Wor-en breath came out in a white mist, vanishing into the frozen air before his next gasp replaced it. His knees ached from the strain, his fingers stiff on the hilt of his blade.

  Across from him stood the woman in black — light on her feet, movements precise. Her rapier gleamed silver in the half-light, flickering like a tongue of flame against the snow. She fought with method, not fury. The kind of technique that wasn’t meant for beasts or monsters.

  It was made to kill people.

  And that was what unsettled him most.

  He’d seen this style before — years ago, in the capital. The Empire’s dueling academy had demonstrated it once, calling it an Art. But to Wor-en, it had always felt like murder wrapped in elegance.

  “Not bad,” the woman said, her voice smooth beneath the hood. She adjusted her stance, blade tip barely moving. “Didn’t know a washed-up professor still had fire in him.”

  Her tone wasn’t mocking — just… stating a fact. That somehow made it worse.

  Wor-en forced a laugh, though it came out ragged. “Fire burns slower in the cold,” he said, shifting his feet across the frost-slick ground. He could feel his energy ebbing faster than expected. The chill had dug into his bones since morning — a subtle thief stealing from his stamina.

  He needed time. A few breaths to recover. A distraction.

  “So,” he said between huffs, “why is someone from the Empire here?”

  The rapier froze mid-air. Even under the hood, he caught the subtle tightening of her jaw, the way her stance hardened.

  “If you know that,” she said quietly, “then everyone here is already dead.”

  The certainty in her tone sent a shiver colder than the wind down his spine.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You have no idea… haven’t you?” he whispered. “That’s why you attack us.”

  For the first time, she hesitated — a fraction of a heartbeat, but enough. Wor-en still needed to buy more time.

  Far off, Suri crouched low behind though there was a bit of distance between them, eyes glowing faintly from the strain of maintaining her illusion. Her breath came quick, visible in the air like fleeting wisps of glass.

  “This is harder than I thought,” Suri muttered, voice trembling with concentration.

  Her illusion shimmered before her — a distortion in the air bending faintly like heat haze. From it, she was forming something solid. A shard of stone shaped into a point, turning light and air into weight and form. But distance dulled her control. The farther she reached, the more the image trembled.

  If she lost focus now, the whole construct would collapse. If only her [Disrupt Senses] worked. It seemed the lady had some sort of mental protection. She wasn’t affected. Not by one bit.

  She tightened her jaw. “Hang in there, Professor Wor-en,” she whispered, her hands trembling as she guided the forming shape.

  Back in the clearing, Wor-en shifted, masking his growing fatigue with motion. His heart pounded, matching the steady hiss of his own breath. The world narrowed to the woman’s glowing rapier tip and the soft crunch of boots on snow.

  He could feel her waiting — studying him, patient as a hunter watching wounded prey.

  Why is Zia still not coming?

  ….

  “Until when are you going to defend!” the hooded man shouted, voice hoarse with exertion. His curved blades flashed like twin streaks of silver, cutting the air in relentless arcs.

  Boris didn’t answer. His muscles burned, his breath came heavy, but his focus did not waver. He turned his spear, deflecting another slash, sparks scattering in the air. The ground beneath them was slick with frost, each movement a risk.

  He was waiting.

  Watching.

  The man was fast—too fast. The style was foreign, sharp and vicious, meant especially for killing humans. Every strike came at an angle designed to break a rhythm, to force a mistake.

  When the next blow came, he caught it at the haft of his spear, feeling the jolt in his arms, then pushed back hard, enough to make the man stumble half a step. Not much. But enough.

  Boris exhaled, slow and deep. His breath frosted in the air.

  Then he moved.

  [Cleave]

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  The first time was a failure so this time he would try a bit differently. He did not cancel the skill in the middle while it was activating. The ground roared as his spear slammed downward, ice and dust erupting into a cloud of frozen mist. The shockwave rippled through the clearing, muffling sound, twisting sight.

  The hooded man cursed and swung blindly, the frost-laden air thick as smoke. “Coward! Come out!”

  But Boris was gone.

  Hidden in the veil of snow from his own making, he returned to the ancient breathing Zia thought—the rhythm older than the kingdoms themselves. His body stilled. His heartbeat slowed. His presence completely faded.

  He stepped forward, unseen, every muscle coiled.

  Now.

  He moved like a whisper. The spear spun, gathering weight, rotation, intent. Every muscle, every ounce of strength, every heartbeat poured into that single strike.

  [Spear Strike]

  The hooded man sensed it—just barely. He turned, blades rising. But it was too late. Boris was too close to him.

  When their weapons met, the impact cracked through the clearing like thunder. The man gritted his teeth, veins bulging as he held his ground.

  For a heartbeat, it seemed he’d stopped the strike.

  Then Boris whispered, almost to himself, “I’ve never tried this before.”

  [Cleave]

  The second surge came—raw, pure force. The spear’s weight multiplied, crashing through the man’s guard. Bone snapped. Steel screeched. The curved blades shattered as the shaft drove down, splitting the frozen earth and the silence with it.

  The hooded man’s body fell limp.

  Boris stood amid the fading mist, his breath trembling, the tip of his spear still glowing faintly from the energy it carried. Frost gathered around his boots, quiet and final.

  He exhaled again. The ancient rhythm stilled.

  Only then did he allow himself to breathe like a man again.

  “Looks like he skipped a lot of physical training.”

  ….

  It was as if lightning in opposite directions kept hitting each other. They were in a stalemate. Kana knew this. Her opponent’s raw strength seemed to be above her but in terms of speed, she was above him. The problem lies with the man’s skill, the ability to remove his physical body at will. It seemed he became a ghost, Kana could still see him clearly yet he couldn’t land anything. It was tricky.

  Kana's red eyes rolled to Rin's direction for a moment. Rin was still drinking mana potion.

  Now that her mind was clear, she realized she would need her help to win this.

  She had no idea who her opponent was. The five black hooded figures who seemed to be observing before. Are they the one behind the dungeon overflow? The monsters aren’t attacking them.

  No. That’s impossible. All of them were combatants. Perhaps… a rebellion in the kingdom?

  So Kana stepped back, she just needed to buy time.

  The hooded man in front of him seemed startled for a moment then lounged in an attack.

  “Who are you?” Kana said as the man quickly approached him.

  Kana didn’t hear anything but an angry glare.

  Kana’s expression darkened. “So,” she muttered, voice low, “this is going to be a lot more difficult than I thought.”

  She took one step back, shifting her weight. The man didn’t chase. He simply waited, poised — daggers at the ready, like a viper watching for the smallest twitch.

  I need to buy time, she thought. Let him think I’m retreating.

  The wind howled between them, carrying the cries of soldiers and the roars of beasts. The snow thickened, blanketing the ground in white.

  And in that frozen silence, Kana smiled.

  If he could phase through her attacks…

  Then all she had to do was strike when he was solid.

  ….

  Kana stared at the glowing Text of God hovering in the air before her. Did I level up because some people at my party are still killing monsters? Kana took a quick glance. It was probably from Roy’s bony summon or Adam.

  Kana exhaled through clenched teeth, her breath forming small wisps of mist. Her heartbeat slowed, her thoughts beginning to align. Rage had fueled her, but rage alone wouldn’t win this. Not against him.

  The hooded man lunged again—twin daggers blurring into curved streaks of silver. Kana met him with pure instinct. Her arms moved before she thought and twisting her body in impossible angles. Metal rang against metal, the sound sharp and bright amidst the storm.

  She deflected one strike, ducked another. Even so, shallow cuts began to form across her arms and ribs. He was stronger—no, faster too.

  But that wasn’t what made him terrifying.

  It was his cheat-like ability—the way he flickered between substance and ghostly form, turning intangible at will.

  Each time she thought she landed a blow, her dagger passed through him as though slicing through smoke.

  Kana backed away, boots digging into the snow. Her breath came in visible bursts, the pain in her side burning hotter than the frost. And yet, she smiled.

  He hesitated, just for a heartbeat.

  Kana’s grin widened. “You have no idea,” she said, voice low and trembling with unrestrained bloodlust, though even she didn’t notice. “You were already in Checkmate from the start.”

  He probably didn’t understand what Kana meant but the man tensed. Too late.

  Kana’s dagger flashed through the air. It was a wild, reckless throw—exactly what he expected from a desperate fighter. He smirked beneath the hood and activated his skill.

  [Phase]

  His form dissolved into mist. Untouchable. Invincible.

  And then—

  The world twisted.

  A scream tore through the blizzard, raw and ragged. The hooded man froze mid-motion, eyes bulging as if struck by an unseen hammer. He clutched his head, staggering backward.

  From his mouth came bubbles—thin and shimmering, like he was drowning in air. His knees hit the snow.

  Kana didn’t even need to look to know what happened.

  Rin.

  “Her [Guilty Torture],” Kana whispered under her breath.

  The man howled, clawing at the ground as if to escape the invisible agony searing through his mind. Not physical pain—something deeper. Something was tearing through his consciousness like glass shards in water.

  Kana turned her head just in time to see Rin collapse, Toby catching her before she hit the ground.

  “Mana exhaustion,” Yuri said quickly, her hand glowing faint blue as she checked Rin’s pulse. “She’ll be fine.”

  Kana let out a long, shaking breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Relief flickered through her fury. Her plan—no, her gamble—had worked.

  She’d guessed right. The man’s ghost form had a weakness against something not physical attack. When intangible, something was exposed. She learned it when Suri was able to simply break the invisible scarecrows who attacked them before. They couldn’t defeat it, not even close yet Suri was able to destroy it by simply injecting her mana. Would it work similar to Rin’s skill?

  And it had.

  The hooded figure writhed in the snow, the phantom of his power unraveling around him.

  Kana’s eyes burned crimson in the dim light.

  She stepped forward, retrieving her fallen dagger.

  “Checkmate,” she whispered again. Then, more softly—

  “Now for the next one.”

  What’s a checkmate?