The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill

The ground hadn't stopped humming.

It wasn't the same quake that had come with the Minotaur's fall or the Warden's emergence. No—this was deeper. Slower. As though the foundations of the labyrinth itself had begun to unravel.

Jin's boots scuffed against the stone as he turned toward the epicenter—toward the runes that still pulsed faint green beneath the dust.

Then—

A sound split the air.

Not thunder. Not wind.

A chime.

Massive. Celestial. Carved from nothing and everything all at once.

Light crashed down from above—white and gold, radiant and blinding—and something began to descend with it.

There—floating just above the lip of the labyrinth—a new Dokkaebi appeared.

Larger than any before.

Draped in a gleaming robe trimmed in gold leaf and swirling white marble, it looked more sculpted than born. Its face was hidden behind a bronze helmet carved like a lion's, with two horn-like crests spiraling back. Wings spread from its back—not feathered, but shaped like abstract blades of wind and memory. Each movement stirred the air around it like waves through time.

Its voice, when it spoke, echoed across every inch of the broken trial grounds.

"Contamination detected."

Yujin flinched. "Contamina—what?"

Jisoo's hand went to her side, still aching from where she'd hit the wall. "Sounds like it's blaming someone."

The Dokkaebi turned its head slowly toward them.

"You were chosen to undergo the Labyrinth Trial of Ascension. A calibrated sequence of mental and physical duress designed to test the boundaries of individual and collective potential."

The words didn't feel spoken. They felt pronounced—etched into the space between them.

"And yet," it continued, "your path was derailed."

Jin kept his stance guarded, eyes narrowing. "You mean the Warden?"

A flicker passed through the creature's golden robes.

"The Warden's presence is tolerated. His duty is ancient. When his eyes open, all must yield."

"But that wasn't the only interference."

The labyrinth groaned again—just slightly. The Dokkaebi didn't react to it.

"Another factor disrupted your progression. One not permitted. One… unrecorded."

Its gaze focused.

Jin felt its attention land like a weight.

"You."

Jin didn't answer at first. His hand lingered near the hilt of Muramasa—not to draw it, just to remember it was there.

"I didn't call him," he said.

"You didn't need to," the Dokkaebi answered. "He found you."

"And that," it added with sharp finality, "is the problem."

Jisoo stepped forward. "Wait—are you blaming him for what happened?"

The Dokkaebi's wings flexed.

"I do not assign blame. I log deviation. And your trial was fractured."

"By the Warden?"

"No," it said. "By the other one."

"By the anomaly who should not exist within a closed pocket."

Jin's eyes tightened. He heard the unspoken name behind the words.

Undefined.

"I do not understand his domain," the Dokkaebi muttered, more to itself than to them. "I do not recognize his classification. I cannot quantify what cannot be labeled."

Its form pulsed slightly—like a ripple through a glass sculpture.

Jin stepped forward. "Then what happens now?"

The air grew still.

"I must deliberate."

A pause.

The wings flared wide, haloed in thin strands of logic and light.

"Your trial cannot be reset. Nor can it be replayed. The integrity of the maze is compromised."

"So what then?" Yujin asked. "You gonna toss us out? Fail us?"

Jisoo crossed her arms. "Not our fault some system freak showed up uninvited."

"No," the Dokkaebi said.

"I considered restarting your evaluation entirely. Resetting the floor. Reassigning the test."

Its voice darkened slightly.

"But the Warden's presence… complicates that."

The floor trembled again. Not violently—but like something far below had stirred and remembered it existed.

Jin looked down at the cracks beneath their feet. The lines glowed faintly red now. Not system-gold. Not maze-green.

Red.

"Another awakening," the Dokkaebi muttered. "Too early."

It looked back toward them—focused, unreadable.

"Then I shall not subject you to a broken maze."

"You will move forward."

Jin blinked. "Forward to what?"

"The next trial," it said simply. "One untainted."

Jin didn't move.

Neither did Yujin. Nor Jisoo.

The Dokkaebi raised one hand.

"Do not mistake this for mercy," it said. "You were not meant to be accelerated."

"You are already being watched far more closely than you know."

Its gaze turned back to Jin for a breath longer than the others.

"The anomaly draws anomalies. It is not always a blessing."

Then the air bent.

The floor beneath their feet cracked completely—like porcelain shattering under too much weight.

And they fell.

All three of them—no chance to brace.

Back into the dark.

Back into the unknown.

But the voice of the Dokkaebi followed them down, one last time:

"Let this be your final interference."

Then it was gone.

And the world went black.

The fall didn't end with ground.

It ended with glass.

Jin's body slammed into the floor of a transparent cube—smooth, cold, and humming faintly beneath his palms. His breath caught, then steadied. The others landed beside him moments later—Yujin first in a partial crouch, wings flickering away, then Jisoo in a tumble that ended with a curse.

They weren't alone.

Far from it.

Above them—below them—surrounding them on every side, glass cages descended in columns of light. Each one held a figure. Some sat, some stood, some thrashed against their prisons. All of them looked just as confused. Just as trapped.

"What is this?" Jisoo muttered, rubbing her wrist. "Another holding zone?"

"No," Jin said, stepping toward the front of the cube. His hand hovered just over the surface—it vibrated like something alive. "This is a stage."

All around them, the descent continued.

Dozens—no, hundreds—of glass boxes aligned themselves like seating in an impossible coliseum. The space they were falling into was massive, wide and round like a bowl carved out of starlight. Crystalline architecture curled overhead in sweeping arcs of gold and black. There were no torches. No flames.

Only presence.

A pulse. A drumbeat in the air that came not from sound but from anticipation.

Then came the lights.

Dozens of white beams erupted from the dark above, forming a ring in the center of the arena.

And from that center rose a platform.

A stage.

Carved with runes. Lined with radiant symbols none of them recognized. In the center stood a throne made of glass and fire. But no one sat on it.

Not yet.

Instead—

"Welcome," a voice thundered. Not one. Many. A chorus of voices overlapped and harmonized, each distinct and layered.

"To the Third Trial."

Their cube shuddered slightly, as if reacting to the announcement.

From the upper reaches of the coliseum, shapes emerged—more Dokkaebi. But not like before. Not singular and floating. These were cloaked, hooded, adorned in masks of bronze and silver. One stood at the center, staff crackling with white fire.

"This is where the strong ascend," it declared, sweeping a hand across the arena.

"And the weak are left behind."

Jin's jaw tightened. "So it's a tournament."

The Dokkaebi nodded—or, the lead one did. The others stood still as statues.

"The System calls this phase: Trial of Dominion. A contest of skill, will, and strength. Each territory shall offer its chosen."

Behind the glass walls, figures shifted. Some stood tall, fearless. Others hesitated.

"You were not meant to arrive here this soon," the Dokkaebi continued, "but fate is not a straight path. It bends. Fractures. Recovers."

"Nonetheless, the rules remain."

"All contestants shall enter the Grand Arena when summoned."

"All combat shall be witnessed."

"Victory shall be rewarded."

"Failure… removed."

Jisoo's eyes flicked sideways to Jin. "They really don't go for subtle, do they?"

"Not their thing," he muttered back.

Then the cube jolted downward again, descending faster now.

The central stage pulsed once more.

Beneath it, massive runes ignited—twelve total, circling like a clock.

"Your matches shall be chosen by the wheel of might," the lead Dokkaebi said. "Random. Unbiased. Absolute."

Another voice—this one deeper, almost amused—echoed behind the chorus.

"And bloody."

Jin narrowed his eyes, trying to spot the source—but it was drowned in light.

The cube stopped again—now one layer closer to the arena floor. Other cubes hovered beside them, holding strangers with weapons and strange auras.

Yujin leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "That guy's from the northern territories. Look at his brand."

"And her," Jisoo added, pointing. "That's the Thorn Circle. They're brutal."

"So," Jin said quietly, more to himself than them, "we're not just fighting monsters anymore."

He looked down at his hands—still empty. Then the pulse returned, and with it, a flicker of light.

Muramasa appeared.

Not summoned. Delivered.

The blade hummed once in his grasp.

The tournament had begun.

And the system?

It wanted a show.

The wheel began to spin.

It hovered above the grand coliseum, a massive projection in the air—names etched into glowing blocks of gold, spinning in a blur too fast to track. It rotated horizontally and vertically, symbols shifting with every twist. No one could read it now. No one could influence it. The wheel moved by the will of the system alone.

A hum rolled through the glass enclosures.

Jin pressed a hand against the translucent wall in front of him, brow furrowed. Around him, others stirred—some shouting through their containers, some standing silently like prisoners on display. Yujin stood at his side, ears sharp, eyes sharper, watching the movement of the arena with a predator's patience. Jisoo stood to his left, arms crossed, face unreadable, back straight despite everything.

Then—

The wheel slowed.

One row of names ticked into focus.

Then the second.

They aligned.

And the system's voice rang out:

[Round One: Yun Sol vs. Mak Hwan]

The letters flared in the air—names written in white fire, suspended between the arena and the watchers above.

Below, two of the glass boxes shifted. They clicked and began to descend, slow at first, then faster as the wheel spun again—faster than before, already hungering for the next draw.

Jin watched as the two figures touched down at opposite ends of the marble arena.

Yun Sol—a tall woman with crimson hair braided tight down her back, her expression severe, movements exact.

Mak Hwan—a shorter man with a fighter's build, solid and balanced, with calloused hands that flexed open and shut at his sides.

Neither bowed. No introductions. No system guide.

Just silence.

Then, a ring of blue runes ignited around the platform beneath them.

A countdown started from five.

Four.

Three.

Jisoo muttered, "It really is a show."

Two.

One.

The system's voice hit like a drumbeat.

[Begin.]

Mak Hwan moved first.

No drawn-out testing phase, no sizing up. His arms blurred forward and the stone beneath his feet cracked—lines of pressure exploded outward from him as if the air itself recoiled. His skill activated instantly. A localized burst field—a kinetic dispersal that rippled through the ground like a shockwave. Yun Sol barely moved. She didn't dodge.

She took it.

The shock hit her—lifted dust, cracked her stance.

But it didn't break her.

Instead, her hand raised, and the space around her shimmered. Her skin shifted into a reflective sheen—glasslike, almost transparent—and then she burst forward with a movement so clean it looked rehearsed. She wasn't just fast. She redirected the force of his own attack and used it to launch.

She slammed into him shoulder-first.

Mak Hwan staggered, spat blood, dropped low with a sweep.

Yun Sol backflipped over it, twisted mid-air, and came down with a heel aimed for his head.

He blocked with both arms.

A resounding crack echoed across the arena.

The audience didn't cheer. They weren't allowed to speak. Their glass prisons watched everything.

Jin's hand tightened.

"She's redirecting the force," Yujin muttered. "Like a mirror."

Jisoo said nothing. Her focus was absolute.

Mak Hwan rolled to his feet, hands bleeding. His skill sparked again—this time more focused, directed. A wave of energy tore across the floor, aimed low.

Yun Sol didn't dodge this time either.

She planted a hand on the marble, and the ground beneath her bent—light refracted and twisted, then shattered outward like a broken lens. The wave dispersed before it reached her.

Then she struck again—palm out, air bending. A sharp gust slammed into Mak Hwan's chest, sending him sprawling.

He hit the wall. Slumped. Groaned.

The runes around the arena dimmed slightly.

The match wasn't over. Not until one was dead.

The system didn't tolerate mercy.

Yun Sol walked forward. Slowly. Her steps echoed.

Mak Hwan coughed, blood spilling from his lips.

She raised her hand.

Then stopped.

"No," she said aloud. Her voice was hard. "He's down."

The system did not respond.

She turned toward the coliseum sky. "Do you hear me? He's down!"

Still nothing.

Only the faint flicker of the projection above.

Jin saw the moment she decided.

She lowered her hand. Turned halfway to the side.

"He doesn't need to die."

In the glass box beside Jin's, a figure stepped forward—mouth parting in alarm.

"Behind you!" someone shouted.

But too late.

Mak Hwan had moved.

Quietly. Desperately.

His hand raised—glowing.

A narrow blade of pressure condensed at his fingertips, like a spear forged from desperation. A skill launched with dying effort.

It pierced Yun Sol's back.

She staggered.

Fell.

The crowd in their cages said nothing. Could say nothing.

Mak Hwan gasped—smiled faintly in relief.

Then collapsed, completely spent.

The system's voice returned, flat and final:

[Winner: Mak Hwan.]

Jin's jaw tensed.

Yujin looked away.

Jisoo just exhaled. "They said mercy was a weakness."

The glass boxes began to shift again.

Another spin.

Another match.

But Jin's thoughts didn't move forward just yet.

He stared at the now-empty arena, the faint traces of blood left behind, the cost of a moment's hesitation.

And he thought of every fight he'd ever finished with restraint.

The Trial of Dominion had just begun.

And mercy had no place in it.