Pain was a language Michael was learning fast.
The kind that didn't scream—but whispered. A dull, throbbing ache in his ribs, a stabbing burn down his leg, the sharp tug of skin torn open. Each breath was a battle. Each heartbeat, a drumbeat of survival.
He pressed a trembling hand to the wound on his thigh, sticky and warm. The assassin hadn't followed through—not yet. They were toying with him.
And he knew why.
The girl had said it herself. "Impress me."
This wasn't just a kill.
It was a test.
[Blade Resonance: 19%]
[Status Effect: Bleeding – Moderate. Movement impaired.]
[Skill Cooldowns: 1 remaining – Iron Draw: 11s]
His blade pulsed faintly in his grip. Not in warning, but in response. It wasn't a sword anymore. It was a partner. And it was angry.
Michael forced himself upright, teeth clenched. The cobblestone beneath him was slick with rain—and his own blood. He used a broken crate to prop himself up and limped toward a nearby alley, away from the open street.
He couldn't outrun them.
But maybe, just maybe...
He could outthink them.
The alley was narrow and crooked. A single torch flickered at the far end, casting erratic shadows. Crates, debris, and a half-rotted stairway offered just enough cover.
Michael crouched behind a rusted barrel, heart pounding. His eyes closed briefly as he slowed his breathing, trying to feel the mana disturbance. His Peripheral Sense stretched outward—wide, trembling threads reaching into the dark.
There.
A faint pressure above.
The rooftops.
He tightened his grip. The sword trembled slightly—resonating with his focused fear.
Let them think I'm cornered.
Let them get close.
[Adaptive Flow: Passive Prediction in effect – 23% accuracy]
[Environmental Advantage: Partial – Tight space limits enemy movement]
Time stretched.
Then—
A flicker of motion.
Michael reacted on instinct, pivoting to the left—just as a foot slammed into the ground where his head had been. The second assassin emerged like a ghost, blades drawn.
Silent.
Precise.
Deadly.
Michael swung. Not clean—but enough to force the assassin back a step. Another flurry followed. Steel met steel. Sparks danced. Every strike rattled Michael's bones.
He was faster now. Smarter. But still bleeding.
Still dying.
The assassin ducked, spun, and went low—blade aimed to sever Michael's Achilles.
Michael dropped flat.
The blade missed by inches.
He kicked up with both legs, catching the assassin in the chest—and for the first time, the masked killer staggered.
Michael surged up, adrenaline drowning pain.
"Iron Draw!"
[Skill Activated – Iron Draw: Counteractive Pulse]
→ Feedback loop mimics prior attack trajectory. Execution: Enhanced]
His sword screamed through the air, golden mana trailing in an arc. The assassin raised a blade—but too late.
SHHRRRK!
A line of crimson split the mask in half. The figure dropped with a sickening thud.
Michael stood over the body, gasping, soaked in blood and rain. The alley spun around him, tilting dangerously. His hands trembled.
Then—clapping.
Slow. Deliberate.
He turned.
The violet-eyed girl leaned against a wall just beyond the alley, eyes wide with amusement.
"Well. You did impress me," she said.
Michael raised his sword again, though his limbs screamed in protest. "What do you want?"
"To see what the sword would do when pushed. It's alive, you know. Listening."
She stepped forward.
"Name's Nalia, by the way. I won't try to kill you. Not today. I like survivors."
He didn't lower his blade.
She smirked and turned to leave. "Next time, it won't be a test. Others are coming. Real ones. And they don't want to study you."
"They want me dead," Michael muttered.
She grinned. "No. They want the sword. You? You're just collateral."
She vanished down the misty street.
Michael let the blade fall. His legs gave out.
And everything went dark.