Yachit bowed to her opponent, and he returned the gesture.
Despite her small hesitation earlier, there remained no doubt in her heart about what she had to do.
Master, she said internally, I'll be stronger.
She watched the young boy take off his top gingerly, revealing a body covered in small scars. Most notably, his left hand had severe burn marks. He hadn't had that when they last met.
She frowned slightly at this, wondering what could have caused such lasting damage to a Lycan in the brief space between the meetings.
This confirmation of vulnerability didn't set her at ease, though. If anything, the evidence of battle on a warrior this young did more to unsettle her.
"Where's your weapon?"
His question pulled her out of her musings, though she did not answer.
"If you fight against a Lycan barehanded, you'll die foolishly."
The words were said coolly as he lowered himself on all fours.
She still didn't answer.
Brown eyes caught yellow.
They stared for an eternity of seconds, wondering if they could extract anything from one another's gazes.
All she could perceive was her own reflection.
She watched as a coldness slowly possessed her opponent, his eyes turning into frigid mirrors.
Again, her instincts insisted on survival.
Again, she pushed them aside.
She was terrified but focused on her breathing.
Everything was in the breath.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
She closed her eyes and exhaled once more.
Volcanic ash and a red sea of stars erupted without warning.
Her opponent had returned to his true state.
Crouched before her was a black hound with burning yellow eyes.
Eyes that spoke of the kill.
It didn't charge instantly as she had expected.
Instead, it walked slowly forward, that hellish smoke following it like its dark train.
There wasn't a hint of the boy that she had spoken to there.
Despite the impossibility of true communication, one look was enough for her to confirm.
It was going to kill her!
She breathed out one long, forceful breath.
She was ready.
Her fist flew forward, cracking the air between them as she closed the space like a bolt.
The impact was thunderous, shaking the entire arena and rocking the trees nearby, throwing many-coloured flowers down across the scene only to be entangled by the corrosive black smoke.
She drew back instantly, not wanting to give her opponent any chance for retribution.
It didn't seem inclined towards that action, though, and instead stayed still, regarding her fully with an expression her strained mind interpreted as mockery.
She made to go for another attack, but the beast suddenly howled.
The effect was unaccountable, like an explosive had gone off in her ear canal and she had been dunked into ice water.
She had to close her eyes to recover from this poignant tincture of pain, vertigo and cold shock.
That was her first mistake.
Her Aura told her something was wrong before her senses did, and she leapt back.
The sound of fangs closing around air, like the gates of hell shutting suddenly, brought her back to reality.
Her enemy was upon her.
It wasn't dissuaded by her quick reactions and instead leapt again, looking for her throat.
She stretched her arm out and red energy shot out like an arrow, penetrating the beast's upper jaw and leaving a bloody mess.
Still, ghastly white teeth found their way through. The attack, while ferocious, hadn't bought her much time.
The resulting sound was grating, like the screech of stone meeting chisel – a savage, bloodthirsty chisel.
She'd reacted in time.
Her entire forearm no longer had the supple firmness of a trained fighter but was a large block of granite.
Despite the massive increase in heft, the beast's maw managed to wrap around its width entirely, pressing down like a boa on its prey.
It abruptly let go, though and pounced at her legs.
They too were stone, but she still felt its claws break through.
Her fist came down on its neck, and starry red energy came down like a meteor and flattened the creature with its fury.
The reprieve was short, though, as claws found skin and stone immediately after, peppering her body in a flurry of sharp pain.
Pain.
The wounds weren't deep, but felt like a hot brand each time.
She struck out once more, nailing the beast again, but only buying half a breath of space before it continued.
The oppressive black smoke engulfed the two fighters now, the gloom of an active volcano being the atmosphere of their clash. Still, the stars around her stood out and gave her some confidence.
She let out a scream and tackled the creature, wrestling it to the ground in her desperation.
Man and monster tumbled on the ground.
Iron claws and stone skin.
Hell smoke and starlight.
They separated once more.
Healed already.
She noted that there was scarcely any evidence of the injuries the creature had received at her hand.
The blows she had delivered with as much fury as she could muster in that situation had healed like scratches in this ash cloud.
She inspected her wounds by circulating probing Qi throughout her person, not daring to take her eyes off the opponent.
The two deepest wounds were to her dominant hand and the opposite foot – significantly weakening the force she could wield.
Even its violent flurries were surgical in their intent.
Its languidness just up to the point of attack showed that it was more than prepared to drag this out and chip away at her life force.
The smoke thickened.
It couldn't go on like this.
She was scared but couldn't bring herself to regret her decisions. She knew why she was here.
I need the sword…
Her mind went back to that faithful morning when she had received an envelope from the second young master.
She lay on the ground, spitting out blood like a faucet and groaning desperately.
Well-made sandals entered her vision from her prone position.
"Hey there."
Despite her state, Danjuma's clear voice was unmistakable.
She forced herself up quickly and gave the standard bow.
"You don't need to be scared," he said, amusement clear in his tone.
You nearly killed me, she thought, moving back a little.
"Were you surprised?" he asked with a smile.
"Yes," she said candidly. "What is that?"
Her eyes tentatively regarded the sheet of paper again.
"A sword. Obviously."
…Obviously.
"The sword is one of three great weapons," he began. The pair had made their way to his private pavilion in the early morning to continue.
"The bow is the aspect of the hunter and the spear is the aspect of the king, but the sword…"
His signature stainless blade made a sudden appearance at this, and he swung it dramatically, clearing up the slight morning fog with its power.
"The sword is the aspect of a warrior."
"Direct."
"Decisive."
"Deadly."
"To hold the sword is to hold life and death in your hand. It is to drink the blood of your enemies and defend your homeland. In the sword, the myriad Daos becomes clear. It is the weapon of mastering one's own fate."
He turned to her at this, noting her awe.
"You and I," he said with a smile, closing in on her. "We're not made to be statesmen or lone hunters in the wilderness. We're warriors. It is for that reason that I want to teach you the sword."
Yachit heard his intentions but felt it better to give her would-be instructor some warning.
"Young master," she said, "I use a dagger."
Considering her natural physical gifts, she did not fear close-quarters combat and found that the short blade communicated her strength better than a sword did.
He smiled at this.
"Don't you remember what I told you about the envelope you opened?"
She nodded.
"A metallic blade is only the most rudimentary level of a sword," he said, walking a little way from her.
"Remember those aspects I spoke to you about? To capture the essence of the sword is higher than to hold it."
He looked at her, and she felt like she was uncovered in a blizzard. Yes, this sensation was unmistakable now.
Earlier, she had been too shocked by the sudden strike, but now…
He merely looked at her, but in that look was the sword.
She had been at the end of far too many to mistake it for anything else.
To wield the sword, though unarmed.
To grasp one's fate in one's hand.
To become worthy of the sword…
Back in the present, she looked at her opponent and steeled herself once more.
Decision.
That was one of the qualities of the sword.
It could not waver.
Suddenly, three stars in her red galaxy blazed brightly, standing out from their peers as they climbed higher and settled above her head.
One of them broke away even from these and seemed to combust, turning into a tiny supernova and engulfing the figure of the Troll in its golden brilliance.
The hound watched the entire process, which took mere seconds, without the slightest indication of curiosity.
Soon, she emerged from the light.
Surprisingly, she was completely renewed.
No longer hanging on by a thread, it looked like she had never been in a duel with the life-reaping creature in front of her.
At this, it showed interest, though it was only the low interest of a predator, not the curiosity of a fellow warrior.
She could see this clearly.
There was only one way to end this.
A battle of attrition against this indifferent beast was only a torturous suicide.
… Despite the massive improvements under the second young master, she had certainly fallen short of the sword.
She decided that it was here that she would prove if it was meant for her.
It was time.
She allowed the information from her previous encounters to penetrate her psyche.
Could she become a vessel for the aspects of the sword?
She had to.
Decision.
Her breath slowed, but communicated the inflexibility of her will.
In this state, she forgot all else.
Yes, even the Lycan, who at this moment was stalking up to her in his gluttony for blood.
Decision.
It was upon her now, jaws open above her and ready to close in on her head.
It was now or never.
She stretched her fist out and called upon it.
She called upon the sword.