The brawler's answer to the axe throw was simple: bending his torso slightly inwards and tucking the right arm under his chest, Gigue took it to his arm, the blade leaving a shallow wound, with small fractures and a single chip in the ulna, instead of what could be a winding blow with lasting damage to the diaphragm.

While for some other fighter this may have been a last-second defense, for him, this was a calculated risk: Hyperarmor could've spared him the pain, which now forced him to keep his right arm out of play until it subsided - but it would've slowed him down as well, giving Sigurd enough time to gain distance. Gigue suspected that the axe throw was not a one-off action, but rather, part of a tactic, and his theory seemed to be confirmed, the warrior stepping away and pulling out another of the same weapon, rather that unsheathing his longsword. 

All in his favor, as the risk he took would pay off, buying him the few precious seconds he'd need to rush in and shut down his opponent's game. Keeping one at a distance, whittling their defenses down and waiting until they either panic and start making mistakes, or simply are maimed enough to take down easily - a sound tactic, yet one that could also easily crumble when unveiled.

Gigue landed smoothly, with the left arm bracing, back turned to Sigurd, but eyes locked onto him, the cold glare now laced with a mocking awareness of the warrior’s gingerly approach. However, his opponent's jeering attitude would proabaly be the least of Sigurd's concerns, as the hulk of a man sprung immediately into action once again, pivoting on the heel of his right foot, pushing off with the left and taking a massive stride, closing distance between them two, making it even less than an arm's length.

There would be a subtle moment of hesitation, Gigue idling for but a second to let his momentum be absorbed into the ground, before his weight would slightly shift to the ball of his now leading foot, the left. His front arm would snake out, aimed at Sigurd's shield, as if intending to latch on and initiate a grapple, yet there was none of that on Gigue's mind: he knew better than to take a risk twice in a row. The fingers of his hand were curled inwards, and palm ready to bend back, striking with the heel against the shield's surface, thus preventing any damage to himself should his hand be met with a heavy shield bash.

Sigurd's seemed like a man with both wit and patience, choosing to avoid an immediate melee confrontation against his bigger and bulkier adversary, so it would only be rational to expect a modicum of cunning him.