Rin knelt on one knee, his left hand clutching his bleeding abdomen as fresh blood seeped continuously through his fingers.
His face was pale from blood loss, yet he still grinned, the fervor in his eyes undiminished.
The excruciating pain in his abdomen did not make him retreat; instead, it only excited him further.
This kind of near-death battle, this madness of trading blood for blood, was what he truly craved.
In the distance, the Matador slumped against the railing, his body twitching continuously as black Cursed Energy rapidly drained from him; clearly, he had sustained a fatal wound.
He watched Rin, who was covered in blood yet remained arrogantly defiant.
The Matador's body, slumped against the railing, suddenly stirred.
Purple blood continuously spilled from the corners of his mouth, his tattered formal wear was stained with gore, and his lone arm hung limply at his side, yet transparent tears slowly welled up in his eyes.
Those were not tears of fear, but tears of excitement and relief.
He lifted his head, watching Rin approach step by step, and a blood-stained smile spread across his lips as he spoke in a raspy yet powerful voice:
"How terrifying... how magnificent."
A mouthful of black blood flowed down from the corner of his mouth, but he paid it no mind; instead, using his remaining strength, he propped himself up bit by bit.
The gems on his golden formal wear had long since fallen off, and fragments of his tattered cape were scattered at his feet, yet his posture remained as upright and arrogant as when he first appeared:
"In the days since I was born, only you have been able to make me this excited. To be able to complete such a magnificent performance, even if I die, I have no regrets."
Rin stopped in his tracks, looking at the scarred yet stubborn Cursed Spirit before him, and a touch of something he had never felt before stirred in his heart.
He slowly straightened his body; although his abdominal wound was still seeping blood, he raised a hand to wipe away the bloodstains from his lips, his aura remaining high:
"Come, let us end this battle. I will give you a perfect conclusion."
This was not pity, but respect for an opponent; this Cursed Spirit, who interpreted "battle honor" with his life, deserved a dignified end.
Hearing this, a flash of gratification crossed the Matador's eyes, followed by a confident smile.
With his lone arm, he laboriously picked up the long sword that had fallen at his feet; the blade trembled slightly due to his shaking, yet it still gleamed with a biting cold light:
"I will not do anything that stains a battle. Therefore, I will tell you my trump card: this sword has one final effect."
The arena fell silent instantly, and even the shouting of the spectators stopped subconsciously.
Everyone's eyes were focused on the blood-stained long sword; even Maki Zen'in held her breath, gripping the wooden board in her hand tightly, her heart in her throat.
"When I pierce your chest the next time."
The Matador's voice spread clearly throughout the entire arena, carrying an unquestionable resolve:
"All the wounds this sword has previously inflicted upon you will be detonated by this final strike, and all the damage will be concentrated and transferred to your heart. At that moment, you will definitely die."
He paused, meeting Rin's gaze with a calm expression:
"Conversely, if I fail to strike, this will be my final blow. I will calmly accept death."
These words exploded in the arena like a thunderclap.
Maki Zen'in's face turned pale instantly. She wanted to scream for Rin to dodge, wanted him to use the Sharingan to end the battle, but found she couldn't make a sound. She knew Rin wouldn't listen.
Rin looked at the Matador's honest eyes, and the stir in his heart deepened.
He hadn't expected that this Cursed Spirit, who acted in the name of a "performance," harbored such pure battle honor deep within his bones.
He slowly clenched his fists, feeling the excruciating pain from his abdominal wound and the strength gradually weakening within him due to blood loss, yet he still grinned:
"I salute you, great Matador."
Having said that, he assumed a fighting stance, feet shoulder-width apart, hands slightly raised, his eyes fixed firmly on the Matador.
He did not use the Sharingan's genjutsu, nor did he even consider dodging.
Even though he knew this strike could be fatal, he was willing to go all out.
He couldn't even explain to himself why he was doing this.
Perhaps he was infected by the Matador's sincerity, perhaps the longing for "honorable battle" deep in his bones had been awakened, or perhaps it was because he didn't want this duel, filled with blood and dignity, to devolve into a victory won through tricky tactics.
At this moment, his world contained only the opponent before him and this battle that was about to end.
Seeing Rin's stance, tears welled up in the Matador's eyes again, yet he smiled even more brilliantly.
He took a deep breath, gripped the long sword with his lone arm, and poured all his remaining Cursed Energy into it, causing the blade to glow with a faint red light.
"Then, the final chapter of the performance, begins!"
The Matador kicked off the ground violently, his broken body erupting with its final strength as he charged toward Rin like an arrow released from a bowstring.
He raised the long sword with his lone arm, the tip pointing directly at Rin's chest, carrying both a determination to die and respect for his opponent.
Rin's gaze became sharp to the extreme in an instant. He did not dodge; instead, he took the initiative to meet him head-on.
The Sharingan spun at high speed, not to cast genjutsu, but to capture the trajectory of the long sword and to find an opportunity to counterattack before this fatal strike arrived.
Two battered figures converged in the center of the arena; the cold light of the long sword collided with the force of the fist, and blood traced a beautiful arc in the air.
This life-and-death gamble in the name of honor had finally reached its final conclusion.
The air in the arena seemed to have frozen.
The Matador's long sword, glowing with red light, pointed directly at Rin's chest, and the shadow of death had already loomed over them both.
Rin stared intently at the tip of the sword, his muscles tensed throughout his body, yet he still showed no intention of dodging.
The domain's frenzy effect was still influencing him, and the obsession with an honorable battle made him willing to stake his life.
But just at this moment, a figure moved suddenly.
Maki Zen'in, at the edge of the spectator stands, watched that long sword glowing with a fatal red light and saw the unswayable fervor in Rin's eyes; her heart felt as if it were being fiercely clutched.
She had heard the Cursed Spirit's trump card and knew what this strike meant.
She was even more certain that Rin was not voluntarily putting himself in danger, but had lost his reason, swept up by the domain's effect.
He cannot be allowed to die!
Maki Zen'in did not hesitate in the slightest; using the last ounce of strength in her entire body, she raised the long sword in her hand high.
She used the long sword as a javelin, aiming at the Cursed Spirit's back.
Her body was still trembling, and the excruciating pain from her wounds made her vision go black, yet she still locked onto her target with unwavering focus.
The Matador was charging toward Rin with all his might, his back completely exposed, and his perception dulled by serious injuries; this was the only chance.