The sky was clear, but the air had weight. Even the wind seemed to move slower, as if it were trying not to disturb what was about to happen.
Serik stood in the middle of the yard, bare feet on packed dirt, breathing slow and deep. His heart was beating fast, but not with fear. Not like before. It was a sharp, steady rhythm, like a drum calling him forward.
Jons stood to his left, just outside the imagined circle of the arena. His hands were folded behind his back, his expression composed as always.
At the far side of the yard, the back door opened.
Chains clinked.
Garron stepped out.
He looked different in the sunlight.
Thinner than before, but not weak. His muscles were still dense, his shoulders still broad. His wrists were ringed with bruises from the shackles. His eyes squinted at the brightness, then settled on Serik.
A slow grin crawled across his face.
"Ah," Garron said. "Today's the day?"
Jons walked forward with a ring of keys. The chains around Garron's ankles and wrists came off one by one. The last cuff loosened with a metallic click.
Garron rolled his shoulders, rubbed his wrists, flexed his fingers. He looked at Jons first.
"No tricks?" he asked. "No rope around my neck? No butler knife in my spine the moment I move?"
"If you break the agreed terms," Jons said calmly, "I will intervene."
Garron chuckled. "Thought so."
His gaze slid back to Serik.
"Ready to die, kid?"
Serik's expression didn't change. "Are you?"
Garron's grin widened. "I like you more every day."
He walked to the center of the yard, stopping a few meters from Serik. For a moment, they just stood there, facing each other. Serik could hear his own pulse. He could feel the memory of every bruise, every fall, every insult.
He lowered into his stance.
Jons raised one hand.
"Begin."
Garron moved first.
Garron didn't rush. He stepped in with a straight, heavy punch, fast enough that Serik barely had time to slip aside.
The air where his face had been exploded with force.
Serik pivoted and tried a quick counter to Garron's ribs—but Garron twisted, grabbed Serik's arm, and flung him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing.
Serik hit the ground hard.
Pain shot up his spine.
He rolled, avoiding the stomp that came down a heartbeat later. Garron's heel crashed into the dirt where his chest had just been.
"Too slow," Garron taunted.
Serik pushed himself up, shaking off the shock. His body remembered how much this man could hurt him. His bones remembered cracking. His lungs remembered failing.
His heart didn't care.
He rushed in again—but this time, Garron met him halfway with a brutal knee to the stomach. Air blasted out of Serik's lungs. He staggered, vision blurring, and Garron slammed a fist into his jaw.
The world turned sideways.
Serik hit the ground again.
He tasted blood.
"Come on," Garron said. "You were barking so loud in the cellar. 'Monster hunter,' was it?" He kicked Serik's side. "You look more like a wounded dog right now."
Serik coughed, forced his hands under him, and pushed himself up.
He wobbled. But he stood.
He wiped the blood from his lip and breathed in, slow.
Remember the stance. Remember the flow. Don't rush.
He lowered again into Hakutei-Ryū's posture.
Garron frowned slightly.
"That new pose of yours is getting on my nerves," he said.
Then he attacked again.
The next exchange started the same, but this time, Serik didn't meet force with raw resistance. When Garron's punch came, Serik shifted diagonally with the Kōdan movement, letting the fist scrape past his shoulder instead of colliding.
His forearm brushed Garron's chest as he slipped by.
For a moment, Garron's weight lurched.
Not much. Just a little.
But Serik felt it.
That's it.
He pivoted, going low, and tried to land a strike to Garron's side. Garron blocked with his elbow and backhanded him across the face. The blow was weaker than the first, but it still rang his skull.
Serik stumbled—but he didn't fall this time.
He huffed out a breath, forced his feet to dig into the dirt.
Again.
Garron came in with another punch, faster this time. Serik repeated the Kōdan Shift—not perfect, but cleaner. He slipped inside the punch and this time felt Garron's stance falter a bit more.
He tried to follow up with the rising Jade Pulse—but his timing was off, and Garron shoved him away before it connected properly.
It was messy.
Ugly.
Half improvisation. Half remembered training.
But it wasn't one-sided anymore.
Minutes passed like that.
Garron hit harder. Serik dodged smarter. Garron grabbed, threw, and tried to crush him. Serik slipped, twisted, and broke his balance bit by bit.
Blows still landed. Serik still took damage. His ribs screamed. His shoulder throbbed. His lungs burned as he forced air in and out, fighting his own rising fatigue.
But for every three hits he took, he landed one.
Then one became two.
Then two became three.
The fight shifted without either of them noticing exactly when.
Garron's breath grew heavier. His strikes lost a fraction of their sharpness. His large frame, unused to weeks of true conditioning like Serik's, began to feel the prison's neglect.
Serik noticed.
He saw the slight delay in Garron's weight shifts. The half-second longer it took for him to reset his footing. The faint wince when Serik's strike dug into his side.
He felt his fear thinning, replaced by something new.
Conviction.
Garron swung a hook aimed at Serik's temple.
Serik slid under it with a clean Kōdan Shift and, for the first time, flowed perfectly into the rising Jade Pulse Strike.
His fist crashed into Garron's ribs.
The sound was sick and heavy.
Garron's breath exploded from his lungs. He staggered, eyes wide for a heartbeat, before fury rushed in to fill the gap.
"You little—"
Serik didn't let him finish.
He pressed in, not giving Garron room to reset. His footwork circled, pivoting him around the bigger man. He struck at the ribs again, lower this time, then at the solar plexus, then the thigh. Not all hits landed clean—but enough did.
Enough to hurt.
Garron tried to grab him, but Serik slipped just outside his grip and hammered an elbow into his side. Pain flashed across the older man's face briefly.
The yard echoed with heavy impacts, harsh breaths, and the dull thuds of bone against flesh.
Serik's lungs burned. His arms felt heavy. But he kept moving.
Garron roared and lunged in desperation, trying to crush Serik in a bear hug. For a moment, he succeeded—his arms closing around the boy's torso, squeezing tight, ribs creaking.
Serik's vision spotted.
But instead of panicking, he raised his head and slammed his forehead into Garron's nose.
Garron grunted, grip loosening just enough.
Serik slipped out and immediately dropped into a low stance. Kōdan. Shift. Turn. Then—Jade Pulse. The rising strike smashed into Garron's jaw this time, snapping his head back.
Garron crashed to one knee.
The ground shook with the impact.
Serik stood over him, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his chin, bruises darkening along his arms and ribs.
He had never seen Garron this low before. It felt amazing.
Behind him, Jons watched carefully, eyes sharp, body relaxed but ready to move in an instant if needed.
Serik didn't take his eyes off Garron.
"Jons," he said, voice rough but steady. "Give me a weapon."
There was no hesitation.
A short blade flew through the air—not too long, not too heavy. Something between a dagger and a short sword. The handle was wrapped in dark leather, the metal faintly dull from use, not display.
Serik caught it.
He didn't even look at it.
He threw it.
The blade clattered across the ground, sliding to a stop right in front of Garron.
Garron stared at it.
Serik's voice came out clear.
"Pick it up."
Garron's gaze shifted from the blade to Serik, then back again. Slowly, he reached out and took it, his fingers wrapping around the hilt.
He lifted the weapon to eye level, turning it slightly, checking the metal, checking the edge, checking for any hint of trickery.
"No poison," he muttered. "No cracks. Real steel. You made a big mistake, kid."
Serik's eyes didn't waver.
"I will decide," he said, voice low and certain, "when the hunt ends."
The wind blew through the yard, carrying dust and silence between them.