Zane held the wooden sword, its tip angled toward the ground, his expression cold.
"Even if she stood in my way… even if things truly came to this," he said evenly, "she wouldn't dodge, wouldn't resist. She'd let my sword run her through… or end her own life before I could even move."
"You don't understand—and you never will."
"She is the best master in the world… one of a kind."
It was only because of Qingyi that Zane could hold the advantage now. Most of the techniques he knew had come from her.
He gripped the sword in both hands, stepped forward, and surged ahead—knee lifting as he drove the blade forward in a thrust.
The fake Qingyi hurried to block, the wound on its side still spilling wisps of black mist where the wooden sword had cut it earlier.
But the thrust was never meant to be the final blow. Zane's raised knee snapped down into a straight kick, sharp and sudden like a spear's lunge.
The impact landed solidly. With Zane's relentless pressure and quick, varied attacks, it no longer dared scatter its form to evade.
Zane pressed in again. The Black Sword swept toward him—he deflected it upward in a quick flick and immediately stabbed with the wooden sword, aiming for its throat.
The fake Qingyi leapt back to avoid the strike, pulling the Black Sword into a guard to bar his advance.
The wooden blade's tip clashed against the dark weapon like spear against shield. Under Zane's steady pressure, it was forced back step by step.
"And… taking this form in front of me," Zane said coldly, "is disgusting."
"Even as a shell—you're not worthy."
He slid the wooden sword upward, knocking the Black Sword aside, then reversed into a downward chop, his rear leg snapping forward into a high kick when the strike missed.
The blow hammered into the fake Qingyi's shoulder, driving its body down and wrecking its balance. Zane didn't waste such an opening—the wooden sword came slashing diagonally down.
But just then, it lifted its head and thrust the Black Sword forward with one hand, as if to stop him.
The range was short, the force limited—it shouldn't have reached him at all.
Yet, just before the wooden sword could cleave it in two, the black blade softened in an instant and shot forward like a spear, darting straight for Zane's chest.
The strike came out of nowhere, perfectly timed. His guard was wide open—there was almost no room to dodge.
Almost.
Zane's lips curved faintly. The vicious downward slash eased; its power vanished in an instant, letting him pivot away from the sudden thrust.
He had never committed his full strength to that blow. The so-called finishing strike had been a feint from the start.
"I've been waiting for you."
His eyes burned bright. Short hair of black streaked with gold whipped around as he turned, a confident smile breaking across his face.
The black matter dissolved wherever the wooden blade touched, but the Black Sword had always seemed impossibly hard—too hard, as if the monster had sacrificed shapeshifting for sheer strength.
But that was the lie.
From the start, it had been building that illusion, never letting the weapon change shape, almost convincing Zane it couldn't.
Almost.
Qingyi's training had made him wary, and he'd once fallen for the same trick against her. He knew better now—he couldn't assume the Black Sword was just a weapon. It might be part of the monster's body itself.
And an inch more reach was an inch more danger. Choosing a sword might mirror his mind… but it could also hide something more dangerous.
Dodging past the strike, Zane was suddenly at its side—his range entirely covering it.
"Now… I'll see you off."
He lunged, the wooden blade darting for its head. The fake Qingyi, feeling death's shadow, shed the disguise entirely and tried to split apart to escape.
It had nothing left but this.
But Zane wasn't about to let it work.
As the monster split in two, his sword thrust not at either half, but into empty space—then halted.
Grip. Plant. Drive. Horizontal slash.
His eyes sharpened, hair whipping in the arc of his motion. And on the hilt of his sword, a green butterfly had landed without him noticing.
For a moment, it felt as though another figure stood beside him, both hands over his, driving the blade together.
The sword born from the flowers of hope and the future—meant to sever pain and the past.
As the flower-adorned blade fell, a thousand thoughts pressed at the edge of his mind, ready to burst out with the strike.
But he didn't roar. Didn't exult. Didn't speak of victory.
He simply looked at the pain before him—the pain about to be cut away—and let a single quiet word fall.
"Thank you."
The wooden sword swept clean through, cutting the monster into four jagged pieces.
Such wounds couldn't be healed. Black smoke poured out, and with a silent scream, it vanished completely.
As it dissolved, the wooden sword in Zane's hands unraveled into nothing. The world around him dimmed into gray.
A heartbeat later, he was back in darkness.
It seemed… the darkness had returned.
Then—
A single cold drop fell.
Rain.
And in the next instant, sheets of it came pouring down. The edge of the sky brightened faintly as the rainy night wrapped around the world.
Zane ignored the icy sting on his face. He crouched, eyes fixed on a soft glow.
A pure white flower.
Sheltered by his body, the fragile bloom was untouched by wind or rain, quietly shining with pale light.
It was what the twisted monster had left behind when it died.
The storm still lashed the world. Zane's hair clung to his forehead, drops streaming down as waves of exhaustion rolled through him.
After everything… how could he not be tired?
The sea of flowers had burned to ash, buried with the black mist—taking that beautiful world with it.
...