Chapter 282 (Patreon)

“Is this… what a duel is supposed to look like?” Boris muttered, his voice caught somewhere between awe and disbelief as his eyes strained to follow the clash unfolding beyond the barrier. “I don’t think they’re human any longer.”

The words didn’t feel exaggerated.

If anything, they perfectly described the two people fighting in front of them.

Even from a distance, even with the ancient rune barrier standing between them and the battlefield, the force of each collision reached them. It didn’t arrive as sound alone—it came as pressure. As a vibration. As something that pressed faintly against the chest and made the air feel heavier with every exchange.

Each time Kana and Ruvel’s weapons met—

A ripple spread outward, subtle but undeniable, brushing against the barrier in soft, shimmering waves. The ground beneath their feet trembled just enough to remind them that what they were witnessing wasn’t meant for ordinary fighters.

It was something else entirely.

Noa narrowed his eyes, lifting a hand slightly to shield them—not from light, but from the sheer intensity of what he was trying to observe. His gaze remained fixed on the center of the field, where motion blurred and reformed faster than the eye could comfortably track.

“It’s been a while,” he said slowly, his voice carrying a quiet note of reflection, “since I’ve seen the guildmaster enjoy himself like this.”

Ruvel wasn’t holding back—not in spirit.

But then—

His expression changed. A faint crease formed between his brows as something else began to settle into his thoughts. Something that didn’t quite align with what he was seeing.

“But Kana…” he continued, quieter now, as if saying it too loudly might disrupt the fragile logic he was trying to maintain. “She’s the youngest among them.”

“Far too young.”

“How did she become this strong?” he asked, more to himself than to the others. “She’s… almost matching him.”

Suri didn’t answer immediately.

Her gaze remained fixed on the battle, her usual ease replaced with something more focused. She watched Kana—not just her movements, but the way she adjusted, the way she endured, the way she kept up with something that should have overwhelmed her already.

Then she shook her head, slowly.

“I don’t think Kana herself understands it,” she said at last, her voice softer than usual.

There was no humor in it. No teasing. Just a quiet acknowledgment of something strange.

“Her abnormality,” she added.

The word slipped out before she could stop it.

And the moment it did—

Her eyes widened.

Suri’s hands shot up to cover her mouth, her shoulders tensing slightly as she glanced instinctively toward the battlefield, as if expecting Kana to somehow hear her across distance, noise, and force.

“…She didn’t hear that, right?” she whispered, the question rushed, almost urgent.

Boris didn’t even look at her.

He kept his gaze locked forward, his expression still caught between amazement and strain as he tried—and failed—to track the movements of the two fighters.

But he answered anyway.

“No.”

Thorne, perched atop his head, gave a small, decisive shake of her body—as if echoing the sentiment with her own silent agreement.

Then Boris added, almost absentmindedly—

“Even if she did, I don’t think it matters.”

“You’re the same,” he said.

Suri’s eyes narrowed immediately, her hands lowering just enough to reveal the edge of irritation forming beneath her expression.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, her tone tightening, irritation threading through each word.

Boris didn’t answer.

Or rather—

He chose not to.

His attention remained fixed on the fight, his eyes narrowing further as he tried to keep up with the exchange happening at a pace that refused to slow for him.

“I can barely follow their hands,” he muttered instead, his voice quieter now, almost frustrated.

It wasn't an exaggeration.

The movements at the center of the field had become something else entirely—too fast, too fluid, too precise to track cleanly. Weapons clashed, shifted, vanished, and reappeared in different positions in the span of a heartbeat.

Even focusing felt…very hard to do.

Behind them, the barrier shimmered again.

Another impact.

Another ripple.

The battle didn’t slow.

Each clash gave birth to another, each movement forcing the next in an unbroken chain that showed no sign of ending. Shockwaves rolled outward again and again, softer by the time they reached the observers—but still enough to remind them of the scale of what they were witnessing.

And at the center of it all—

Kana and Ruvel continued.

Relentless.

Unyielding.

Like two forces that had collided—

And refused to separate.

…..

Kana’s first instinct was not to overpower, nor to outlast—it was to understand.

Because what stood before her was not merely a man swinging a humongous sword, but a storm given form—something shaped by instinct, sharpened by experience, and unbound by the rigid rules most fighters clung to for safety. Ruvel’s swordsmanship was not a pattern to be memorized, nor a sequence to be solved. It was chaos with intent, a language spoken too quickly for ordinary minds to translate.

And yet—

Kana tried.

Her thoughts reached forward, grasping at fragments of his movements, trying to slow them, to dissect them, to recreate them within herself. Replicate. Learn. Adapt. It was a rhythm she had relied on countless times before, a quiet method that had carried her through battles she should never have survived.

But this time—

Her body betrayed her expectations.

It did not wait for her thoughts to catch up.

It moved ahead, adjusting angles before she consciously recognized the threat, shifting her weight before the strike fully formed, responding not like a student—but like something that already knew the lesson.

That was the unsettling part.

She wasn’t learning. She was remembering something she had never been taught. Kana’s breath slowed, just slightly.

Not out of calm—

But out of necessity.

She stopped resisting it.

Stopped questioning it.

And instead—

She listened.

Not with her ears, but with the faint language of motion—the tightening of muscles, the pull of balance, the quiet certainty that whispered where danger would appear before it existed.

She followed that voice.

She always had.

This time, her back was light—no bow, no distance to maintain. There was no luxury of space here, no safe margin where she could observe and plan. This fight lived in the narrow space between heartbeats, where hesitation would be carved into flesh.

But she wasn’t unarmed beyond the curved sword on her hand.

The daggers at her hips rested like silent contingencies, hidden yet ever-present. She could feel their weight without touching them.

Ruvel surged forward again.

Unrelenting.

His huge sword moved with deceptive intent—slow, almost lazy at first, drawing the eye, inviting anticipation—then snapping into speed mid-motion, cutting through space with violent precision. Another strike slipped from her blind side, angled perfectly to exploit the smallest lapse in awareness.

It wasn’t wild in the way of recklessness. It was wild in the way of something that had mastered chaos and chosen to wield it.

If not for her [Night Awareness], Kana knew—

She would already be on the ground.

That realization did not shake her. It sharpened her focus into something cold and precise.

She moved.

A step that existed on the edge of failure, a shift of weight that allowed the blade to pass close enough for her to feel the wind of it brush against her skin. When she could not avoid—

She met it.

Steel screamed as it met steel, her blade catching him just enough to deflect rather than stop. Each impact traveled through her arms, heavy, demanding, threatening to break her structure apart if she resisted too directly.

So she didn’t.

She yielded.

Redirected.

She darted in and out, testing distance, probing for openings—but Ruvel followed with terrifying ease, matching her movement with his own, closing gaps before they could fully form.

His speed—

It mirrored hers. That alone turned the battlefield into something far more dangerous.

Another strike came. She deflected—but the force lingered, pressing into her stance, pushing her balance toward collapse.

So she let it carry her. Her body turned with the momentum, a controlled rotation that masked intention beneath necessity. It looked like recovery.

It wasn’t. Her hand slipped behind her lower back. A dagger slid free, its motion hidden within the natural flow of her movement, concealed beneath the relentless pressure of Ruvel’s assault.

Timing became everything.

Not a moment too soon.

Not a moment too late.

She waited—

For the smallest fracture in his focus.

Then—

She released it.

The dagger cut through the air in a silent arc, aimed cleanly at his neck—not with desperation, but with precision.

It didn’t need to land. It only needed to exist. And it did.

Ruvel’s rhythm broke.

Just enough.

His eyes flickered—not in fear, but in surprise.

Because she was still standing.

After everything—

She was still standing.

Most would have fallen long ago. Most would not have endured even half of what he had delivered.

But Kana—

Kana stepped forward. The opening was fragile, fleeting—

She took it anyway.

Her curved sword descended in a sharp overhead slash, the motion carrying weight and intent. Before the strike had even fully completed, she shifted, her body flowing into a side slash that cut across a different line, forcing Ruvel to adjust.

Then—

A thrust.

There was no pause between them.

No hesitation.

Just a continuous chain of motion that pressed forward like a rising tide.

Ruvel’s eyes widened—not in alarm, but in recognition. Something had changed. Kana was no longer reacting.

She was dictating.

Her movements carried structure now, but not one he recognized—something fluid, adaptive, reshaping itself in real time. It felt as though he was facing not one opponent, but many—each strike guided by a different intent, a different understanding.

She pressed harder.

Faster.

Her blade sought vital points with unsettling accuracy—neck, shoulder, ribs—forcing Ruvel to shift from offense to defense, his footing adjusting under the sudden reversal.

She wasn’t just attacking. She was dismantling his rhythm.

Ruvel adjusted.

Experience had taught him how to survive worse.

His hand moved—a feint disguised as something more, a motion meant to disrupt her perception, to fracture her momentum.

But Kana didn’t bite. Didn’t even acknowledge it. She saw through it.

Or perhaps—

She simply didn’t care.

Because she understood something deeper.

Momentum was everything. And she refused to lose it. Her assault intensified, each strike feeding into the next, her presence closing in, suffocating space, denying him the freedom he needed to retaliate.

Ruvel’s mind sharpened, racing beneath his calm exterior.

His swordsmanship was not something easily countered. It was built from years of battles, from instincts carved into him through survival. It wasn’t meant to be understood so quickly—let alone mirrored.

And yet—

Kana had changed.

Seamlessly. As if she had stepped sideways into another version of herself—one crafted specifically to oppose him.

Now—

He couldn’t swing freely.

Each attempt was intercepted before it could fully form, her blade arriving at the precise moment needed to disrupt his motion. Her strikes came with unnerving certainty, as if she could see beyond the present—

Into intent itself.

A cut appeared across his arm. Shallow.

Then another.

Each one a quiet statement.

The balance was shifting.

Ruvel exhaled slowly.

Then smiled.

Not out of arrogance—

But excitement.

His stance shifted.

The air itself seemed to tighten, as though the battlefield had drawn a breath and chosen not to release it.

Then—

He moved.

[Heavy Punish]

There was nothing elaborate about it.

No flourish. No deception. Just an overhead slash.

Simple. But within that simplicity lay something far more dangerous than complexity.

The huge chuck of metal  rose, and with it, the weight of intent gathered—thick, suffocating, pressing into the space between them. It was not just a strike.

The kind of attack that did not ask whether it would land—

Only whether the one receiving it could survive.

Ruvel did not hesitate.

Did not hold back.

Because he had already decided.

Kana would endure this.

Post note:

Do you agree with Boris? He thought of himself as the most normal among the trio. 😂Second chap of the week.(Sorry, expect random time release but it's still 6x a week—still due to not being able to go home on time)Hope you enjoy the chap! 🙂

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