With the ice spear condensed in both hands, the yaksha held it with surprising form, lowered his body, and angled the tip slightly down.
Morax couldn't help nodding.
He had the *feel* of it. That stance was built for force. A cold point flashes first—
Then numbness follows like lightning!
Morax watched as the yaksha drove the spear hard into the barrier, and the boy's whole body locked up, stiff as a straight wooden pole.
Recoil numbness?
Morax covered his eyes with one claw. What had he even been expecting?
…Hm?
The Cryo in the air—
He snapped his eyes open. Inside the barrier, the young yaksha was continuously pouring elemental power into the spear.
Oh?
That amount… wasn't bad at all.
Morax was impressed—until something felt off. He refined his senses, reading the flow of energy around them.
And then he understood why the newborn yaksha had lasted so long. It wasn't that he had a massive reserve.
It was that his recovery was absurdly fast.
Elemental power streamed into the yaksha like a tide, replenishing him almost as quickly as he spent it.
Morax's realization had barely settled when the sand on the ground began to rise without wind. At the same moment, a crack ran along the ice spear, and frigid mist burst out from within.
He could throw around power freely…
…but the "hand" that held it was too small. In other words: his control wasn't enough.
The yaksha noticed too. He stopped forcing more energy in, drew back— And thrust.
The spear gave the raging Cryo a direction to vent—straight through the tip. A beam of Cryo erupted from the point, grinding against the barrier for a heartbeat— Then punched a clean hole through it.
The young yaksha stepped out through the opening, looking refreshed—almost smug— And then met Morax's eyes.
He froze.
Morax, on the other hand, looked at him with open appreciation. He hadn't put much into that barrier, but for a child that young to break it at all was something to be proud of.
Morax was just about to speak—about recruitment—
When the yaksha had already formed a new ice spear, set his stance, and raised it with eyes blazing, ready to die.
Born for battle. Dying for battle.
That instinct etched into a newborn yaksha's bones made him willing to attack anything—even an enemy he knew he could not defeat.
Feeling the killing intent in the air like a blade skimming skin, Morax nodded in understanding.
Still not enough.
Morax was about to move—
Then he noticed the fine sand drifting through the air.
He hadn't realized it, but they'd wandered into *this* place.
He'd originally come out to check on an old friend's territory… only to get splashed in the face by a brat the moment he left.
Morax seemed to know who was about to intervene. He decided not to beat the yaksha again.
But the yaksha didn't know any of that.
He launched himself at the dragon-beast in a blur, leaping high.
Seeing Morax remain still, the yaksha assumed he was being looked down on—and anger flared hot.
His body twisted like a wrung rope. Both hands gripped the spear and drew it back as far as it would go. Cryo crystallized at the tip in a blooming flare.
He swung.
The crystallized ice exploded.
Morax's eyes brightened again at the sight of that spear-shaft sweep merging with Cryo. Things the yaksha didn't know, Morax could teach.
But this—this ability to fuse what he already had into something sharper? That kind of talent was rare.
Only…
As a yaksha, throwing a suicidal strike without wearing his mask? Was he mocking Morax?
Still, Morax didn't react.
Not because he could take the blow without doing anything. But because attacking an illusion was meaningless.
Youngsters.
In the dragon's meaningful gaze, the yaksha frowned.
The spear fell straight through—hit the ground instead—and shattered from the recoil.
In the yaksha's pale blue eyes, ice shards spun through the air, white fragments swallowed by drifting sand.
He turned, confirming it—
He had passed through Morax's body.
The image of the dragon held still, a human-shaped hole torn through it and a long narrow gap carved along its side. Proof that he had indeed pierced straight through.
"Pah!"
He spat out sand he'd bitten down on—
And watched the dragon's phantom split along the "wound," crumbling into brown sand that scattered into the air, then spiraled slowly around him.
He reached out, letting the fine grains slide across his palm, and his anger spiked. Using the land itself… setting a formation here…
With such heaven-reaching methods, and you use them to toy with a tiny yaksha like me?
Even if he'd only just been born, as a battle race, a yaksha still carried a basic understanding of conflict.
If the power had manifested as mist, he could've told himself it was simply Hydro's nature shaping a mirage.
But using sand as the medium to mimic a lifelike dragon? Whoever was behind this was someone of frightening skill. A crisp laugh—clear, never frivolous—rang by his ear.
The voice carried the patient breadth of earth that bears all things, without any dull heaviness.
It sounded like it echoed right beside him… and yet, no matter how he listened, he couldn't identify its direction. As if it came from far away.
The yaksha's brows knit.
This was the formation's doing. He couldn't read their intent.
Trying to crush a yaksha's will with tricks like this? That was ignorance.
Elemental power surged through his entire body. Brute force to break technique—his only way out.
It was a helpless choice, proof of inferiority. Even if he tried it, it might not work. But he refused to wait for death.
Even if he burned every last drop of power, tore his body apart, and died exhausted—at least he would have struggled.
Outside the storm of sand, beside the massive dragon-beast, floated a woman.
Her hair was like fine white silk dusted with pale gray—not dirty, but aged with quiet elegance. She wore wide-sleeved white robes tinged faintly with pink, a bracelet of strung beads hanging from her wrist, and a slender hairpin holding a bun at the back of her head.
Her appearance, oddly enough, wasn't striking. Not tall, not petite. Her face was plain, her aura ordinary—
And yet, dressed as she was, she carried a quality that made you look twice.
One enormous beast and one slight figure floated together with strange harmony, observing the young yaksha at the center of the sandstorm.
After a while, the woman spoke—her voice gentle.
"Is that enough? Looks like the child truly doesn't know how to wear his yaksha mask."