Lister simply grinned, raising his sword high.
"Let's find out."
Amaya moved first.
Her boots scraped against the blood-soaked stones as she dashed in, her scythe curving like a crescent moon aiming straight for Hinata's throat.
Hinata tilted his head back by an inch — the blade hissed past, cutting a few strands of his hair as it passed.
Before the wind of her swing faded, Lister stepped in from the left, his greatsword crashing down with brutal weight.
Hinata caught the blade on the flat of his knife, metal screaming.
His arm trembled from the impact — Lister's strength was no joke — but Hinata twisted his wrist and redirected the sword's drop into the ground.
John rushed in from behind, spear thrusting for Hinata's ribs.
Hinata ducked under the thrust, spun once, and drove his elbow back.
It connected with John's jaw, sending the man stumbling.
Amaya came again, swinging low for Hinata's legs.
Hinata leapt, barely clearing the blade — but Lister was already above him, sword raised high.
Too many weapons. Too many angles.
Hinata crossed his arms to block.
The strike landed like a hammer.
The force sent him skidding across the broken bodies around them, boots dragging trenches through the dirt.
A thin line of blood slipped down his forearm.
He wiped it with the back of his hand.
"Not bad," he said.
They didn't respond — all three rushed him together.
This time Hinata moved first.
He vanished forward in two steps, appearing in front of John.
His foot slammed into John's stomach, folding him over and throwing him back.
Hinata grabbed his collar mid-air and hurled him toward Amaya.
Amaya sliced the flying body apart from her path, her scythe spinning in a perfect arc as she saved him — but the brief pause let Hinata slip behind her.
His knife slashed across her shoulder.
Blood sprayed.
Amaya gritted her teeth and spun her scythe behind her like a shield, forcing Hinata to jump back.
Lister didn't give him time to breathe.
The giant sword came for Hinata's legs again — a clean, merciless horizontal cut.
Hinata flipped backward, felt the wind brush his ankles, then landed low.
His knife flashed once, slicing Lister's knee.
Lister staggered, just a moment.
Just enough.
Hinata lunged in — but John returned, thrusting his spear from a blind angle.
The blade grazed Hinata's side, cutting a shallow line across his ribs.
Hinata hissed sharply.
Blood trickled, warm under his clothes.
"Three on one… it's annoying," he said, breathing steady but eyes sharper now.
Lister adjusted his stance despite the bleeding knee.
Amaya wiped her shoulder, scythe twirling in her grip.
John steadied his spear, jaw bruised and lips bloody.
Their instincts screamed the same thing — the same feeling pressing at the back of their necks.
This man is dangerous.
Hinata shifted his foot slightly, body lowering.
Not a technique. Not a named skill. Just a predator adjusting his balance.
They felt it.
A natural killing intent, quiet but suffocating.
And yet Hinata himself was already scratched, cut, bruised from their teamwork.
They were good. Very good.
Just not good enough.
Hinata exhaled.
"Let's continue."
On the other side…
Steel clashed again and again, echoing through the ruined stone corridor like thunder.
Titus slid one foot back, blocking a downward strike that nearly split the floor beneath him.
Sparks scattered; the force behind Paltius's blow was monstrous.
Paltius's breathing was heavy—ragged—but the rage burning in his eyes only sharpened.
He swung again, wild but powerful, aiming at Titus's neck.
Titus tilted his blade, parrying at the last moment.
The clash sent a sting through his wrist, but he stepped forward and countered—a shallow cut opened across Paltius's shoulder.
Paltius grinned like an animal.
"Still holding back, Titus?" he snarled.
Titus exhaled slowly, keeping his eyes steady.
He darted in with precise footwork, cutting a line across Paltius's ribs—another shallow but clean wound.
Yet every time he struck, Paltius responded with a furious swing that forced Titus to retreat.
Blood dripped from several small cuts on both of them, marking how close every exchange was.
Titus's thoughts sharpened amid the chaos:
He's furious… that's why his movements lack discipline.But anger like his… it makes every strike unpredictable.
I can't underestimate him—not even for a heartbeat.
Paltius roared and slammed forward with a diagonal slash, the strike so reckless it tore through the wooden table behind Titus when he dodged.
Dust rained down; the hall trembled.
Titus wiped blood from the corner of his lip.
"You're losing yourself," he said quietly.
Paltius's teeth cracked together.
"That's exactly why you'll die."
He lunged, speed boosted by rage alone, and Titus barely had time to twist away before
Paltius's blade scraped across his armor, leaving a burning line on his side.
Both men stepped back for a brief second—breathing hard, glaring at each other, blood dripping silently between them.
Then they charged at the same moment, blades colliding with a ringing explosion of steel.
A thin trail of blood slid down Titus's cheek — a shallow cut from Platius's last swing.
I can't let this drag on.Not with the others fighting for their lives.
In the very next heartbeat, Titus stepped in.
His fist shot forward like a hammer.
Crack—!
Platius's head snapped sideways as the punch sank into his jaw.
His feet left the ground, body flung backward through the dust.
He crashed and rolled, blood spilling from his nose and mouth as he groaned, pushing himself up on trembling elbows.
Through blurred vision, he looked up—
—and froze.
Titus was already standing a few steps away, lowering into a stance.
Calm.
Still.
Deadly.
Platius's eyes widened in terror.
"No… I—!"
Titus's voice cut through him like steel.
"Blade of Death Calm."
The world seemed to fall silent.
In a single flash, Titus moved — faster than Platius could blink, faster than his breath could escape.
Steel whispered through the air, a cold line of light carving past Platius's chest.
Titus appeared behind him, back turned, sword lowered.
Platius remained frozen for half a second.
Then—
Blood erupted.
A deep crimson line tore open across his chest.
His eyes emptied of strength as his knees buckled beneath him.
Platius's breath rattled as he knelt, blood pouring down his chest.
His fingers twitched, reaching weakly for the hilt he could no longer lift.
"So… I lost," he whispered, voice trembling but honest.
Titus finally turned, eyes steady, expression unreadable.
He stepped closer — not in cruelty, but in acknowledgment of a warrior's final moment.
"You were strong," Titus said quietly.
"The last time we fought, I could feel it. You defeated me even though it was not a sword clash."
Platius coughed, a thin stream of red running down his chin.
Titus continued, voice firm yet strangely respectful.
"And after that, you trained your sword skills. I could see it in your first few strikes today — your swordsmanship grew sharper."
He paused, lowering his blade.
"But you were weaker this time."
Platius's fading eyes lifted, confused.
Titus spoke the truth.
"Because you let your anger dominate you."
He knelt slightly so Platius could see his face clearly.
"In battle, rage blinds you. It makes your blade heavy, your judgment clouded. Strength without control… is just noise."
Platius's lips trembled — part pain, part bitter understanding.
"You had the skill," Titus said softly.
"But you abandoned your calm… and that cost you everything."
Platius exhaled one last shaky breath, eyes finally closing as his body leaned forward.
Titus stood, wiping the blood from his sword.
"May you find peace," he said quietly, before turning toward the next battlefield.