"My real skill?" he says, his voice low, amused. He lets the seconds pass, his gaze on me but seemingly unfocused, lost in his own thoughts.

"Fine," he finally speaks. "For this exchange and this exchange only." He pauses, a grin tugging at his lips. "You can come at me anytime."

Something shifts. I can't explain it, but as I stare at him, I feel it. A change. Is it in my head? Apprehension? Nervousness? Fear?

No. It's none of that.

I step forward slowly, keeping my stance solid, studying him.

His stance—it's… odd. There are openings, but they feel… wrong. I can't read him. I can't tell if what I see is real or a ploy.

I swallow hard, realizing I've started breathing again without meaning to.

Alright. Treat him as the ultimate foe. No need to rush. I'll test the waters first.

Step by step, I move closer. The strike zone is still out of reach. I play it safe, watching, waiting.

He doesn't move.

Is he waiting for me to—

And then it happens. My senses scream as I see a slash aimed at my neck, fast, sudden. I react, my sword coming up instinctively to block, but… nothing.

He hasn't moved. He's still standing there, his stance unchanged.

But I saw it. I know I did. That strike—it was real. How could—

His smile deepens, and his eyes drop to my chest.

I frown, glancing down. My breath catches as I see it—a thin, vertical, pixelated mark, as if left by a precise stab, positioned just next to my heart.

My grip tightens around my sword, my hands trembling slightly. My mind races.

How? When? What the hell did he just do?

Slowly, I lift my gaze back to him, locking eyes.

"Satisfied?" he asks, his tone almost friendly.

That… that was his level?

I slowly shake my head. No wonder he never shows it, never fights me at full force. I knew I'd lose, but I thought I could last an exchange or two, maybe even strike him and lose to a perfect counter. But this… this… I lost, and I don't even know how.

"Yes," I say, forcing myself to calm down. "Can I ask… what you did—was it pure swordsmanship, or was there something else?"

He smiles faintly. "Are you accusing me of cheating?"

"No, no," I reply quickly, shaking my head, slightly embarrassed. "I mean… is this a level that can be reached just by training with the sword, or is it something unique to this virtual world?"

"Good question," he says, his gaze drifting to the empty expanse around us. "I'd like to think it is—or at least, I feel it is. But to get an answer, I'll have to wait until you attain this level yourself one day. Then, maybe, you can tell me."

I remain silent, sensing the weight in his words. An existence trapped in this world, reaching a realm where the only opponent left is yourself—perhaps forever. The loneliness of that thought lingers.

For a moment, I can't help but feel a deep sense of respect for Darius. Maybe it's just the natural admiration any man feels for someone who's reached such a mastery of their craft, especially in combat or the blade: a true master.

"I'll try my best," I admit. "But I don't think it's happening any time soon. Honestly, I don't even know what you did back there."

He lets out a soft laugh. "The path of the blade is endless. This is just a glimpse of the horizon."

I nod, my resolve strengthening.

"Alright. But before we continue—and one of the reasons I hesitated to show you my skill before—is this: treat me now as an opponent on your level, one you want to win against or even kill. Don't stop using feints just because you think I can see through them. Feints are a key part of swordsmanship, and you need to improve them. I'll reduce my level to match yours and react to your feints accordingly. So… fight me with everything you've got. With will, not fear or hesitation."

Indeed. Using feints now would have made me feel like a clown… but fair enough. Let's forget that. Let's just fight to my heart's content.

I hold my sword, get into stance, and rush toward him, no words spoken. My blade chops down as soon as I get in range, and he dodges it, stepping to the side.

The fight continues, minutes merging into hours—just the dance of the blade, the footwork, and the constant mind games that combat turns into when fighting an equally leveled opponent.

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Ayu sat on a rock, the relentless waterfall crashing onto her back. The icy water pounded against her straightened shoulders and head, trying to force her down, but she refused to yield.

Her focus wasn't on the cold or the ache in her muscles; it was on the filaments extending from her shoulder pads. They moved against the current, rising and falling as though controlled by an invisible force.

It was grueling—so much harder than she had anticipated. The pounding in her head had started long ago, and the thought of giving up had crossed her mind more than once. But Ayu was no stranger to pain. Her teeth clenched, her brow furrowed, and she pressed on, pouring everything into directing her waves through the metallic edge of the filaments.

The water pushed back as the metallic tendrils trembled under the pressure, yet she persisted. Slowly, she managed to lift all seven, holding them steady against the unforgiving current for one second, two—then her breath hitched, and they dropped.

The water continued to batter her, unyielding, grounding her in its intensity. She exhaled sharply but didn't allow herself to linger.

Lifting her arms sideways, she balanced a heavy rock in each hand. The weight strained her muscles, and the magnetized gauntlets provided just enough support to hold steady. Still, it wasn't easy.

She held steady against the current, fighting for control. Ten seconds passed, her arms trembling, and she lowered the rocks with care, keeping them from rolling away.

Her breaths were ragged as she took a brief pause, her fingers twitching from exertion. But it wasn't rest—it was preparation. She returned to the filaments, forcing them against the cascade once more.

And so, the cycle continued. Over and over again.

Two hours passed.

Her vision blurred, dizziness clawing at her senses. For a moment, she thought she saw a faint red in the water. Blood? Or her imagination? It didn't matter.

She snapped herself out of it, shaking her head to refocus.

Her body screamed in protest as she forced herself to stand, her legs trembling under the strain. Step by step, she made her way to the shore. Once her feet touched solid ground, she paused, her chest rising and falling heavily, her arms hanging limp at her sides.

She had done enough wave training for now.

Next, she planned to track down one of the oversized squids. Training her senses with her eyes closed would ease the mental strain while keeping her sharp. Afterward, she would meditate before returning to the waterfall for another grueling session of wave training.

She donned her mask and stretched her legs and arms, easing the stiffness that had settled in. Just as she was about to head out, a faint, irregular vibration in the air caught her attention. A fight?

Alonso?

The sensation was close by. She might as well check it out and maybe they could have lunch together.

Without hesitation, she grabbed her backpack and began leaping and sprinting through the terrain, her movements fluid and precise. As she drew closer, her waves extended outward, picking up on the scene ahead.

But it wasn't Alonso.

It was… Arjun?

Had they started hunting the octopus already?

Ayu leapt to a nearby cliff, her footing sure despite her exhaustion, and perched herself where she could watch the battle below.

The lake rippled with the chaos of the fight, water splashing violently as the massive octopus flailed its tentacles, trying to crush its opponent.

Arjun stood in the center of it all, his body battered and bruised, his mask broken and his armor torn in multiple places. He didn't look good. Yet, despite his injuries, he was still standing, still moving.

His sword flashed with every strike, precise and calculated. He dodged the slashes of the tentacles with fluidity, weaving between them with a kind of grace that didn't match his condition.

Her eyes narrowed. Something about it felt… off.

Arjun's moves were too clean, too sharp. His strikes were timely, almost unnaturally so, landing at the exact moments needed to avoid a counterattack. His dodges were just a hair's breadth away from the crushing weight of the tentacles, always perfect, never an inch too far or too short. It was the kind of precision that bordered on mechanical.

Her gaze sharpened as she focused on the fight. The octopus lunged, a massive tentacle crashing down toward him. Arjun sidestepped it effortlessly, bringing his sword up in a swift arc. The blade met flesh, slicing through the slimy appendage with ease.

Another tentacle followed, whipping toward his side. He ducked just in time, his counterattack finding its mark, severing yet another limb.

The movements were flawless—too flawless.

Her unease grew as she continued to watch. How was he still fighting like this with his body in such a state? The bruises, the torn armor, the way his chest heaved with exertion—it didn't add up. By now, he should've been slowing down, faltering. Instead, his attacks remained pinpoint accurate, his defenses unshakable.

She crossed her arms, her frown deepening.

A particularly powerful tentacle struck out, aiming straight for Arjun's chest. He twisted at the last possible second, dodging with uncanny precision, and retaliated with a slash that tore a deep gash into the flesh.

Dark crimson blood sprayed out in an arc, staining the water around it and dripping onto the jagged rocks at the lake's edge.

The octopus let out a guttural screech, its massive body writhing in fury as the injured tentacle thrashed wildly, splattering the ground with more of its blood.

Arjun straightened, his breathing labored but steady, his eyes locked on the creature with an unwavering focus.

There was no hesitation in his stance, no sign of the pain or exhaustion his battered body must have been feeling. He pressed forward, his sword slicing through the air with relentless precision, each strike aiming to push the creature further back, deeper into its own domain.

Ayu's brows knitted together as a realization crept into her thoughts. Was he… overriding his limits? She couldn't shake the feeling that his performance wasn't entirely his own. Whatever it was, it wasn't natural.

She leaned forward slightly, her focus unbroken.

As the battle went on, Ayu noticed it wasn't that Arjun was much faster or stronger, like Alonso, nor was he pre-empting his opponent's moves instinctively, as she did. His technique hadn't visibly improved in any groundbreaking way either. No, it was something else.

It felt like… like he had more time, as though the world around him moved slower while he remained unaffected.

Eventually, the battle ended. Arjun scavenged the orb from the octopus's body before leaping back to the shore. The massive creature's corpse began sinking beneath the surface, leaving a dark, rippling stain in the water.

Arjun's gaze locked onto hers. Ayu gave him a nod, unsurprised that he'd sensed her presence. She was not hiding after all.

But as he acknowledged her, his body suddenly faltered. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, barely catching himself.

He had definitely pushed himself too far.

He was taking deep, ragged breaths. He struggled to stand, but his body wouldn't cooperate. Eventually, he gave up, sitting on the ground instead.

Ayu sighed, hesitating for a moment before leaping down from her vantage point and approaching him.

Suddenly, she perceived a wave—a message. It showed Arjun distancing himself from Alonso, then the two of them fighting, marked with a large red cross, followed by a white flag at the end.

Ayu's eyes narrowed slightly.

"I can speak English now," she said, her voice firm. "If you've got something to say, say it clearly."

Arjun's eyes widened briefly, but he quickly composed himself. "I mean no trouble, and I'll avoid Alonso. You don't need to worry," he said, though the strain in his voice betrayed him.

"Me, worry?" Ayu shot back, her tone sharp. "All you're saying is you value your life."

Arjun fell silent.

Ayu's gaze swept over him, noting the blood trickling from his ears. Something was definitely off, and she realized his backpack was nowhere in sight.

"That was a decent fight," she said, shifting the focus. "Are the others around here too?"

"No. Just me," Arjun answered between ragged breaths.

Ayu hesitated for a moment, her eyes watching him closely. His body was battered, but something about the way he fought earlier nagged at her. He had gained something… something similar to her ability. Her hand moved slightly toward her sword, her gaze darkening.

"You're weak now, Arjun," she said quietly. "But if you had the strength, you'd try to kill him, wouldn't you?"

Arjun gave a visible shudder, but he steadied himself quickly, his breathing slowing as he prepared to answer. A few seconds passed before he spoke. "I would. But I'd fight him fairly, in a duel to the death—just as he did with Siddharth. I promise, I'll never resort to underhanded tactics or ambush him."

Ayu held his gaze, her expression unreadable. The silence stretched until her hand eased away from her sword.

"Alright then," she said finally, her tone calm, almost detached. "But when that day comes, when you decide to fight Alonso to the death…" She turned slightly, her eyes cold as she continued. "Tell me. I'll kill you before he does."

Without another glance, she walked away.

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