The silver warrior froze.
It was the first time he truly looked at Wei.
Not the detached glance from above.
Not the indulgent inspection of something already measured and found wanting.
This time, it was different.
It was cold.
Almost brutally precise.
In that instant, it was as if, in his mind, the silver warrior reassigned the young man standing before him to a different category entirely.
From something that could be ignored
to—
something that had to be dealt with.
The pressure that had been hanging in the air changed its nature.
No longer loose.
No longer patient.
No longer permissive.
It tightened.
It locked.
It prepared to erase.
Wei's spine stiffened almost on instinct. Sweat slid down along his back, but he barely registered it.
He understood something clearly.
That strike had not won him anything.
But it had ended a certain mercy.
The silver warrior steadied himself.
His injured leg angled forward slightly. The shift of weight was subtle, nearly imperceptible.
It was not a stumble.
Not a retreat.
It was an adjustment.
For a heartbeat, the air itself seemed to hold.
The silver warrior did not speak.
That silence was more dangerous than any roar.
Then—
The metal bracer lifted.
Not into a defensive guard.
Not into the beginning of a counter.
But into the opening stance of an attack.
Wei's pupils contracted sharply.
His heart slammed hard against his ribs.
This forced, drawn-out stalemate—
It was over.
Now.
The thought rose in perfect sync with his heartbeat.
His father's voice detonated in his mind, low and hard as iron:
The moment your enemy fears you—
that is when you are at your sharpest.
Wei did not check his wounds.
Pain had already been forced down to the deepest layer of awareness, muted by necessity.
He pushed off the ground.
His body flattened low, skimming the earth as he closed the distance, moving on pure instinct.
The world simplified completely.
Distance.
Angle.
Landing point.
The blade traced a low arc.
That cut—
Almost severed half of the silver warrior's knee.
The left leg gave.
Just for an instant.
An instant so brief it barely existed.
But the towering body still shifted off its original axis.
That was enough.
Fog burst outward as if struck.
Chun's breath caught in her throat.
She saw it.
Not a hopeful guess.
Not desperate self-deception.
She saw it clearly.
Not a graze.
Not luck.
That strike—
Had truly landed.
"He… he hit him…"
The words forced themselves out of her throat, trembling, uncontainable.
Little Butterfly jerked her head up.
Her eyes were bright in a way that hurt to see.
"Sister… did Brother Wei win?"
Chun did not answer right away.
She nodded instead.
As if that simple motion could anchor the fragile hope in place.
As long as Wei was still standing—
There was still a way to live.
—
For the silver warrior, damage to the knee was only an inconvenience.
What truly burned was something else entirely.
Being forced into a flaw—
by a human boy.
That fact alone was humiliation.
The silver warrior threw his head back.
A roar burst from his hollow chest, savage and animal, stripped of all language.
It was pure release.
The soundwave rolled outward.
Fog was torn apart violently.
Wei felt his eardrums shudder.
His vision wavered.
His balance cracked—just slightly.
That moment—
Was lethal.
"Again!"
Wei ground his teeth and forced himself steady.
The blade was already rising.
One more strike.
Just one more, and that leg would be useless.
But just as the blade closed in—
A metal-braced hand snapped shut.
Crack.
It was not a block.
Not a deflection.
The hand closed directly around the blade.
Force locked instantly.
Wei felt his entire arm freeze in place, as if nailed to the world.
Bone gave a faint but unmistakable protest.
He could not move it at all.
In that instant, he understood.
This was the difference in technique.
In experience.
In tier.
The next heartbeat—
The air split.
The silver warrior lifted his leg.
No wind-up.
No flourish.
No emotion.
The kick was not fast.
But there was nowhere to escape it.
Wei felt a crushing impact in his chest.
A dull, clear sound rang out.
Crack.
Not imagination.
His chest collapsed inward.
Breath was severed completely.
It was not pain.
It was emptiness.
Night, water, fog, the hanging bridge—
All of it shattered in his vision, flung outward, as if the world itself had shoved him away.
His body flew back helplessly.
Yet his mind remained painfully clear.
Clear enough to feel—
That something inside his chest
had stopped working.
He hit the ground hard.
The impact detonated through him.
He tried to inhale.
Nothing came.
His lungs felt like they were clenched in an invisible fist.
Darkness swam at the edges of his vision.
From the shore came a distant, broken cry.
"Wei—!"
He did not know if he had truly heard it.
But he bit down hard on his lip.
Pain snapped his awareness back into focus.
Just enough to confirm—
He was still alive.
Waves of dizziness rolled through him, relentless.
He was afraid he might black out at any moment.
And then—
He laughed.
He laughed out loud.
Because suddenly he remembered something his father had once said.
That in a person's lifetime, there must be at least one moment—
When you know you cannot win,
and still choose to draw your blade.
This must be it, he thought.
Then I'd better keep my back straight.
Wei faced the silver warrior head-on and settled into a stance meant for mutual destruction,
a killing opening that promised no survival,
only an exchange paid in blood.