Bael spat; the saliva came out streaked with red and sank into the snow.
He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and raised his eyes to the undead.
'Strong,'he thought.
A faint smile curved his lips.
'But that's fine. I didn't expect anything less from a Rank 4.'
He gripped his sword firmly once more and took a deep breath. No fear—just cold, razor-sharp confidence. The gulf between a Rank 3 human and a Rank 4 monster was insurmountable for most people… but not for him. He had trained against his mother—a being so overwhelming he couldn't even dream of touching her. Compared to her, this enemy was manageable.
He attacked again: a swift, lethal downward slash.
The undead raised its blade and parried.
Sparks flew from the collision.
Bael retreated and charged once more—this time from the right. Blocked. From the left. Blocked. He leaped, using the tree trunks as stepping stones, spun mid-air, and struck from above with astonishing speed.
Useless. The monster didn't budge an inch; it simply lifted its weapon to meet every blow.
On the next descent, Bael poured all his strength into a devastating overhead strike.
This time the undead didn't block—it sidestepped with almost feline grace.
Bael's sword plunged deep into the ground, carving a long fissure through snow and earth.
'I'm dead.'
The thought flashed through his mind the instant the enemy blade entered his vision, aimed straight at his chest. If it connected, there would be no escape.
Instinct took over. From the depths of his being, his essence roared. On pure reflex, he jerked backward.
When reality caught up, he gasped violently. His body trembled, drenched in cold sweat.
A thin red line ran across his chest from side to side. His clothes darkened rapidly; the snow beneath him stained crimson.
I underestimated it.
He clenched his teeth and drew a deep breath to steady himself.
This wasn't his first life-or-death fight, but this time he knew with absolute certainty: he could die here.
He looked at the undead. The ragged figure stood motionless, watching him with empty red eyes.
He regulated his breathing and channeled his essence to the wound, slowing the bleeding.
'¿What do I have to do?'
The monster had been sent to force him to break through his rank—but he had no idea how. Fight to the absolute limit? Awaken his essence on the brink of death, the way it happened before?
The crunch of snow snapped him out of his thoughts. The undead advanced slowly, dragging its sword behind it.
Bael blinked.
The enemy vanished.
He crossed his sword in guard.
Another clash rang out.
It's faster now.
He was shoved backward several meters.
The monster pursued. Another strike. Bael flew through the air.
This won't work.
He gritted his teeth and forced all the air from his lungs.
I have to go all out.
This time he didn't wait—he launched forward with everything he had.
The collision was savage. Neither was sent flying. Both staggered back: Bael five meters, the undead three.
They clashed again. Blades danced in a symphony of destruction. Nearby trees splintered; snow and wood shards erupted in every direction, turning the clearing into a raging white storm.
'More. I need more.'
Their swords locked in a deadlock. Both pushed, boots sinking deep into the snow.
It lasted only a moment. The blades separated. The undead's foot shot out and slammed into Bael's chest.
A mouthful of blood sprayed from his lips as he soared backward.
Mid-flight he twisted, planted both feet against a massive trunk, and launched off it like a springboard. The tree groaned and collapsed behind him.
Bael shifted his grip, sword now at his right side.
The monster lowered its stance and waited.
They met in the center.
There was no earth-shaking boom—only the piercing screech of metal grinding metal.
Both passed each other and ended up back-to-back.
Blood droplets pattered onto the snow. A deep gash now crossed Bael's chest, forming an X over the previous wound.
But he wasn't the only one injured: black liquid dripped from the undead. A terrible slash ran from its left shoulder all the way to its right hip. Seconds later, the left arm tore free, dangling by threads of decayed flesh.
Even so, both remained standing.
Bael panted heavily. The undead stood motionless.
Barely a couple of minutes had passed, yet Bael's body was already at its limit.
They turned to face each other at the same instant.
'It wasn't enough.'
He squeezed the hilt until his knuckles cracked. Blood loss dulled his movements.
They stared for a few heartbeats, then charged again.
The monster moved on instinct and implanted commands.
Bael fought because every passing second was one second less of life.
Another impact. He was overpowered and hurled backward.
He rose instantly and attacked once more.
Clash after clash. He lost count.
With every collision the gap grew clearer: each blow wounded him more severely, threw him farther, shattered his body further.
Another strike.
He tumbled across the ground like a discarded rag.
When he finally stopped, he stood up through sheer willpower.
His body no longer obeyed him. Drenched in blood, vision blurring, sounds muffled.
The monster's silhouette wavered before him.
'¿How long has it been?'
He had lost track of everything except the fight.
His gaze lifted past the enemy to the sky above. He could no longer see its beauty—only blinding white light filled his vision.
He tried to shield his eyes, but his arm refused to rise.
He closed his eyelids. When he opened them again, the undead stood right in front of him, dragging its sword with its one remaining hand.
'I'm going to die.'
He knew it.
'¿What will Mother think?'
Despite the terror of battle, he loved her. She had been a gentle, caring mother to him and to Elia. He held no resentment toward her for letting him die here. If he fell, it was because he wasn't worthy to be her son.
She'll be disappointed.
He looked at the monster—the severed arm, the wounds he had managed to inflict.
At least I took one arm. That should lessen her disappointment a little.
He tried to comfort himself.
The undead raised its sword.
'¿And Elia?'
'She'll definitely cry for me.'
Memories of his little sister flooded in: clingy, dreamy, always begging him to be her hero. He never tired of her.
'I'm sorry, Elia. I won't be able to do it.'
Hot tears rolled down his cheeks without him realizing.
'I wish I could have… but I'm too weak.'
The sword descended.
His fate was sealed—and yet, from the deepest part of his consciousness, something stirred. His body, which had burned with pain moments ago, suddenly felt nothing at all.
An instant later, it was as though his soul was being yanked from the abyss.
Excruciating agony ripped through every inch of him. Blood poured from his orifices; his eyes rolled back pure white. He lost consciousness.
Yet the blade meant to end him halted in mid-air.
Not just that—everything froze.
Within a fifty-meter radius, time itself seemed to stop.
The undead's sword, the trees, even the falling snowflakes hung suspended.
A heartbeat later, the entire area shattered.
The undead, its weapon, the trees, the snow—everything disintegrated in a violent eruption of ice and ash.
When the dust finally settled, only Bael remained standing at the center of the crater.
A chilling aura radiated from him.
Seconds later, his body collapsed with a dull thud onto the frozen ground.