The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill Chapter 158: Momentum Break

The arena shimred back into place, one broken piece of stone at a ti. Dust still lingered in the air from the last clash, and the crowd—if you could call the faceless watchers behind the glass walls a crowd—seed quieter now. Not subdued. Just expectant.

Tired of blood that didn’t impress.

Inside the glass prism, Jisoo stood alone, arms crossed, heel tapping softly against the translucent floor. She watched the aftermath of the previous fight with narrowed eyes. The losing fighter had been quick—damn quick—but their footwork fell apart under pressure. They moved like they didn’t trust their own limbs. That was the part that stuck with her.

Trust.

The system’s chi rolled through the air:

[Next Match: Jisoo Oh vs ???]

She didn’t flinch. Just closed her eyes for a mont.

Yujin had pulled out a dragon.

Jin had cut the ground open and fought a criminal who could lt through weapons.

Even Seul, quiet and sharp-eyed as ever, had stepped into the spotlight like she belonged there and bent the rules of gravity itself.

And what had Jisoo done?

She’d run. She’d punched. She’d dashed and swept and moved fast enough to keep up—but barely. The Talaria, the damn shoes—sure, they made her fast. But they didn’t make her better.

Not yet.

She exhaled, slow and long, and stepped forward as her glass cell dematerialized.

The crowd made no sound.

But the system never waited.

She appeared on the arena floor with a subtle flash of light, materializing mid-step. No ti to breathe.

The wind brushed through her hair.

Across from her stood her opponent.

A woman. Shorter than Jisoo, with short-cropped white-blonde hair and eyes like cut crystal. Her outfit was simple: deep violet robes cinched with rings of silver, and thin bandages wound around her arms. No weapon. No armor. No visible system enhancents.

She was standing perfectly still.

Jisoo bounced slightly on the balls of her feet, running diagnostics in her head. No stance. No tension. She looked like a spectator who’d wandered into the arena by mistake.

The silence cracked as the Dokkaebi’s voice bood overhead.

[Begin.]

Jisoo didn’t wait.

She vanished forward in a burst of wind.

Talaria lit up under her feet—golden lines flaring along her calves—and the stone behind her cracked as she launched forward. Straight line. Simple strike. She didn’t want to show everything yet.

But as she approached—

A whisper of movent.

The woman didn’t move.

Not really.

It felt more like the air around her bent.

Jisoo shot past her.

Too fast.

Not because of her own speed—because sothing pushed her further.

She hit the ground on one knee, sliding. Rolled. Ca up into a crouch.

"What the hell—?"

She looked back.

Her opponent hadn’t moved. Not an inch.

But the air shimred faintly around her like heat waves. A warping of space.

Jisoo wiped dust off her shoulder and stood. "Cool trick."

No answer.

She narrowed her eyes and took another breath. Fine. She could adapt.

This ti, she used a different approach. A feint. Half a dash, curved movent—arc left, double step, drop center. A low slash with her heel, just enough montum to sting.

As she approached, the shimr returned.

She dropped early this ti—under whatever invisible field was warping her path—and pivoted with a sharp mid-air twist. Her heel caught the woman’s robes—barely a graze—but it was contact.

The mont her foot touched down, she heard it.

A soft click in the air.

And then a pull.

Like gravity snapping sideways.

She slamd into the ground face-first.

"Shit—!"

Her vision blurred. Her shoulder burned. It wasn’t an attack. It was... redirection. But not of force.

Of motion.

Jisoo pushed herself up on one elbow. Her opponent still hadn’t said a word.

"Okay," she muttered. "You’re not talkative. That’s fine. I don’t need banter."

She stood again. Talaria pulsed once more—this ti with hesitation.

She couldn’t keep letting the shoes drag her through this fight. The item wasn’t the skill. It never was.

If she let it take over, she’d lose control again.

She shifted her stance. Lower. Closer to the ground. Let the wind settle under her feet—not to launch, but to balance.

This next move wasn’t a dash.

It was a slide.

She propelled herself forward at a sharp, narrow angle—using a single burst, then cutting the speed. Letting the motion carry her, not the skill. And as she closed the gap, she brought her knee up into a faint—and pivoted off it, launching a wide, arcing roundhouse from the opposite side.

She felt the contact this ti. The woman moved.

One step back. A deflection with her palm.

The first clash.

Jisoo landed and didn’t follow up imdiately.

She breathed. Steady. Calculated.

Her opponent blinked once. The faint shimr around her dimd.

And for the first ti, she spoke.

"Not bad."

Jisoo smirked. "Thanks. I practice."

Another second passed.

Then the woman raised a hand—and light flickered around her wrist.

A silver blade, long and curved like a tuning fork, materialized in her grip.

Jisoo’s smirk vanished.

"I thought we were going unard."

The woman shrugged. "Was waiting to see if I needed it."

Jisoo clenched her fists. "Guess you do."

Then—

They moved again.

This ti, they t in the center.

And neither gave ground.

The sword ca for her throat in a clean, crescent arc.

Jisoo didn’t block.

She ducked.

Her body dropped low, montum folding beneath her as the blade sliced just inches above her head. She rolled sideways, catching herself on one hand, and used the spin to vault into a backward dash, boots skimming across the arena’s fractured stone.

No ti to think. Just move.

The air shimred behind her again—like a ripple spreading out from the opponent’s position. Not an aura. Not qi. Sothing more elental. Sothing that bent rules instead of breaking them.

She landed with a grunt, flipped into a crouch, and reoriented.

No clashing. No trading blows. One good hit from that weapon, and she’d be crawling.

"Co on," Jisoo muttered to herself, shaking her head clear. "Figure it out."

The Talaria pulsed gently underfoot.

She could feel the temptation there. The shoes wanted to kick in harder—to blast her across the field in wide, devastating bursts. She could let it happen. Let the shoes think for her. Let speed win the fight.

But she’d tried that already.

And lost control.

Not this ti.

The woman was walking now. Calm steps. Blade held lightly in one hand, the curved tines humming faintly as they sliced through the still air. She didn’t lunge. She didn’t chase.

She was waiting.

Watching.

Jisoo shifted her stance again—closer now to a grounded sprinter’s posture. Ankles tight. Knees ready to coil. She wasn’t going to outrun her.

She had to outthink her.

She dashed in again—not a full burst, just enough to provoke a reaction.

The woman raised her sword again.

Jisoo pivoted at the last second, feinting left, then slid beneath her with a low sweep aid at her ankle.

The blade slamd down in response.

But not where Jisoo had been.

Where she was going.

She had to twist mid-slide to avoid the blow—kicking off with a sharp rebound that sent her backwards into a roll.

Another near-miss.

Another heartbeat of fear.

She exhaled hard as she landed.

"Okay," she whispered, wiping sweat from her brow. "So you’re not just fast. You read."

This wasn’t just a powerful enemy.

This was a reader. A reaction fighter. Like Jin, in a way. Like the bastard Seo, too. The kind that didn’t waste effort—they moved exactly when you did. A half-second ahead.

Jisoo’s fingers twitched.

She tapped into the Talaria again—but just lightly. One step. Two.

Flickers of golden energy flared and died, like matches being struck and snuffed out.

Then she sprinted.

But not toward her opponent.

She curved wide around the field, moving in a lopsided arc. Her feet touched the edges of the crumbling platform, skipping stones. She wasn’t coming in straight anymore.

Not predictable.

And in that shifting pattern—she found breath again.

You don’t have to outpower them. You just have to outlive them.

The woman pivoted slowly—tracking her with eyes, not motion. She didn’t move.

Jisoo dove forward—and feinted again. High this ti.

The blade rose.

But she disappeared.

She twisted low, all the way to the ground, sliding under the arc of the weapon, then sprang forward from a tucked roll and delivered a sharp elbow toward the ribs.

Contact.

Real contact.

The woman grunted, stepping back with a slight stumble.

Jisoo blinked. "You felt that."

No answer.

But her opponent’s eyes narrowed—just slightly.

That was enough.

She pressed forward again—but this ti, the air bent hard.

A full ripple exploded from the woman’s feet, sending a shockwave that flared across the platform.

Jisoo was caught mid-step.

She braced—

And flew.

The air snapped like a whip around her as she hurtled backward, slamd into the ground, and tumbled to a stop with a harsh gasp.

Dust clouded around her.

She coughed. Her ribs ached.

She felt the Talaria pulsing hard now—almost overreacting, trying to auto-correct her landing mid-air, and she’d resisted it.

Because the instinct to survive wasn’t enough anymore.

She sat up slowly, eyes fixed on her opponent.

The sword was glowing now—faint blue lines pulsing from the hilt down to the edge.

So kind of charge-up?

No—activation.

The shimr in the air had stabilized. The whole battlefield was starting to warp. The air around her opponent was folding slightly, like space itself was bending inward.

Jisoo breathed through her nose, slow and sharp.

"Not gonna win like this," she murmured.

She touched her wrist, checking the small screen the system let her keep visible. Cooldown on the last Talaria burst: nearly up.

One more chance.

She closed her eyes.

In the dark, she didn’t see her opponent.

She saw Yujin, standing over a crater with dragon wings half-spread.

She saw Seul, pulling herself to her feet after gravity ripped a mountain in half.

She saw Jin, even bleeding and battered, pushing himself back onto his feet again and again.

And then she saw herself.

Always moving.

Never striking.

Always fast.

Never unshakable.

"I’ve had enough of running," she whispered.

The Talaria lit up.

And she launched.

But not into an attack.

She shot up—high into the air, over her opponent.

And then?

She stopped.

Dead still, mid-air. Golden lines wrapped around her ankles. She wasn’t falling.

She was floating.

Hovering.

The shoes pulsed again.

And then—she dived.

Straight down.

But not uncontrolled.

She bent her knees mid-air, kicked forward at a sharp angle—and propelled herself in a spiral.

A drill of motion. A collision of air and pressure and speed that carved the wind open.

Her body twisted once, twice—

And landed heel-first toward her opponent with a war cry.

The woman’s eyes widened for the first ti.

She raised the blade—

And the two of them collided in a blinding rush of light.