Serik stepped into the yard. His body was bruised, muscles stiff, but his eyes burned. Every morning of pain, every night of exhaustion, every bruise Rudren ever gave him seemed to gather in his fists like invisible flames.
Rudren walked out shortly after, twirling his dagger with the confidence of a man who had survived far worse than training a child. But something in his expression had changed over the past month. He wasn't mocking. He wasn't smirking. He looked… tense.
He cracked his knuckles."Alright, kid. No holding back today."
Serik lifted his hands."I don't want you to."
Jons gave a small nod.
The fight began with no warning.
Rudren exploded forward, faster than any previous day, dagger slicing straight for Serik's clavicle. Serik jerked back; the blade grazed his shirt, cutting through the fabric but missing skin by a breath.
Rudren pivoted, horizontal slash incoming.
Serik ducked low, rolled, and swept his leg out. Rudren jumped over it, landing with a twist and slashing downward. Serik blocked with his forearm — pain shot up his arm, but he locked his jaw and shoved Rudren back.
Rudren stumbled a step, surprised. "You're blocking harder."
"I'm stronger," Serik answered through clenched teeth.
Rudren didn't like that answer.
He lunged, feinting right, then turning the slash into a stab toward Serik's stomach. Serik sidestepped at the last second, grabbing Rudren's wrist with both hands and forcing it upward. Rudren responded instantly with a knee straight toward Serik's face.
Serik twisted aside; the knee glanced his cheek instead of breaking his nose.
He countered with a punch.
Rudren parried—
Serik punched again.
Rudren blocked—
Serik punched a third time, knuckles slamming into Rudren's ribs.
Rudren gasped, his eyes widening.
"Where the hell—did you learn to chain hits like that!?"
Serik didn't answer. He pressed forward, pushing Rudren across the yard. His movements weren't perfect, but they were relentless. Every lesson from the month showed in his steps: lighter feet, tight angles, steady breathing.
Rudren tried a wide slash—Serik ducked.
A low stab—Serik jumped back.
A spinning swipe—Serik retreated, then dashed in again.
Rudren snarled in frustration. "You little—!"
He slammed his foot into the ground, changing rhythm, darting forward in a blur. This wasn't beginner speed. This was the speed of a real assassin.
Serik barely saw the dagger.
He only saw Rudren's shoulder shift—Jons had trained him for that.
He pivoted left.
The dagger sliced through the space where his throat had been.
Rudren's eyes widened. "Impossible."
Serik grabbed Rudren's forearm with both hands and smashed his elbow into it, forcing the dagger out of Rudren's grip. It flew across the yard and skidded into the dirt.
Now Rudren was furious.
He tackled Serik.
Serik tackled him back.
They crashed into the ground, rolling violently. Fists flew. Knees collided. Rudren slammed a punch into Serik's stomach; Serik gasped, vision blurring, but retaliated with a jab to Rudren's jaw. The assassin's head snapped back.
Rudren groaned, dazed.Serik felt the moment.
He pushed. Hard.
He pinned Rudren's wrist to the ground with one hand and delivered a crushing punch to his face with the other.
Rudren tried to roll away, but Serik hooked a leg around his and pulled him down again. They fought like wild animals—scratching, grappling, choking for leverage.
Rudren managed to flip Serik onto his back—
Serik twisted out, grabbed Rudren's shoulder, and slammed his knee into his chest.
Air burst out of Rudren's lungs.
Serik didn't stop.
He drove him down again—
And again—
Until Rudren's strength buckled.
The assassin fell flat on his back, chest heaving, arms limp, eyes blank with disbelief.
Serik knelt over him, panting like a dying animal.
Rudren blinked slowly, throat tight, voice barely there.
"…Y-You… beat me?"
Serik stood, legs shaky but steady.
He had won.
Truly won.
Rudren tried to push himself up, but his arms failed him. He sank into the dirt, a defeated man who finally saw the end of the long climb.
Serik looked at him, breathing hard.
To think… I climbed past my first mountain.It used to seem so tall.
He turned toward Jons. The butler's face did not change — but something unspoken passed between them.
When will I surpass you? Serik wondered.
He looked at Rudren again.
"You may leave," Serik said, voice low but clear. "You came to kill me. But… I learned so much from fighting you. So you may leave."
Rudren stared at him like he was staring at a ghost. He pushed himself up slowly. His eyes darted toward Jons, but Jons wasn't looking at him. He was looking at Serik — and only Serik.
Rudren let out a shaky laugh. "Kid… why not kill me?"
Serik smiled softly, wiping his lip.
"I will never fear a person I've defeated."
Rudren froze at those words.
He inhaled deeply, painfully. "You're making a big mistake. Maybe not today… maybe not tomorrow… but someday, someone you spare will kill you. Or kill someone you care about. It's always better to kill."
Serik's victory high cracked. His eyes trembled. But he lifted his chin.
"You're right… but you forget one thing."He stepped closer, face firm."The winner is king. And I won."
Rudren stared. Then, unbelievably, he smiled — a small, tired, almost respectful smile.
"…Take care of yourself, kid. I hope we meet again."
He turned to leave.
Jons stepped behind Serik like a silent shadow. Serik didn't need to look to know he was there.
"Jons," Serik said quietly, "did I do the right thing?"
Jons answered calmly, "I do not know, young master. But I will always follow your orders."
Serik turned sharply. "Not my orders. What do you think?"
Jons looked directly at him. "I think you made the right choice. Rudren may not be a good man… but he isn't a bad one either. Sparing him wasn't a mistake. But he was right. It was a naïve decision."
Serik looked away, eyes on the horizon.
"…It just felt right," he whispered. "I didn't have the will to kill him. So I spared him. Maybe you're all right… maybe it was naïve… but I know one thing."
He closed his eyes.
"I won't regret it."