CHAPTER 173: TO CATCH A BLADE

Jin’s breath steadied just in time for instinct to scream.

He dove left.

A heartbeat later, the sky fell.

BOOM.

The ground where he’d stood exploded—torn apart by a golden pillar that crashed down from above like a divine punishment. The impact left a shallow crater of cracked earth and torn roots, dust curling upward like steam from a pot.

Jin didn’t stop moving. He landed in a crouch against the bark of a wide oak, and then launched himself again—upward, scaling the tree in three bounding steps before landing on one of its upper branches. It swayed beneath his weight, but he didn’t slow down.

From above, he saw it clearly.

The Ruyi Jingu Bang—no longer Hanuel’s casual staff, but now a colossal beam of mythic metal, thick as a tree trunk and easily several stories tall. Its gold sheen gleamed like a lighthouse in the forest, and it vibrated with the kind of pressure that made Jin’s teeth buzz.

Then it began to shrink.

Not retract. Shrink.

In mere seconds, it compressed back into a length no larger than a spear, then flickered once—

—and sank into the dirt, vanishing like it was swallowed by the shadows.

Jin let out a breath between his teeth, half-crouched on the tree limb.

"...He’s not playing around."

Of course he wasn’t. Jin had told him not to.

He grinned and stood to full height. From up here, the forest stretched in a ring of green and brown, dappled with gold morning light. Birds scattered in the distance, startled by the crash. The wind caught the edge of his shirt, and sweat cooled against his skin.

"Alright," he muttered. "Let’s see where you come from next."

He grabbed a thick branch near his side—no sword, no aura, just instinct—and wrenched it from the trunk with one pull. It cracked free with a burst of small leaves, and he spun it once for weight.

Not balanced. Not forged.

Didn’t matter.

He dropped into a low stance, breathing steady, pulse quiet.

The forest around him should have been calm.

It wasn’t.

Something was coming.

He couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t see it.

But his body knew.

His left foot shifted backward. His fingers adjusted along the length of the branch. Eyes scanned—up, right, left.

Nothing.

Not even birdsong.

Then—

A snap.

Too late.

Jin spun.

A blur of dark gold streaked through the air toward him—horizontal, fast, deadly. The staff again. Not the giant version, but sleek, fast, and harder than anything wood could’ve blocked outright.

Jin raised the branch—

CRACK!

The force sent him flying.

The makeshift weapon bent inward like a snapped arm, and he barely deflected the blow to the side. The real staff sank into the trunk behind him, piercing clean through with a sharp hum of pressure.

Jin landed on the extended pole with both feet, sliding into a crouch. His ribs throbbed. He felt the bruise forming already—but no blood.

His skill had already started to patch the damage. Elemental Regeneration hummed quietly under his skin, re-knitting fiber and restoring tissue.

Jin didn’t wait.

He ran forward—along the staff.

Hanuel had to be nearby. That strike had been too precise. He was close. Jin kept his footing on the extended pole, charging full-speed, the wind snapping at his shirt and hair.

As he neared the embedded staff, he reached toward a branch overhead—one thicker than the last—and yanked hard.

This time, he meant to use it.

But the second he pulled—

The staff shrunk again.

Like a trap being sprung, the entire runway beneath Jin vanished.

He fell—briefly.

But his left hand caught the branch, and he swung in a wide arc, flipping himself up onto a new perch mid-air before landing on a nearby bough with a soft grunt.

He hung there a moment—fingers tight around the branch—then exhaled.

"Okay," he whispered, grinning.

"I see you."

He jumped from branch to branch, heading east now. The terrain started to slope again—he recognized this part of the woods. Near the cliffs. If Hanuel was leading him this way, it meant he had something set up. A trick. A zone.

Jin gripped the new branch tighter.

So be it.

He dropped low again, sliding along a thick root and then leaping onto solid ground. His knees bent, body coiled.

That’s when it hit.

His shadow moved.

Not from him.

From under him.

Jin’s eyes widened.

The soil under his boots sank—not collapsed. Sank. His legs were being pulled down as if his shadow had turned to quicksand.

Shadow skill.

Real one this time.

Not a pole trick. Not extension via staff.

This was pure manipulation.

Jin’s calves disappeared beneath the ground. His knees followed.

He gritted his teeth, dug in.

Every muscle flexed.

He drove both palms down onto the soil—then pushed off with a full-body surge of strength, lifting his legs and twisting sideways mid-air.

POP.

He cleared the pull, landing on one hand, rolling, and springing back to his feet in a single fluid movement.

His chest heaved.

"That one was new," he muttered, impressed.

He didn’t even know Hanuel could control shadows like that outside his staff. That wasn’t an ability born of the weapon.

That was training.

Real, focused effort.

Jin smiled. "Good."

He took off again—this time pushing speed, feet barely touching the moss as he streaked through the clearing like a blur. Tree branches snapped behind him, air whistling past his ears.

He leapt high again—up to the next tree—

And the staff hit him.

Square in the gut.

A clean, brutal strike.

He didn’t have time to block.

Just time to brace.

The pole knocked the wind from him and sent him crashing into the tree behind. Bark exploded outward. Leaves rained down.

Jin dropped to a seated slump against the trunk.

Everything hurt.

Everything ached.

And yet—

He laughed.

Then Hanuel stepped out of the shadows ahead.

Eyes wide, breathing fast, but grinning.

"Holy crap," he said. "I didn’t think that would land."

Jin’s fingers twitched.

Hanuel stepped forward—

And in that instant, Jin moved.

He was in front of him in a blink. No sound. Just motion.

A thick branch pressed to Hanuel’s throat.

"Neither did I," Jin said.

Hanuel’s eyes flared. His reflexes kicked in.

The staff rose.

CLANG.

He smacked the branch aside and used the recoil to knock Jin backward, creating space between them. Jin skidded across the dirt, flipping once to absorb the momentum, then landed in a crouch.

He laughed—this time louder.

A pulse of green light flickered over his skin, and the dull ache across his ribs started to fade.

He stood up.

"You’ve been holding out," Jin said. "I’m impressed."

Hanuel spun the staff once, still smiling. "You told me to take it seriously."

"I did."

"Then don’t complain when I win."

Jin stretched his arms out and cracked his neck.

"I’m not done yet."

Overhead, a soft humming began.

Both fighters paused.

A floating disc hovered into view above the treeline—silent at first, then dipping lower.

Joon leaned on one side of the construct, arms crossed, eyes scanning the scene below.

"Wow," he said, voice echoing faintly through the morning air. "You guys went full anime this morning."

Jin rolled his eyes. "You spying on us now?"

"You shook the ground twice and made birds fly halfway to Busan," Joon said. "Not exactly stealth mode."

He pointed at Hanuel.

"Also—really? You let the kid style on you?"

Jin shrugged. "Didn’t say it was over yet."

Hanuel grinned, twirling the staff.

"Round two?"

Jin glanced up, back down, then cracked his knuckles.

"Maybe after breakfast."

Hanuel grinned, twirling the staff one last time before slinging it across his back. "Alright. Call me when you’re ready. I still owe you a proper finishing move."

Jin gave him a tired smirk. "Save it for the crown war."

Hanuel waved it off and disappeared back into the trees, his steps light, almost too light for someone who just knocked his commander through a trunk.

Jin watched him go, breathing finally starting to even out. The pulse in his ears dulled, and the ache from the pole strike had already begun fading thanks to the slow hum of his regeneration. He rolled his shoulder, wiped a hand over his jaw, and exhaled.

"I see you’re still playing ’surprise me’ with the rookies," Joon said, floating down with a lazy spin of his disk. His boots tapped the ground with a soft crunch as he hopped off. "I mean, I know sparring builds trust or whatever, but do you gotta let the kid yeet you into a tree like that?"

Jin didn’t answer right away. He started walking.

Joon fell in step beside him.

"Seriously, though," Joon added, stretching both arms behind his head. "You good?"

"Good enough," Jin said, brushing a leaf off his shirt. "He’s improved a lot."

"Yeah, no kidding. Did you see that shadow trap?"

"Felt it," Jin muttered.

Joon laughed.

They passed the wreckage of a snapped root, sidestepping a crater still glowing faintly from Hanuel’s earlier pole expansion. The forest around them had already begun shifting back to stillness—leaves rustling, light dappling between branches like nothing had happened at all.

"Gotta admit," Joon said after a minute, "I didn’t expect that level of power from him. Kid used to trip over himself in training. Now he’s turning the woods into a shadow death maze."

"Trials changed him."

"Changed all of us," Joon said. "But him? Feels different. Like... he’s chasing something."

in didn’t say anything, but the thought lingered in his chest. Yeah. Hanuel was pushing harder. Smarter. Not just for power—but something bigger. Pride? Fear? Jin didn’t know. But he respected it.

They cleared the treeline, the familiar half-ruined silhouette of the school rising into view. Roots still coiled around the brick walls, hugging windows, threading through doorways. A few upper levels had half-collapsed under the growth, but the structure still stood—fused with the forest, part-living, part-ruin. Their base. Their home.

Smoke curled gently from a chimney rigged above the old cafeteria wing.

"Seul’s already cooking," Joon said, sniffing once.

"Let’s go before Echo eats everything."

"Again."

They picked up the pace, the dirt path well-worn beneath their boots. As they neared the front doors, Jin paused for a second, glancing up toward the old rooftop where he’d spent the night. His hammock still swayed slightly, caught in the breeze.

He looked away.

Joon caught the glance but didn’t comment. He just shoved the door open and grinned as a rush of warm air hit them—herbs, oil, toasted bread.

A pot clattered in the distance.

"Home sweet home," Joon said cheerfully. "Let’s eat."