As they neared the summit, the earlier calm shattered without warning.
A section of the cliff suddenly collapsed, crashing down toward Zarek and Veylor.
Reacting instantly, Veylor's puppet lashed out with its tentacles, wrapping both men and lifting them into the air. It weaved gracefully through the falling debris, avoiding the tumbling rocks with uncanny precision.
Moments later, the construct carried them safely to the top.
Tris was already there, waiting.
Standing at his sides were the twin puppets—The Twin—each holding its weapon, poised for battle.
Why hadn't Tris fled earlier?
There were several reasons.
First, he needed time—time to stay in one place and complete his puppets.
Second, in any battle, information was everything.
By observing the burned building, Tris had already learned who was pursuing him and could plan accordingly. Not only that, he had discovered their method of tracking him—the compass.
The worst-case scenario had already come to pass.
As long as his enemies possessed that tool, running was pointless. The moment he stopped moving, an ambush could come at any time.
So instead of fleeing, he chose to remain here—where he could monitor his pursuers and retain a measure of initiative.
"Veylor, fancy seeing you here. Out for a little camping trip?" Tris greeted with a warm smile.
How could he not be pleased?
What better offering for his father's grave than the man's right-hand aide… and his son?
Just the two of them alone would hardly be enough.
And yet, they had thoughtfully delivered themselves to his doorstep.
"I'm afraid not," Veylor replied politely. "I've come to bring you back to the village. The village chief requires your help, Tris."
"Is that so? Do you need me alive?"
"Unfortunately, no."
"Ah. That's a shame."
Their voices remained calm, almost cordial.
If one ignored the content of their words, it would sound like two acquaintances exchanging idle conversation.
"Oi, Tris! I'm here for a rematch!" Zarek shouted, barely able to contain his impatience.
Unfortunately for him, the response was nothing but cold contempt.
"Shut your mouth. A brat who only dares to come here by clinging to his elders has no right to talk about a rematch with me.
A defeated dog should know its place."
Exactly as expected, Zarek snapped.
Rage surged through him as he immediately sent his puppet charging forward.
Watching this, Veylor let out a quiet sigh. Zarek had already fallen into Tris's rhythm—completely led by the nose.
Even so, Veylor did not intervene right away. He allowed Zarek to engage first.
Standing still, he both safeguarded Zarek and carefully observed Tris.
The presence of not one, but two puppets at Tris's side heightened his concern from the moment he arrived.
Controlling multiple puppets simultaneously was akin to a Warrior wielding two blades or two spears—rare and difficult.
The style had both strengths and weaknesses.
But anyone who could truly master it and bring it into battle with confidence…
…was terrifying.
The only other person Veylor knew capable of such control was the village chief himself.
Compared to a year ago, Zarek's puppet moved far faster.
Its claw strikes were sharper, stronger—deadlier.
There was no hesitation this time.
Zarek unleashed his full strength from the very start, intent on killing his opponent.
But across from him stood someone who no longer held back.
And worse—someone who had no intention of fighting fairly.
As Zarek's cloaked puppet lunged forward, Tris's twin puppets rushed to intercept.
Just as the two sides were about to collide—
Something went wrong.
Zarek's puppet stumbled.
A single misstep threw off the entire attack, breaking its rhythm and disrupting control.
It was only an instant.
But Tris did not miss it.
—or rather, he had anticipated it.
Two short blades danced through the air, enhanced by Space magic — Dimension Cut.
They moved like flickering shadows, slipping through every opening in the cloaked puppet's defenses.
In the span of a heartbeat—
Zarek's prized puppet was torn apart, reduced to pieces beyond repair.
'The gap… has grown this wide in just one year?'
Veylor's thoughts darkened. For the first time, he considered withdrawing Zarek from the fight.
"What… what just happened?!" Zarek panicked.
Too many things had occurred at once. His thoughts were in chaos, unable to piece together the situation.
"The boy set a trap, Young Master," Veylor explained calmly.
"A small pit—just enough to catch a foot. The moment control was lost, he seized the opportunity.
Those blades were likely enhanced by high-level magic as well—sharp enough to cut straight through armor."
After a brief pause, he continued:
"The situation is no longer stable. You should withdraw and leave this to me."
"Even without a puppet, I can still fight!" Zarek snapped, pulling a long staff from his spatial ring.
"Withdraw. You agreed to follow my command."
"But—"
"Fall back, Zarek." Veylor's voice turned firm, leaving no room for argument.
In the end, Zarek retreated—leaving only Veylor and Tris atop the mountain.
"Discarding dead weight without hesitation… how decisive of you, Veylor."
"I still fall far short of you, Tris. I didn't expect you to be this… formidable.
That's precisely why I let Zarek leave. Now I can fight you at full strength, without concern."
"For someone like you, why follow Zyron and carry out such a task?" Tris asked.
"Oh? I owe the village chief a great debt. I swore my loyalty long ago.
Besides…" Veylor's gaze sharpened, "I agree that your existence is far too dangerous, Tris."
"I see. Thanks for being so straightforward."
"And thank you for understanding," Veylor replied politely.
Of course—
Both knew that understanding and forgiveness were two very different things.
"Before we begin," Veylor said, "may I ask you one question?"
"What is it?"
"How can someone your age be this composed?
It's unfortunate to admit, but even Zarek falls far short of you."
Tris's answer came cold, edged with something sharp.
"Maybe because the world I grew up in was dangerous enough to force me to mature early… just to survive."
"…A place like that is truly something to fear," Veylor said quietly.
After a brief silence, both seemed to sense that Zarek had gone far enough.
Without warning—
The battle began.