Almost all of the scout's lamplight fell upon Torres, illuminating his body while Bonny remained mostly obscured in the undergrowth beside him. Only her shoulder and a sliver of her cheek could be seen—but in that dim and shifting light, her identity was still concealed.
The scout squinted as he raised the lamp higher, its beam catching on Torres's face. "Huh? Boy, what are you doing out here? It's dangerous," the man said, his voice calm but cautious.
Torres stood slowly. Though he was seventeen, his youthful appearance always made him seem like a younger teen—fifteen, maybe. But anyone who really looked into his eyes, who understood the sharpness and depth behind them, would immediately sense something more. Something far older.
At that age, no one would suspect you of being a traitor. Just a lost kid chasing adventure.
But then the scout turned, sweeping the light to his left.
The moment Bonny's features became visible—even slightly—his reaction changed entirely.
"B–Bonny the Hundred?!" he shouted, his voice no longer calm but strained with recognition and alarm.
The two stood up.
"Uhm…" Torres muttered awkwardly, scratching his neck.
Bonny's eyes were no longer on the scout's face but on his uniform. It was clean, polished, and most importantly, not the kind worn by low-ranking officers. No, this was something else entirely—black shoulder pads lined with silver threads, a diagonal sash that bore the insignia of a higher class.
A Judge Officer…? her mind screamed. The rank just below Vice Captain.
Her breath hitched in her throat. Someone of this caliber was never supposed to be scouting this forest—not alone. Yet here he was. And even though she had seen a glimpse of Torres's strength, she still wasn't sure if he was strong enough to handle someone like this.
"Well," the officer said, his tone almost bored as he unlatched the buckle on his waist. In one swift motion, he drew a curved sabre from its sheath—a blade so polished it caught the low ambient light like glass.
"So… we're fighting?" Torres asked, a grin spreading across his face. His eyes sparked with excitement as he gently tilted his neck left and right, letting out a satisfying crack from both sides.
He shot a glance at Bonny, signaling her to move back. She immediately stepped away and ducked behind a thicker bush, her heart racing.
"Wait!" Bonny called out. "Before you two fight… why is someone of your rank patrolling out here?"
The officer didn't answer immediately. He simply placed the lamp down gently on the ground beside him and raised his blade. Then, straightening his back, he took a formal stance.
"Why would I answer a traitor?" he said coldly.
Torres's arms lowered to his sides. His posture relaxed, yet something in his aura shifted. His feet parted, knees bent, arms slightly raised—not tight, not loose, but like coils ready to snap.
"Flying… Straight…" he whispered as he extended his left arm outward in a lightning-quick punch.
The air cracked with the sudden force of the move—a direct blow aimed for the officer's face.
But the officer didn't even flinch. The sabre swung up in a perfect arc, intercepting the punch with a metallic clang! that echoed through the forest. Sparks flared in the dark from where knuckles met steel.
Torres slid back an inch, his feet dragging through the dirt. "Tch… you're fast."
The officer's expression remained emotionless. He stepped forward with precision, slashing horizontally at torso-level. Torres ducked instantly, the blade slicing clean through the air just inches above his head.
Before the officer could reposition, Torres twisted on one foot and launched himself forward like a spring—his knee aimed for the man's ribs.
Clank! The officer's elbow blocked it with inhuman sharpness, his body barely shifting from the impact. Then he rotated his shoulder and used the sabre's curved side to pull Torres forward. With a yank, he twisted his body mid-turn and slammed the hilt of the blade toward Torres's jaw.
Wham!
The strike connected—but Torres's head barely jerked.
"Nice try," Torres muttered, a grin still stretched across his lips.
He grabbed the officer's wrist before he could pull away and spun his body low, using his own weight to flip the man off balance. The officer staggered, just slightly—but it was enough.
Torres's right leg shot up like a whip. "Sky Kick!" he shouted.
The officer's sabre shot up to defend, but the sheer speed and strength behind the kick caused his arms to rattle as the blade took the blow. The Judge slid back a full meter, boots carving lines in the forest floor.
Now both combatants were fully alert.
The officer took a deep breath and then charged forward—not recklessly, but like a trained predator. His sabre moved in rhythmic swipes: high, low, feint, then thrust.
Torres dodged with quick, weaving steps, slipping between slashes like water, letting the sabre cut nothing but air.
Bonny watched from the sidelines, her eyes wide with shock. The officer was strong—so strong—but Torres was keeping up. No, he wasn't just surviving. He was playing with him.
The officer dropped low and twisted his entire body into a spinning cut. The sabre curved in from the left, aimed at Torres's ribs. But at that exact moment, Torres leapt straight into the air, twisting his body.
He spun in a midair flip, then dropped like a stone.
"Breakfall Dive!"
His elbow came crashing down like a hammer. The officer's eyes widened as he barely managed to shift his stance. He raised the sabre horizontally—blocking just in time—but the impact cracked the ground beneath them. Dust and leaves exploded outward as both men were pushed back, muscles trembling from the force.
Torres landed on one knee, grinning. "You're good. I like you."
The officer panted slightly, now clearly taking him seriously.
"I underestimated you," the officer said, brushing dirt off his sleeve.
"Most people do," Torres replied.
Bonny couldn't believe what she was seeing. He's not just strong… he's equal to a Judge Officer. Or maybe… even stronger?
The officer adjusted his footing and pointed the sabre forward. "Name yourself."
"Torres Plosia," he said proudly, cracking his knuckles. "Traitor by choice."
The officer narrowed his eyes. "Plosia…?"
Whatever realization dawned in that man's expression was quickly erased with another clash of steel and fist, as the fight entered its second round.