Chapter 294
Disbelief (2)
Henry quickly suppressed his shock, forcing the disbelief down with a tight swallow.
Whatever was going on, whatever impossible improvement IAM had shown just now—that single exchange was enough to ease his worries for the moment. At the very least, IAM wasn't about to collapsep or slice himself open on accident. That was enough for Henry to continue without holding his breath.
IAM, on the other hand, wore a slight frown.
It was his body.
It was exactly as he expected—his physical form in the real world couldn't fully keep up with what he wanted, the timing he envisioned, the movements he knew he could execute. His mind was sharp; his intent flawless. But his body lagged behind by just a fraction.
He glanced down at the hand gripping the sword. A faint bruise was visible across the base of his thumb, already knitting over with accelerated healing, a small mark formed from a grip that had been off by only a hair.
That tiny mistake annoyed him more than the bruise itself.
IAM kissed his teeth softly, irritation flickering across his expression for half a heartbeat before he exhaled and pushed forward.
He stepped in—one step, then another, his footwork tightening as his weight coiled beneath him. In the next instant, he launched upward, spinning mid-air. His sword cut a spiraling arc as he used the rotation to generate speed and power far beyond what a normal forward slash could offer.
The blade sliced through the air with a sharp whistle.
Henry reacted instantly, he dropped his center of gravity, his knees bending and shoulders sinking. In the same breath, he jabbed forward.
At first, it looked sloppy—almost like a random thrust, not particularly fast, not visibly powerful. From a distance it might have even seemed reckless, the kind of move someone made in panic rather than skill.
But it was anything but.
Henry's jab shot out with surgical precision, aiming straight at the single flaw that had appeared in IAM's spinning descent. It was perfectly timed, perfectly placed—an attack that would slip straight into the opening IAM's movement created.
If IAM continued his slash… the tip of Henry's sword would pierce him clean through the heart.
IAM saw it.
He recognized the danger in an instant, but recognition didn't change the fact that he was mid-air, he had already committed. He couldn't pull back nor dodge. His only option was to twist his body and redirect the path of his blade, intercepting Henry's thrust before it met flesh.
He shifted mid-spin, forcing his arm around at an angle that strained his muscle and balance. The swords collided with a hard clang, IAM barely deflecting the jab as he came down—landing awkwardly, his footing collapsing into a staggered skid across the floor.
He didn't even get the chance to recover.
A fierce punch slammed into his ribs the moment his feet touched the ground—Henry closing the gap in a blur, taking advantage of IAM's imbalance with ruthless efficiency.
The impact twisted IAM sideways, the force ripping the air from his lungs and sending him stumbling, pain flaring as his body spun from the blow.
Henry had struck him the moment the opening appeared without hesitation!
But during IAM's spin—forced by the power of Henry's strike—he didn't just stumble away. The momentum carried him all the way around, and IAM used it.
As his body rotated, he snapped the butt of his sword forward with a brutal movement, landing a heavy smack directly into Henry's throat.
Henry's eyes widened. He stumbled back instantly, one hand flying to his throat as he choked and gasped. The hit wasn't enough to crush anything, but the shock, the pain, the sudden loss of air—it all hit at once.
What surprised him even more wasn't the pain, but IAM's cold decisiveness. IAM had taken Henry's attack—used the force against himself—and still countered with that level of ruthlessness.
IAM's deep eyes stayed locked on him, even as pain from Henry's earlier punch still radiated through his ribs. He ignored it entirely. The moment Henry flinched, IAM charged.
Henry barely had time to breathe, let alone recover. He quickly raised his sword to guard, forcing his body to react while his throat still burned.
IAM was already on him.
He returned a jab—a direct thrust aimed straight at Henry's torso. Henry recognized the motion, his instincts moving to counter. He brought his sword up to deflect the attack—
—and then he heard it.
[PIERCE]
The single word wasn't loud; it was sharp, cutting straight through the air.
And the jab changed.
It accelerated—violently. The blade lunged forward with a sudden burst of speed, so much faster than its initial trajectory that Henry's eyes widened in shock. It reached near his flesh far quicker than he anticipated, forcing him to yank his sword into position at the last possible second.
Steel met steel, but his block wasn't complete.
The force behind IAM's thrust drove through the partial guard, and the tip of IAM's blade dug into Henry's skin—just shallow enough not to puncture deep, but deep enough to sting and draw a thin line of red.
Henry immediately jumped back, putting distance between himself and IAM in a retreat. His feet slid across the floor as his throat was still aching from the earlier hit. As he steadied himself, he looked up—
—and froze.
IAM was staring straight at him.
And Henry knew that look.
He had used his sword with intent many times before. He had felt the difference between a sparring exchange and a true fight, he recognized what he was seeing.
It was killing intent.
Henry involuntarily shivered, a cold tremor racing down his spine before he could stop it. His fingers tightened around his hilt, but not out of control—out of instinct, out of the way a body reacts when danger is suddenly too close.
Was this… really the same IAM he knew?
What happened to that hollow feeling, that strange sense of nothingness that used to follow him everywhere, in everything he did?
Where—how—did he accumulate something like killing intent?