Cassian, blood dripping from his lips, smirked as he closed the final few steps between them. "What's wrong?" he rasped, tilting his head. "You into boys or something?"

The white-haired warrior blinked, thrown off for the first time.

Cassian's grin widened, teeth flashing through the blood. "Then why the hell are you so desperate to make me kneel, huh? You fucking pervert!"

He bent his knees slightly—then exploded forward. The ground cracked under his heel as his body twisted mid-lunge, sword arcing upward in a brutal diagonal slash. The white-haired man barely reacted in time, his blades crossing to block—but even then, the sheer force made step side, boots sliding through the dirt.

Cassian didn't stop. Using the momentum, he spun again, slashing from the opposite side. The warrior caught it once more, but the pressure around Cassian broke—the invisible weight that had pinned him moments ago shattered like glass.

Cassian landed hard, dust kicking up around him. His Domain flared bright and alive, his movements suddenly fluid again.

He straightened, eyes burning red as he muttered through a grin, "Gale Whisper Sword Style…"

Cassian vanished in a burst of wind, reappearing right in front of the stunned white-haired warrior. "First Form—Thousand Leaves Dance," he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent.

Then came the storm.

Blades of wind erupted from his sword in a dazzling fury, a storm of shimmering arcs that filled the battlefield. Thousands of slashes tore through the air, scattering dust and light alike, forcing nearby mages to throw up barriers as the razor gusts threatened to slice into the spectators.

At the center of it all, Cassian moved like a phantom — his body a blur of motion, twisting and spinning with impossible grace. Each step flowed into the next, every movement birthing another slash, ten strikes per heartbeat. It was less a battle now and more a dance — deadly, beautiful, and unstoppable.

He hadn't broken through to the next Circle as Kirja had suspected, but even so, the display was terrifying. His speed, precision, and power rivaled that of veteran Circle Warriors who had honed their craft for decades — men and women who had long since earned the title of Swordmaster.

Fenja watched her expression tightening. She had believed she'd only lost to Cassian because he'd caught her off guard. But now… seeing him weave destruction with such effortless rhythm — she knew. Even if they fought again, she might not stand a chance.

And now, even the white-haired warrior was beginning to bleed. His arms were laced with cuts, thin at first but growing deeper with every clash. His Domain could no longer absorb the punishment — Cassian's relentless storm of slashes was tearing through it.

He didn't stop. Slash after slash, the winds screamed with his fury. The battlefield glowed with streaks of green energy, each arc slicing through the air like dancing leaves in a violent storm. It was chaos made beautiful — a thousand shimmering blades fluttering around them as if nature itself had turned into a weapon.

At last, as his breaths grew heavy, Cassian gathered everything — all the scattered "leaves" of wind converging toward his sword. The air rippled, alive and trembling, as he steadied his stance for the final strike of the First Form.

"Thousand Leaves—Final Step, the thousand slashes," he whispered, and swung.

The storm obeyed. A blinding torrent of wind followed, thousands of shimmering slashes merging into one overwhelming wave that crashed into the white-haired warrior. The force shredded through his defenses, slicing into flesh and cloth alike until his body was marked by countless deep cuts.

When the winds finally died, silence filled the field.

Brigid stared, wide-eyed. "He… won?" she breathed, voice barely above a whisper.

Front of her, the battlefield shimmered — green light still drifting like falling leaves. It was less a fight and more a spell given form, a tempest that left even seasoned warriors speechless. For a moment, it felt like standing in a forest under a raging wind — only this time, the leaves were made of blades.

The crowd erupted — gasps, cheers, disbelief.

For most, the fight was over. The white-haired warrior stood hunched, his clothes in tatters, his skin painted with blood. Cassian, though barely standing, still had his sword raised, chest heaving. The storm of slashes had ended, the air settling into heavy silence broken only by the soft hiss of the wind.

"That was beautiful..." someone whispered.

"He... he actually won?" another voice followed, disbelief lacing every word.

But not everyone joined in.

Ronan didn't move. His arms stayed crossed, his eyes fixed on the field. The faintest frown tugged at his lips. Mages beside him still held their barriers up, uncertain. The old, experienced warriors stayed silent, their instincts gnawing at them. Something was off — too still, too quiet.

Cassian hadn't relaxed either. His eyes narrowed, his Domain still humming faintly around him. He wasn't the kind to let down his guard, not after fighting someone who could twist reality with his words.

That's when he noticed it.

The white-haired warrior — still breathing, still standing — held only one blade.

Cassian's pulse spiked. He remembered it clearly — the white-haired warrior had wielded two blades during the last exchange. But now, only one remained in his hand; the other arm hung limp, bloodied, and there wasn't a second blade anywhere in sight.

The white-haired warrior — still breathing, still standing — held only one blade.

Cassian's pulse kicked. Two blades before, he remembered. Both drawn when the fight began. But now, one was gone. And no one, not even the mages, had seen it leave his hand.

The realization came an instant too late.

Cassian's instincts screamed, his Domain flaring. The air behind him shifted — not the normal wind, but something sharp, fast, deliberate. He moved without thinking, body bending backward just as a flash of steel tore through the air where his neck had been a heartbeat ago.

The missing blade whistled past his face, close enough to shear a lock of his red hair. It spun through the air like a phantom, guided by no visible hand, slicing a shallow line across his cheek before embedding itself in the dirt far ahead.

The crowd went dead silent. Even those who had started cheering froze mid-breath.

Ronan's eyes narrowed, his voice low and steady. "And there it is," he muttered. "The second warrior ability."

Cassian straightened, eyes narrowing on the white-haired man, whose calm had returned — a faint, knowing smile curling on his bloodstained lips.

"Impressive," the warrior said softly. "Most don't notice it until it's already too late."

Cassian spat blood and grinned. "Guess I'm not most."

The blade behind him trembled — rising slowly into the air again, glinting faintly with a strange shimmer. The winds shifted once more, carrying that same whisper of danger.

The fight wasn't over. Not even close. Another blade shimmered into existence in the white-haired man's grasp — now two gleamed in his hands, and a third hovered in the air behind him, spinning lazily like a predator waiting to strike.

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