The Phoenix's head struck the soaked earth with a bone-rattling thud. Its massive body toppled after, sending a shiver through the Fang as though the mountain itself recoiled.
For a moment, there was only rain.
Then, the gasps came.
Liodra's lips parted in something between laughter and disbelief. The gourd hung loosely in her hand, her knuckles pale from the grip. Her violet eyes glimmered in the stormlight.( What are you, Kazel? ) she thought, awe curling into something darker, almost hunger.
Elder Juni staggered back a half-step, her bow nearly slipping from her fingers. Her snow-patterned robe clung to her skin in the rain, but she didn't feel the cold. Her sharp breath caught in her throat. She was a woman who had lived decades in cultivation, seen heroes rise and fall—but never this. Never a boy defying heaven itself.
Nobu's sword arm trembled as though an invisible weight bore down on him. The grandmaster's strike had always been law, absolute and unchallengeable. Yet here was a youth, bloodied but unbowed, roaring at the very sky. His throat was dry. ( Impossible… he took that blow. He took it. )
Saya's pupils shrank, her chest rising and falling too fast. She had thought herself hardened, prepared, her training absolute. But as she watched Kazel sever the head of a legendary beast while defying the grandmaster himself, her lips whispered words she hadn't meant to say:"…monster."
Around them, the Fang itself seemed to hold its breath. Those who had gathered, knights, sect members, mercenaries—none dared move. All eyes were fixed on the blood-soaked youth with the jagged blade, his gaze locked on the hovering grandmaster.
The storm became a drumbeat to their duel—blade to blade, arm to arm, strike to strike. Kazel and the grandmaster clashed in a fury of steel and flesh, every movement faster than the rain, every collision sending sparks bursting across the darkened sky.
At first, they seemed equal—two predators locked in perfect rhythm, each swing met with a counter, each thrust diverted by instinct sharper than thought. Yet the truth bled through with every heartbeat. Kazel's shoulder wound slowed his rotation. His breathing was ragged, the bruise along his jaw throbbing with each jolt. His footwork faltered by a fraction, just enough to betray the strain on his battered frame.
And still, he pressed on.
Nobu and Saya, standing beneath the eaves of the Curved Blade Sect's quarters, could scarcely believe their eyes.
"That wound…" Saya whispered, rain streaming down her face, "he's already weakened—yet the grandmaster…"
Nobu's throat tightened, his eyes fixed on the flashing figure in the storm. "The grandmaster… lowering themselves to clash blades with a man already half-broken? Impossible… why?!"
Kazel's growl cut through the storm as he caught the grandmaster's blade with his jagged edge, veins bulging in his forearms. "What's wrong, old ghost?!" His grin was savage despite the blood at his lips. "Afraid of me even now?!"
Steel screamed against steel. The grandmaster shifted, their form fluid, relentless—yet behind the veil of mystery, their amber eyes narrowed, reading the tyrant not as a broken man… but as a storm that refused to die.
The rain was only mist, torn apart by the ferocity of their duel. Kazel and the grandmaster were no longer bound to the earth—they fought as if the sky itself had become their arena.
Their blades clashed like thunder. Their steps cracked the stone beneath them. Each strike shook the air, a rhythm of violence that pulled every soul in The Fang into silence.
On one side, the grandmaster—refined, precise, their every movement flowing with centuries of cultivation and mastery. On the other, Kazel—bloodied, bruised, and weakened, yet his jagged blade carved arcs that defied logic, brute force mixed with savage technique.
Everyone knew. The grandmaster's cultivation stood higher, their path carved longer, their foundation deeper. Kazel should have been crushed already. But for this moment, none of that mattered. For this moment, he was equal.
Kazel's grin split through his bruises, his blue eyes alight with fury and delight. "YES! This is it—show me more!" His blade rang, deflecting a slash meant to cleave him in two. "Do not hold back!"
The grandmaster's amber eyes narrowed, their blade twisting with elegance, but for the first time, the faintest flicker of tension etched their brow.
On the sidelines, Caladbolg stood motionless, jagged helm gleaming in the storm, the skull atop the crown glowing faintly. Rami the weremole crouched low, amber eyes wide, claws twitching with restless energy—but even she did not move. Both spectated in silence, as if they too knew this duel was not for them to disturb.
The world itself seemed to pause, the storm holding its breath for the collision of two wills. Steel against steel. Tyrant against master. Equal, if only for this fleeting heartbeat in time.
The jagged blade howled through the storm, faster, heavier, hungrier. Kazel pressed forward like a beast unleashed, every strike a declaration, every step a claim.
The grandmaster parried with elegance, yet each defense rattled louder, the shockwaves scattering rain like shards of glass. Their footing slid across the soaked tiles. For the first time, their stance broke—not much, only a fraction—but enough for whispers to ripple through the watching crowd.
"Impossible…" Nobu's lips trembled. "That's the grandmaster."
Saya's hands clenched tight, her knuckles pale. She wanted to deny it, yet the evidence played before her eyes: Kazel, bloodied and weakened, pushing their revered master back, forcing the clash into his rhythm.
"More!" Kazel bellowed, his grin wide, his eyes burning with warfire. His movements were brutal, raw, merciless—he showed no reverence for balance or elegance, only the crushing reality of violence. Each strike tore closer to the grandmaster's core, each step bent the duel toward his will.
The grandmaster's blade curved in defense, redirecting the jagged arcs, but their expression betrayed it—the faintest flicker of strain. The storm, the onlookers, even the ruins around them seemed to blur as Kazel pressed harder, faster, like a tyrant who had finally found joy in being challenged.
From the sidelines, Rami growled low, sensing the shift. Caladbolg's hollow voice whispered from beneath the crown, more to himself than anyone else:"He… he is dragging the grandmaster into his battlefield."
And still Kazel laughed, laughter that cracked through the storm. "Come now! Don't you dare falter! Give me your best, or I'll carve it out of you!"
The grandmaster's amber eyes narrowed. Their breathing steadied, then—vanished.
To the untrained, it was as if the storm itself swallowed them whole. Even Nobu and Saya, who had followed the grandmaster's teachings for years, couldn't trace the movement. Only the afterimage of rain being split apart gave hints of their position.
Kazel's grin widened, his blood-soaked face alive with exhilaration. "That's more like it!"
The jagged blade swung—clang!—a blur of steel met his weapon from the side. The angle was unnatural, the speed incomprehensible. Another strike came from behind, then above, then low at his legs. Kazel's body twisted, ducked, parried, his reflexes pushed to the brink. He wasn't reading the moves—he couldn't. He was surviving on instinct alone, every dodge, every block guided by the sharpened intuition of a man forged in countless wars.
The crowd could scarcely believe it. To them, it looked like Kazel was being assailed from every direction at once, the grandmaster's blade nothing more than streaks of lightning lashing through the rain.
"Grandmaster…" Saya whispered, her voice trembling. "That speed… it's beyond what I've ever seen."
Nobu's jaw clenched. "No. Look again… Kazel—he's still keeping up."
Each clash rang louder, sharper, carving sparks into the storm-dark sky. Kazel's body was battered, his bruises deepening, his torn shoulder bleeding freely, yet his grin only grew wider. He fought like a predator dancing on the edge of death, laughing in defiance of the storm.
( Faster, are you? Then I'll gamble it all on instinct alone. )
His eyes blazed, following not the sword, not the body, but the killing intent itself.
Steel screamed, rain scattered like broken glass, and still Kazel endured, locked in a whirlwind of speed and death.
Kazel's guard shattered. His body was dismantled, each blow hammering him into the brink. His heartbeat pounded in his skull, louder than steel clashing, louder than the roar of the crowd. He crashed back, breath ragged, but the grin on his face never faltered—twisted between fury and delight.
Then, amidst the thunder in his chest, a sound cut through.
"I see..."
It was soft, melodic. A woman's voice, but it echoed inside his very soul.
Kazel's brows rose, his grin wavering. His blurred gaze focused—on the grandmaster. She stood tall, her blade nowhere to be seen. For a heartbeat, time froze.
Then she vanished.
A flash tore the space, and suddenly she was before him, closer than breath.
"You're him," she whispered, her white eyebrows flashing into his sight like a searing omen.
Kazel's pupils shrank to a dot. The grin was gone, replaced with sharp disbelief.
"Welcome, hero."
The words slithered into his mind just as her fist drove deep into his gut. His body folded, his soul rattled, and everything went dark.