The aura emanating from his fist is immense, a suffocating force that warps the air around it. It crackles with an intensity that activates my instincts, screaming at me to retreat—even though I know I can’t. My body tenses involuntarily, every muscle locking up as if trying to brace for the impact that hasn’t even come yet. It’s frightening me to my core, despite having faced strong, even monster-like fighters before.

  That single attack is an equalizer, a technique so devastating that it doesn't just threaten to incapacitate—it ensures destruction. The sheer pressure it exerts is enough to make my breath hitch, my heartbeat thudding like a war drum in my ears. One wrong move, one moment of hesitation, and I’ll be the one left broken on the ground.

  I must not give him an opening.

  I punched him downward, slamming his head toward the floor with enough force to rattle his entire frame. His body jerked from the impact, but before he could even register the pain, I launched an uppercut that sent him ragdolling into the air. His limbs flailed helplessly before his feet barely found the ground—only for me to drive my knee into his stomach. Thrice.

  Each strike landed, forcing the air from his lungs in short, pained exhales. He still didn’t go down. Frustration burned in my veins. I wrenched him into a clinch, locking his head in place before ramming my knee straight into his face.

  As soon as his head snapped back, I surged forward and cracked my forehead against his in a vicious headbutt. A sharp jolt of pain shot through my skull, but I bit down on it, using the moment to twist my body and slam my elbow across his jaw. The impact sent shockwaves through my arm, and I followed up immediately, striking from the other side with just as much force.

  How are you still alive!? Is my 'hardware' just that far behind? Or are all transcended fighters this tough?!

  My breath came in short, heated bursts, my muscles coiled with tension. My mind screamed for a decisive blow, and I knew exactly what I needed. Piercing Hand.

  The problem was clear—every single one of those techniques, every movement I had just executed, was faster than Piercing Hand. If I committed to it and missed, I would die.

  Then, I must…

  I dashed back, the force of my retreat kicking up dust beneath my feet as I circled him at maximum speed. My steps were light yet rapid, weaving around him. He didn’t react. He simply stood there, his fist tucked near his waist.

  I just needed one opening. Just one.

  I sidestepped, feinting to the left, then to the right, testing his reactions. Still, he remained motionless, his gaze locked onto me with an unsettling stillness. Then, in an instant, I slid forward.

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  His fist shot out.

  There was no gust of wind, no shockwave tearing through the air—he was saving everything for the moment of impact. The instant it connected, he wanted me obliterated.

  The punch closed in, only inches from my chest.

  At the last possible moment, I twisted. My body turned sharply, ducking under his blow by mere hairs, the force of it brushing past my back like a passing death sentence. My left shoulder tensed as I curled inward—then pierced through my own flesh with a decisive thrust.

  Agony flared through my nerves, but my hand didn’t stop. It drove through muscle, past bone, and into the one thing that mattered—his heart.

  A wet, sickening squelch filled the space between us as blood surged over my hand, engulfing it in warmth. Endo’s body trembled, his breath hitching—and the true devastation of his final attack unfolded.

  The sheer power behind his blow, even when missing its mark, was felt by my army.

  The air itself seemed to rupture as the shockwave exploded outward. Half my army—spread far and wide—was blown away in an instant, bodies flung like ragdolls as the ground cracked beneath them. The force of it rattled my bones, my vision blurring as the pain in my shoulder pulsed through every fiber of my being.

  This was the final technique of Piercing Hand. Technique #7: Death’s Embrace.

  A move that demanded the ultimate sacrifice—you either left your back open, or turned and pierced through your own shoulder to end the fight. You were supposed to avoid your tendons, to ensure survival.

  I didn’t. I'm not perfect. I needed medical attention.

  A violent cough wracked my body, and blood spilled from my lips. My vision swayed, the world around me tilting as my strength threatened to give out. Endo went limp in my grasp, his weight dragging against me as life faded from his body.

  I clenched my teeth, forcing my voice out through the pain. "Emma! Recover me and take the fort!"

  The officers sprang into action. Endo’s lifeless form was dragged away, his body carried off the battlefield, while strong hands pulled me behind the main line. My body felt weightless, as if I were floating.

  The eager soldier who had wanted to rush at me before now raised his hands in surrender. "We surrender!" His voice carried desperation, yet also a strange relief, as if he had been waiting for this moment. He moved to the gate, unbolted it, and swung it open. Inside, a pile of discarded weapons littered the ground. One by one, men stepped forward, their faces grim but resigned, tearing off the black mineral symbol from their uniforms.

  "Endo was our leader," one of them spoke, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "since he's gone, we have nothing else to look forward to. We stand no chance. Let us leave and bury him."

  I opened my mouth, about to agree—after all, this battle was over—but before I could speak...

  "Don't you dare!"

  A young, well-built man strode forward, his blonde hair catching the light as he emerged from the direction of Trivoko. His presence alone carried an undeniable weight, his stance firm, his eyes burning with emotion.

  Who is this?

  Emma's voice was low, almost wary as she answered. "That's... Zhen Lithberg. The prodigal son of the former rulers."

  Zhen’s piercing gaze locked onto me. "You saved Trivoko, and I thank you!" His voice was strong, filled with both gratitude and something darker—anger, grief, justice left unfulfilled. "But please, please don't forget the suffering that occurred here, and punish them to death! As they have so many of my friends!"