The duel had gone on longer than anyone expected.
The barrier vibrated faintly, healing shallow cuts and bruises as Nero pushed himself far beyond his usual limits. His chest rose and fell sharply, his grip tightening on the hilt until his knuckles turned white. Yet even in exhaustion, his eyes gleamed with unyielding fire.
Across from him, the old man stood tall, his breathing calm, his blade steady. Not once had his stance faltered. His presence radiated the weight of decades, every movement honed into effortless perfection.
And still—there was no malice in his strikes. Only guidance.
Nero lunged again, his blade arcing upward in a desperate slash. The old man blurred, light bending around him as he reappeared at Nero's flank. Their swords clashed, sparks bursting like miniature suns.
"You've adapted well," the old man said calmly, voice steady even mid-battle. "At first, you were chasing my shadow. Now, you're reacting to me directly. Not many can do that in so short a time."
