The night air was heavy with blood and smoke. Behind him, the barrier of thorns curled and pulsed, a living wall.
Hazuki rolled his shoulders, lifting the sword lazily over one shoulder.
He counted four.
The ogre moved first. A low bellow. Both hands on a club thick as a tree trunk.
Hazuki didn't speak.
The ground trembled under the charge. The ogre raised the club, then brought it down.
Hazuki's body shifted.
No wasted motion. Just one step to the side.
The impact split the ground, a shockwave kicking up dust.
By the time the ogre blinked, Hazuki had stepped in. His sword flashed—low, sharp.
The ogre's knee bent the wrong way.
A second slash opened its gut.
It dropped.
Hazuki kept walking before the body hit the ground.
The crimson hound came next. Fast. Its claws dug in as it sprinted, teeth burning hot like iron from a forge.
Hazuki slid forward, inside the lunge. The hound bit air.
His fist struck its jaw—once.
The second punch dropped it.
He didn't stop moving.
