Silence fell.
Only the relentless rain continued to pour, soaking the ruined battlefield, each droplet tapping against charred stone and splintered earth like a slow, ticking clock.
Nero stood tall—or rather, as tall as his battered body could manage. His flame-licked sword crackled faintly at his side, flickering like a candle on the verge of being snuffed out.
His body trembled, a bruised and bloodied canvas of resilience, more crimson than skin, scorched and torn from head to toe. His breath came in slow, shallow gasps. His legs were barely holding him upright, and his aura had faded to a flickering ember.
He should have felt victorious. He should have been relieved.
But instead, his expression was grim, his eyes heavy with suspicion.
The fight had reached its crescendo, its brutal peak—
Yet the curtain hadn't fallen.
"Sigh… Stop pretending. I know you're fine," Nero said, voice hoarse but steady, cutting through the rain like a blade.
