Summary: A true warrior needs no sword. Askeladd would sneer at that first, but then he would graciously admit that it holds some merits. After all, weakness of people did not just lie in their soft greasy flesh. Desire and secret sometimes cut deeper than any swords ever do. Besides, those days, if he really needed to have people to be cut, skewered or torn apart, he always had someone else for the job.
Until he had to do it himself once again. And again.
A Chinese translation is available. / 中文翻译戳我
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