8:32 AM— Upper Monastery Chamber, Main Hall
A voice split the air.
"Enough of your shenanigans."
The tone was deep.
Cold. Unamused. Final.
A shadow loomed behind Dalton—massive, crawling, serpentine.
He turned slowly.
"Getting desperate, aren't you… Urashima?"
And there it was.
A dragon.
Golden. Towering.
Its body coiled around pillars, curled beneath the beams, forced to bend and fold just to fit inside the chamber.
Eyes like crimson red.
Paper petals surrounded the dragon.Smoke poured off its body in slow spirals filling the room.
It was not a summoned beast.
It was Urashima himself.
Caption:
Nero ability: "Dragon incarnate"
Urashima surged forward, golden scales glinting like forged steel. His dragon form rushed towards Dalton.
Dalton reacted fast, leaping high into the air just as the beast barreled beneath him.
Midair, he twisted his fingers into a cross — his signature stance.
"Guu", saying that he drilled his fist into Urashima's dragon body moving beneath him.But.
Nothing happened.
Urashima didn't slow. Didn't flinch. He just kept charging, curling around the far edge of the chamber.
Dalton's eyes widened. "What the hell…? That should've staggered him."
Urashima pivoted sharply — facing Dalton again— and launched forward again.
His dragon finger pointed out at him.
He aimed it at Dalton. Slowly pushed the finger forward.
Dalton didn't have time to dodge.
For a moment, nothing.
Then—
BOOM.
A shockwave burst from the tip of his finger. Relatively concentrated this time.
The strike smashed into Dalton's torso like a freight train. He was sent hurtling across the chamber like a broken puppet, crashing into a stone pillar with a gut-wrenching crack.
He slid down, coughing blood, his body crumpled.
From the sidelines, monks watched, frozen.
One whispered, shaken:
"That guy... his hits didn't affect the head monk at all."
Another monk narrowed his eyes as he stared at Urashima's monstrous form.
"Those scales of Urashima-san… they are impeccable!."
He exhaled.
Other younger monks looked in awe as the info was provided.
"That's the former leader of Lotus order for you." said one of them.
Dragon-Urashima roared and surged forward again.
Dalton, still clutching his gut, barely dove aside as Urashima blitzed past. But the beast didn't stop — it pivoted with terrifying speed and came charging again.
Dalton dodged. Barely.
Again.
And again.
"There's gotta be a way." he thought.
He was being hunted.
Backed into a corner, breath ragged, heart thundering, he gritted his teeth.
"There's gotta be a way… There's gotta be a way…"
His mind spun. Until suddenly—
Click.
His eyes widened. Realization hit like lightning.
But too late.
Urashima lunged again, maw open wide — and clamped his jaws down on Dalton.
The courtyard went dead silent.
Relief swept the sidelines. The monks exhaled.
"It's over," someone murmured.
Then—
Thud. Thud. THUD.
From inside the dragon's mouth, the sound of punches.
With each blow, Urashima's massive head jolted in recoil, his expression warping in pain.
His pupils rolled back. His mouth slackened.
CRASH.
The beast hit the ground like a collapsing mountain — unconscious.
Then—
A stir.
From the bloodied jaws, something moved.
Dalton emerged, soaked in red, heaving for breath. He raised open the dragon's mouth wider and leapt out, stumbling onto the floor.
he grunted:
"You're built like a goddamn tank, old man… but from the inside?"
He smirked through the blood.
"Soft as shit."
Behind him, the dragon's form shimmered… and receded.
Urashima was human again — face bruised, mouth bloodied, motionless on the stone.
Dalton approached slowly.
He crossed his fingers.
"Churistsu."
(neutral stance.)
He knelt beside Urashima, slid a hand under his head… lifted his head off the ground with one hand.
And began to punch with the other.
One. Two. Three.
Each blow sank deeper.
The monks watched in horror as their master's face was slowly disfigured under the relentless rain of fists.
Dalton pulled his arm back, winding up for one final strike—
THWACK.
A sword's sheath slammed straight into Dalton's face.
He flew backward, blood erupting from his nose as he skidded/ rolled across the floor. Clutching onto his nose.
Standing over Urashima, calm and still, was Kaito, his face shadowed.
Dalton groaned, clutching his busted nose, blood leaking through his fingers. Dazed, he turned his head toward the monastery doors.
Two figures stood there.
Soen and Kagen — the twin swordsmen. Their blades sheathed, their robes tattered, but they were still standing. Looking in awe at what unfolded in the monastery.
"Unbelievable." soen said.
"The head monk has been taken down." said Kagen, adding to it.
Dalton narrowed his eyes.
"Tch… they took care of that psycho?" he thought.
Meanwhile, Kaito knelt beside the battered Urashima, gently lifting the old man's torso and slipping an arm behind his back for support.
He glanced down at him, smirking.
"Still think I don't deserve food?"
Urashima's eyes fluttered open — bruised, bloodshot. He tried to speak, but only a muffled groan came out through his swollen, cracked lips.
Kaito shook his head, grinning.
"Hey, hey… maybe don't try talking, boomer. You're not looking so mighty right now"
Urashima wheezed something unintelligible, clearly still trying to scold him.
Kaito just chuckled.
"Relax. You'll live. Might need a straw or something."
Other monks soon gathered around Urashima to support him.
Behind them, Dalton began to slowly rise again…
Kaito turned slowly toward Dalton, his hand reaching to the hilt of his sword.
His eyes narrowed.
"Let's end this… quickly." he said, drawing his blade.
In one swift motion, he shot forward, blade gleaming. But just as he was about to strike—
Dalton crossed his fingers and muttered,
"Paa."
Kaito's blade came down—It landed.
Dalton didn't even flinch.
Kaito's eyes widened. He struck again.
But nothing. No cuts. No blood. No reaction.
What the hell…?
Before Kaito could process it, a gust of wind and a deafening roar interrupted them.
From the far end, Urashima—who had been pulled away by fellow monks—broke free. Wanting to assist.
He lunged forward in full dragon form, barreling toward them.
Kaito was shoved aside by the massive force of the beast, skidding along the floor.
Dalton, still composed, ducked low just as the dragon passed overhead.
Fingers still crossed, he muttered:
"Guu."
And with both palms, he touched the underbelly of Urashima's dragon form.
A horrific screech rang out.
The dragon writhed/suffered mid-air, its eyes bulging as an X-shaped wound exploded across its chest—blood erupting like a geyser.
Kaito backed off, stunned, sword still in hand.
Dalton's eyes widened with disbelief.
"It cut through??"
From across the field, Soen and Kagen stared in disbelief.
"He… he cut through the scales…?"
"No way. That's not possible…"
Kaito clenched his jaw, thinking fast, watching the blood pour.
That attack just now…
…were those my slashes?
The moment the dragon hit the ground, its body shifted back to that of Urashima—shaking, broken, gasping. Bleeding onto the floor.
Dalton stood tall. Calm. Composed.nose bloodied.
He adjusted his stance and locked eyes with Kaito.
An open invitation. A silent challenge.
Kaito stared at him—eyes filled with disbelief, mind racing.
He looked at Dalton... then at his own sword... then back again.
After a tense moment, he exhaled.
With slow precision, he sheathed his blade—
Then slammed it into the ground, the force cracking the wooden floor beneath, the weapon now resting upright in a makeshift stand. Also forcing the resting paper pieces on the floor to swirl up again.
Dalton's brow furrowed.
What the hell is he doing...?
Without a word, Kaito turned and began walking—away from the fight.
Straight toward Soen and Kagen, who stood near the entrance, confused.
Dalton's gaze tracked him, now visibly unsettled.
He's walking away?… What's he up to?
Kaito stopped in front of the twin swordsmen.
Before they could speak, he yanked the twin flow blades—Sun and Moon—from their obis.
The old men flinched.
"Hey! What the hell do you think you're—"
Soen protested, but Kaito didn't even look at them.
He just turned, slipping both sheaths into his obi with a silent, practiced motion.
Walking back toward Dalton now—his expression unreadable—he drew both swords out chipped here and there but majestic.
With quiet finality, he spoke:
"This might take a little longer."