Mabushi planted his feet and tightened his grip on his blades. With a sudden motion he spun like a cyclone, his body turning, swords crossing in twin arcs of steel that shredded the roots lunging from every side. He vaulted onto one rising trunk, then dove down with a double slash that split the stone floor before landing upright again.
He laughed loudly, shouting,
"Yes! More of them! This is better!"
But the assault didn't stop. New heads burst from the torn roots, faster and fiercer. Mabushi flicked his right hand, sending a chain darting from one of his swords. The metal wrapped around a thick root in midair, yanking it toward him like a hunter reeling in prey—only to slice it apart with his other blade a heartbeat later.
His movements were a fusion of acrobat, thief, and samurai. Not the disciplined art of a warrior, but controlled chaos.
Silvara, by contrast, never moved from her place. Her hands lifted slowly, as if pulling invisible threads. As Mabushi whirled through the mass of roots, he noticed something strange—tiny flowers blooming among the rocks. Purple tinged with green, they released a faint dust, almost invisible.
He tried to ignore it, but suddenly dizziness struck. His footing wavered. He muttered,
"What… the air feels heavier?"
Before he regained balance, long spikes like spears shot up from the plants, stabbing into the ground around him and forcing him back. As he staggered, something sticky wrapped across his back.
A translucent spiderweb, nearly invisible, woven by the plants behind him, waiting patiently. Mabushi crashed into it, his arms glued in place, as if his body had sunk into a predator's trap.
At last, Silvara stepped forward. She stood before Mabushi strung up in the web, straining as he tried to move his shoulders. Her voice was calm.
"Your reflexes are impressive, Mabushi the Rogue… but reflexes don't win battles. They're just what animals do when kicked."
She tilted her head, studying his breathing.
"You know… you're like wild trees. You think you're free because you grow any way you want, but you're still bound by your roots. No matter how far you leap, you'll never escape your ground."
Mabushi's raw bellow tore through the arena. The rogue, hanging like a fly in a giant web, glared at his hands stuck fast. His swords were still clutched tight, but useless, as if encased in cement. He strained against the sticky threads. The pain began as pinpricks, then grew into a slow ripping, as though his arms were being peeled apart fiber by fiber.
And still he didn't stop. He roared like a wounded beast, veins bulging in his neck, teeth grinding together. His voice hammered inside his head:
Move… move… move!
He growled, forcing power through pain.
"Shut up!! Do you think this is a poetry recital?!"
He spat blood to the ground, shouting,
"To hell with your philosophy… If I could crush the face behind it, I'd bury it under the dirt forever!"
Then he pulled harder, blood running from his palms, dripping steadily around the sword hilts. The usual smirk in his eyes was gone, replaced with fire. Fire that refused to die.
From the sidelines, Ann could no longer stay quiet. Her eyes tracked the roots and web, but her heart was on Mabushi. She bit down and whispered inside herself,
"You idiot… do you really think you're unbreakable?!"
When she saw the blood pour from his arms, she snapped.
"Stop, you fool!! You'll kill yourself!"
Mabushi didn't turn. Every muscle was locked, his breaths ragged, blood soaking his hands as he strained against the cursed web. Even so, he snarled back, voice cracked between gasps,
"Shut up!! Let me focus, damn it!"
His roar was like a slap, but Ann didn't back down. She stared at him as if he were fragile glass about to shatter. Yet Mabushi… had no retreat. He kept pulling. Harder. Until the web itself groaned, fibers snapping like screams.
His body burned inside. The web clung tighter with every move, almost alive, but he didn't stop. He didn't care. He pulled until blood burst freely from his wrists.
From afar, Akio stared in horror, whispering to himself,
"No way… he's killing himself with his own hands…"
His lips trembled.
"Is he insane?"
But the madman continued. Mabushi's chest clenched with a sudden crack, like ribs breaking inward. He gasped, coughed, blood splattering the ground. His eyes turned upward, his voice hoarse but defiant,
"I'll break free… even if only my bones remain!"
The web began to give way. Then—with a savage tear—he ripped himself loose, like a wolf gnawing its own leg to escape a trap.
The crowd fell silent. Even Silvara's smile faded.
Mabushi crashed to his knees, what little strength left draining into the ground. His breath rasped, raw and broken, like a man drowning on land. His chest heaved, his body screamed, yet his eyes burned as if set aflame.
His hands shook uncontrollably. The swords slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground, the sound small but deafening. For a moment, even his body seemed ready to quit.
He leaned forward, digging bloodied fingers into the dirt. Silvara still stood in silence, watching. She hadn't struck again. Ann pressed a hand to her mouth, unsure whether to cry or run to him.
Then Mabushi, who had seemed like a corpse seconds before, suddenly rose. His roar split the air, a primal cry of pain, defiance, and rage.
For the first time, Silvara's eyes widened. Not in fear, but disbelief. After all that, he can still stand?!
Blood dripped from his lips as he coughed through his words.
"I… have never… lost a fight! And I won't… lose now! Especially not… to a foolish girl… like you!!"
His first step staggered.
The second was faster.
By the third, he had forgotten pain, charging forward with burning eyes and a body that defied ruin.
Silvara stood still, the air shifting around her, waiting. Was she expecting something… or simply letting him walk into his fate?