"So, how was your mission?"
Though Kiah still didn't fully trust him, it felt rude to leave without at least asking about his latest adventure.
Anwyll shrugged. "Quite average. I had to hunt down three Thrashers threatening a town. Nothing much."
Calling three Thrashers 'nothing much' was something Kiah wanted to confidently say someday.
She offered a tight smile. "Great."
She stood and awkwardly rubbed her hands on her trousers, which still had patches of slime. Then, she itched her nose, which still had a lingering dull ache.
Anwyll's eyes zeroed in on her injury, and he said,
"Don't beat yourself up over one failed punch. Just do better next time."
"How?" she snapped. "I can't just beat up people."
Anwyll didn't flinch.
"You know, degenerates aren't the only threats out there. One day, you will have to fight humans, perhaps even kill them. It is kill or be killed out there. What will you do then? Are you going to die because you can't strike a trafficker down?"
Kiah frowned. She'd thought about that — vaguely. But she'd been so focused on serving degenerates and her training that she hadn't let her mind wander too far ahead.
Killing degenerates was one thing. Even if they were once people, she didn't see them as such anymore.
But actual people?
That was different. It took a lot more guts. And she was—
"Weak," Anwyll said bluntly, as if reading her thoughts. He must have caught the shock on her face because he added, "Don't look surprised. Your self-doubt is written all over your face."
Kiah's eyes narrowed at him.
He raised his hands in surrender.
"For what it's worth, I don't think you're weak," he paused, "just severely inexperienced. And I believe experience is what matters most. Without that, you wouldn't last long."
"What are you trying to say?"
"I'm trying to say that there are no principles in Duskworn. Just destruction and exploitation. You should see what they do with a novice like you. Your naivety makes you a delightable prey."
Kiah didn't know what it was, but something about the way he spoke agitated her. His tone was gentle, but there was something provoking underneath.
"I'm not naive." She gritted her teeth.
Anwyll smirked.
"Then prove it. Hit me."
Kiah didn't hesitate.
She lunged forward, aiming a punch straight at his face — but he dodged easily. Before she could recover, he caught her wrist, pivoted, and threw a punch of his own.
It stopped just centimeters from her face. But the force of it sent a gust of air past her cheek, blowing loose strands of hair back.
She froze.
"Never strike someone out of anger," Anwyll said coolly. "It makes you sloppy. It leaves room for exploitation, and trust me, you don't want to be exploited." Then he added cheekily, "But at least we know you can throw a punch."
He let go of her fist, and she took a couple of steps back. He had riled her up on purpose.
"What are you trying to do?" she demanded.
Anwyll smirked. "Call it a bonus lesson. It's not fun to see a friend of mine get used as a punching bag. It's embarrassing, and I don't like being embarrassed."
Kiah raised a brow.
"We are not friends. And I don't care if you're embarrassed."
"Fine," he shrugged. "Then at least be embarrassed for yourself. Today was humiliating."
Kiah exhaled slowly and clenched her fists. In a blink, she launched at him again, sending kicks and punches. But this time, she was more focused and calculating.
But it didn't matter.
He blocked and dodged every move with infuriating ease. His smirk remained, like he was barely trying, and that irritated her even more. Still, he didn't retaliate — not really — else the fight would have been over before it even started.
Panting and exhausted, she paused to take a breath. In that split second of vulnerability, he rammed his fist into her abdomen, catching her off guard. The wind rushed from her lungs as she crumpled to her knees, coughing.
"What was that for?" She rasped.
"Pardon me," He had the audacity to look mildly regretful — before the expression vanished. "But I'm not going to coddle you, especially when you stop mid-fight to breathe. You don't stop for any reason in a fight. It's idiotic. Don't do it again."
She wheezed some more.
"Get up," Anwyll ordered.
Kiah glared at him before slowly rising to her feet. That punch had hurt, and she was sure he held back. She didn't want to see what it looked like when he didn't.
No sooner had she straightened, he moved — a high, spinning kick aimed at her head. Her eyes widened, gazing at the power kick coming her way. Instincts took over, and she ducked just in time for his leg to slice the air above her head.
Just when she thought she had escaped, he twisted, lowering himself to the floor and sweeping her legs out from under her.
She hit the ground hard, back-first. The breath left her lungs again.
"Expect the unexpected. Never let your guard down." Anwyll said, towering over her.
Kiah groaned. This had turned into a full-blown training session. A session she had not asked for.
"I think I cracked my spine." She murmured, wincing.
"Stop exaggerating." He said dryly.
He stepped toward her, lifting a foot as if to stomp her face. She rolled out of the way, breath hitching.
"Are you trying to kill me?"
"I would never."
The sparring continued. Anwyll didn't go easy on her, and he didn't miss a single opportunity to strike when she left herself open. She quickly learned to protect her sides.
When she finally landed a hit, he responded with a sharp kick to her ribs and a clipped, "Never hold back. That punch was lackluster. Hit me like your life depends on it."
So she did.
She gave it everything she had.
And still — by the end — she lay on the floor, panting like a dying animal while he loomed above her, unruffled, a glint of smug triumph playing on his mouth.
"Not bad," he said at last.
Kiah didn't respond. Breathing was enough of a challenge.
He crouched down beside her, tilting his head as he studied her with a sharp, unreadable gaze.
"Tell me," he said quietly. "Why did you really hesitate today? Was it because you couldn't bring yourself to hit someone?"
His voice lowered.
"Or was it because of honor?"
"Honor?" Kiah echoed, confused.
"He had his back turned to you for a split second. You could have ended the match right then, but you didn't. What was that? A mock display of dignity?" His voice carried a disgusted edge.
Kiah stared at him, silent.
He wasn't wrong.
She hadn't wanted to win that way. Striking someone from behind was shameful; everyone knew that. Victories like that weren't satisfactory. A part of her had hesitated for that same reason. What kind of person would she be if she stabbed someone in the back?
"What if I did?" She muttered. "It's a noble thing."
"Noble," Anwyll repeated, his tone dry as dust. He laughed once — cold and humorless — then looked down at her with a stare so sharp she almost recoiled.
"It's appalling," he said. "Get this through your head. Nobility will get you killed and tossed into a ditch somewhere. It's a fairytale taught to make the weak even weaker. Out there, it's about who strikes first, not who strikes right. If you hesitate, they won't. And then you'll be the one bleeding out on the ground."
He stood up, his gaze softening just a fraction.
"That's enough for today. I hope you learned enough. Don't embarrass me next time."
With that, he turned and walked toward the door.
Kiah remained on the floor, his words echoing in her mind.
"Nobility will get you killed…"
It felt wrong, but also… right.
What even was nobility in a world like this? Why did honor matter when everything around her was already falling apart?
Back on Earth, in movies, heroes were noble. They held their ground, gave fair chances, and spared the enemy. She used to kick her feet in frustration when they let villains go for the sake of honor. But those heroes had plot armor. They always won in the end.
She wasn't a hero. She was a displaced girl caught in a world that didn't care about her values. Giving her enemy a chance to recover reduces her chances of survival. It was simple logic.
And yet — if no one held their integrity, wasn't that how the world fell further into ruin?
Her fists clenched.
Without thinking, she sprang up and charged after Anwyll.
He was almost at the exit when she lunged, fist flying toward his back.
But he turned at the last second, caught her wrist mid-air, and smirked.
Then, with one smooth motion, he flipped her over his shoulder with her wrist. She spun in the air before landing hard on her back.
Pain shot through her, but so did adrenaline.
"You learn fast," he said, finally stepping through the door. "Good for you."
And then he was gone.