Kazue moved first.

  The sharp whisper of steel cut through the mountain air as her blade left its sheath. She surged forward, feet barely touching the ground, closing the space between them with terrifying precision. The wind howled through the monastery’s broken archways, a ghostly chorus for the duel that had begun.

  Gideon didn’t hesitate. His stance shifted, boots grounding against the rocky earth as he met her head-on. He did not draw a weapon—he was the weapon. His strength wasn’t in steel, but in instinct, in the raw power that flowed through his veins. The moment her blade sliced toward him, he moved, twisting with the proven fluidity of a panther in its prime.

  Kazue’s katana whistled past his side, missing by less than an inch. The moment her feet touched the ground, she pivoted, striking again. The second slash came faster, angled for his ribs. Gideon only moved a hair, feeling the whisper of the blade passing over his coat.

  Then, he struck.

  He lunged, closing the distance, a tidal wave crashing into her. His shoulder slammed into Kazue’s midsection, lifting her clear off her feet before she could counter. The impact sent them both skidding across the stone, a tangle of limbs and momentum.

  Kazue barely had time to breathe before she felt it—the grip of the wild. Gideon was on her before she could rise, his hands pressing against the earth, summoning the strength of the land itself. The stone beneath her cracked. The mountain answered his call.

  Kazue twisted, rolling away just as the ground where she had been buckled inward, shattered rock and dust spraying into the air. A heartbeat slower, and she would have been pinned.

  She landed in a crouch, eyes sharp. He was strong. But the blade exists to humble raw power. The mist thickened around them, as Musashi’s voice echoed in her mind. A warrior’s patience is her greatest blade.

  Gideon exhaled, shoulders squared, amber eyes locked onto her.

  Neither spoke. There was nothing to say.

  The mountain watched as predator faced predator, both waiting for the moment when the other would fall.

  And then, they moved again.

  Kazue’s blade cut through the mist, the edge singing through the air as it reached for Gideon’s throat. He had leaned just enough to avoid it, his breath steady despite the near miss. The moment stretched thin, the mountain air crackling with the force of their clash. Kazue Nakamura’s grip was light on the hilts of her swords, her stance relaxed but primed. Her dark eyes studied the man before her, tracking every subtle movement. His breathing, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled and flexed at his sides—every detail mattered.

  Gideon Holt stood like a monument, unmoving, his silhouette broad against the mist. His coat hung open, heavy against his frame, and his breath misted in slow, steady exhales.

  Herne stirred within him, silent but ever-present. Gideon could feel the weight of his Patron’s gaze—a whisper of the hunt threading through his veins. The thrill of pursuit, the quiet sureness of a hunter aiming his shot. His opponent was fast, precise, but it didn’t matter. She could cut him, but he wouldn’t stop. She could run, but he would close the distance. This fight, like every one before it, would end with the weaker side falling. It was not personal. It never was.

  But even as he thought that, a part of him recognized the truth: this was different. This one was not prey. She was not cowering, not fleeing, not breaking beneath the raw power of his focus. She was still measuring him, still looking for a way to shift the fight in her favor. Gideon exhaled, amused in the smallest way.

  "She fights well," Herne’s voice murmured in the back of Gideon’s mind, deep and steady. "She is still fighting as if she can win. That will not last much longer."

  Gideon rolled his shoulders, steady as ever. "I know. But I want to see how long she can last."

  Kazue didn’t slow. She twisted on her heel, pivoting into another strike, her second blade flashing in a low arc toward his ribs.

  Gideon reacted as he always did—without hesitation. He pivoted, his coat flaring as he narrowly dodged the first cut. The second strike came for his ribs, and he turned with it, absorbing the impact across thick muscle. The sting was immediate, but he did not slow. Kazue felt it the moment her strike landed—solid, but shallow. The cut was there, but Gideon barely reacted.

  Then he moved.

  A single step forward, and he was within her guard. His palm lashed out, a hammering blow meant to shatter her balance. Kazue twisted, narrowly escaping the brunt of the strike, but the blow still clipped her shoulder. Pain shot down her arm as she skidded backward across the stone. She recovered instantly, feet light, swords raised. Gideon exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders. The cut on his ribs was bleeding, but it was nothing. Kazue’s mind sharpened. Her first real test was already clear: her blade was fast, but Gideon would not stop. He could take the wound, endure the pain, and close the distance.

  So it was Discipline against instinct. She adjusted her stance. The mountain breathed. Then Gideon struck.

  The ground cracked beneath his heel as he launched forward, closing the space between them with terrifying speed. He moved like a beast in pursuit, shoulders low, his center of gravity perfectly balanced. Kazue had a fraction of a second to react—she stepped back, twisting her body to avoid the first strike, but Gideon’s other arm came sweeping through the mist, a backhand powerful enough to send her flying if it connected.

  Kazue ducked, feeling the force of the strike rush past her. In the same breath, she retaliated—not with a direct strike, but with Mirror’s Edge. She twisted her wrist mid-motion, and though her blade never touched him, a sudden, invisible line of pressure sliced across Gideon’s chest. A heartbeat passed before the cut bloomed, thin but clean, a mark that should have stopped him. Before his momentum could settle, she turned again. Her blade lashed out—not a reckless attack, but a precise, razor-thin slice along his forearm. The edge met flesh. Blood welled against the fabric of his coat. But still, he did not slow. Instead, he pressed forward.

  His sheer presence was suffocating, every movement denying her the space she needed to dictate the fight. To Gideon, this wasn’t just a fight—it was a hunt in its final stages. He was driving her into a corner, limiting her choices, funneling her toward an unavoidable end. He could see the realization creeping into her, the tightening of her stance, the flicker of something close to hesitation in her movements.

  "She’s feeling it now," Herne’s voice rumbled in his thoughts. "The cage is closing."

  Gideon had felt this moment before, many times. The second when his prey understood—not in words, but in their bones—that escape was no longer an option. Some panicked, some broke. Then there were those like her, who would never acknowledge it, who fought harder and faster, as if defying fate could change its course. Those were the hunts he never forgets.

  The courtyard, once vast and open, now felt suffocatingly small. He kept pressing in, methodical, his body moving without thought. He didn’t need to dictate her rhythm—he had already stolen it from her. She needed to change something. Kazue feinted a retreat, shifting onto the balls of her feet, baiting him to overcommit. Gideon took the opening, stepping into a crushing downward strike. She sidestepped at the last possible moment, her left blade flashing up toward his ribs—but instead of landing cleanly, the tip of her sword bit into fabric and stopped short.

  Stone shattered beside her as Gideon’s fist connected with the ground where she had stood a breath earlier. The force of the impact rippled outward, sending jagged cracks through the stone like splintering ice. The ground beneath her feet shifted, unsteady, forcing her to leap back before the fractured terrain could upset her balance. She landed light on her feet, but Gideon was already moving again, his presence a relentless force bearing down on her. A crack rippled through the earth, dust rising from the impact. She darted back, her heart steady but her mind racing. He was adjusting, learning. The next exchange would be harder.

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  From the mist beyond the ruined monastery, a low growl rumbled. They weren’t alone. The distant snap of branches, the rustling of unseen movement—the sound of predators drawn to the scent of battle. The Wild Hunt was gathering.

  Kazue’s grip tightened on her swords. Shapes moved within the mist, low and sleek, their glowing eyes catching flickers of moonlight. The first of the Hunt had arrived.

  "They will not stop," Musashi’s voice came, quiet but firm in her mind. "The Hunt only ends when one side falls."

  Kazue didn’t answer. She already knew.

  A wolf lunged from the mist. Kazue twisted, bringing her sword up in a clean, controlled arc. Crescent Arc sliced through the air, a sweeping blade of energy glowing pale in the mist. "Stay back!" she hissed, though she knew the wolves wouldn’t listen. They weren’t creatures that understood fear—not with Gideon here. The wolf's body barely hit the ground before it split apart, severed mid-leap. Its packmates hesitated, but only for a moment. The Hunt overrode caution. More shapes moved through the fog, fangs flashing.

  Gideon took the opportunity. "You should be worried about me, not them," he growled, rushing forward, shoulder first, and the world lurched.

  Kazue had no time to fully dodge. She threw herself into a controlled roll, barely avoiding the full brunt of the impact, but the shockwave of his charge sent her skidding across the cracked courtyard. Her feet barely found purchase before he was upon her again. His palm lashed out—this time she didn’t try to block. She executed the Void Step.

  She felt the air ripple as she passed through reality for the briefest moment, his blow striking through nothing but mist. She reappeared at his flank, twin blades flashing toward his exposed ribs. But Gideon was already reacting. A backhanded strike met her sword mid-swing, the force of it nearly tearing the hilt from her grasp. The sheer power behind his movements was unlike anything she had faced before.

  And now, he wasn’t alone.

  The Hunt was fully upon them. Packs of wolves prowled at the edges, waiting for a moment of weakness. Above, a murder of crows circled, their black forms barely distinguishable against the night sky. Kazue exhaled slowly. The taste of iron was on her tongue, sweat slick against her palms. She had fought beasts before, he had fought men before. But this was different.

  "He is the Hunt. You are its prey." Musashi’s warning came in a low whisper at the back of her mind.

  Kazue closed her eyes for half a breath, then opened them. "Then I’ll have to be something more than prey."

  Kazue dashed forward, weaving between the circling wolves. They snapped at her heels, but she was faster, her footwork an intricate dance through the shifting battlefield. Gideon met her head-on, his fist crashing downward like a hammer. Instead of dodging, she turned into the blow, using Mirror’s Edge. Her blade never touched his skin, yet a welling line of red appeared across his forearm the instant she passed him.

  Gideon’s brow furrowed as the cut appeared—a wound without a strike, pain without an impact. His eyes flicked to Kazue, registering, for the first time, that her reach was greater than it seemed. He hadn't seen the cut coming. That was rare. For all his instincts, all his time spent tracking movement and feeling the pulse of battle, this one had slipped through. It wasn’t a deep wound, but it was clean and deliberate. Almost lethal.

  He exhaled through his nose, assessing her anew. She was more than just speed and precision—there was something unnatural in the way she fought. Not wild, not chaotic, but exact in ways that defied his understanding. Her sword had not touched him, yet the pain was real.

  Herne's presence stirred, watchful. "A hunter’s first weapon is knowledge."

  Gideon rolled his shoulders, his muscles tightening around the fresh wounds. "I’ll just have to learn."

  Relentlessly, he seized her momentum, twisting his body and swinging a brutal kick at her midsection. Kazue barely had time to cross her blades in defense before the impact sent her flying. She crashed against the monastery’s fractured stone, breath knocked from her lungs. The walls trembled, dust falling from ancient carvings as the ground beneath her began to crack further.

  Gideon stalked forward, his presence a storm rolling toward her. "You’re fast, swordswoman, but you can’t outrun the Hunt."

  Kazue pushed herself up, spitting blood to the side. Her hands clenched around her swords, but something was wrong. Her body knew the motions, her form was flawless, but none of it was working the way it should. Every move she made, Gideon broke through it. A lifetime of training, years spent refining the perfect strike, suddenly felt like it wasn’t enough. For the first time in a long time, doubt clawed at the edges of her mind.

  She launched herself at him, blades flashing in a flurry of strikes—each precise, each meant to find an opening. Gideon blocked some, took others, but kept advancing. His strength forced her back again and again until her heel touched the edge of a broken pillar. The wolves snarled around her, closing in.

  Musashi’s voice came, quiet but urgent. "The terrain is shifting against you. Change it."

  Kazue hesitated, frustration bubbling beneath her ribs. Change it? She dictated fights, bent them to her will, forced her opponents to move how she wanted. But this was different. Gideon wasn’t reacting the way he should. The wolves weren’t behaving like simple beasts. The battlefield itself was against her. Control was slipping through her fingers, and for the first time in years, she didn't know if she could take it back.

  She took a deep focusing breath. A swordswoman who cannot adapt is already dead.

  Kazue’s gaze darted upward, taking in the ruined monastery around them. She exhaled sharply. Improvisation had always been something other fighters relied on—an excuse for a lack of preparation. But this wasn’t about abandoning her discipline. It was about bending it, making it something more than a rigid set of techniques. Gideon had forced her to think beyond mastery, to create something in the moment, something necessary. She had spent her life honing the perfect strike. Now, she needed to shape the battlefield itself.

  She struck—not at Gideon, but at the supports of a crumbling archway. Crescent Arc carved through weakened stone, and the structure groaned before collapsing, sending an avalanche of debris crashing down towards them both.

  Gideon didn’t move to avoid it. He stepped into the falling stone.

  Kazue barely had time to process his intent before he threw out both hands and caught a collapsing support beam mid-air. Muscles flexed beneath torn fabric, veins rising against his skin as he heaved the mass aside, sending shattered chunks of monastery crashing outward instead of burying him completely. Dust swallowed the space between them, thick and suffocating. A cacophony of yelps filled the still air as the wolves were caught in the collapse. Kazue narrowed her eyes, already in motion.

  Kazue darted through the settling debris, weaving through broken columns, her mind racing. Gideon wasn’t just strong—he was impossible. That should have slowed him down, forced him into a vulnerable moment. She clenched her teeth, then let go. For an instant, she was nothing, slipping between the fragments of reality as the collapsing stones rushed past. She reappeared just beyond the worst of the debris, her breath sharp, body tense from the momentary dislocation. It was disorienting, but necessary—she couldn’t afford to be crushed under the weight of her own gambit.

  "Your tactics must evolve," Musashi’s voice pressed against the back of her thoughts. "You are still fighting a man. He is not fighting a swordswoman—he is hunting."

  Kazue’s jaw clenched. A shadow shifted in the dust. Gideon burst through the debris, a primal force in motion. His coat had torn away, revealing the full breadth of his frame—scarred, hardened, a body built for war. His eyes locked onto her, and in them, she saw no hesitation, no pause to reassess. He had already decided how this would end.

  In an instant, Kazue spun, bringing her swords up. Mirror’s Edge lashed outward, cutting into empty air—

  —for Gideon was already inside her guard.

  A brutal palm strike caught her mid-twist, slamming into her ribs with a force that sent her reeling. She barely managed to absorb the impact, rolling with the force rather than against it, but even so, pain lanced through her side. Her breath caught.

  More wolves were closing in again. They sensed weakness.

  "You can’t run," Gideon said, his voice low, steady. "This is always where you'd end up."

  Gideon exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as the dust settled. Blood streaked his arm, fresh cuts tracing over old scars, but he barely felt them. Kazue had hurt him—he wouldn’t deny that. Her technique was sharp, her movement fluid, but it wasn’t enough. Not here. Not against him. Still, she fought like she could control this. He had seen it in her strikes, in the way she tried to dictate the fight’s rhythm. He had shattered that rhythm. And still, she refused to break. He could respect that.

  "You don’t stop," he said, more to himself than to her. "Even when the fight is already over."

  Kazue raised her blades, breathing ragged, but steady. "Then finish it."

  The final clash came in a rush of motion—Kazue surged forward, blades arcing in a flurry of strikes, while Gideon drove straight into her path. He took one cut across the shoulder, another across his ribs, but it didn’t matter. His fist met her side in a brutal, crushing blow.

  Kazue’s body folded around the impact before she was sent flying, crashing into the remnants of the broken pillar. Her breath exploded from her lungs in a sharp gasp, her grip on her swords faltering. Gideon stood over her, his own breath heavy now, his body aching in places he hadn’t felt in years. He stared down at her, watching for any sign that she would rise again.

  Silence. The mountain air pressed heavy around them.

  Then, Musashi’s voice was heard, calm as ever. "She has reached her limit."

  Gideon exhaled, shaking the tension from his hands. "She lasted longer than I expected."

  He stepped back, letting the fight settle over him. The Wild Hunt retreated into the mist, their purpose fulfilled.

  Kazue Nakamura had fallen.

  And Gideon Holt was still standing.