He was no longer measuring.
The advance came clean and direct. His blade crossed mine in three short strikes, all aimed at specific points: the already injured shoulder, the open flank, the base of the neck. I blocked the first two by instinct. The third grazed past and opened a deeper cut in my side.
I stepped back two paces.
He gave no space.
He rotated his body and brought the sword down with concentrated force. I defended, but the impact broke through my guard and threw me against what remained of the side wall.
The structure gave way.
The world tilted.
For an instant, I lost my sense of up and down.
Then, air.
I was thrown out of the fortress.
The fall was not long enough to be fatal, but it was violent. The slope of the hill received my body without any kindness. I rolled over dirt and stones, feeling each impact run through already worn muscles.
I stopped several meters below, on my back, facing the night sky.
The sound of war still existed.
But distant.
I breathed.
The air came in with difficulty.
My right shoulder throbbed. My side burned. The blood flowed more heavily than I would have liked.
I stood up.
Slow, but steady.
The fortress behind me was partially destroyed. The upper part open, internal columns visible like exposed bones.
He appeared at the opening.
He did not fall.
He descended with control, landing a few meters in front of me.
The difference in presence was evident.
Without the full amplification of the structure, he was still strong. Stable. Focused.
But now it was just him.
And me.
"You endure well," he said, as if evaluating a partial result.
"You hit hard."
He did not respond to the provocation.
He advanced.
This time the terrain was uneven. Loose stones, exposed roots, a steep slope.
He used that to his advantage.
The first strike came from above, using the elevation. I blocked, but the impact forced my feet to slide backward. I lost balance for a second.
He attacked again, exploiting that fraction.
His blade struck my already injured shoulder.
The pain was immediate.
I almost lost the sword.
I forced my body to react before instinct gave in to the shock. I twisted my torso and pushed his blade out of the line of my neck.
I stepped back three paces.
Blood ran down my arm.
He noticed.
He did not advance immediately.
"You are accumulating damage."
"So are you."
It was true.
His flank was still marked by previous cuts.
But the difference was clear: he maintained stability. I was beginning to feel the real weight of the strain.
He advanced again, now with a more aggressive sequence.
The strikes came in alternating angles, forcing constant defense.
I blocked two.
The third broke through my partial guard and struck my torso.
The impact did not just cut.
It exploded.
I was thrown backward with greater force than any before.
The world spun again.
This time, the air completely left my lungs.
My body slid several meters across the ground before stopping.
The sky remained still above me.
For a moment, I could not move.
The pain in my right shoulder spread through my entire arm.
The cut in my side burned.
My breathing came uneven.
I heard footsteps.
He was approaching.
Not in a hurry.
With certainty.
The sword was still in my hand.
That was what mattered.
I forced my body to turn to the side and tried to stand.
My leg responded.
My right arm failed for a second.
Something was wrong there.
I glanced quickly.
The shoulder had suffered more than a superficial cut.
The joint seemed dislocated.
If I continued like that, I would lose mobility.
He stopped a few meters away.
"Is this your limit?"
"No."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Then get up."
The provocation was not arrogant.
It was factual.
I needed to choose.
Force the damaged arm and lose function later.
Or stabilize it now.
I stepped back a few paces, gaining minimal distance.
I concentrated mana on the shoulder.
The pain increased before it decreased.
Forced alignment.
A dry crack echoed internally.
The arm returned to position.
The cut still existed.
But the joint responded again.
I used immediate healing energy to contain the main bleeding.
Not full regeneration.
Just functionality.
He watched the entire process without interfering.
"Interesting."
"You didn't attack."
"I want to see how far you go."
The answer was simple.
Without emotion.
I raised the sword again.
My breathing was controlled now.
But the body would charge for every effort.
He advanced with sudden speed.
Faster than before.
I barely blocked the first strike.
The second almost hit my leg.
I dodged at the last instant.
The third came straight for my neck.
I leaned my body and felt the blade pass centimeters from my skin.
I counterattacked with concentrated momentum, aiming at the already damaged flank.
This time, the blade went deeper.
He stepped back half a pace.
Dark blood flowed more clearly.
But then it happened.
The wound began to close.
Slowly.
But visibly.
Regeneration.
Not instant like that of lesser creatures.
But real.
He did not seem surprised.
It was part of what he was.
I absorbed the information.
It would not be enough just to cut.
I would need to surpass his recovery capacity.
He advanced again.
The next sequence was brutal.
Each strike carried more weight.
He had stopped holding back his strength.
I blocked two.
The third broke through my defense and threw me again.
This time there was no wall to stop me.
Only ground and stones.
I rolled, trying to reduce the impact.
I stopped several meters away.
My breathing failed for a second.
My vision darkened at the edges.
I heard distant shouts.
Rai'kanna.
Scarlet.
They were fighting to keep other demons away from the area.
I could not fall there.
I forced my body to stand again.
My right arm trembled slightly.
My energy was dropping faster now.
He walked to a safe distance.
"You continue."
"Yes."
He raised the sword once more.
"Then come."
I advanced.
Not out of impulse.
But because retreat would only prolong the strain.
The blades clashed again.
This time, I did not seek brute force.
I sought precision.
I dodged the first strike and attacked the base of his leg.
He blocked.
I immediately spun toward his shoulder.
He dodged.
He was consistent.
But now I knew.
He regenerated.
But not infinitely.
The first exchange had been measurement.
His counterattack had shown me the abyss of strength I was facing.
Now, I needed to cross it.
He attacked with another downward strike.
I blocked and felt the impact travel down to my feet.
The ground beneath us split again.
The slope began to give under the weight of the battle.
He pushed with full force.
I yielded two steps.
He advanced to finish with a horizontal cut.
I dodged at the limit.
His blade sliced through a tree behind me as if it were paper.
It was enough force to cut me in half.
The difference was clear.
I was at my functional limit.
He still had margin.
But now I knew it.
And he knew that I knew.
The next stage would be more brutal.
He adjusted his stance again.
Lower.
More offensive.
His counterattack had been a warning.
I survived.
But barely.
He advanced again.
And this time, there was no more room for error.