You rushed headlong into the mist and faced your enemy. According to a once proven strategy that you had designed in your mind and practiced in your imagination since then, you charged furiously against him.

Your muscles pulled all your body weight and focused its impact on the most precise possible point : his ankles. " ... To break his shins ! " you yell in your heart of hearts.

Unfortunately, you are nowhere near being able to break anything of that opponent. The shins hold out and your momentum is stopped dead, as abruptly as if you had charged against a wall. Both shoulders, having collided hard with the two ankles, are nearly torn off by the impact.

The giant with iron feet did not move an inch... Not even the smallest shiver. With a powerful and swift arm, he turns the situation to his advantage and drives his sword between both your shoulder blades. You are out.

Yet, his musculature of a victor, his obvious satisfaction for having found you again and the immutable grin that distorts his face inspire your vague feeling of an already consumed failure, which, if you took time to go more deeply into it to bring it out, would seem more atrocious.

Nevertheless, time is not for introspection. You hurl yourself towards the champion's legs for a last tackle.