*Content Warning: This chapter contains mature themes, violence, blood, and morally dark actions. Reader discretion advised.*
***
They circled. The old man's strikes came faster — diagonal slash, feint high, real cut low. Leon blocked the slash, fell for the feint, took a shallow graze on his thigh. Blood welled.
"See? Predict, don't react."
Leon gritted his teeth. The wound burned, but he pushed on. Another exchange — cut, parry, thrust, evade. The old man pressed, blade a blur. Leon's defense cracked — a cut across his arm, another on his shoulder.
Pain flared. Limits neared.
Leon closed his eyes briefly. Now.
Soul Resonance Art activated.
His soul pulsed outward — threads binding body, sword, environment. Strength surged — not brute force, but harmony. The sword became part of him. The ground guided his steps. The wind whispered openings.
Leon's eyes snapped open. He moved.
A cut — faster, precise. The old man parried, but Leon flowed into the next: feint low, thrust high. The blade grazed the old man's robe.
The old man's eyes widened. "What…?"
Leon pressed — strikes chaining seamlessly, each empowered by the art. The old man defended, blade meeting blade in ringing clashes. Sparks flew. The clearing shook.
But the old man adapted — a counter-thrust slipped through, grazing Leon's side. Blood flowed. The fight intensified — blades blurring, feet dancing, wounds accumulating.
Leon grinned through the pain. This… this is it.
The battle raged on — neither yielding, the clash far from over.
The clash continued without mercy. The old man pressed his advantage, his sword a silver blur that cut through the air with precision honed by decades. He circled Leon like a shadow, strikes coming from unexpected angles — a low sweep to unbalance, followed by a rising cut aimed at the ribs. Leon parried the sweep, the impact vibrating up his arms, but the rising cut grazed his side, drawing a thin line of blood that soaked through his robe.
Leon staggered back a step, breath coming in sharp gasps. The old man did not let up. He advanced with a series of probing thrusts — fast, economical, testing Leon's guard. Each one forced Leon to twist or deflect, his feet sliding across the packed earth. The Soul Resonance Art surged through him, binding soul to body, sword, and world, but the strain was mounting. His movements were sharper than before, the blade an extension of his will, but every clash sent jolts of feedback through his veins — like fire threading his nerves.
The old man feinted high, drawing Leon's sword upward, then dropped low for a horizontal slash at the knees. Leon leaped back, landing awkwardly, his injured leg buckling slightly. The old man followed with a downward chop — heavy, committed, forcing Leon to block crosswise. The blades met with a deafening ring, sparks flying as metal ground against metal. Leon's arms trembled under the force, his stance cracking for a split second.
The old man twisted his wrist, disengaging with a flick that sent Leon's sword wide. In that opening, he reversed the momentum — a quick thrust straight for the chest. Leon barely sidestepped, the tip slicing his shoulder, fresh blood welling. He countered with a desperate slash, but the old man was already gone, pivoting smoothly to Leon's flank.
"Huff… huff… huff…" Leon gasped, sweat stinging his eyes. He retreated a few steps, sword raised in a wavering guard. "This damn backlash of the technique is too hard… is it because I am combining Soul Resonance Art with a sword? Is that why I am getting too damn exhausted?"
The old man paused for a breath, his own chest rising steadily — no sign of fatigue, only focused calm. He circled again, sword low and ready.
Inside, the old man mumbled to himself, eyes widening slightly as he watched Leon's form shift — the boy moving less like a fighter and more like the blade itself.
"Amazing… to think someone can grow this much just by using a mere technique. It's very hard to believe, but I have to admit it… who I am fighting against right now is none other than a sword itself. It's as if he has become the sword. How can that be possible? And you are telling me that that master of his isn't even using techniques like that?"
Leon didn't hear the words — he was too deep in the fight, blood pounding in his ears. The old man lunged again — a series of rapid strikes: high thrust, mid-slash, low feint into upward cut. Leon blocked the first two, but the feint caught him — the blade sliced across his thigh, deeper this time, blood flowing freely.
Pain flared white-hot. Leon stumbled back, sword dipping low. The old man pressed — relentless, his strikes calculated to exploit every opening. A downward chop forced Leon to roll aside, dirt grinding into his wounds. He came up swinging — a wide arc that the old man ducked effortlessly, countering with a pommel strike to Leon's ribs that drove the air from his lungs.
Leon gasped, vision blurring. He retreated further, back against a tree, sword trembling in his grip. The Soul Resonance hummed — strong, but draining, the fusion with the blade pulling at his very essence.
Suddenly, a thought crossed over Leon's mind. He mumbled through gritted teeth, eyes narrowing as the old man advanced.
"It sounds risky… but what if I try to fuse one more technique? Right now the old man isn't giving me much time to think, so I have to act as soon as possible. Should I use Echo Flow Technique and fuse Echo Flow Technique with Soul Resonance Art?"
The old man closed in — sword raised for a finishing strike.
"How ridiculous," Leon whispered. "I don't know what is going to happen… but let's freaking do this."
He closed his eyes for a split second — not in fear, but focus. Soul Resonance pulsed stronger, threads of energy already weaving through body, sword, and world. Now he reached for the second technique: Echo Flow.
It awakened like a whisper in the wind. Invisible echoes rippled outward — sensing the subtle vibrations left by every action: the old man's footsteps compressing the earth, the faint hum of his blade cutting air, the rhythm of his breath syncing with his strikes. Leon adapted instantly — predicting the old man's next move before it began, merging with the enemy's flow like water around stone.
The fusion ignited.
Soul Resonance bound everything into unity; Echo Flow turned that unity into foresight. Leon's body moved before his mind commanded — sword rising to meet the old man's descending blade in perfect harmony. The clash rang out, but this time Leon didn't stagger. He flowed with the impact — pivoting, using the force to counter-thrust at the old man's exposed side.
The old man's eyes widened — genuine shock flashing across his weathered face. He twisted away just in time, the tip grazing his robe, drawing a thin line of blood.
"What…?"
Leon didn't stop. The fused techniques surged — potential unlocked beyond limits, every echo sensed and adapted to. He advanced — strikes chaining with unnatural precision: feint low, predict the dodge, thrust high where the old man would be. The blade hummed, the environment aiding him — a loose stone under the old man's foot sensed in advance, a gust of wind timed to mask his step.
The old man defended — parrying, retreating, his own sword a whirlwind of experience. But Leon adapted faster — sensing echoes of fatigue in the old man's breath, predicting the slight lag in his guard. A slash grazed the old man's arm; a thrust forced him to leap back.
The fight balanced on a knife's edge — Leon pushing, the old man holding, blood staining the ground from both.
And it was far from over.