Scy's POV
The moment the commander stepped forward, the battlefield changed.
It wasn't something visible. The forest was still the same—the wind still moved, the leaves still rustled—but the atmosphere itself grew heavier, as if everything around us had acknowledged his presence.
The soldiers behind him didn't move.
They didn't need to.
Because the moment he took that step, it was no longer a battle between an army and a single target.
It became something else entirely.
A duel.
"…So you finally decided to move," I said calmly, keeping my eyes fixed on him.
The commander stopped a few steps away, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp.
"I had to," he replied. "You broke their formation faster than expected."
"That wasn't difficult."
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"Confidence again."
"Observation."
Silence settled between us, but it wasn't empty. It was dense, filled with intent, calculation, and something deeper—understanding.
Unlike the others, he wasn't underestimating me.
And because of that—
this would be dangerous.
"I'll ask one last time," he said. "Will you come quietly?"
"No."
There was no hesitation in my answer.
He nodded slightly, as if he had already expected it.
"…Then we proceed."
He moved.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Just—
efficient.
In the next instant, he was already within striking distance.
CLANG!
I barely managed to form a blade in time, the impact sending a sharp vibration through my arm.
"…That's heavier than it looks."
His strike wasn't overwhelming in speed, but it carried weight—controlled, focused, and precise.
"…You're different from the others," I said as I stepped back.
"…Of course," he replied. "They follow orders. I decide them."
I didn't respond.
Instead, I adjusted.
I stepped forward this time, my movements sharper, more controlled than before. A blade formed in my hand—not multiple, not excessive, but refined.
CLANG!
Our weapons met again.
This time, I didn't get pushed back.
"…You adapted," he noted.
"…I learned."
We exchanged strikes.
Not rapidly.
Not chaotically.
But deliberately.
Each attack carried intent.
Each movement had purpose.
He wasn't trying to overwhelm me.
He was reading me.
"…So that's your style," I muttered.
"…And yours is still forming," he replied.
That was true.
And that was the problem.
I stepped back again, raising my hand.
This time, multiple blades formed—but not to attack.
To test.
They moved.
Fast.
Precise.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
He deflected them with minimal movement, his stance barely shifting.
"…You're not wasting energy," I said.
"…You noticed."
"…You're controlling the flow of the fight."
"…And you're starting to disrupt it."
Silence.
Then—
"…Good."
I focused.
Not on increasing power.
Not on speed.
But on clarity.
The world slowed.
Not physically—
but in my perception.
His movements became easier to read.
His stance clearer.
His rhythm—
predictable.
"…There it is," I whispered.
I moved.
Faster than before.
CLANG!
Our blades met again, but this time, the impact shifted.
He stepped back.
Just slightly.
For the first time—
his expression changed.
"…You're adjusting mid-fight," he said.
"…So are you."
"…But you're catching up faster."
I didn't answer.
Instead—
I changed.
The blade in my hand shifted, becoming denser, sharper, more refined. It wasn't larger, but it felt heavier, more complete.
"…Not more power," I muttered.
"…Better control."
I stepped forward again.
This time—
I wasn't reacting.
I was leading.
CLANG!
CRACK!
Our strikes collided, but now I could feel it.
The difference was shrinking.
"…Interesting," the commander said quietly.
"…You're closing the gap."
"…Not yet," I replied.
Because I knew the truth.
He still hadn't used everything.
And neither had I.
The air around us grew heavier again.
The soldiers behind him remained still, but their attention sharpened. They could feel it too.
This fight was changing.
"…Let's take this further," he said.
For the first time—
his stance shifted.
The calm control remained, but something deeper surfaced.
Not emotion.
Not aggression.
But intent.
"…Now we're talking," I said.
I raised my hand.
Blades formed—
not many—
but enough.
Not to overwhelm.
But to pressure.
We moved at the same time.
The ground cracked beneath us as our movements accelerated, our attacks colliding with increasing force. The forest around us began to react, branches snapping, leaves scattering, the air itself trembling under the pressure.
CLANG!
CRASH!
SWOOSH!
This wasn't a simple exchange anymore.
This was a clash of control.
"…You're holding back," he said suddenly.
I didn't deny it.
"…So are you."
Silence.
Then—
"…Good."
For a brief moment—
everything stopped.
Then—
we moved again.
Faster.
Sharper.
Closer.
And in that moment—
I understood something clearly.
This wasn't a fight I could win by overpowering him.
This was a fight—
I had to grow through.
A faint smile appeared on my lips.
"…Then let's keep going."