The forest was quiet—eerily quiet. As the sun pierced through the thick canopy of the Death Valley forest, it bathed the battleground in beams of gold, highlighting the monstrous form of the Triple-Eyed King Snake. Its scales shimmered like obsidian armor, its third eye twitching as it sensed danger.
And then… the predator turned.
Standing before it, calm and collected, was Arin.
He wasn't trembling.
He wasn't sweating.
He was smiling.
The old man, perched on a thick branch some distance away, narrowed his eyes as he observed the boy. He's different today… calmer… heavier. His aura isn't exploding, but it feels like a still lake that hides a depthless trench beneath. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What exactly has this kid been doing all year?"
Arin cracked his neck and slowly walked forward, not rushing. Each footstep was deliberate, like a swordsman entering a sacred duel.
Inside his mind, voices echoed—his own.
"I've trained this move five hundred times, with bags of sand, with water barrels, with live beasts, with tied weights on my wrists. Every motion of mine has one purpose—survival. Now… it's not just about survival."
"It's about domination."
The King Snake coiled its massive body, hissing violently. Its three eyes focused on him—reading his posture, his stance. But unlike last year, Arin didn't flinch.
Instead, he extended his hand and unsheathed the rusty blade on his back. The sword groaned as if awakening from a long sleep.
"Remember me?" Arin said aloud, eyes locking onto the middle eye. "Last time we met, I almost died. This time…"
He vanished.
WHOOSH.
A blur of motion.
The King Snake barely reacted before Arin's sword sliced the air just inches from its scales. Not a hit, not yet. Arin was testing range.
A second blur. Then a third.
Each strike came closer.
And then—he struck.
CLANG!
The blade hit one of the thick scales, but instead of bouncing back, it chipped the armor. The King Snake let out a growl, slamming its tail toward him. Arin ducked, rolled forward, and leaped onto the snake's body with fluid grace. His feet danced across its spine like a phantom.
The old man's eyes widened.
"That footwork… that's no beginner. That's polished. No, honed. He's integrated martial flow with hunting instinct."
Arin jumped back, twisting mid-air and landing on all fours like a beast. His body tensed, ready to explode again.
"Every day I pushed my limits, even when my bones screamed, even when my muscles trembled. I fought when I was hungry, I fought when I was bleeding. Because I knew… if I didn't, my family would never heal. And I… I would never grow strong enough to protect them."
The King Snake lunged.
Arin dashed to the side, pivoted, and slid under the serpent's charging form.
Then—he stood tall.
The rusty blade lowered by his side, his eyes closing.
He took a deep breath.
The wind stilled.
The forest listened.
The old man leaned forward. "What are you planning, boy?"
And then Arin whispered, "Let me show you the result of a year's worth of hell."
He opened his eyes—glowing faintly, like embers on the verge of ignition.
The King Snake hissed, preparing to devour him whole.
But this time, it wasn't facing prey.
It was facing the apex hunter.