Cid - Analysis

“Your ass is grass!” Quinton brandishes his fist and charges at me.

His form is complete garbage.

To put it bluntly, the people of this world suck when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. Or rather, they’re stronger when they use weapons. Unless one side either feels utterly assured of victory or finds their backs against a wall leaving no other alternatives, fistfights just don’t happen that often.

If someone held a tournament where no one could use weapons, I would end up winning. I’m pretty confident of that fact.

Countless strategies for what to do next pass through my mind.

Countering him with a right straight punch or a left hook would be simple but effective. Stopping him with a jab or a front kick, then hanging back, would be safe. Going on the defensive right away would be even safer. There are other options, too—using my knees or elbows is a strong choice, and tackling before hitting him while he is down could also be good.

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Volume 2, Chapter 4