Gareth's eyes narrowed, breath steady in the cold mist.
"How did Rynel get this strong?" he muttered, voice low, disbelief edging his tone.
The bridge groaned beneath their feet, the Veil humming like a warning in his veins.
Rynel's spear flashed — swift, desperate, cutting through the fog in a single arc.
Gareth moved, barely — the steel grazing his hand, drawing a thin line of crimson.
He exhaled slowly, eyes sharp. "So… you're not holding back either."
Gareth's gaze hardened, the sting on his hand still fresh.
His breath came slow, steady — mind flicking back to moments earlier, when the bridge first shimmered beneath the mist.
Back when he had raised his red and black blade toward the sky.
Rynel had stood before him then — trembling, grip unsure on the long, silvered spear.
The boy's fear was plain, eyes darting between Gareth and the abyss below.
When he lunged, Gareth slipped aside easily, his sword cutting clean across Rynel's stomach.
Rynel stumbled back, gasping, his knees buckling against the creaking wood.
"Just give up," Gareth said flatly, blade lowered, voice calm but cold.
Blood pattered softly onto the bridge, vanishing into mist.
From far behind, Sinatara's voice cut through the fog like a whip.
"Use it, Rynel! The distilled essence — now!"
Her command echoed, heavy and merciless.
Rynel's shaking hand fumbled for a small vial at his belt — mist swirling inside like trapped light.
He hesitated, eyes wide, despair flooding his face.
Then, instead of injecting it — he crushed the vial and swallowed it whole.
Rynel went still.
The trembling stopped — his breathing faded to nothing, his eyes empty and cold.
Mist curled around him, silent, as if the bridge itself waited.
Gareth exhaled once, rolling his shoulders, blade steady in his hand.
"Guess it's over then," he muttered, stepping forward with measured calm.
He moved fast — ready to end it before the boy collapsed.
But pain shot through him, sharp and sudden.
Gareth's breath hitched as his hand clenched his stomach, warmth spreading beneath his armor.
He looked up — Rynel was still there, motionless, staring blankly ahead.
Then realization struck.
The figure before him flickered — fading like smoke in the mist.
Gareth twisted aside just in time, the real Rynel's spear slicing through the air where his neck had been.
Rynel moved like a phantom, each strike faster, sharper, colder than the last.
Gareth barely kept up — his blade clashing, parrying, but each blow tore deeper, cutting through his guard.
Blood traced his arm, shoulder, thigh — the bridge echoing with each impact.
He staggered back, gasping, eyes wide with disbelief.
He's not hesitating… not even flinching.
Rynel's focus was absolute — no fear, no thought, only motion.
Gareth's chest rose and fell, breath uneven, pain throbbing through every wound.
"I'm… one hundred percent sure," he muttered under his breath, a faint, bitter smile forming.
"I'll lose here… and die on this damn bridge."
Then — through the haze of pain and fog — a memory surfaced.
Captain Ryn… who never wavered.
The thought steadied him; his grip eased, his nerves finally beginning to relax.
Gareth shook off the haze, forcing his limbs to move faster.
His blade cut through the mist, a series of quick, precise swings — but Rynel's strikes still found gaps, raking across his armor and leaving stinging cuts.
Pain screamed through him, but his focus sharpened with every hit.
He adjusted his stance, reading the boy's rhythm, tracing the arcs of his attacks.
Step by step, move by move, he began to anticipate the next strike.
Each dodge became smoother, each block more deliberate, the Veil humming faintly beneath his skin.
Finally — a sharp clash rang out across the bridge.
Gareth's blade met Rynel's spear head-on, stopping the boy mid-thrust.
The force reverberated up his arms, but for the first time, he felt control — a small, precious victory.
Gareth's lips curved into a slow, confident smile.
"Soon… I'll adapt beyond you," he muttered, voice low but carrying certainty.
The mist swirled around him, almost as if echoing his words.
Rynel lunged again, spear slicing through the air with lethal precision.
Gareth's blade met it cleanly, sparks flying as steel collided with steel.
He held the strike, eyes gleaming, still smiling.
Rynel remained cold, unmoving, eyes empty of all doubt.
Without warning, he struck from behind, spear aimed to pierce Gareth's side.
Gareth twisted sharply, avoiding the strike, and countered with a swift blow toward Rynel's body.
Step by step, Gareth's mind sharpened, calculating, analyzing every move.
Each attack, each feint — nothing revealed a weakness, nothing faltered.
He muttered under his breath, tense and thoughtful, "I… can't find his weak point."
Sinatara's sharp eyes flicked to the Valerian warrior kneeling beside her.
"Is the mist essence supposed to work like that?" she asked, voice low but urgent.
The warrior shook his head, unease plain in his expression. "No… he's acting… strange. Too cold, too steady."
Through the fog, their view of Rynel was unnerving.
His body moved like steel, unwavering, and faint light traced beneath his skin — the Veil energy flowing into him without pause.
Every strike seemed to draw from some endless reservoir, silent and relentless.
Sinatara's jaw tightened, gaze hard.
"At this rate… if he reaches his Veil capacity," she murmured, tone grave, "he'll die within an hour."
Gareth's eyes narrowed, every sense alert, every movement measured.
Step by step, he adapted, reading Rynel's rhythm, predicting his strikes.
Finally — his blade grazed Rynel, slicing through a single strand of hair, faint but real.
The moment of triumph barely registered before Rynel struck back.
The next blow carried immense force, the air itself seeming to tear around it.
Gareth was slammed backward, boots skidding across the pale wood, the bridge groaning beneath his weight.
Gareth hit the bridge, breath ragged, eyes wide as realization dawned.
He keeps getting stronger… every moment, every strike.
The Veil hummed uneasily in his veins, warning him of the growing threat.
Rynel's spear slashed again — faster, sharper — and Gareth barely twisted aside in time.
Pain flared along his side, heart hammering, panic rising like wildfire.
He gasped, voice tight even to himself, "Why… why does he keep getting stronger?"
Each swing, each step, each calculated strike from Rynel left Gareth scrambling,
mind racing, instincts fraying.
He stumbled back, grip on his blade trembling,
Unable to find an answer, unable to stop the rising fear.
Gareth took a deep breath, forcing his racing heart to slow.
He reached within, attempting to call upon the Veil, hoping to turn the tide.
But his legs gave out — and he fell heavily onto the bridge.
A harsh cough tore from him, black blood spilling from his lips, staining the pale wood.
Nessy's eyes widened in alarm, voice sharp and commanding.
"Everyone — back! Move! Give him space!"
The Kharuun warriors froze, tension snapping through the group.
Every hand gripped a weapon, eyes scanning Gareth, every instinct screaming — he's been corrupted.
Gareth pushed himself up slowly, teeth gritted against the pain.
"I… still can't use the Veil," he admitted, voice low but steady, eyes meeting theirs.
Gareth straightened, wincing but forcing a calm tone.
"Don't worry guys," he said firmly, voice carrying across the mist.
"I… I can't be corrupted."
A stunned silence followed, sharp and immediate.
The Kharuun warriors froze, eyes wide, whispering disbelief among themselves.
Even Taravan's gaze flickered, surprise crossing his usually impassive face.
From above the bridge, Taravan was revealed — sitting casually atop two kneeling Valerian warriors, cloak draped over their shoulders.
His eyes had never left the duel, taking in every move, every strike, every shift in Veil energy.
Gareth's eyes sharpened, staring deeply into the mist, tracing Rynel's every movement.
A fire sparked in his gaze, steady and unyielding despite the pain.
"How… how can he use the Veil like that?" he muttered, voice low but intense.
He clenched his fists, muscles tensing, resolve hardening like steel.
"I… I'll rise above the odds," he said firmly, every word carrying weight.
"And I'll win."
Gareth's hand released the red and black sword, letting it clatter against the wooden planks.
His eyes locked onto Rynel's cold, unwavering gaze, unflinching and sharp.
The mist curled around them, heavy with tension, silent witnesses to what was coming.
"Keep your spear," Gareth said, voice low but cutting, eyes burning.
"Or better yet… throw it away and face me like a man. No tricks, no crutches."
Rynel's eyes flicked up, assessing him for a long, tense moment.
Then, with a faint, almost imperceptible nod, he let go of his spear.
It landed on the bridge with a soft thud, abandoned yet purposeful — the challenge accepted.
Rynel's fist shot forward like a hammer, connecting with Gareth's chest.
The impact sent him flying off the bridge, tumbling toward the black, churning water below.
Mist swallowed him, cold and suffocating, but he caught the edge of the bridge, fingers digging into the wood.
He pulled himself up, body trembling, every muscle screaming in pain.
Hand pressed against his chest, he took a ragged breath, heart pounding like a drum.
"That… that was so frightening," he muttered, voice low, a shaky grin forming.
"But… still good for experience."
Gareth slumped against the bridge, chest heaving, sweat and blood mingling on his skin.
His eyes fixed forward, unblinking, tracing Rynel's still, cold form through the mist.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a faint shimmer of Veil began to pulse beneath his skin.
A tiny spark, just a fragment, yet it carried weight — the first thread of power returning to him.
Gareth's gaze hardened, unwavering, focused on the boy before him.
He stayed like that, silent, staring, feeling the Veil stir within him at last.