They stood at the center of the hall.
His blade gleamed in his grip, like a sliver of light carved from the void itself.
Their eyes locked—not as teacher and student, not as mother and son—but as natural-born enemies.
He inhaled deeply… and lunged.
His speed tore through the air. The first strike came down like a meteor.
She deflected it effortlessly.
The battle had begun.
Each move was calculated, every strike deliberate.
There was no hesitation, no wasted motion. Their gazes never broke—two minds locked in perfect war.
Gradually, his hunger surfaced.
The hunger to push further. The thrill of destruction.
He pressed his body beyond its limit. Mana surged and thickened around his blade, sharpening with every motion.
She stepped back, forced by his relentless assault.
And in her eyes… there was admiration.
But admiration wasn't enough.
In a single breath, she unleashed her own strength.
Not as a show of dominance—
But because withholding it would have insulted him.
That was when the difference became clear.
The tide shifted.
He who once attacked was now forced onto the defensive.
And still… his desire only burned hotter.
He wanted to surpass her.
To obliterate the gap between them.
To erase it completely.
Violence followed.
But she did not allow him the chance.
Her strikes became a storm—
Thunder in motion, fury in steel.
His arms began to tremble, his body faltering.
Each blow heavier than the last. Her features vanished behind the raging aura.
Then came the killing blow.
Lethal. Precise. Without mercy or hesitation.
It wasn't as though she was trying to kill him—
She knew, with her intuition, that even if she wanted to… she couldn't.
Not because he was stronger. Not because he was immortal.
But because there was something else. Something beyond.
Something she couldn't understand—couldn't touch—no matter how close she was to him.
In that moment, she knew:
What lived inside Isaac… could not be killed.
Realizing he couldn't block the strike,
He did something no one expected—
He activated the true form of "Shadow Rebound."
Not to block it… but to redirect it.
He guided the blade into his left shoulder, allowing it to tear through flesh and bone. Blood erupted freely.
And in that same heartbeat—
He gathered the last of his strength, and launched a counterstrike toward her head.
Pure physical power, fused with endurance burning at its limit.
But she caught the blade… with her bare hands.
Just before it touched her skin.
A single scratch appeared on her cheek—drawn not by steel, but by the air displaced around it.
It left no real wound.
But its meaning… was undeniable.
She looked into his eyes and said, voice sharp as her blade:
— "You're stronger than I thought."
He raised his sword, fury pouring from his voice:
— "Bring out everything you've got… this isn't over."
And the fight began anew—
Fiercer. Smarter. Darker.
But then… something changed.
She noticed.
His skin paled.
His eyes turned a ghostly white.
Veins surged unnaturally beneath the surface.
And yet… his speed increased. His blade grew heavier.
He was sacrificing something.
But not just his body.
The human body, under stress, redirects blood flow to vital organs to survive.
Isaac controlled his entire physiology at will.
Every cell. Every nerve. Every vessel obeyed.
A level of control that bordered on the impossible—
And yet gave him the power to adapt, to survive,
Second by second, in a battle where seconds meant everything.
She watched not as a warrior—
But as a mother.
She saw her child treading ground he was never meant to reach.
And it terrified her.
Then she gathered her emotions, her power, and unleashed one final blow.
The air screamed as it split apart, and she cried:
— "Don't you dare challenge my love! "
A blow like that…
He wouldn't survive it. Not unless he created something new.
In a desperate breath—
"Visual Void."
He surrounded the impact point with a transparent mana barrier—
An invisible shield, holding the sword in place for only a moment.
For a heartbeat, it was as if a hand had grabbed the blade.
But the technique collapsed—
And the strike landed.
Still, he had dulled it.
His body flew out of the hall, shattering a section of the castle wall,
before crashing into the trunk of a towering tree deep in the forest.
Blood. Pain. Silence.
And on his face… no sign of defeat.
Only something strange—
A mixture of rage and joy.
A new expression—
Born of the moment.
As his consciousness slipped, he looked back at the castle and whispered:
— "You truly… deserve your title."
Kraye appeared before him, unscathed.
She stood silently, looking down at his broken, bleeding form.
Her eyes trembled,
But her face remained steady.
She was no longer looking at a child.
She was looking at something else.
She whispered softly:
— "Looks like you'll surpass me soon… my little one."
Between awareness and oblivion, his voice cracked through the pain:
— "Then work harder… so it won't be boring."
She laughed.
That mischievous laugh—
Of a woman who still had cards left to play.
— "Don't worry… your mother still has plenty left."
Then she bent down, lifting his battered body into her arms.
She carried him not as a child—
But as a wounded warrior who had earned her respect.
And somewhere… in the distant silence…
A familiar voice echoed:
— "I see you still refuse my help, old friend
Have I become a burden to you?