The military man staggered, but his stance never broke. His head snapped up, eyes sharp, jaw clenched. Blood trickled from his lip, but his expression was cold—colder than tempered steel.
Prominent Leg's twin swords shrieked through the air—one angled for his throat, the other for his ribs. A clean kill.
But the military man moved.
His broadsword, still recoiling from the earlier clash, wasn't in position to parry. So he didn't.
Instead, he surged forward, slipping inside the arc of the blades. His bare forearm slamd into Prominent Leg's wrist, knocking the high slash off course, while his free hand clamped down on the hilt of the second blade, halting it cold.
For a heartbeat, they were locked. Chest-to-chest. Breath to breath. The iron scent of blood clung to the air between them.
Then, the military man struck.
CRACK.
His forehead smashed into Prominent Leg's nose. Cartilage crumpled. Blood burst in a vivid spray, speckling the dirt beneath them. Dazed, Prominent Leg's vision swam, but instinct guided his body. He wrenched his trapped sword free and drove a knee upward—only for the military man to shift, catching it on his armored thigh with a heavy thud.
The counter ca fast.
An elbow crashed into Prominent Leg's temple, sharp and brutal. His world tilted. Stars flashed. His wide grin almost—almost—flickered.
But he straightened, slow and deliberate, spitting blood to the side. His stance reset. Blades raised. Feet firm.
"Hah! Now that's a fight!"
The military man gave no reply. He rely adjusted his grip on the broadsword. The tal groaned under his tightening fingers.
Then he charged.
No hesitation. Just a blur of motion.
His sword ca down in a savage overhead cleave.
Prominent Leg crossed his blades to block—
BOOM.
The ground cracked beneath him. Dust billowed as his boots sank inches into the earth from the sheer force. His arms quaked. Muscles scread under the weight.
But Prominent Leg did not yield.
With a roar, he heaved upward, pushing the broadsword back—and in the sa fluid motion, he spun, unleashing a whip-fast kick toward the man's ribs.
The military man took it.
CRUNCH.
The blow would've shattered bone in a lesser man. But he only grunted, sliding a step back before slamming his boots down and planting firm. Pain licked at his ribs, but his face stayed unmoved.
Instead, he smiled.
Not out of joy. Sothing darker. Wilder.
A battle-drunk grin carved its way across his face.
"Your strikes are fading. Are you sure you're still not going to use your talent abilities?"
Prominent Leg barked a laugh.
"What a rude and honest boy you are!!"
He paused, eyes narrowing with respect, then let out a long breath. Slowly, he shifted into stance once more.
"As much as I'd love to… I can't bring myself to strike a defenseless opponent. I don't know why you're not using yours, but it's not in my principles."
The military man's grip shifted as he spoke with a voice low.
"Principles. What a foolish thing to cling to in the face of death."
He lunged.
This ti, his strikes weren't just powerful—they were relentless. Broad, sweeping slashes flowed seamlessly into sudden, razor-precise jabs. He fought like a storm given form, each motion honed to overwhelm, to break, to batter down resistance with unyielding force.
Prominent Leg t him, blow for blow. His twin swords blurred through the air, deflecting, countering, striking back with equal ferocity. But he felt it—the shift in montum. Subtle at first, but undeniable. The man's superior strength was beginning to assert itself, creeping into every exchange like a rising tide.
It was only a matter of ti before his so-called principle would have to shatter.
A feint. A twist. The broadsword reversed mid-swing, hooking under Prominent Leg's guard—
SLASH.
A deep gash tore across his chest. Blood sprayed. He hissed, but didn't falter. Instead, he drove into the pain, turning it into montum as he thrust one sword straight toward the man's heart.
The military man twisted. The blade sank into his shoulder instead, tearing through flesh and muscle. He gritted his teeth, not a sound escaping him. Instead, he grabbed the embedded sword with his free hand, heedless of how the edge carved into his palm—and yanked Prominent Leg forward—
CRACK.
An armored knee slamd into Prominent Leg's gut.
The old warrior folded, the air punched from his lungs. But even as he doubled over, his second sword ca whipping upward in a vicious arc—
The military man jerked back, but not quite fast enough. The blade's tip carved a red line from his chin to cheekbone.
They broke apart, panting. Blood dripped between them, painting the dirt in slow, steady beats.
Around them, the battlefield had fallen silent. Even the distant clash of war felt muted, like the world itself was holding its breath.
Prominent Leg wiped his mouth, saring crimson across his beard. His grin was ragged, but the fire behind it burned bright.
"You… you intend to force my hand, don't you…?"
The military man touched the line on his cheek, saring blood across his fingertips. He stared at it, then raised his eyes. They burned—not with rage, but sothing colder. Sothing far more ruthless.
"First, I'll show you how foolish principles are in the face of death. Then I'll break you—make your old body tremble with fear. And in sha, you'll use your talent abilities."
Prominent Leg chuckled.
"Ah… ahhh. What a very strange man. Do you want to die that badly?"
He raised his swords again.
The military man shifted his stance.
And then—
The air itself seed to shatter as their blades clashed once more.
This ti, the military man fought with a different kind of fury—not just raw strength, but ruthless precision. Every strike was a calculated dismantling, each step a hamring rhythm ant to break Prominent Leg down. He wasn't trying to win.
He was trying to crush.
Prominent Leg's twin swords danced, deflecting, parrying, carving arcs through the air—but the weight behind each of the military man's blows sent violent tremors up his arms. His muscles scread. His breath ca in ragged gasps, lungs seizing with every motion.
"You feel it, don't you?"
The military man's voice was a low growl, his broadsword crashing down like a falling guillotine.
"Your body failing you."
Prominent Leg twisted aside just in ti—the blade gouged a trench into the earth where his head had been. He lashed out with a desperate slash—
But the military man caught his wrist mid-swing.
CRACK.
His grip was rciless. Bones strained beneath the pressure. Prominent Leg's fingers twitched, then gave out—one sword clattered to the ground.
Before he could recover, a fist slamd into his ribs.
"Ghk—!"
He staggered back, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth.
But the assault didn't stop.
A sweeping kick took his legs out from under him. He hit the dirt hard, barely rolling aside as the broadsword ca down like a guillotine—burying itself where his skull had been monts ago.
He kicked upward on instinct—his boot slamd into the man's jaw.
But the military man didn't budge.
His head snapped back slightly, but his grip on Prominent Leg's ankle held firm—unyielding.
He spat to the side, voice coiled with contempt.
"Pathetic."
Then, without pause, he lifted Prominent Leg and slamd him into the ground like a broken doll.
BOOM.
Dust erupted.
Prominent Leg's vision whited out for a second as agony scread through his spine. He barely registered the next impact—another bone-rattling slam into the earth. Then another.
Each one knocked the breath from his lungs. Each one felt like a death knell sounding through his body.
The military man wasn't fighting anymore.
He was breaking him.
With a final, contemptuous heave, he flung Prominent Leg across the battlefield. The old warrior tumbled, skidding through blood-soaked dirt until he ca to a halt on his knees.
His remaining sword was still clenched in his grip, but his arm trembled with the effort. His breath ca in wet, stuttering gasps. Blood leaked from his lips, his nose, his brow.
The military man strode forward, broadsword resting across his shoulder. His expression was carved from ice.
"Still clinging to that principle?"
He mocked.
"Still refusing to use your Talent?"
Prominent Leg coughed, spitting red. His fingers tightened around his blade.
"Heh… heh heh…"
A broken, bloody chuckle escaped him.
Then, slowly, he pushed himself upright. His legs shook. His fra swayed. His body scread for rest.
But he stood.
"You're… a real piece of work, kid."
The military man paused, watching him closely.
Prominent Leg raised his sword.
"But if you think… this is enough to break …"
His grin returned—cracked, bloodied, but unyielding.
"You've got another thing coming."
The military man's eyes narrowed. Then, with slow intent, he planted his broadsword into the earth.
"Fine."
He cracked his knuckles.
"Then I'll do it with my bare hands."
He lunged.
Prominent Leg swung—
The military man ducked low and drove a fist into his gut.
"URK—!"
A second punch cracked into his ribs. A third shattered into his jaw. Prominent Leg's head whipped back, but before he could collapse, the man seized his throat and lifted him off the ground.
"Look at you…"
He hissed, voice low and venom-laced.
"Holding onto sothing so useless… principles, in the face of death. My face. Childish, for soone your age… Prominent Leg, or whatever you're called."
The look in Prominent Leg's eyes dimd—just slightly. But his grin didn't falter. If anything, it sharpened. There was no fear in his face.
He was enjoying this.
The clash. The pressure. The pain.
He wanted more of it.
But even so… it was a losing battle.
The military man was stronger. Of that, there was no question.
Prominent Leg was a Sage, and yet he was certain—the man before him was at least an Ascendant. Maybe even a Paragon.
And that only made it more baffling.
Why keep demanding he use his talent? Why not end it?
Why fight like this when he could break him without even trying?
Was it pleasure—an urge to break him at his peak?
Or was there sothing else?
Could it be… he couldn't use his own talent until Prominent Leg used his first?
The thought twisted through his mind, hazy but persistent. Maybe he wasn't right—but he was close. He could feel it.
Which ant…
This brutal, punishing battle was reaching its final acts.
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