The battlefield crackled with spiritual tension, each breath heavier than the last. Blood splattered across the stone tiles, and the air shimmered with residual energy from countless clashes. Han's chest rose and fell, his breathing controlled but tense, as his palm lowered after his last strike. His attacks had forced Wu and Lin back—bloodied, panting—but not broken.
They were still standing.
He could feel it.
The tide was beginning to shift.
Not because they were stronger. But because he was running out of time.
He clenched his jaw as the thought pressed into his skull like a knife. His eyes swept the arena—not for an escape, but for a tool. A lever. Anything to buy him the time he needed.
His gaze landed on his storage ring. One tap, and with a burst of light, a shadow burst forth.
A beast—low and broad, its body lined with armored scales and sharp claws that looked far more menacing than they actually were. It let out a low growl, stepping between him and his opponents.
A Rank 2 beast. Early stage. Not meant for attack, nor for killing.
But it could stall.
That was all he needed.
The moment the beast roared, drawing the attention of Wu and Lin, Han took a half-step back. His right hand hovered just over his dantian, a subtle swirl of energy coiling in his core. Inside, his spiritual energy was already beginning to twist unnaturally—condensing into a volatile shape, difficult to control, lethal if released.
His trump card.
He needed five breaths.
No more.
Five.
But even as he centered his mind, forcing his breathing to slow, something flickered in the corner of his vision.
Wu glanced sideways—just for a fraction of a breath—toward Lin. And Lin, barely noticeable, gave the smallest nod.
Subtle. Faint. Almost dismissible.
But Han saw it.
His gut clenched.
They knew something.
Or they suspected.
Or maybe—they remembered something.
He couldn't be sure.
But now wasn't the time to guess.
The beast lunged forward, snarling. Not to attack, but to keep the pressure off Han. Wu and Lin instinctively separated, their weapons raised, not yet realizing that this beast wasn't a threat—it was a delay.
A veil.
A heartbeat of breathing room.
Han pressed his palm deeper into his chest, guiding the unstable spiritual energy within him. It clawed at him from the inside, as if trying to explode out prematurely. The deeper it condensed, the more dangerous it became—not just to them, but to him. This wasn't some flashy technique he could afford to miss with. There was no second chance. If they dodged it, if they broke his rhythm, if they—
He shook his head. No. Focus.
But the fear was real.
It wasn't fear of dying. It wasn't fear of pain.
It was the fear of wasting this—his one guaranteed chance. Because if he used it and they endured…
Then he'd lose. Plain and simple.
They'd overwhelm him, and all the strength in the world wouldn't mean anything after that.
A bead of sweat slid down his temple.
His vision blurred slightly as the spiritual energy surged toward its peak.
Just a few more seconds.
And still—Wu and Lin weren't pushing forward.
That nod…
That glance…
What did they know?
What were they waiting for?
He gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing.
Even if they suspected, even if they guessed—there was no stopping it now.
He had to make it work.
His fingers trembled slightly, not from fatigue, but from the unbearable weight of this decision.
Five breaths.
Four.
Three…
The beast appeared before them, its massive form lurching forward with a deep, rumbling growl. It was the Burrowhide Lizard, a Rank 2 early-stage beast, and despite lacking any offensive abilities, its presence alone was enough to disrupt the flow of battle. The creature was built to endure, to withstand damage, and to create an obstacle for any who might think to push forward. It wasn't the type of beast to threaten with deadly force, but it had an unnerving way of blocking off paths and shifting the flow of combat.
Wu's eyes narrowed as he studied the creature, frustration mounting. It wasn't dangerous—no. But it was irritating. If Han was going to activate his trump card, they couldn't allow him the time.
"Lin," Wu barked, his voice low but filled with urgency. "Don't waste time on the beast. Attack Han now. We need to finish this before his focus can shift."
Lin, already anticipating the command, gripped his spear tighter, his expression steely. His gaze flicked between the beast and Han, searching for an opening. They couldn't afford to let Han use his abilities freely.
Without hesitation, Lin lunged forward, his spear cutting through the air toward Han's side with deadly precision. The strike was clean, but Han managed to dodge just in time. A shallow graze across his side.
The moment Lin's spear made contact with Han's flesh, the countdown reset.
Three breaths—gone. The time was gone, and now Han would have to start from five breaths again.
Han staggered slightly from the shallow wound, the pain shooting through his side, but his eyes remained sharp, his stance unwavering. His hand instinctively pressed against the wound, blood seeping between his fingers, but it wasn't enough to slow him down. Not yet.
Wu exchanged a glance with Lin, both recognizing the opportunity. They could feel the weight of time slipping away, just as they had expected. Han had only just begun the countdown, and now they had to press him even harder.
With the Burrowhide Lizard still lumbering in the background, its massive form shifting awkwardly in place, blocking their approach, Wu's voice rose again, sharp and cutting. "Lin, again. Don't stop."
Lin nodded, moving quickly, not even waiting for Wu's further command. His spear darted toward Han once more, pushing him to his limits. But as Lin closed in for another strike, the time once again reset to five breaths.
Han's expression tightened. The countdown. Again.
Each time it reset, the pressure on him mounted, but Han didn't show weakness. His chest heaved with frustration, blood still dripping from his side. His teeth ground together as he fought against the rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. His hand remained on the wound, but the pain was nothing compared to the irritation rising inside him. Five breaths again.
He couldn't afford this. He couldn't afford to keep being interrupted. The countdown wasn't just numbers—it was his opportunity slipping through his fingers, and he wasn't going to lose it. Not like this.