He tossed the blade aside when his opponent only barely managed to avoid the strike by a hair’s breadth. With a quick duck that let him slip under Cran’s attempt to lock him in a chokehold, he would then press a hand to the older man’s chest and shove hard enough to lift him off the ground and send him flying backwards.

Even if the blow had been dodged, he had already backed away from his opponent with a few quick steps. He liked to think his self-control was admirable at times, but even he wasn’t skilled enough to consciously restrain himself in such a manner. He would naturally revert to using the strength that felt most natural, and it could hardly be called a fight if the disparity in physical capabilities was considered. There was just a level where skill could no longer make up the difference and he most certainly felt that was the case between him and his opponent.

“It’s not even a fight,” he called out to Ares as he held up a hand, motioning for Cran to stop, “he doesn’t even have a Deity’s blessing.” He figured that Ares would have been able to tell, either by sensing or simply evaluating Cran’s capabilities at a glance, but still felt the need to point it out. If told to continue by his Goddess than he would have little choice but to do so in a manner that hopefully didn’t injure his opponent too badly.