Zareck did not hesitate.
The moment Malichi stepped forward, Zareck moved to meet him, every stray thought cut away. This was not like the earlier fights. There was no room for testing, no room for pacing himself. From the first breath, he took it seriously.
Spiritual energy surged.
It flooded his right hand far past the limit described in Tiger Claw Fingers. The sensation was immediate. Pressure built beneath his skin, sharp and unstable, like his bones were being wrapped in heated wire. He welcomed it.
Malichi closed the distance fast.
Zareck struck first.
His right hand slashed forward, fingers bent into the strange hooked shape the technique demanded. The air hissed as his hand cut through it, spiritual energy condensing along his fingertips.
Malichi twisted his body aside.
The claws missed by a hair.
Zareck felt the displacement of air brush his knuckles, but nothing more. He did not slow down. Before Malichi could counter, Zareck withdrew his right hand and instantly pushed spiritual energy into his left.
The switch was rough.
The energy lagged for a fraction of a second as it shifted focus, and pain flared along his forearm. He ignored it and struck again, left hand snapping out toward Malichi's ribs.
Malichi stepped back, then forward again in the same motion, his feet barely seeming to move. His arm flicked out, knuckles grazing Zareck's wrist just enough to knock the strike off course.
Zareck clicked his tongue and pulled away.
He had known Malichi was fast.
This was different.
Malichi was not just quick. He was smooth. Every movement flowed into the next without wasted effort. Zareck could feel it clearly now that they were facing each other head on.
This was not the speed of someone barely at the second level.
This was the speed of someone standing at the edge of the third.
Zareck's mind flashed back to the library.
Malichi talking casually about his higher grade manual. The way he had downplayed it. The way he had spoken about investing deeply in certain aspects of the body.
Strength.
Speed.
Zareck felt a bitter amusement curl in his chest.
On a purely physical level, he was losing.
Malichi came in again, fist aimed at Zareck's shoulder. Zareck leaned back and brought his right hand up defensively, Tiger Claw Fingers still active.
Their arms collided.
The impact rattled Zareck to his core.
Malichi's strength was terrifying. It was not explosive like an all out strike, but dense and controlled, the kind that carried through instead of bouncing away. Zareck slid back a step, boots scraping against the stone floor.
Pain surged through his right hand.
He clenched his jaw and forced the energy to stay condensed.
Malichi did not press immediately. He circled instead, eyes sharp, posture relaxed.
Zareck breathed in slowly.
If Malichi had reached this level of speed and strength, then he had sacrificed something else. No manual was perfect.
Endurance! His defence would surely be a weak point if he had invested heavily in both strength and speed.
Zareck focused on that thought and pushed everything else aside.
If he could land just one clean hit, overload and all, it would be enough. Tiger Claw Fingers was not a technique meant for prolonged exchanges. It was sharp and brutal and decisive.
He shifted his stance, lowering his centre.
Malichi moved.
This time he feinted.
His right shoulder dipped as if he were striking low, and Zareck reacted on instinct, bringing his left hand down to intercept.
The real strike came from above.
Malichi's palm slammed into Zareck's upper arm, sending a shock through his shoulder and numbing it instantly. Zareck staggered, teeth clenched, and barely managed to twist away before a follow up strike could land cleanly.
He retreated three steps and reset his stance.
His hands shook.
Both of them.
The skin along his fingers had turned a deep purple, veins standing out sharply. The pain was no longer distant. It throbbed with every heartbeat.
He forced energy into his right hand again.
Switch. Strike. Switch again.
This was the only way he could keep up.
They clashed repeatedly.
Zareck attacked in short bursts, alternating hands constantly, never letting the energy settle for too long. Each strike came overloaded, unstable, dangerous.
Malichi avoided most of them.
Blocked some.
Redirected others.
And every time Malichi countered, Zareck felt the difference between them more clearly.
Malichi's movements were clean. Efficient. His arms did not tremble. His breathing stayed steady. Swift Root Mirage was not fully unleashed, but its influence was everywhere.
Zareck was forcing himself forward through pain.
Malichi was moving like this was natural.
Frustration crept in.
Zareck hated it.
He hated how every near miss made his chest tighten. He hated how Malichi seemed to be adapting faster than he was. He hated how his own body was starting to betray him.
Another exchange ended with Zareck barely twisting away in time.
He stumbled back, chest rising and falling harder now.
Why was it not enough.
He had Thy Image of Zenith.
A manual that promised supremacy.
A manual that demanded brutality in return.
And yet here he was, being suppressed by Celestial Roots Binding.
The thought burned.
Old Man Krab's face flashed through his mind.
That calm voice.
That confidence.
Zareck nearly laughed.
Right now, the only benefit Thy Image of Zenith had given him was endurance. Mental fortitude. The ability to keep moving when his body screamed for him to stop.
And even that seemed like an indirect benefit more than a purposeful one.
Zareck straightened.
Pain roared through his arms as he did.
Good.
It kept him aware.
Cultivation had done this to him. It had dragged him out of the background and forced him to feel every moment fully. Every breath. Every strike. Every failure.
He had never felt more present.
He surged forward again.
This time, he did not attack immediately.
He closed the distance and let Malichi strike first.
Malichi's fist came in fast, aimed at Zareck's ribs. Zareck twisted into it instead of away, letting the blow glance off his side while he shoved spiritual energy into his left hand beyond anything he had tried so far.
Pain exploded.
His vision blurred for a split second.
He struck anyway.
His left hand raked across Malichi's forearm, claws tearing through the air with a sharp crack. The energy dispersed unevenly, biting deeper than before.
Malichi hissed and retreated a step, eyes narrowing.
Zareck grinned through clenched teeth.
There.
It worked.
His hand felt like it was on fire, fingers numb and shaking violently, but he had landed a clean hit.
Malichi rolled his shoulder and reset his stance, no sign of panic, but his expression had sharpened.
He was no longer holding back.
Swift Root Mirage flared.
Malichi's arms blurred.
Zareck barely had time to react.
Blows rained down, precise and relentless. Zareck blocked what he could, deflected what he could not, and took the rest. Each impact sent new waves of pain through his body.
His hands were a mess now.
Swollen. Discoloured. Barely responsive.
And yet he kept forcing energy into them.
He had to.
If he stopped now, he would lose.
He switched hands again. Right. Left. Right.
The rhythm was breaking down.
He was making mistakes.
Malichi saw them instantly.
A feint drew Zareck's guard too wide, and Malichi's elbow slammed into his chest. Zareck staggered, breath knocked out of him, and barely managed to stay upright.
Malichi stepped in, palm raised.
Zareck raised his hands reflexively, Tiger Claw Fingers still active, energy tearing through his already damaged limbs.
They froze for a heartbeat.
Two boys, thirteen years old, standing at the centre of the arena, breathing hard, eyes locked.
Zareck's thoughts scattered.
Eyes.
Heart.
Brain.
Later stages.
Promises.
Not now.
Right now, all he had was this moment.
He roared and surged forward, throwing everything into one final overloaded strike.
His hand screamed.
Malichi moved to meet it.
The impact echoed through the library.
Both of them were thrown back.
Zareck hit the ground hard, rolling once before coming to a stop on his side. His hands finally gave out, fingers curling uselessly as the technique collapsed.
He lay there, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling.
His body burned.
His mind was strangely clear.
He had lost control.
He had let frustration guide him.
And he had paid for it.
Slowly, he pushed himself up on one elbow.
Across the arena, Malichi was doing the same.
Still standing.
Still steady.
Zareck laughed softly, breathless.
So this was the difference.
Not just manuals.
Not just talent.
Control.
He clenched his trembling hands and forced himself to stand again.
The fight was not over yet.
But now he understood exactly how far he still had to go.