The face was gone now.
Back to a blank void.
But the silence between them had changed.
It wasn't waiting anymore. It was reading him. Testing him.
Kenjaku didn't move. Not yet. He let the air settle. Let the distance remain.
Then, the Faceless One took a step forward. Then another.
Its claws hung low at its sides, arms loose. But there was weight in each movement — like every step had been calculated before it even lifted its foot.
Kenjaku spoke without emotion. "You want to know why I'm here."
No response.
Then the pressure shifted.
In a blink, the Faceless One was gone from its spot — reappearing inches from him, claw raised.
Kenjaku leaned back fast, cursed energy flashing across his body as the attack tore past his chest. His coat ripped open, but he didn't bleed.
The curse pressed in.
Another strike came fast from the right. Kenjaku barely blocked it with a curse-reinforced palm. The weight of it still pushed him back.
Another.
No space between hits. No time to speak.
He gritted his teeth, raised his palm, and opened a shallow cut. Blood flowed instantly, wrapping around his arm.
Red threads shifted midair, sharp and precise — Blood Manipulation.
Kenjaku struck forward with a whip of hardened blood.
The curse didn't even blink.
It leaned sideways with inhuman smoothness, avoiding the attack like it had dodged that exact strike before.
Then its face began to change again.
Kenjaku saw it.
Not just a random host. It was him.
Noritoshi Kamo. The body he had used long ago — the infamous sorcerer whose name had stained a clan forever.
The eyes. The subtle smirk. Perfectly copied.
Kenjaku's blood technique faltered for just half a second. That was all the Faceless One needed.
It dashed forward again — claws flashing.
Kenjaku sent out another spike, but the curse pivoted around it like it knew the angle before he did. Every counter was dodged. Every trap avoided.
He sent blood slicing through the air — arcing, twisting. The curse ducked, leapt, and weaved through all of it.
It wasn't fast in the traditional sense. It was correct. Always in the right place. Always outside his reach.
The Kamo face flickered once… and vanished, returning to blankness.
Kenjaku's breath came sharp now. He was defending, but barely. Not because he lacked power — but because nothing he did landed.
The Faceless One didn't just want a fight. It wanted to see how he thought. How he moved. How he reacted.
And now it had a new piece of information. His technique. His blood. His history.