"Argh, you brat! You distracted me with that little explanation of yours."

  With a grunt, he pushed himself free from the cracked stone, dust and pebbles scattering around him. His stance wavered for only a second before he steadied himself, muscles tensed and eyes locked onto mine. We met in the middle with a forceful clash of forearms.

  I launched a right punch, aiming straight for his jaw, but he intercepted it with his left palm, fingers clamping around my fist like a vice. His counterattack came swift—a sharp elbow slicing toward my ribs. I twisted, but it still grazed across my chest, the heat of the impact flaring through my skin.

  I drove my knee into his stomach, feeling the hard resistance of muscle before he exhaled sharply from the hit. I used the momentum to flip, twisting midair and driving my heel into the back of his head. His body jerked forward.

  Planting his hands on the ground, he twisted his body and swung his left heel toward me in a blur. I barely raised my arm in time, the impact rattling through my bones as I blocked it. Seizing my opening, I shot out a kick toward his left wrist. He grunted as my foot connected, forcing him into a roll to regain balance.

  I sprinted after him, every muscle coiling for the next strike. The moment he landed, I was already airborne, leg raised high, ready to drive him straight into the ground.

  I fired.

  His hand clamped around my ankle like an iron shackle, stopping my kick mid-motion. My eyes widened as he cocked his arm back, his knuckles tight and ready to drive through me like a hammer.

  Then—impact.

  A crushing fist slammed into my stomach. Pain exploded through my core, and a choked gasp forced its way out of my throat. Blood splattered from my lips as my breath was stolen from my lungs. I barely managed to twist my body, using Aikido’s momentum redirection to keep myself from being pummeled further.

  I threw a left punch. He threw a right.

  Our fists connected at the same time, smashing into each other’s cheeks. The force sent our heads snapping sideways, our jaws aching from the impact. A metallic taste flooded my mouth, and I spat out a thick glob of blood. He did the same, crimson splattering onto the grass between us.

  Neither of us hesitated. We swung again, this time using our opposite arms. Our knuckles crashed into each other’s faces, the collision sending another wave of pain through our skulls. Our heads bobbed in opposite directions, whiplash rattling through our necks.

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  I held back. I didn’t use Piercing Hand—for the time being. I needed him to think I was just trading blunt blows, to lull him into a false sense of security that he could absorb my blows easily. The brief standstill in our movement was my chance.

  I straightened my middle finger.

  With a sharp thrust, I drove it forward, piercing into his stomach like a dagger.

  His scream tore through the air as my finger punctured flesh, slipping past the outer layers and stopping just short of something vital. I felt it—a sickening, pulsing sensation against my fingertip. The intestine. I hadn’t punctured it, but I was damn close.

  I must capitalize on this!

  I twisted my finger inside the wound, grinding against raw flesh to send waves of agony through his body. His muscles tensed, his breath hitched—then his fist crashed into my face.

  Once. Twice. Three times.

  Each blow came faster than the last, his movements fueled by a desperate surge of adrenaline. My head rocked back. He didn’t stop. His fingers clamped around my arm veins bulging as he tightened his grip. With a grimace, he twisted his body and hurled me toward the castle wall. The wind howled past my ears as I flew through the air. But I adjusted mid-flight, twisting just in time to plant my feet against the cold stone. The impact rattled through my legs, but I bent my knees, absorbing the shock.

  I launched back at him like a coiled spring.

  I expected him to react defensively, to brace himself for impact. But no—he did the opposite.

  He ducked.

  His right fist rocketed upward, aiming straight for my face.

  With my momentum already propelling me forward and the sheer force of his strike closing the distance, I had seconds—no, fractions of a second—to react.

  I called upon Aikido once more.

  I shifted with the flow of his force, redirecting just enough to avoid a direct skull-shattering impact. Still, the sheer power of the near-hit sent a brutal shockwave through my body. Pain exploded across my jaw and skull, a deep, rattling ache that threatened to black out my vision.

  I survived.

  I spun with the momentum, dropping toward the ground to regain my stance, only for his foot to slam into my ribs. I dug my fingers into the dirt, grinding my body to a halt. My breath came in ragged gasps as I crouched low.

  At this point, we had torn each other apart. Blood dripped from open wounds, bruises bloomed across our bodies, and most of me ached. The world is much larger than I imagined. Of all the opponents I had faced, he was the strongest. No contest.

  A shard of glass fell from his frames, clinking against the ground. The exposed eye beneath it burned red.

  He raised his hand. My body tensed. He’s calling his army!

  I shouted, "Are you sure?"

  His expression twisted with frustration. His hand lingered in the air for a moment before, with a deep scowl, he let it drop to his side. His nostrils flared, his chest heaved, but he stayed put.

  Then, without a word, he opened his right palm.

  And punched into it. Once. Twice.

  Again.

  Again.

  Twenty times.

  His entire arm trembled under the sheer force of his own blows, veins bulging, muscles tensing to the brink of rupture—yet it held. He held.

  We both stood there, breathless, bodies screaming in agony, yet neither willing to collapse first.

  One of us is going to die.