Cain didn't blink, he couldn't.
The grey-haired wolf blurred forward like a silver flash torn from a storm — his dagger arcing, screaming against the air.
Cain's breath stalled in his throat, instinct pulled his sword up, deflecting the first strike.
"Oi, you snotty little twat! Let's see what them posh hands can really do!"
The wolf rotated mid-step, hips low, elbow tight — no wasted motion nor hesitation.
The next strike was already mid-flight. Cain read it a second too late.
Clang!
His sword caught the brunt of it, parried just enough to save his throat but not his shoulder.
The edge of the dagger scraped across his upper sleeve — the magical kevlar almost ripped open, skin purpling.
He remembered shaping each joints of his suit by hand, every layer stitched and etched for his own rhythm.
Roberta had guided each step — it wasn't just armor, it was memory forged into motion.
Sparks flew from where steel kissed the second layer, Cain's boots slid back through dust-filled corridor, heels aching from the weight of the hit.
His magicules pulsed, he gathered his breath low and deep.
Then his left arm shot forward, palm open with a blinding light — not to strike, but to mislead.
A feint — breath of delay.
The wolf suddenly squinted his eyes, moved back, and braced his daggers.
Cain twisted, his right blade screaming free from the sheath at his hip in a half-draw motion — his entire frame coiling like a spring, then snapping in unison.
Steel licked the air, aiming for the wolf's side.
But the beastman grinned — eyes filled with ridicule, his lips peeled into a hunter's snarl on prey.
"Cheeky little bastard! Just die already!"
The wolf dipped under the slash, then spiraled back into Cain's guard like a crashing wave.
He didn't want the brat dead — the canine only wanted to get him out of his hair and rest.
Rage clouded his reason, but beneath it was grief — he had nothing left to bury from his fallen pack.
Steel, flesh, will, and reflex — the world narrowed into a circle no wider than three strides, where every twitch was survival and every breath a blade's length gamble.
Stone beneath Cain's boots shattered as he braced, magicules flooding his limbs like a cold current wrapping around nerves.
'I can only hold half an hour... What should I do?'
Cain's arms screamed from the impact — he felt his bones bend, tendons stretch taut, but he held firm.
He met the strike head-on — he noticed his blade getting chipped down despite channeling numerous enhancements.
'Too heavy! He's overloading his muscles with primal ki... I need to focus.'
The wolf's expression was serious as his blades went faster and faster with each strike — his intent was clear, he wanted to finish this soon.
Cain was already in motion.
He jumped mid-air, using the recoil from the clash to pivot around the beast's swing.
Dust curled around his legs as he went airborne — his sword, still locked with the wolf's, slashed down violently.
He rode the drag, inverted his grip, and drove his foot into the wolf's exposed jaw.
The impact echoed like a drumbeat.
The wolf's head jerked back.
It didn't roar — just a low, choking growl slipped out.
Then, with a full second's delay, it let out a dramatic howl, like it had been mortally wounded.
'What bad acting skills! Is this wolf taking me for a fool?'
The beast wasn't just attacking. It was testing his combat bottom line.
'Should've listened to Uncle J and Grandpa. Those flashy web novels rotted my brain, making me think I'd drop mobs in one hit! I'm way already past a thousand strikes!'
The wolf's next strike came high, elegant and sharp like moonlight forged into steel.
Cain's knees bent, absorbing the pressure, his blade sweeping up to meet the arc.
Sparks sang between them.
Their faces were inches apart.
He could feel the heat of the wolf's breath, seeing the calm hidden under the frenzied gleaming in its eyes.
With a straight thrust — he tried to target the abdominal injury once again.
But the beast pivoted, letting the blade slide past its ribs as it spiraled inside Cain's guard.
Cain moved not by memory, but by breath — each inhale a prediction, each exhale a decision.
Mid-spin, he rechanneled magicules into his veins, his breath flattening into a single thought the same — wanting to end the fight.
Cain twisted once more, blade arcing up like a rising star.
The wolf's counter came just a breath too late but his smile said otherwise.
The canine's dagger came in low — a sweeping crescent aimed for Cain's side, but he redirected his strike just in time, deflecting the slash with the flat of his sword.
Their clash sent shockwaves through the air — Cain's twin shorts words and the wolf's daggers shattered on impact, metal exploding like fireworks, shards scattering in every direction.
Without hesitation, they tossed the broken hilts aside — already forgotten and deemed useless.
There was no need for weapons now — only fists, instincts, and who had better martial arts.
Cain didn't let the moment fade nor did the wolf.
Neither let up. Cain surged forward, and the wolf matched him step for step.
Cain's fist flew — straight, clean, a punch born of calculated strength and control.
The wolf was already there, palm slicing across the air, parrying the blow with chilling precision.
Sparks of magicules and primal ki cracked between their forearms, pressure rippling through the atmosphere like a bell struck too hard.
Their eyes locked.
The canine stepped in, shoulder dropping low, aiming for Cain's centerline.
Cain read the shift, twisting with it, his other hand whipping across for a counterstrike.
Flesh met flesh. Their arms snapped against each other, each impact like stone smashing stone.
Cain grit his teeth. He could feel the strain threading through his muscles, each movement dragging resistance like swimming through hardened light.
"Tell ya what, lad. I'll turn a blind eye, and we call it square? We ain't here for murder, are we?"
The wolf was faster, yes,— but the boy had grit stitched into every tendon.
Cain didn't yield — but he didn't reject the idea either, he knew the wolf was right.
They weren't trading punches — they realized they were fighting for useless pride.