The next morning arrived without urgency.
The riverbank, once again, had returned to its natural rhythm—quiet, undisturbed, as if the echoes of past battles had never existed.
Water flowed gently downstream, its surface smooth and unbroken as it journeyed toward the waiting embrace of the waterfall.
Mist lingered faintly in the air, catching the early light of dawn.
Beneath the falling cascade, on a lone stone worn smooth by time and current, a man sat in silence.
Legs crossed.
Back straight.
Both hands rested lightly on his knees, palms turned upward—open, still… receptive.
Above him, the sky stretched wide and clear.
The waterfall crashed relentlessly over his body, soaking him completely, yet he did not flinch.
Cold water struck his skin again and again, each impact sharp, unyielding—yet his breathing remained steady.
Slow. Measured. Unshaken.
Since the early hours of the morning, he had not moved.
Not once.
Thoughts came… and passed.
The pain from past battles.
The frustration of repeated defeat.
The weight of expectation.
All of it—released into the endless flow of water around him.
What remained was silence.
A stillness that settled deep within him.
Time drifted.
Minutes blurred into hours, carried away like leaves on the river's surface.
Then—
His eyes opened.
In that instant, something shifted.
A surge of force burst outward from his body, violent and sudden.
The waterfall that had been crashing over him was scattered in all directions, as if repelled by an unseen pressure.
Droplets exploded into mist, the air trembling for a brief moment before settling once more.
Silence followed.
He drew a slow breath.
Then, with deliberate control, he straightened his legs and rose from the stone beneath him.
Water streamed down his body, tracing the lines of muscle hardened through relentless training.
His posture was steady—grounded.
His eyes, once clouded with uncertainty, now held only one thing.
Determination.
There was no hesitation left.
No doubt.
Physically…
Mentally…
He was ready.
Without a word, he stepped out from beneath the falling water, the river parting gently around his legs as he moved toward the bank.
The clothes he had washed the day before hung where he had left them, swaying lightly in the morning breeze.
He took them in hand and dressed in silence,
Once dressed, he reached for his weapons.
The twin swords rested where he had left them—silent yet carrying the weight of everything he had poured into them. He took them without hesitation, securing them across his back, their familiar presence grounding him.
His satchel followed.
With everything in place, he stepped forward.
No words.
Nothing else in mind.
Only his destination.
The manticore's den.
Time passed beneath a rising sun.
By the time its light stood high above the canopy, he had arrived.
The towering tree came into view—its massive trunk standing like a silent guardian before the cavern beyond. The air here felt heavier, thicker… as if the forest itself recognized the territory he had entered.
Beyond it, near the mouth of the cave,
The Crimson Manticore.
Just as before, it lay sprawled across the ground, its massive frame at ease, basking in quiet dominance. Its chest rose and fell slowly, each breath steady, unbothered.
Leisurely. Unchallenged. Until now.
From above, he dropped down from the branches, landing lightly against the forest floor.
No stealth.
No attempt to hide.
He walked forward, closing the distance between hunter and hunted… or perhaps, challenger and champion.
A small grin tugged at his lips.
"Yo…" he called out casually, lifting a hand in a loose wave.
"Missed me?"
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
Then—
The manticore slowly moved.
Its body rose in one fluid motion, power coiling beneath its frame. Its twin tails swayed slowly from side to side, cutting through the air with quiet menace.
He came to a stop.
A precise distance away.
Far enough to react.
Close enough to strike.
For a moment, neither moved.
They stood across from each other—two figures bound by repeated battles, by losses, by growth… and by something unspoken that had formed between them.
The air grew still.
On one side—
The challenger.
Name: Unknown
Record: 5 Losses — 0 Wins
On the other—
The reigning champion.
Name: Crimson Manticore
Record: 0 Losses — 5 Wins
Five times he had fallen.
Five times the creature had stood victorious.
And now…
The sixth encounter.
A quiet wind swept through the clearing.
Leaves loosened from their branches, drifting slowly into the open space between them. They danced in the air—weightless, suspended—as if the world itself held its breath in anticipation.
Neither moved. Neither blinked.
Only watched. Waited.
One leaf fell.
Then another.
Spinning… drifting…
Until at last—The final leaf touched the ground.
And the battle began.
He vanished.
The space he once occupied collapsed into emptiness—
—and in the next instant, he jumped out from within the manticore's shadow.
Midair. He twisted into a controlled spin, black shadows trailing his blades like living smoke.
The air distorted.
A vortex formed—dark, spiraling—drawn by the force of his movement.
Then—
Impact.
His sword came crashing down against the manticore's head, the blow carrying the full weight of his momentum and the force he had built through months of relentless training.
A dull, heavy crack echoed through the clearing.
The manticore reacted instantly.
Its massive body leaped backward, claws tearing into the earth as it created distance. Its head shook sharply from side to side, as if trying to shake off the lingering force of the strike.
For a brief moment—
It staggered.
The effect was subtle.
But undeniable.
Blunt damage.
It worked.
He landed lightly, sliding a short distance before coming to a stop.
For the first time…
He had broken through.
A clean hit. A real one.
A grin slowly painted his lips.
Not arrogance—But satisfaction.
"You didn't see that coming… did you?" He taunted the manticore.
He rested the sword across his shoulder, tilting his chin slightly upward as his gaze locked onto the creature. The gesture was casual, almost lazy—but beneath it was a quiet certainty.
This wasn't the same fight anymore.
Not like before.
In their previous battles, he had held back.
No tricks.
No refined techniques.
No shadows woven into his movements.
He had fought plainly—endured, observed, learned.
All of it…
For this moment.
To let the manticore grow used to a version of him that no longer existed.
The manticore did not rise to the bait.
No reckless charge.
No blind fury.
Instead—It shifted.
Its stance lowered, muscles tightening beneath its crimson hide.
The lazy, dominant air it once carried was gone—replaced by something sharper.
Caution.
"Oh… so you're not some dumb monster after all."
A low growl rumbled from its throat in response—deep, resonant, carrying through the clearing like distant thunder.
Then—It moved.
The ground cracked beneath its paws as it launched forward, a burst of raw power propelling its massive body at terrifying speed. Its fangs gleamed as it closed the distance in an instant, aiming to crush him head-on.
He didn't move.
No sidestep. No retreat.
Instead—
He planted his feet firmly into the earth.
This time… he wouldn't evade.
This time—
He would meet it. Head-on.
He raised his swords.
The blade in his left hand came forward, held horizontally as a shield.
The one in his right followed—angled vertically behind it, reinforcing the guard.
A cross.
A stance built not just for defense—
But to resolve.
"Come!" he shouted, voice cutting through the rushing wind as the manticore closed in.
The creature's fang clashed against his sword with unbelievable force.
The impact slammed through him, sliding his feet across the ground before he managed to anchor himself.
A grin tugged at his lips.
"Is that all you've got?" he taunted, eyes alight with challenge.
But the manticore wasn't done.
With a brutal surge, it pushed again.
His foot lifted from the earth.
For a moment, he floated, suspended by the raw force of the creature barreling him toward the tree behind.
Instinct flared.
Black shadow erupted across his body, swirling like liquid armor, the same technique that had cloaked his swords now wrapping him entirely.
A thunderous crack split the forest as his back collided with the tree, splinters exploding outward. The trunk shattered beneath the impact, a violent echo of the manticore's power.
The manticore didn't relent.
It barreled forward, smashing through a couple more trees in its path before finally launching him high into the air.
With no foothold, he plummeted straight into the manticore's trap waiting below.
Then, the creature opened its mouth, and a ball of crimson light began to swell within.
"Hey… hey… hey… don't tell me…"
Every hair on his body stood on end at the thought that crossed his mind.
He was right.
A searing burst of crimson energy shot toward him.
Air rushed past as he fell, the attack unavoidable.
There was no time to dodge.
No way to dodge.
At this moment, his life hung on the swords in his hands.
Putting all his trust into the swords, he raised them just like before when he stopped the manticore's assault.
A fragile hope became a desperate trust.
The crimson energy slammed into him at impossible speed.
The light parted, splitting around him, and for a brief heartbeat, he vanished within the glow.
When it cleared, he emerged at the tail of the crimson energy, still falling toward the manticore.
The sword held.
It lived up to its description.
A defense specialist.
As gravity pulled him down, he rolled forward, letting the momentum of the fall carry through his body. Both swords sliced through the air, a blur of black and silver—but the manticore had already vanished, leaving only disturbed leaves and churned earth in its wake.
He landed on his feet, crouched, eyes wide.
His breath hitched.
That burst of crimson energy… its speed, its sheer force—he hadn't expected it.
Not even close.
He leaped back instinctively, creating space, then jumped again, landing with precise control. He whistled, a low sound of disbelief and respect.
"Wow… so you also have an ace up your sleeve, huh?" He thought about the crimson energy that had been fired at him.
Then his gaze dropped to the sword in his left hand.
Its balance, its timing… defending him when he thought there was no hope. Somehow, it had saved him more than raw strength ever could.
He smiled, swinging the sword to cut through the air with a sharp hiss.
With renewed confidence, he stepped forward once more.
"Well then, shall we continue?" he said, his voice carrying as if the creature could understand him.
And so their battle raged on.
The forest became a symphony of chaos: the clash of steel, the crash of falling trees, the roar of exertion. Crimson and black collided midair, painting streaks of color with every strike and parry.
Gradually, the tide began to shift.
The manticore's movements slowed, its once-fluid strikes becoming deliberate and weighed down. Blunt damage had begun to take its toll—fatigue creeping into its limbs.
He noticed every flicker of weakness, every hesitation, and seized the opening.
With renewed speed and precision, he unleashed a flurry of attacks, each strike sharper, faster, more exacting than before.
The manticore tried to parry, to counter, to create distance—but he was always one step ahead, exploiting every misstep.
The fight was no longer even.
Then, a hesitation from the manticore completely turned the tide of the battle.
It froze mid-step, wiggling slightly as if about to topple under its own weight.
Pain etched across its face—blunt damage from the twin swords had finally begun to take its toll.
Seizing the opportunity, he launched his final assault.
He leapt from the manticore's shadow, appearing directly in front of it.
In a heartbeat, a two-hit combo struck its head:
The sword in his left hand landed first, followed instantly by a spinning strike with the sword in his right.
He poured every ounce of strength and focus into the attack.
The impact shattered the ground beneath them with a deafening roar, sending vibrations rippling through the clearing.
The crimson manticore fell to its knees, staggering, finally brought low by the relentless force of his strikes.
He stepped back, chest heaving, eyes fixed on the manticore lying unmoving on the ground.
Though it still breathed, its body no longer held the energy to move an inch.
Strength had left it completely.
For a long moment, there was only stillness.
The creature just lay there, as if waiting for him to decide its fate.
Finally, he let go of his swords and fell backward, his back sinking into the soft grass.
A laugh escaped him, shaky and breathless, as he stared up at the sky above.
Exhaustion, at last, settled over him like a heavy cloak.
From the shadows, Kagen, who had been watching the fight, emerged, holding two bamboo containers.
Kagen poured one bottle of the medicinal herb infusion carefully into the manticore's body. Then walked toward him and placed the other bamboo container beside his head.
Still breathing heavily, he spoke, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Did you see that, Kagen? I won… I finally won."
He raised a hand to the sky, then closed his eyes and inhaled deeply to steady his breath.
Silence followed.
For a long moment, they lay there—two warriors, utterly spent from the battle.
Then... slowly, the manticore stirred.
Weak and battered, it pushed itself up and limped away, disappearing behind the trees.
He stayed still, watching his rival retreat.
This time, he was the victor.
The moment stretched, heavy with triumph and relief.
It was a testament to the months of relentless training, careful honing of skill, and sheer perseverance he had poured into every swing of his swords.