The shattered sky above was quiet.
No monsters. No trials. Just stillness.
Tae-hyun turned to the others. "Go ahead without me."
"What?" Yul's brows knit. "Are you insane? He's dangerous—"
"I know," Tae-hyun said, his voice low but firm. "That's why this is between him and me."
Silence rippled through the group. Even the air felt heavier around Jinhwan, who stood calmly by the blackened altar. His presence was like a blade—quiet, sharp, waiting.
Yul opened her mouth again, then stopped. She saw something in Tae-hyun's eyes. Not recklessness. Resolve.
"…Fine," she said, reluctantly turning. "Don't die, idiot."
The others followed. One by one, their footsteps faded into the distance. And then, it was just the two of them.
Jinhwan didn't move. His eyes gleamed beneath the shadow of his hood, cold and distant.
"You sent them away," he said at last. "Planning a noble death?"
"No," Tae-hyun replied. "Planning a real conversation."
Jinhwan scoffed. "Spare me your platitudes. You don't know me."
"I don't need to know everything," Tae-hyun said. "But I saw it in your eyes. You weren't always like this."
"And what if I wasn't?" Jinhwan said. "What good has it done me?"
Tae-hyun stepped forward, his tone quiet but resolute.
"Life, at its core, is a personal journey—one where meaning comes not from applause or appearance, but from presence, awareness, and courage."
Jinhwan's lips curled. "Spoken like someone who's never had their presence ignored. Their courage mocked. You think meaning sustains you when the world strips you bare?"
"We suffer more in imagination than in reality," Tae-hyun continued. "Most of what burdens us lives only in our minds. We become prisoners of shadows. Of futures that never arrive and pasts that never release us."
Jinhwan's gaze hardened. "You talk of thoughts like they're illusions. My memories aren't. I lived them. Every slight, every disappointment. They weren't imagined. They made me."
"Only because you never stopped reliving them," Tae-hyun said. "You could've let go."
"And become what?" Jinhwan snapped. "Some hollow fool preaching peace while the world devours him?"
Tae-hyun didn't flinch.
"When you realize how easily people forget the dead," he said, "you stop trying to impress them. We waste our lives chasing recognition. But memory fades. Praise fades. Integrity doesn't."
"Integrity?" Jinhwan laughed. "You think virtue will keep you warm? I've seen men with integrity buried under men with power."
"Then climb the mountain not to be seen," Tae-hyun said softly, "but to see. See the world for what it is. Understand it. Grow from it."
"And what if the world is filth?" Jinhwan's voice turned bitter. "What if the higher you climb, the more rot you see?"
"Then climb anyway," Tae-hyun replied. "Not for them. For you. Because every step makes you stronger. Wiser."
Jinhwan stared at him.
"And what if that mountain crumbles under you? What if tomorrow is worse than today?"
"Then I'll still say it," Tae-hyun whispered. "Tomorrow will be better. And if it's not—I'll say it again."
Jinhwan was silent.
Tae-hyun's voice deepened with meaning.
"Hope is an act of defiance. The world wants you bitter, broken. But hope… hope is how we survive."
"…You really believe that?" Jinhwan asked, quieter now.
"I have to," Tae-hyun said. "Or everything I've endured means nothing."
A long pause. Then Jinhwan spoke, voice low:
"Dead people receive more flowers than the living. You know why? Because regret is stronger than gratitude. People don't value you until you're gone."
"Then I'll give my flowers now," Tae-hyun said. "To those who deserve them. Even you."
Jinhwan blinked, expression unreadable.
"It's okay to leave behind what doesn't feel right," Tae-hyun added. "Even if it's all you've ever known. Growth demands release."
"Easy to say when you've never been shackled," Jinhwan muttered. "You think you can fix a broken world with dreams and compassion? You think hope saves anyone?"
"I don't think," Tae-hyun said. "I choose to believe. That's the difference."
The two stood there, locked in silence, both scarred by the worlds that shaped them.
Jinhwan stepped forward slowly, unsheathing a blade that shimmered like starlight soaked in sorrow.
"I envy you, Tae-hyun," he said. "But envy won't stop me."
Tae-hyun lowered into his stance. "I'm not here to be stopped."
Qi pulsed through the air, thick with intensity.
Then—without another word—their battle began.
Shattered Blades, Broken Will
The moment their blades rang against each other, the world narrowed to steel and blood.
Tae-hyun's twin daggers—Fangsteel's curved edges flickering with compressed qi—collided with Jinhwan's long Pavilion-forged sword, its silver blade singing like thunder. Sparks rained around them. Each held their stance: feet planted, muscles coiled, eyes locked.
Then the dance began.
---
Jinhwan smashed forward with a horizontal arc, the force of his strike snapping bones in the air. Tae-hyun dove under, his left dagger slicing up along Jinhwan's ribs. A wet crack. Crimson blossomed. Jinhwan staggered but twisted his sword in a backhand block, spraying blood from the wound.
Tae-hyun followed with a spinning kick that grazed Jinhwan's temple. Pain exploded behind Jinhwan's eye, but he absorbed it, holstering poise like a shield. He countered with a thrust that drove through Tae-hyun's guard and nicked his shoulder. Daggers flew wide.
---
They closed instantly. Fists met forearms. Jinhwan's palm strike shattered part of Tae-hyun's rib cage; the crack echoed. Tae-hyun's counter—shoulder-barge to the gut—sent Jinhwan crashing into a broken pillar. Stone dust and blood mingled on the ground.
Tae-hyun didn't pause. He lunged, blitzing with Phantom Step—four strikes in a heartbeat. Each blow carved flesh, drew arcs of scarlet in the air. Jinhwan barely deflected two, the others biting deep into muscle.
---
Jinhwan roared, whipping his sword in a wide circle that sheared off a chunk of the temple railing, sending splinters and gore spraying into the misty courtyard. He pivoted, dagger-hand slicing off part of Tae-hyun's bicep, spilling rivulets of blood. Never hesitation. Never mercy.
Tae-hyun tasted metal. He spat grit and pressed both daggers against Jinhwan's throat. "Yield."
But Jinhwan only laughed, eyes blazing with cold fire. With superhuman strength, he ripped the daggers aside and slammed his elbow into Tae-hyun's jaw. Teeth cracked. Tae-hyun crashed onto his back, vision blurring.
—
Tae-hyun's head swam, but amid the pain, a clear thought surfaced: He's my equal in every way—speed, strength, technique. I've never faced someone who turns my best into weakness. Each breath burned, but Tae-hyun felt alive.
Across the ruin, Jinhwan—blade dripping blood—paused on one knee. This outsider… he learns in the moment. His instincts are sharper than technique. He doesn't just fight with qi or steel—he fights with his will. For the first time, Jinhwan felt fear—and respect.
---
They rose simultaneously, battered but unbroken. Like lightning, daggers and sword met again. This strike shattered the daggers' cores—fangsteel cracked, tips splintering; Jinhwan's sword blade fractured down the middle. The sound was deafening.
Steel and fang fragments rained. They skidded apart, blades useless, leaving both fighters clutching shattered hilts. Neither paused.
---
With weapons destroyed, they unleashed brutality unchained. Jinhwan's fist, wrapped in lingering sword-qi, punched through Tae-hyun's chest, snapping ribs and sending him airborne. Tae-hyun landed on jagged stone, spine arching in pain.
He rolled, came up in a crouch, blood and dust coating his skin. He charged bare-knuckled: Iron Fist Style—each blow aimed to break bone. His first punch shattered Jinhwan's collarbone; the second snapped ribs like twigs. Jinhwan grunted, staggering.
Jinhwan responded with a Dragon's Coil Elbow, spinning into Tae-hyun's side with the force of a battering ram. Tae-hyun's vision went white; his body slammed into the altar behind him. Stone fractured beneath his weight.
---
Both men heaved, breathing fire and agony. Their bodies were canvas—deep gashes, broken bones, blood pooling at their feet. Yet neither could land a finishing blow. Each strike was met with a counter; every injury mirrored.
Tae-hyun's voice rasped through the haze. "This… is freedom."
Jinhwan spat out a tooth. "Freedom… is a lie."
They charged again. Fist to skull, skull to fist. Bones rattled. Teeth shattered.
---
Finally, they reeled apart, staggering back on wounded legs. Their chests rose and fell like hammers, eyes blazing with undimmed resolve. Neither blade nor fist would decide this—they would break each other utterly.
Tae-hyun flexed bleeding fingers. "No… stopping."
Jinhwan's smile was feral. "Then fall… trying."
And with that, they lunged—into the relentless storm of fists and fury—continuing a clash that would carve both their destinies in blood.
---