The gates clanged shut with a finality that echoed like a death knell. The duel was on.

She didn't speak. No roar, no taunt. Just a slow advance, sword trailing, crimson red eyes locked on Byung like a hawk on a mouse. Byung circled left, sword raised, testing the gravel under his boots—it shifted slightly, a potential slip. He lunged first—a probing slash aimed at her shoulder, the blade whistling through the air with force that stirred the dust. She sidestepped with minimal effort, the robe swirling around her legs, the sword's tip leaving a furrow in the dirt. Byung followed with a thrust, committing more, the blunt tip aimed for her midsection. She twisted, the blade missing by a hair, her white hair whipping like a flag.

He pressed, swings coming faster—left slash for her arm, right sweep for her knee. The blade hummed, but she dodged effortlessly, her movements fluid, almost lazy, the broadsword still dragging like an afterthought. Byung's breaths came quicker, the confined space forcing him closer each time, the barbs on the fence a constant threat inches away. The crowd murmured, goblins leaning in, the fence rattling under their grip. Naz clutched her baby close, the infant's soft coos a fragile contrast tot he violence about to be unfolded.

Then her breathing changed—a deep, slow inhale that expanded her chest under the robe, her nipples pressing harder against the fabric. No words, no gesture. But the air thickened, pressure building like a storm front rolling in. Killing intent. It hit Byung like a physical wave, overwhelming fear crashing through him. His heart hammered, vision tunneling to her red eyes, knees weakening as if gravity had doubled. Sweat beaded on his brow, dripping into his eyes with a sting, the wind suddenly feeling colder against his skin. But this wasn't what frightened him the most, he could see something ethereal standing behind her, it was like she had become a puppeteer for death itself. It wasn't rational terror—her aura pressed down, making every breath labored, every movement heavy. He staggered back a step, sword dipping, gravel crunching under his boot.

Byung wanted to throw in the towel, he knew he could do it but this was more than a fight. Byung knew the fate of his entire race rested on his shoulder so he had to be brave.

He took a deep breath, the Chieftess was surprised he didn't break, this should have been enough to break him.

However, it would take more than this to impress her.

She struck.

Her broadsword came up in a wide, sweeping arc—not aimed to kill, but to maim. The blade sliced through the air with a low whoosh, the air wheezing as it tore through it. Byung dodged, barely, the edge grazing his forearm plate with a metallic screech that sent sparks flying. Pain flared—not deep, but a warning as he had managed to survive the first attack. He countered with a slash at her midsection, the blade biting air as she leaned back, the robe fluttering to reveal the curve of her hip. He pressed, daggers drawn now, lunging low for her thigh—the bone blade flashing, venom-tipped teeth glinting. She stepped aside, her foot landing with a thud that vibrated the ground, and swung her sword's flat side in a backhand arc. The way she swung her sword like it weighed nothing was not an easy feat.

The impact caught Byung's side, the broad blade slamming into his ribs with bone-jarring force. He gasped, air exploding from his lungs in a sharp burst with a tinge of blood, the pain a white-hot flare that blurred his vision. It wasn't meant to kill—just bruise, break slowly. He staggered, gravel shifting underfoot, nearly slipping. The crowd gasped, goblins pressing closer, the fence rattling like a cage of beasts. Maui gripped the bars, knuckles whitening, whispering, "Get up..."

Maui knew Byung stood no chance and if the Chieftess wanted to, she could end this fight with a single blow but there was something she just noticed. She was toying with Byung, not because she wanted this fight to be drawn out but because she didn't want the hope to disappear from his eyes for what is a fight without hope?

Byung rolled away, coming up with sword raised, but she was already advancing. Her hits dragged the fight out, satisfying her sadistic side—clips that bruised, near-misses that exhausted. A downward chop forced him to parry; the clash rang like a bell, jarring his arms to the elbows, the vibration traveling up to his teeth. He slashed back, aiming for her arm—the blade missing as she twisted, her robe tearing slightly to reveal toned muscle beneath. He thrust with a dagger, venom glinting; she blocked with the sword's hilt, the bone cracking against metal with a sharp snap, paralysis venom wasted on steel.

Byung knew all of this was a possibility at the end of the day, he wasn't stupid enough to think he could win by playing fair.

The duel dragged, Byung's breaths ragged, body slick with sweat that stung his eyes and soaked his simple armor. She circled, sword raised for another swing—both edges sharp, but the intent clear: prolong the agony, savor the fear.

He dodged a horizontal sweep, the blade whistling past his ear, close enough to stir his hair, the wind of it cooling his sweat-damp skin. He countered with a desperate lunge, but she sidestepped, her foot sweeping out to trip him.

He stumbled, catching himself on one knee, gravel biting into his palm. At that moment, Byung realized his muscles were strained.

He couldn't move fast enough but there was nothing from his system so far.

"Fuck!" Byung muttered under his breath the moment he realized how much trouble he was in.

She loomed over him, broadsword rising high, the sword was eager to add another life to its long list as it arced down toward his neck.

"Byung!" Maui screamed but there was no response, just blood.

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