Liam had no intention of becoming a good swordsman. At least, developing skills in that field wasn't for the sake of achieving greatness in the sword.
In Liam's perspective, the greatsword was merely a tool to infect his opponents, something extremely suitable to his predicament.
Poison masters relied on insidious and sneaky tools, but Liam didn't have such privilege. He couldn't limit himself to those, needing something far bulkier that could pierce his enemies' defenses, no matter the power gap.
In a way, it was akin to choosing a better ingredient, a more suitable piece of the concoction to create the recipe for the most dreadful fiend in the world.
'Faster,' Liam thought as he swung the hulking piece of metal. 'Better.'
The polecats might be slow for Liam, but they were small targets, barely half a meter long, and they were numerous. Their joint assault was relatively challenging to handle with such a big weapon alone, but that was exactly why Liam stuck to it.
