Blood trickled down Shadow's side, warm and slow, soaking through the tattered remains of his robe. His chest heaved. Each breath scraped against his cracked ribs like broken glass.
But he stood.
Across the arena, Fan Shu was rising too.
Lightning burns scorched his left side, his breathing ragged. But his eyes—those steady, hollow eyes—still glowed with grim certainty.
"You hurt me," Fan Shu said, voice low. "That's rare."
He rolled his shoulders. Bones cracked back into place.
"Now I break you."
The dust between them fell silent. The crowd above was hushed. Even Jin Yu, still watching from across the field, narrowed his eyes.
Shadow steadied his sword with both hands. One more mistake would be his end.
The Fight Resumes
Fan Shu charged—not with rage, but precision.
His footfalls were thunder, his fists meteors.
He struck with a flurry of palm strikes—Iron Temple Cascade—a mid-tier technique focused on relentless, crushing blows that battered defenses until they collapsed.
Shadow dodged the first. Blocked the second. Deflected the third.
The fourth hit.
THWACK.
Shadow stumbled. Blood sprayed from his mouth.
Fan Shu followed up with a knee to the gut—Shadow twisted just in time, taking it along his ribs.
He responded with Pulse One, a sharp sword flick toward Fan Shu's face.
Fan Shu tilted his head, letting the blade graze his cheek.
Blood ran down his jawline.
He didn't care.
He punched again.
Shadow dropped low, barely avoiding a blow that cracked the stone behind him.
"He doesn't stop. He doesn't slow."
Shadow's muscles screamed.
But so did his mind.
"That means he won't think if I bait him."
Shadow's Trap
He let Fan Shu push him back—strike after strike, footstep after footstep. The arena blurred behind them as they reached a jagged rock formation in the far corner.
Shadow ducked behind it.
Fan Shu followed, closing in fast.
"Too predictable."
Shadow feinted right—then spun left around the pillar.
Fan Shu followed the feint, his fist swinging wide—
Too wide.
For the first time, his balance slipped.
His centerline opened.
Shadow stepped into the opening, sword glinting in the light.
"Now."
Flash Blade Art – Kill Line
There was no roar.
No explosion of energy.
Just silence.
And then—
Flash.
A single clean strike.
Too fast to see.
Too precise to block.
Shadow's blade whispered across Fan Shu's chest in a line from shoulder to hip.
Fan Shu froze.
He looked down.
A thin ribbon of blood traced the path of the sword. His body shuddered.
Then collapsed.
The arena echoed with the sound of his body hitting stone.
The Aftermath
Shadow fell to one knee, gasping for breath.
Every muscle burned. His vision blurred.
But he had won.
He turned his head slowly.
Only one figure remained on the field.
Jin Yu.
The Crimson Palm stood at the opposite side of the arena, arms folded, eyes locked onto Shadow with a quiet intensity.
The judge's voice rang out.
"Fan Shu—defeated."
"Two disciples remain."
The crowd exhaled as one—finally releasing the breath they'd been holding.
Shadow pushed himself to his feet.
His hand trembled around the hilt of his blade.
But he raised it.
And looked across the field.
One more fight.
One more name.
One final step to rise.