The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill

Seo just looked down at the severed limb, blinked once, then looked back up.

And smiled.

It wasn't shock.

It wasn't pain.

Just that same, unreadable amusement dancing behind his eyes.

Jin kept Muramasa angled in front of him, breath slow and even. His blade had struck—cleanly, too. But there'd been no blood. No twitch of pain. Just the quiet squelch of something separating and the soft thud of a hand hitting the ground.

Seo wiggled the fingers on his remaining hand. Then he laughed, low and easy.

"That's interesting," he said, tilting his head. "Really—how'd you do that? No skill glow. No aura spike. You just cut. Like it was real."

Jin didn't answer. He watched.

"Ahh, the silent type. Classic," Seo murmured. "You remind me of someone. But don't worry, they're dead now."

The hand on the ground twitched.

Jin's eyes flicked to it. Fast.

It twitched again—then melted. Not like flesh breaking down, but like something reverting. Liquifying. The skin and muscle sloughed off like a coat being shrugged free, and beneath it—viscera. Not blood. Not bone. Just pale, pulsing matter folding inward on itself.

It shivered.

And surged.

The mass exploded upward like a geyser—snapping into a tower of gelatinous mass that shaped into an enormous mock-limb. A distorted hand. All fingers. All pressure.

It came down like a meteor.

Jin vanished.

A blink. A streak of black and red, flashing sideways in a burst of wind.

The fake hand smashed into the arena floor, crushing stone and tile like they were nothing. Cracks spiderwebbed outward in every direction. The crowd above gasped—not out of fear, but sheer awe.

Jin reappeared twenty feet away, crouched low. Muramasa hissed in his grip, vibrating faintly with the effort of his dodge.

Seo's voice floated out of the dust.

"Fast," he said, dragging the word out like a compliment. "Very fast. You moved just before the point of impact. Most people panic. They move too early."

The giant hand began retracting—pulling inward like a tide.

"But you? You waited. Calculated. I like that."

The molten limb collapsed into itself, streaming backward across the ground like liquid mercury. It flowed along the floor, twisting into spirals, and then crawled up Seo's body—reforming piece by piece until the missing hand was back where it belonged.

"Pain doesn't really mean much to me," he said, flexing his fingers once. "But precision? I can appreciate that."

Jin straightened, saying nothing.

Seo grinned. "I'm curious, though. Why the sword?"

Jin's grip didn't shift.

"Seriously," Seo continued, rolling one shoulder. "You clearly have talent. Strength. Speed. But the sword—it's such a… dated choice. Archaic, even. Don't you have a proper skill? Something with flair?"

Jin's eyes narrowed. "You talk a lot for someone who should be focused on staying alive."

"Oho, a threat!" Seo clapped once. "I knew you had a voice. But staying alive?" He stepped forward, hands loose at his sides. "Let me make something clear, Jin Yeong. I could kill you…"

He raised one arm lazily.

"…with one hand tied behind my back."

The fingers on that hand snapped.

The ground shuddered.

Then the same limb—his freshly restored one—liquefied again and surged forward like a tidal whip.

Jin's stance dropped immediately. He spun, kicking up dust, Muramasa flashing red as he redirected the slash with a wide arc, the gel crashing into the barrier wall behind him and cracking it on impact.

Seo watched him move—eyes gleaming.

The molten limb retracted again, snapping like a whip and reforming around his shoulder.

"You're good," he said, stepping into a slow walk. "Really good. One of the best I've seen here. But you know what I'm wondering?"

Jin didn't answer.

"I'm wondering what it is that got you this far. Because raw strength won't get you through these trials alone. You need creativity. Insight. Adaptability."

He opened both arms wide.

"I'm here to see if you're worth something more. Worth finding. Worth following. Or worth killing."

He pointed at Muramasa. "So show me. Show me the reason you're still breathing. Show me what makes you special."

Jin's response came in steel.

He lunged, blade humming.

Muramasa carved through the air in a diagonal arc—clean, efficient, aimed for the midsection.

Seo sidestepped, but the blade's edge bit into his ribs—cutting deep.

Gel. Again.

No resistance. No flesh. Just resistance-less mass.

Jin flipped the sword in a rising motion and tried to capitalize, but Seo melted his entire upper torso backward, dodging the follow-up like gravity didn't apply. His head reformed last, smiling upside down as it hung in the air above Jin's blade.

"Nice try."

He solidified and backflipped away—no telegraph. Just movement. Jin followed, launching a sacred dash with Muramasa low, horizontal—cutting ground to get in close.

But the blade passed through again.

Not because he missed.

Because Seo wasn't there to hit.

This wasn't a fight of blades and bones.

This was something else.

Jin slid to a stop, turning, breath steady despite the rapid exchange.

Across from him, Seo rolled his neck once and chuckled.

"You're thinking too cleanly," he said. "Too structured. You're using form. Flow. Lines. But I'm not a warrior. I'm water."

He snapped both hands.

Spikes erupted from his shoulders—gelatinous lances that twisted forward and launched in a barrage.

Jin leapt backward, slashing two in half—but they reformed before hitting the ground and coiled mid-air like tentacles, trying to wrap around his legs.

He burst forward again, avoiding the grip, but even as he did—

He knew this wasn't just an opponent.

This was a test.

A brutal one.

And Seo Jun-Ho?

He was studying him. Every twitch. Every reaction. Like this was a lecture hall, and Jin was the specimen.

And that smile never faded.

Jin's foot slid half a step back.

Not out of fear—but calculation.

He had just seen two of his sacred techniques pass through without resistance. Seo's body offered no traction, no weight, no anchor to strike against. It was like trying to fight fog that liked to stab back.

But even fog had patterns.

He let the air steady in his lungs.

Should I use it?

His eyes flicked down to Muramasa. The blade pulsed—its aura in perfect sync with him now. If he called on it, he could activate the skill he'd unlocked a while back. It could bypass durability—slice through skill, status, and system defenses.

But the cost…

Jin could already feel it just from thinking about it. A sharp, biting pressure in his bones, like a cold draft leaking into his muscles.

Use it now, and my stats drop across the board until the fight's over. Strength. Speed. Defense. Everything. I'd get the hit—but if it doesn't finish him…

He gritted his teeth.

I've seen too many "final fights" that weren't final.

What if the trial didn't end here?

What if Seo wasn't the real threat?

What if the system—or worse, something behind it—had more waiting?

He couldn't afford to gamble on a power that punished recklessness. Not without knowing the full field.

Jin exhaled once.

Not yet.

Instead, he shifted his stance.

"Ni no Kata—"

Second Form: Rakka Rendan.

Falling Chain.

He burst forward—not with a straight slash, but a series of chained blows. Vertical. Horizontal. Diagonal. The edge of Muramasa flashed red, gold, and deep midnight black as it moved. The strikes weren't meant to cleave Seo—they were meant to overwhelm. Break his form. Pressure his rhythm.

Seo reacted with a laugh.

He didn't block.

He didn't dodge.

He flowed.

His body liquefied with each strike. When Jin's blade came down, Seo's torso compressed like a puddle. When it swept across his side, his shoulder detached, then reformed behind Jin's elbow.

But Jin wasn't just cutting randomly.

He pivoted, stepping through each failed strike—not panicking, not pausing. Muramasa's form changed mid-sequence.

"San no Kata—Kage no Kobushi."

Third Form: Shadow Fist.

He cut low and let the blade whip upward in a rising arc. This wasn't a slash—it was a thrust disguised as one. And Seo didn't expect it.

The tip of the blade skimmed his cheek—and for a fraction of a second, Jin saw it.

Pressure.

Seo didn't smile this time.

He hardened.

His cheek turned to a semi-solid form, absorbing the blade just before it could pierce.

Jin stepped back, wary.

"Ahh," Seo said, pressing a hand to the shallow gash forming across his now-gelled face. "You're not aiming to kill me. Not yet. You're probing."

Jin's stance didn't break. "Same as you."

"Oh, no. I already know you're dangerous." Seo tilted his head. "I'm just curious what makes you worth fearing."

He thrust both hands forward.

His body collapsed—literally. It splashed into a rolling wave of flesh-like gel, moving faster than liquid should. It surged toward Jin like a tidal whip, crashing into the space where he stood.

Jin blurred sideways. Not a teleport—but close. He timed his footwork with a sacred dash, flashing behind Seo's core body.

Muramasa came down.

But Seo's core wasn't there.

The body twisted. Reformed beside him. A spike lashed out from behind—a sharpened rib-like blade of compressed matter.

Jin ducked, spinning under it, slashing through the base of Seo's ankle.

It passed through.

No damage. No pain.

But Seo stumbled.

There.

Seo reformed again, this time solidifying most of his upper torso. He narrowed his eyes.

"You're persistent."

"You're slow," Jin replied.

Seo grinned. "Careful. I like when they talk back."

Jin didn't respond. He wasn't here to entertain.

He darted forward again.

Muramasa glowed.

"Ichi no Kata—Tenran."

First Form: Heavenly Spiral.

This time, the sword didn't cut in a straight line. It twisted—circling through the air in a vortex motion. A spiral slash with centrifugal force. Enough to generate pressure.

Seo braced—too late.

The strike caught his side and threw his upper body backward, even if the flesh didn't cut. The sheer pressure of the spiral disrupted his balance.

Jin spun, came around—

"Yomi no Fukaku."

The Underworld's Depths.

Muramasa slammed down in a deep, vertical crash.

Seo caught it with a wall of solidified mass—but even then, his feet skidded.

He was being pushed.

For the first time in the entire fight, Jin saw it.

Seo wasn't invincible.

He just hadn't faced someone who could press him hard enough.

The crowd above was silent now. Watching. Eyes wide.

Seo's form pulsed with power—his entire upper body shifting through states, from semi-liquid to muscle-hard and back again. Like he couldn't decide whether to flex or flow.

Then he chuckled.

"You're strong," he said. "Very strong."

Jin didn't answer.

"You're like a scalpel," Seo continued. "Precise. Purposeful. Beautifully clean."

He licked his lips, almost absentmindedly.

"I've never wanted to break something so much in my life."

He launched forward—not fast, but suddenly.

His arms split. Not in half—but in multiples. Five. Six. Seven tendrils of gel, each one sharpened into bladed whips.

They lashed out in sequence.

Jin moved.

Dodged.

Cut three.

Jumped over another.

The fourth clipped his side—partially. It didn't cut deep, but the contact stuck. Seo yanked.

Jin twisted mid-air, slicing the tether, but another snapped around his leg.

Seo yanked again.

Jin was pulled downward.

A whip rose—aiming for his face.

Muramasa spun, deflecting.

Jin landed in a crouch, breathing sharper now.

Seo smiled.

"I want to know how many cuts it takes before that calm of yours breaks."

Jin rose.

"I want to see how far you can stretch before I carve your core out."

Silence.

Then—

They charged again.