The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill

The ground beneath them cracked again.

A stillness settled across the chamber—dense, final, like the world itself was holding its breath. The stone floor pulsed faintly, the green runes flickering one by one, until even the torches in the corners of the maze guttered low.

[The Warden has arrived.]

The system's voice echoed like a whisper too close to the ear—subtle, but inescapable.

Jin tensed, blade already unsheathed and steady in his grip. The quiet wasn't natural. It wasn't the calm before a storm. It was something deeper—like the air itself had been chained down.

Then—

Clink.

A single sound. Metallic. Close.

Jisoo's head snapped toward it. "Did you—"

Clink-clink.

The noise multiplied.

Yujin's wings partially flared out, not in aggression, but instinct.

Chains.

They didn't descend from the ceiling or rise from the earth. They formed mid-air—black iron links coiling from nothing, spiraling like smoke until they snapped forward with sudden force.

"Move!" Jin barked.

He didn't need to tell them twice.

The first set of chains lashed across the room, carving through stone like it was cloth. Jin ducked under one, the wind of its passage slamming into his back like a hammer. He twisted, sliding low and stabbing upward, but his blade hit nothing.

The chains weren't solid in the way they should be. They flickered at the edges—part-illusion, part-curse.

Jisoo flipped back, her feet skimming the top of a rune-lit column as three chains shot past her chest, missing by inches. "These things don't stop!"

"They're not meant to," Yujin growled. Her arms had already shifted—one furred like a bear, the other scaled and lean. "They're herding us!"

Another set of chains shot out, this time from below.

Jin slashed down instinctively—Muramasa's edge lit with sword-aura—and severed one link mid-strike. But it reformed a heartbeat later, snapping upward with even more speed.

He spun away, skidding across the smooth stone, panting.

"They're trying to trap us," he said. "Corral us into a—"

The floor beneath him gave way slightly. Just a fraction. Just enough to throw him off balance.

That was all it needed.

Two chains burst from the crack and wrapped around his ankle in an instant.

"Jin!" Yujin shouted—but she was already dodging her own barrage, her form shifting faster than she'd ever moved before.

Jin roared and slashed at the chain—cutting deep, sparking light against the links—but it didn't snap. It just tightened, dragging him slowly toward the center of the room.

He flipped onto his back, kicking hard with his free leg, but another chain whipped around and caught his wrist.

Two more followed.

And in that moment—he wasn't standing in a room anymore.

Everything went black.

He blinked.

His body felt like it was floating—untethered, but still bound. The pressure around him wasn't physical. It was… psychological. Heavy. Oppressive. Like gravity made of guilt.

He wasn't alone.

Jisoo gasped beside him. Yujin cursed.

The three of them hovered in a darkness so thick it seemed to swallow even thought. But their bodies were lit faintly by runes etched into the air itself—hovering just above their skin like branding irons waiting to strike.

And then, from that darkness—

A voice.

Not the system.

Not the Minotaur.

Something colder. Ancient. Measured.

"You walk with the scent of defiance."

It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. The space around them responded to its presence—pressure mounting with every syllable.

"You harbor what should have been destroyed."

Jin's jaw clenched. He turned toward the voice, but there was no form. Just presence.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

"You will."

Chains slithered into view again—this time not striking, but shaping something. A frame. A silhouette. A man bound in iron. Hooded. Arms wrapped in runes. The figure's face was obscured, but its eyes burned through the dark—pale silver, without mercy.

"You carry within your territory," the Warden said, "a prisoner of the deep."

"A being bound by oath and flame."

Jin's stomach twisted.

He didn't speak.

He didn't need to.

The image formed behind the Warden—distant, unclear, but unmistakable.

Stone skin. Ember veins. A throne of roots and ruin.

"Aesteros."

The name wasn't spoken.

It didn't have to be.

The figure leaned forward, chains groaning.

"This trial is not about victory."

"It is about judgment."

"You who choose to shield the imprisoned will now be tested as prisoners."

And with that—

The darkness around them twisted.

The chains holding them pulled tighter.

And from the void around them…

The trial began.

A pulse radiated outward—slow, heavy, like the beat of some ancient heart—and the space around them shifted.

No longer were they floating, suspended in formless black. The darkness folded itself into something tangible. A circular platform, forged from cracked obsidian and threaded with pulsing red light, spread beneath their feet. Above them, endless void. Around them, nothing but the echo of chains grinding against unseen spools.

The Warden remained—half-shrouded, wrapped in iron and silence. But now, its presence filled the arena like a judgment rendered before the verdict.

"You stand accused," it said, voice low and unrelenting. "Of harboring that which should not exist."

Its silver eyes turned to them—no, not to them. To Jin.

"Speak."

Jisoo opened her mouth to respond, but Jin stepped forward sharply, chains dragging along his boots.

"Don't," he said without turning. "Let me."

Yujin clenched her fists but nodded once, silent.

The Warden tilted its head.

"Truth only. Speak falsehood, and you will never leave this place."

Jin's hand didn't twitch. His stance remained even. But internally, he felt the weight of every word pressing against his ribs.

He met the Warden's gaze, heart steady.

"I don't control Aesteros," he said carefully. "He came to our base of his own will. Chose to remain there."

"That is not an answer," the Warden replied.

"It's the only one I have," Jin said.

The Warden lifted one chained hand.

"You knew his name."

"I heard it spoken," Jin said, not lying, but not telling the full story either.

The Warden's fingers flexed.

"You provided him sanctuary."

"I provided space. I didn't ask for him to stay."

"You did not remove him."

"I couldn't," Jin said simply. "I'm not strong enough."

A long pause.

Then the Warden stepped down from its platform—chains dragging behind it, spiraling across the floor like iron serpents.

"You are the Sword Saint," it said. "You felled Qi Sha. Split the Gugwe-mok. Held territory against overwhelming odds. And now, you claim weakness?"

Jin didn't flinch. "I didn't say I was weak."

He stepped forward, mirroring the movement.

"I said I'm human."

The Warden stopped.

Silence.

Then—

"Then feel what that weakness costs."

The air split.

Jin had no time to react.

The chain lashed forward—not a strike, not a bind, but a pulse of presence. It didn't hit his body.

It hit his self.

Pain erupted—not in nerves or muscles—but in his core. His breath vanished. His mind screamed without sound. For a moment, he forgot what it meant to exist as one thing.

He staggered. Dropped to one knee.

"Jin!" Yujin shouted, rushing forward, but the chains around her throat yanked her back.

"Do not move," the Warden intoned.

Jin coughed, one hand pressed against the black stone beneath him, the other clenching around the hilt of his sheathed blade. Muramasa vibrated faintly—not out of fear, but fury.

He forced himself upright. Eyes unfocused, throat dry.

"That," he rasped, "was unnecessary."

The Warden tilted its head. "Truth is not painless."

"You're not asking for truth," Jin growled. "You're asking for submission."

A heavy silence settled.

The kind that pressed against lungs and bone, stretching too long, too thick.

The Warden did not move. Chains coiled slowly behind it, not aggressive—deliberate. Like serpents waiting for a signal.

Then, finally, the Warden spoke.

"I ask for what is required."

Its voice was not angry. Not cruel. It was the voice of inevitability. Cold stone shaped by time.

"I do not exist to punish. I exist to weigh."

Jin stood firm, shoulders rising and falling with tight breaths. The others were silent behind him. Still bound, still encased in that suffocating field of restraint.

"Then weigh this," Jin said, each word clipped. "We didn't bring Aesteros in. We didn't bind him, or control him. He acts on his own. He always has."

"You provided him a place."

"We didn't know what he was!" Jin snapped, then caught himself—too late.

The Warden tilted its head. "You do now."

Jin's jaw clenched.

"No," he said finally. "Not really. I don't know what he is. But I know what he's done. He fought beside us. Protected my people. Held the line when none of us could."

"Did you ask him why?" the Warden asked, voice quiet now.

Jin hesitated.

"I did," he said. "Once. He didn't answer."

The platform trembled faintly beneath them. Not a threat. A heartbeat. The pulse of judgment continuing to weigh.

"I see," the Warden said at last. "Your honesty… is noted."

It turned, slightly—its heavy silhouette still cloaked in half-shadow. The chains that had floated like fog now began to slow, returning to rest.

"I cannot determine guilt on fragments," it said.

"And yet," it continued, "I cannot ignore what rests in your territory. That being… he carries the weight of a buried age. One older than this system. One bound in choices not yet undone."

Its gaze turned fully on Jin again—eyes shining silver through the gloom.

"I will not pass final judgment. Not yet."

Relief almost reached Jin's face—but not quite.

The Warden stepped back toward the edge of the dark.

"When the time comes," it said, "and the truth reveals itself in full… you may be asked again."

Jin nodded once. "Then I'll answer again."

The Warden raised one hand.

A slow gesture.

The chains surrounding them loosened—not like a sudden snap, but a gradual unraveling. The bands of iron slithered down from necks, wrists, ankles. Not one of them moved until the last shackle vanished with a fading metallic chime.

Their feet touched solid ground. Breath returned to lungs they hadn't realized were held tight.

Jisoo sagged to one knee, rubbing her wrists. "That… was intense."

Yujin didn't respond right away. She was staring into the dark where the Warden had stood, her breathing steady but shallow, golden eyes still tracking movement that wasn't there anymore.

Jin turned his head slightly, listening.

Nothing.

Just silence again—deafening and endless.

Then Jisoo looked over, brows furrowed. "Wait… what about the Minotaur?"

A beat passed.

Before anyone could answer—

A blinding white light cracked through the darkness above.

It came not like an explosion, but a judgment—silent, sudden, and absolute. The darkness peeled back around it, edges curling and folding like paper touched by fire.

And with it, the Warden's voice returned—no longer surrounding them, but descending like a verdict from high above:

"It has been returned."

"To its prison."

The white light swelled outward. Soft, yet overwhelming.

The chains faded from around their ankles.

The air grew lighter.

But the words stayed behind.

Returned to its prison.

For its crimes.

Yujin's tail flicked once. "What crimes could it have committed… here?"

Jin didn't answer immediately.

Then he turned his eyes toward her, studying her quietly.

"When you changed," he said, "into the Minotaur—"

"Yeah?"

He nodded slowly. "It… panicked."

Yujin's expression tightened. "You think it recognized something?"

"I think," Jin said carefully, "it remembered something."

The white light thickened—like a curtain closing over the stage.

And before any of them could say another word—

They were gone.

Swallowed whole.

Pulled from judgment.

Back into the world that still waited for them.