There wasn’t a whole lot of obscuring scrub or foliage in the immediate vicinity of the strange lake, and what scrub that existed was obviously not the kind his enemy deemed it wise to utilize. He had instead opted to take the path across the sandy lake’s edge towards him, leaving him in pretty plain view as Metz watched his approach with tired eyes sitting just behind his triangle of circles. Shin had opted to come in from the right hand side, though Metz wasn’t overly surprised he hadn’t opted to use stealth. From what he had seen the man was little more than a beserker, and not even a particularly good one, if such a think existed. Metz looked on with disinterest as the man made steady progress towards him, noting with amusement that it was not unlike starting the fight again. The cyclical nature of it appealed to him in his state of melancholy, speaking somewhat of the futility of combat. 

“Well, looks like he has a little fight left in him.” Metz muttered, judging him a good two hundred meters away at least. On a good day Metz could cover that distance in about twenty five seconds, so unless his enemy had recovered from his wounds he had little to fear for a while yet. He seemed to be walking a little precariously, so it seemed that the fight was really already over, though the weapon in his hands still posed a threat at range and he could well have been faking his wounds. Disdainfully perhaps he looked on, letting his enemy know he had spotted him and deemed him unworthy of even standing up in preparation. Metz would probably stand up with about one hundred feet separating them if nothing else changed, though it really depended on the severity of the situation.