CHAPTER 172: HIS BODY, A BLADE

The courtyard had started to breathe.

Footsteps padded softly through open halls. A pot clattered faintly from the cafeteria side. Birds stirred overhead, some darting through the wide beams of sunlight spilling past the forest’s edge. The base wasn’t loud yet—but it was waking.

Jin stood in the center of the clearing near the south wall, shirt damp from sweat, eyes sharp from focus. He didn’t feel tired. Not exactly. Just... alive.

No sword. No aura flaring. Just him.

His hands and feet ached in a satisfying way—the kind of ache earned from pushing every muscle to its limit. He’d been running drills for nearly an hour already, moving like a man with something to prove.

Because he did.

And that’s when he heard the voice.

"Morning," someone called. "You’re up early."

Jin didn’t have to look.

He turned anyway.

Hanuel stepped into the clearing with a loose wave, his frame outlined by the rising sun behind him. He looked relaxed, shoulders back, eyes alert. A satchel hung over one side, but the real focus was the weapon slung casually across his back.

A staff.

Simple at a glance—but even at a glance, you could tell it wasn’t normal.

Golden, banded at both ends with intricate carvings, the length shimmered faintly with a pressure that wasn’t just visual—it hummed in the air. It looked like something out of myth because it was.

The Ruyi Jingu Bang.

System-forged replica. Legendary classification.

Jin had seen it manifest during the final stage of the trial. A reward tied to Hanuel’s performance, issued directly by the system. It had emerged like a star crashing into his inventory.

"Nice stick," Jin said, nodding.

Hanuel grinned. "Been working with it all night. You’d be surprised how fast this thing listens."

"I wouldn’t," Jin replied. "You earned it."

Hanuel unslung the staff and gave it a small spin in one hand. "Kind of weird, you know? Holding something this heavy in weight. Not in the arm—here."

He tapped his chest.

"It’s not just a tool anymore. It feels... I don’t know. Right."

Jin walked forward a few steps and stopped, arms folded. "Then let’s test it."

Hanuel blinked. "Wait. You want to spar?"

"Yeah."

The teen raised an eyebrow. "With me?"

Jin nodded once.

Hanuel looked him over. "Where’s Muramasa?"

Without a word, Jin reached behind his back, unslung the sheathed katana—and slipped it into his inventory with a flick of his wrist. It vanished in a blink.

Hanuel frowned. "So... not a spar. You want to test that healing skill, right? The one you got from the spirit?"

"No."

"Then..." Hanuel tilted his head. "What are you doing?"

Jin glanced at the field around them. Vines curled near the fence. The ground was solid. No uneven patches. The light was good.

"I’m trying something different."

Hanuel gave a short laugh. "Without your sword, you don’t stand a chance."

Jin’s expression didn’t change.

"I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to."

The smile slid off Hanuel’s face—not out of offense, but awareness.

Right. This was Jin.

The one who’d faced bosses with his body broken. Who had stood down the three forest beast the day before and walked away without a scratch. The one who made silence into pressure, and pressure into victory.

"...Alright," Hanuel said, twirling the staff once. "Let’s dance, then."

They didn’t need to count down.

They just moved.

Hanuel spun the Ruyi Jingu Bang forward in a sweeping arc, testing Jin’s spacing. The staff extended instantly—sliding out another meter with a shimmer as it blurred toward his ribs.

Jin stepped inside the strike—not dodging it, but beating it, moving quicker than the extension could adjust. His palm slid up along the golden shaft, redirecting it past his shoulder with a snap of force.

Hanuel twisted immediately, flowing into a second strike—this one downward, with weight. Jin ducked low, grabbed a clump of compact dirt, and flicked it toward Hanuel’s face.

The teen flinched. Only a half-second.

But it was enough for Jin to pivot and drive a palm toward his chest.

Hanuel stepped back, planting the staff into the ground like a third leg. Shadows pooled outward from where it struck.

Then he vanished.

Jin’s eyes snapped up—already tracking movement.

To the left.

Hanuel reappeared, mid-air, twisting into a diagonal strike. His body was wrapped in a flicker of shade—an afterimage lingered in the opposite direction.

Jin didn’t block.

He moved.

His shoulder dropped. The staff passed over his back. He rolled into a crouch and grabbed a fallen branch—long, curved. Not sturdy.

Didn’t matter.

He brought it around in a swing. The branch cracked on contact with the Ruyi Jingu Bang—but the angle gave Jin just enough momentum to drive forward again.

Two steps.

Three.

He vaulted up using a vine-wrapped stump and launched himself toward Hanuel.

Fist first.

Hanuel brought the staff up, extended it into a wall—and Jin planted one foot on the staff, pushing off and flipping over him, landing behind with a slide.

His heel carved a streak in the dirt as he twisted into a spin-kick.

Hanuel blocked with the end of the pole, but the force still staggered him.

Jin didn’t let up.

He pressed the attack—ducking and weaving, using feints, elbows, short jabs. He grabbed a broken stone from the edge of the fence and tossed it like a bullet. Hanuel swatted it aside—barely—and countered with a downward slam.

The staff expanded mid-swing—tripling its length.

Jin jumped back just in time.

The ground cracked open from the impact.

Shadows curled upward from the dent.

"New trick," Hanuel called. "Shadow Burst. Staff absorbs and amplifies my skill now."

Jin didn’t answer.

His mind was focused. Hyper-tuned.

No sword. No style.

Just motion.

Every step, every angle, every movement—he was reading, adjusting, learning.

His breathing slowed. His eyes narrowed.

Even Hanuel noticed it.

Jin wasn’t just fighting.

He was calculating.

"You’re not even trying to win," Hanuel muttered.

"I wasn’t trying to," Jin said.

Then he shot forward again—this time not with a strike, but a shoulder-check that caught Hanuel off balance. The staff wobbled. Jin dropped low, hooked his arm under Hanuel’s knee, and flipped him clean over his back.

Hanuel hit the ground with a dull thud, staff bouncing beside him.

Dust settled.

Jin stood above him, panting once.

Hanuel groaned. "Okay. Ow. I take it back. You don’t need the sword."

Jin offered a hand. Hanuel took it.

"You good?"

"Bruised. But yeah."

Hanuel brushed off his arms and retrieved the staff. "Seriously, though... you’re getting scary."

Jin didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he looked down at his palm.

Calloused. Dirty.

Steady.

"I’ve always been sharpening the blade," he said softly. "But now..."

He flexed his fingers.

"I’m going to sharpen the one holding it, too."

Jin let the words settle, more to himself than anyone else. But even saying it aloud made something shift in his chest. His body wasn’t just a container for skill. It was a weapon in its own right—waiting to be mastered like the blade he’d always relied on.

Hanuel rolled his shoulders, planting the golden staff across his back with a faint grunt. His breath had steadied, but his expression was caught somewhere between impressed and irritated.

"Cool line," he said. "But let’s not pretend you didn’t get lucky a few times."

Jin gave him a sidelong look. "You didn’t take me seriously."

Hanuel blinked. "What?"

"I felt it in every strike," Jin said. "You held back."

Hanuel tilted his head slightly, unsure if it was a compliment or an accusation.

Jin didn’t flinch.

"You think because I didn’t pull Muramasa, I wasn’t worth your real strength."

"It wasn’t like that," Hanuel muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean... I didn’t want to knock you through a wall. You’re still the Commander. Seul would kill me."

Jin stepped closer. Not aggressive—just steady.

"You’re one of the strongest in the base now," he said. "You’ve got a legendary weapon. A new form of your skill. You’re not a simple recruit anymore, Hanuel."

Hanuel didn’t answer.

"You think enemies in the Crown War are going to pull punches?" Jin asked, voice low. "You think they’ll give you space to warm up? No. They’ll break your bones the second they see an opening."

He pointed at the earth between them.

"I don’t care if I’ve got a sword or not. If I can’t beat you going all out, then I’ll know where I stand. But if you can’t take me down when you’re serious..."

Jin looked him dead in the eye.

"...you won’t survive what’s coming."

The clearing went quiet.

For a second, all Hanuel could hear was the wind shifting through the trees above.

Then the teen straightened, face hardening.

"...Fine."

Jin raised an eyebrow.

Hanuel cracked his knuckles and spun the Ruyi Jingu Bang once, its end glimmering with a shimmer of compressing shadow.

"Then let’s raise the stakes."

He gestured behind him, toward the dense edge of the woods.

"Instead of staying here, let’s take it to the forest. All of it. Full terrain. You run, I chase. No rules."

Jin narrowed his eyes. "A hunt?"

"Think of it like training," Hanuel said, shrugging. "If you’re trying to master how to fight without your blade, then let’s see how well you move when the battlefield’s alive. Ambushes. Pressure. Shifting ground."

"And what’s your role?"

Hanuel smiled—not cocky, but sharp.

"I catch you."

Jin studied him for a long second. Then gave a short nod. "Alright."

"You can use your nature skill," Hanuel added. "Or that weird healing thing. Whatever. You’ll need it."

"I won’t."

"You will."

They were quiet for a moment. The tension didn’t feel hostile. Just mutual.

Jin rolled his shoulders once more, letting the last of the stiffness fall away. "Then I guess I should get moving."

Hanuel turned his back, facing the treeline, arms loosely at his sides.

"I’ll give you one minute."

Jin gave a half-step back.

Hanuel didn’t look at him.

"You’d better use it."

Jin grinned—just a little—and took off at a sprint.

Boots kicked up soft earth as he darted into the trees. Branches bent out of his way like the forest recognized him. Sunlight flickered through the canopy. His breathing leveled. Feet found roots, bark, stone. He vaulted off a fallen log and landed silently in a shaded patch, then dove behind a rise of moss-covered rock.

He didn’t have a plan.

Didn’t need one yet.

He just needed to move.

He darted left, past a fallen tree, and climbed its side with a quick step up the trunk. From above, the terrain opened wider. Denser branches. More cover. Vines draped like curtains.

Good.

He dropped into a lower crouch, letting the quiet settle again.

Back in the clearing, Hanuel still hadn’t moved.

The teen stood motionless.

His fingers flexed once around the staff.

Then—

The air cracked.

Hanuel vanished in a blur of shadow.