"What… is that thing? Do you know?"
The question came from an apparently ordinary man seated among the spectators.
Simple suit.Relaxed posture.Curious expression.
Nothing about him seemed particularly strange.
Except for one detail.
He wore a monocle.
Far too antiquated for the modern age.
Seated beside him was another equally discreet man.
The difference?
His eyes.
They did not merely observe the world.
They seemed to reflect it—every detail recorded, analyzed, and archived in invisible layers of comprehension.
The man with the reflective eyes studied Mahoraga with absolute focus.
"I don't know exactly what it is…" he replied politely, though faintly uneasy. "But it's strange."
A pause.
"It has no soul."
The monocle glinted beneath the arena's light.
The man turned his head slightly.
His smile deepened.
"How interesting…"
His fingers adjusted the monocle with casual grace.
"That thing… and you, for noticing."
The reflective-eyed man did not look away from the battlefield.
"I would say you are equally interesting."
The monocled man's smile widened.
It was not friendly.
It was curious.
In the arena, the wind died.
The clouds beneath the fighters' feet hardened like marble.
Sunny stepped forward.
The Weaver's Mask tilted faintly.
"It seems my opponent is the silent type," he remarked, his voice muffled and subtly distorted by the mask.
No answer.
"From what the host said… you're a shadow."
He continued advancing, light steps, relaxed posture.
He had already measured that presence.
The spiritual pressure radiating from the shikigami was significant… but not overwhelming.
Somewhere between Ascended and Transcendent.
Strong.
But not absurd.
Not enough to threaten him directly.
What truly bothered him…
Was something else.
A shadow.
Beyond his control.
He had felt it.
Tested it.
Extended his own darkness toward the creature—
And nothing happened.
No submission.
No response.
It was… independent.
His pride did not appreciate that.
Mahoraga stepped forward.
The impact made the arena tremble faintly.
Sunny did not retreat.
He observed.
Calculated.
The creature had no soul—evident even to those without special eyes.
It was an existence shaped by technique.
By ritual.
By function.
There was no will.
Only purpose.
Sunny stopped a few meters away.
"Let's see if you understand this."
The atmosphere shifted.
Sunny's killing intent descended like a mantle.
Heavy.
Cold.
Absolute.
It was not merely the desire to kill.
It was imposed will.
Authority.
The shadows around him twisted, stretched, becoming invisible blades pressing against the enemy's very existence.
Then he used his will.
Not as a physical strike.
But as a decree.
Die.
Spiritual pressure crashed down upon Mahoraga like the weight of a mountain.
The entire arena felt it.
Some spectators began bleeding from the nose.
The ocean below churned violently.
Mahoraga trembled.
And then—
The creature fell to its knees.
A dry impact echoed across the cloud arena.
A collective gasp rippled through the stands.
"Is it over already?!" someone screamed.
Sunny remained still.
Watching.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Mahoraga had not been destroyed.
There was no dissolution.
No spiritual fragmentation.
It was still there.
On its knees.
Mahoraga remained kneeling for a brief moment.
Motionless.
Silent.
Then—
The wheel behind its head rotated slowly.
Clanc.
The sound echoed like a funeral bell.
The creature rose.
Unharmed.
It was impossible.
The will of a Sovereign was not mere spiritual pressure.
It was authority.
The ability to impose a concept upon reality.
Die should have been absolute.
But the instant the wheel turned…
It slipped beyond his jurisdiction.
Behind the Weaver's Mask, Sunny's eyes narrowed.
"I see…"
Mahoraga advanced.
There was no hesitation.
Its foot descended like a meteor.
The cloud arena fractured under the impact.
The grandstands shook violently.
Screams echoed.
But Sunny was no longer there.
He vanished in a flicker of shadow.
Reappearing dozens of meters away.
Untouched.
Emotionless.
Unhurried.
Shadows gathered in his hand.
Condensed.
Materialized.
A black odachi emerged—long, elegant, its blade devouring the surrounding light.
Sunny vanished again.
This time, he appeared behind Mahoraga.
Too fast.
Before the creature could react—
The blade descended.
A clean cut.
Precise.
Mahoraga was split in two.
The upper half began to fall.
For a second…
It seemed like the end.
Clanc.
The wheel turned.
The two halves were pulled toward each other as though reality itself had been edited.
They reconnected.
No scar.
No damage.
Sunny wasted no time.
He advanced again.
Another slash.
But this time—
The blade evaporated the moment it pierced the shikigami's body.
Disintegrated like smoke touching the void.
Sunny retreated instantly with another teleport.
Distance.
Analysis.
Something had changed.
Just seconds ago, Mahoraga's interior had been solid.
Now…
It was darkness.
Not ordinary darkness.
Something more primordial.
Elemental.
Adapted.
Sunny was absolutely certain:
It had not been like that before.
Mahoraga turned slowly toward him.
The wheel rotated again.
Clanc.
The sound now seemed heavier.
More definitive.
Sunny watched.
Cold.
Calculating.
He did not understand every mechanism.
But he understood enough.
Each time the wheel turned…
A concept was assimilated.
His will.
His blade.
His shadowed nature.
Mahoraga was not merely resisting.
It was learning.
Adapting.
Rewriting its own constitution.
In the stands, the man with reflective eyes murmured:
"It is adjusting its existence to whatever threatens it."
The monocled man smiled.
"A technique that corrects reality itself… how elegant."
In the arena, Sunny tilted his head slightly.