The clash from their final charge erupted like a thundercrack. Dust exploded upward, swallowing both fighters in a choking cloud. For a heartbeat, nothing could be seen—only the sound of two bodies slamming into each other, fists striking flesh, bones grinding, feet digging trenches into the dirt.
When the dust finally settled, Serik and Garron were both on the ground, just a few steps apart.
Serik was on one knee, swaying. His chest was split open from the long diagonal gash—blood still streaming down, drenching him completely. His skin was slick with crimson. His eyes were unfocused, barely seeing. His breath rattled, shallow and ragged, like each inhale might be his last.
Garron was on his hands and knees, coughing blood onto the ground. His ribs were broken; his nose bent sideways; his jaw swollen. His fingers, trembling, scrabbled for the dagger he had dropped during the collision.
The blade lay only inches away.
He grabbed it.
And then he looked up at Serik—who was somehow, impossibly, pushing himself back to his feet.
"You… you just don't die, do you?" Garron's voice was a wet rasp, half awe, half delirious laughter.
Serik stood with difficulty. His wound tore open even more as he straightened, but he didn't flinch. Blood poured down his stomach in rivers. His eyes were glassy, distant—but burning.
"I told you…" Serik's voice cracked, low and steady, "the hunt isn't over."
Garron laughed, coughing blood. "You stubborn little… bastard… Look at you… standing there… dripping like a butchered animal…"
He staggered to his feet too, swaying violently. He could barely hold the dagger steady.
Then, with a final manic grin, he charged.
It was not a skilled charge. It was a monster's last sprint. Fuelled by desperation.
Serik did not back away.
He stepped into Garron's killing line, ignoring the blade entirely. His feet moved almost on their own—Kōdan's angle, Jade Pulse's rise—every lesson, every bruise, every failure coming together in a single instinctive motion.
The dagger carved across his ribs again—another slash, more blood—but Serik didn't react.
He grabbed Garron's wrist with both hands.
Garron snarled, spittle flying. "LET GO—!"
Serik's forehead smashed into Garron's face with a sickening crack. Blood sprayed from the man's nose. Garron stabbed at him blindly, but Serik batted the blade aside with his elbow and headbutted him again.
And again.
And again.
Each impact shook Garron's brain inside his skull.
Finally, Garron dropped to his knees, dazed, his eyes rolling.
Serik stepped behind him, chest heaving, vision swimming, and wrapped one arm around Garron's neck from behind—twisting, locking, forcing the man upward.
Garron clawed at Serik's arm, choking, gasping.
"You… you monster!" he wheezed.
Serik tightened his grip across Garron's jaw and skull.
"Don't care," Serik whispered into his ear. "The hunt ends… now."
Garron's final laugh was broken, delirious.
"HAHA… the death… of one monster…" he choked out, blood bubbling in his throat, "…births another…"
His voice broke into hysterical, dying laughter.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—"
CRRRRRRRRRAAAAAACK
The sound echoed across the yard—sharp, final, and horrifying. Garron's neck twisted violently under Serik's hands. His body jerked once. Then went completely still.
His eyes stared blankly at the dirt. His grin froze on his broken face. And the laughter stopped mid-breath.
Serik let the corpse fall.
For a long moment, he stood over it, swaying, his chest pouring blood, his breath harsh and empty. Then his legs gave out.
Jons caught him before he hit the ground.
The butler's face, always calm, was tight with emotion—real emotion—something rare and almost painful to see.
"Well done, young master," he whispered. "You did it."
Serik blinked up at him, dazed. "Jons… is… the hunt over?"
"Yes," Jons said softly. "Rest now."
Serik's eyes finally closed.
Jons carried him inside, steps steady but urgent. He laid the unconscious boy on his bed, stripped off the blood-soaked shirt, and immediately began cleaning the massive chest wound. Bandages wrapped around Serik's torso over and over until the bleeding slowed. Jons' hands were skilled, precise—yet shaking faintly.
After he was done, he opened the drawer beside the bed and took out a small bottle. He uncapped it and found a thick cream inside. He smeared some onto his left hand, rubbed both hands together, then held them an inch above Serik's largest wound.
Hours passed.
The moon rose higher.
Serik slept in a feverish haze, bandaged from shoulder to stomach, dried blood staining half the sheets. His breathing was shallow but stable. His face peaceful for the first time in days.
Jons sat beside him in an old rocking chair, the wood creaking softly with each slow movement. He didn't read. He didn't rest. He just watched the boy sleep.
Eventually, his eyes wandered to the small wooden drawer beside the bed.
Something stuck out of it—a corner of an old, worn book.
Jons reached over and pulled it out.
Serik's favorite book. His mother's book. The one she used to read to him.
Jons held it gently, as if touching something sacred.
"…so you hid it here," he murmured under his breath, a faint but genuine warmth in his voice. "Smart."
He thumbed through the pages, noticing the bent corners, the tiny stains, the places where the ink had faded from repeated touch.'Sigh, why did you hide it here.'
And then as if understanding why he looked at Serik. 'Did you plan this far... or did you know this would happen, even now you are as mysterious as the first time I met you old friend'
He closed the book with one hand, letting his fingertips rest on the cover for a moment longer than necessary.
"Serik will need this soon," he whispered, almost to himself. "Hahaha, this will make my job alot easier."
He slipped the book back into the drawer with care—almost reverence—then straightened his posture, the softness on his face fading back into the calm discipline he always wore.
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Author's Note
So, what did you guys think of the battle?I hope you enjoyed the tension and the buildup — and just so you know, major battles in this story will always take multiple chapters. I can't stand it when big fights get squeezed into one chapter and rushed through, so expect important confrontations to have space to breathe.
I'd love to hear any feedback you have — about the pacing, the character development, the dialogue, anything at all. Your thoughts really help me improve the story and see what's working (and what isn't).
Let me know what you liked, what surprised you, or what you want to see more of!
Thanks for reading, and see you in the next chapter!