his body; if Sickle revealed even the slightest opening, he would be peeled and sliced like a potato.

However, the Half-Beastman did have some skill. The rhythm of the battle was completely controlled by Seymour, yet Sickle still managed a watertight defense, even finding moments to counterattack.

The giant scythe’s swings were powerful and difficult to dodge. Whenever Sickle fought back, Seymour had to give ground slightly before he could find another opportunity to press his attack.

"Ron, how about you let me go in too!" Seeing Seymour struggle to finish Sickle, Sera was the first to lose her patience. She volunteered, asking Ron to let her join the battle.

"This is Seymour’s personal revenge. You have to let him do it himself." Ron waved his hand, signaling for Sera to be patient.

Because he was sure that Sickle wouldn’t be able to stomach being suppressed by a slave he once tortured. He would definitely be the first to try and break the stalemate.

"Damn it!" Sure enough, after Sickle risked another maneuver to force Seymour back, the Half-Beastman could no longer stand such a slow death. He roared at the surrounding slaves and other instructors and foremen, who were pretending to train but had actually been watching the situation the whole time. "All of you, get over here and help me kill him!"

"If you dare to just stand there and watch, you’ll all die when I’m free!"

The instructors and foremen, who were already in league with Sickle, needed no further encouragement. Seeing Sickle was losing, they also grabbed their weapons and charged toward Seymour, and even Ron and the others. As for the slaves, they had long since submitted to the various instructors. After a brief internal struggle, their resolve vanished under Sickle’s tyrannical threat, and they too timidly advanced on Seymour, who was still fighting Sickle.

And on Ron’s side?

"It’s finally my turn!" Seeing Sickle abandon all pretense of a fair fight, the barbarian joyfully took off her Grip of the Vast Wave. "Ron, you can’t stop me now!"

"I don’t have time to stop you!" Ron drew his shortbow. An arrow enchanted with Frost Touch flew from the string. After piercing a foreman’s throat, a ghostly, skeletal hand carrying the bone-chilling cold of the grave solidified all the blood in his body.

At the same time, the others also took out their prepared weapons and launched their long-planned offensive against these Carolinians, who had long grown rusty in combat.

From Sickle’s perspective, Ron’s delegation hadn’t brought the nobles from Rose City this time, making it the perfect opportunity for them to strike. But wasn’t the same true for Ron and his people?

With no need to worry about saving face for any third party, the group from Delusional Land could finally go all out. In the ensuing chaos, a pale Elf could even be seen weaving between blades, her Thorn Chain mercilessly reaping every soul.

The slaves, who were a disorganized mob to begin with, quickly began to rout. But what no one expected—not Ron’s group, not Sickle, not even the slaves themselves—was that the instructors actually fled faster than the slaves under their command!

"Yelena, after them! Don’t let a single one escape!" Ron roared. He loosed a Strong Acid Arrow from his string. An instructor, fleeing in a panic, had his ankle instantly corroded. He fell to the ground in terror, watching helplessly as the Thorn Chain locked around his neck.

"Aren’t you afraid you won’t be able to leave Carolina after doing this?!" Sickle was in a full-blown panic now. His footwork was a mess as he barely clung to life against Seymour’s assault, and he bluffed fiercely, threatening Ron.

"That’s why I don’t plan on leaving any survivors," Ron chuckled lightly. "As long as there are no witnesses, what happened here is whatever I say it is."

"Seymour, finish this quickly!"

"You got it!" Seymour answered loudly. The pair of short blades in his hands suddenly flared with the Spiritual Light of a Strong Acid Enchantment!

"HISSS—" Sickle’s weapon was just an ordinary piece of equipment; how could it withstand such a blow? With just one strike, the metal of the giant scythe was corroded, leaving a large notch. Sickle tried to fight back, but Seymour caught him with a mid-air kick to the chin, sending him falling backward onto the training grounds.

"You actually lent him the Gemstone?" Silvia glanced at Delaford in surprise.

"It was Ron’s arrangement. I didn’t want to lend it," Delaford grinned. "But it looks like the effect is pretty good, huh?"

"Damn it! How can you enchant your own weapons?!" Lying on the ground, Sickle scrambled backward on his hands and feet, trying to evade Seymour’s killing blow. The Zor Assassin, however, was in no hurry. He made a series of feints and real thrusts with his acid-coated weapons at Sickle’s vitals, leaving several wounds deep enough to show bone in an instant.

"Don’t worry, I won’t give you a quick death," Seymour sneered. "After all, ’my skills were all taught by you.’"