The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill

Yujin fell to one knee immediately after.

She was panting. Her face pale. The circlet had stopped glowing.

But she smiled anyway.

"Worth it."

Her fingers dug into the cracked stone beneath her, trying to keep her upright. Every part of her ached — the wings, the tail, the half-shifted dragon spine that had flared to life mid-charge. The power from the divine beast form was immense, yes… but wielding it without mastery?

That was a storm she wasn't quite ready for.

Still, the look on Rin's face had been worth it.

Rin adjusted her stance. Her normally composed face was pinched with tension. She flexed her fingers once—and drew a weapon from her side.

A short, curved blade—not quite a dagger, not quite a sword. Something old-school, ceremonial-looking, but Yujin's instincts screamed danger. That wasn't a simple backup weapon.

That was the real one.

No banter. No smiles. Rin just tapped the blade once against her palm, and the air around her shimmered with faint purple distortions—waves warping light like heat rising off asphalt. The same effect she'd used earlier in short bursts, but now it was forming a perimeter around her.

Yujin narrowed her eyes. "That's new."

She didn't wait to see what it would do.

She moved.

A blur of motion—legs reinforced by lion muscle and wind, claws half-shifted into dragon talons. She zigzagged across the ruined arena floor, keeping her profile low and sharp.

Rin saw her coming, spun her blade once, and slashed outward.

A wave of kinetic distortion burst from the edge—like a sonic boom, silent but violent. It cut through the air, warping space for just a second.

Yujin dropped and rolled beneath it.

Not fast enough.

The edge clipped her shoulder, sending a jolt through her ribs as if gravity itself had tried to throw her sideways. She hit the ground hard, tumbled once, and dug in with her claws to stop her skid.

She hissed as she came up again—eyes sharp now. Not surprised. Not afraid.

Focused.

"Alright," she muttered. "So we're both serious now."

This time, she didn't charge.

She shifted.

Her arms changed first—scaled, angular, glistening with bronze-red sheen. Then her back—wings again, not fully spread, but enough for lift. Not for power. For agility.

A wyvern wouldn't overpower this opponent. But it could outmaneuver her.

She took to the air.

The moment her feet left the ground, Rin moved—sweeping her blade upward. Another wave of force shot toward her, this one vertical, chasing her ascent like a reverse shockwave.

Yujin twisted in mid-air, rolling sideways.

The edge of the blast caught her foot—ripping part of her boot clean off and sending her spinning. She let the momentum carry her, angled her wings mid-roll, and came down fast.

Claws-first.

Rin stepped back, just barely avoiding the impact.

Yujin hit the ground with a force that cracked the floor and followed through with a wide sweeping tail-strike—basilisk again, short and snapping.

Rin jumped.

Yujin lunged forward—arm shifting mid-strike from scaled to feline, muscles snapping tight—and her punch hit square into the distortion.

It slowed her down like hitting thick water—but it didn't stop her.

Rin blocked with the flat of her blade, sliding back three steps.

Yujin exhaled and pressed the advantage—claws slashing high, then low, then into a twisting kick that merged into another shift: talons this time, curved and serrated.

Rin ducked, but not cleanly—Yujin's foot grazed her cheek, drawing a line of blood.

Their eyes met.

Yujin didn't grin this time.

She just attacked.

Rin pushed forward—more distortions rolling from her blade with each movement. She was using her skill like an extension of her body now, slashing not to wound but to control space, bending the battlefield itself.

Yujin countered with motion.

Shifted into a bird-form hybrid—light on her feet, wings tucked. She ran low, forcing Rin to adjust again.

Each attack was a puzzle.

Each dodge a test.

Yujin's lungs burned. Her arms shook.

But she didn't back off.

Not yet.

She ducked low under a slashing distortion, then sprang up with a backflip—wings spreading mid-motion—and hurled herself skyward once more.

Rin tracked her instantly.

Yujin twisted again, dragon talons sharp and burning.

And then she dove.

Straight down.

Not to strike.

To shatter.

The ground cratered.

Dust swallowed the field.

Silence.

Jin stood in the glass box, watching through the haze, his knuckles white against the barrier.

"She's fighting like…"

He couldn't finish the thought.

Jisoo nodded beside him. "Like someone who knows this is her only shot."

He didn't speak.

Just watched.

Because whatever Yujin was becoming—it wasn't just about surviving anymore.

It was about owning the fight.

The dust hadn't settled yet.

But Yujin didn't need to see.

She felt the power humming in her chest, down her arms, through the thin line of fire still flickering along her dragon-warped spine. Her wings flared once—more instinct than control—but it didn't matter.

The rhythm had returned.

Not wild. Not desperate.

Focused.

Her fingers tightened—scaled, taloned, built for damage—and she felt the drain begin again. Every second she stayed like this ate at her stamina. This was no ordinary shift. The form she'd forced her body into wasn't just physical; it demanded something more primal.

Myth.

Power fed on belief.

And dragons, in every story, were apex predators.

She had to act like one.

The air thinned around her. Not from magic. From heat. From presence. Her opponent was still standing across from her—Rin's silhouette framed by the swirling haze, her blade lowered slightly, breathing sharp but steady. She hadn't moved yet.

She was waiting.

Reading her.

Good.

Yujin moved first.

Not a charge. Not a blind rush.

She stepped forward slowly, wings folded in, the ground sizzling faintly beneath her steps. Her form wasn't fully stable—her tail flickered, flicked once, then vanished, then returned. Her skin shimmered, oscillating between human and beast.

But her eyes?

Locked. Predatory.

"You've got one shot left," Rin called out, voice unreadable. "You think that's going to be enough?"

Yujin didn't answer.

Instead, she narrowed her stance—and bent her knees.

With a gust of pressure, she launched forward.

The force of her wings cracked the tile beneath her. She didn't go high. Just enough to lift over the terrain, cut the distance, and dive like a spearhead.

Rin raised her blade, pivoted slightly—positioning her body like a counterweight, ready to absorb the impact.

Yujin twisted mid-flight.

Her form blurred—wings retracting, claws extending. Her legs thickened, reinforced by ox-like muscle from a memory of a qilin. Her arm—only one—shifted fully into a draconic claw, glowing faintly from within as if veins of molten fire ran beneath the scales.

One strike.

Focused. Heavy. Deadly.

Rin braced for impact.

But Yujin didn't land where she expected.

She vanished just before contact.

Wings reappeared, reversed thrust, and sent her spiraling past Rin's side.

And with the spin—her clawed arm came slashing up.

Rin twisted at the last second, but not fast enough. Yujin's talons caught the edge of her shoulder, dragging across fabric and flesh.

Blood arced through the air.

Rin hissed—stumbled once—and re-centered.

"Two," Yujin muttered under her breath.

Her legs shook. The transformation was flickering now. Her breath came faster, harder.

But she pressed on.

This was no longer about tricks.

It was about domination.

Rin lunged forward this time—blade first, distortions spiraling off the edge like vortexes. Yujin ducked low, turned into a half-roll, and sprang up behind her, shifting her spine to launch a tail-strike.

But Rin anticipated the movement—twisting mid-turn and slashing downward.

The blade carved through space—and the edge of Yujin's wing.

She screamed through gritted teeth, spun away, and hit the ground hard.

Her wing shattered into sparks, flickering out as the form buckled again.

But she got up.

Slow. Steady.

One step.

Two.

Rin panted across from her, one hand pressed to her bleeding shoulder. "That dragon form," she said, voice quieter now. "Not bad."

Yujin didn't answer right away.

Instead, she reached behind her—her back steaming—and pulled her circlet free from her half-shifted head. It was pulsing faintly now, like it was overclocked.

"I don't need the full transformation anymore," she said. "I just need one more shot."

Rin raised an eyebrow. "You're planning to end it in one move?"

"No." Yujin bared her teeth. "I'm planning to win it."

She closed her eyes.

Not for rest.

For clarity.

Her body shifted again—not fully, not wildly. Strategically.

Arms scaled, hardened. Shoulders braced. Legs lithe, feline-fast.

Her back flared once—short, stubby wings. Not for flight. For control.

The form was imperfect.

But it was hers.

"Your skill's better," Yujin said, opening her eyes again. "Your control's tighter."

Rin looked confused for a moment.

Yujin smiled. "But I'm better at falling apart and getting back up."

And she moved again.

The arena had stopped breathing.

Even the Dokkaebi, ever eager for theatrics, said nothing. There was no need for commentary.

Everyone watching—inside glass boxes, above in projection screens, hidden within the dark corners of the Trial's endless audience—knew what came next.

This was it.

Rin stood upright, blade reversed in her grip, one hand pressed against her bleeding shoulder. Her breathing was fast, but her stance had settled. Her body lowered slightly, center of gravity shifting—not a defensive posture, but the poised calm of someone preparing to leap into the storm.

Across from her, Yujin steadied herself, her form flickering but firm. Half-transformed. Her dragon limb pulsed faintly with molten lines beneath the scales, while the other side of her body retained the flexible speed of a feline predator.

It was imperfect balance.

But it was hers.

Her stance widened—low, coiled, center tight. Her tail was gone now. No wings. But sparks still shimmered in her hair. Her eyes gleamed amber.

"Third Form," she whispered to herself, unsure if it was real or just instinct. "Mythmade Descent."

Rin exhaled, and for the first time, her blade didn't just shimmer—it howled.

Wind coiled around it. Not elemental power. Not magic.

Speed.

Tension.

Pressure.

She turned her body slightly, so her back leg was taut, almost trembling. It was the stance of someone using the arena itself as a spring.

And Yujin saw it.

She smiled.

They moved.

At the exact same time.

Rin launched forward, her foot kicking off with a sound like a blade unsheathing itself. The instant she surged ahead, her body blurred—not teleportation, not invisibility—just raw, honed momentum. Her blade arced outward in a slashing spiral, the air around it twisting like a cyclone that hadn't decided what it wanted to destroy yet.

Yujin ran straight into it.

No hesitation. No sidestep.

Her clawed hand burned.

Fire bled from her veins. Her transformation was unstable—but that instability had become her weapon.

The draconic essence inside her wasn't silent anymore. It roared, not from her mouth but her very presence. Her footsteps cracked the stone. Her right arm shifted further, becoming more jagged, more radiant.

A dragon's claw built for death.

She dove under Rin's blade as it whistled over her shoulder, feeling it carve a line of heat into her hair—and then she rose, spinning.

She didn't slash.

She drove her whole body into the strike, putting every last ounce of power into her core. Her scaled elbow snapped forward, catching Rin under the ribs mid-motion. Rin let out a grunt, her momentum halted—if only for a second.

A second was all it took.

Yujin's claw snapped upward, catching the side of Rin's blade and redirecting it—then she pivoted again, spun around her, and launched her final strike from behind.

"Fourth Form," she hissed.

"Sky-Render."

Her clawed arm came down like a meteor, trailing heat and pressure and myth.

Rin didn't spin. Didn't flinch.

She dropped.

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And her foot launched backward in a perfect heel kick to Yujin's ribs.

The impact was brutal.

Yujin coughed—something cracked—and she tumbled sideways, her momentum broken.

But even as she fell, she twisted again, dragging her claw in a full arc across the ground.

Stone shattered. Fire surged.

Rin skidded backward, part of her shirt seared away, arm bleeding.

They both landed in opposite corners of the arena.

Yujin's body shuddered.

The fire inside was flickering out.

She staggered to one knee again, eyes half-closed. Blood trickled down from the edge of her mouth.

Rin stood slowly, wiping her blade clean against her pants. Her knees trembled—but she was still standing.

They looked at each other.

Neither moved.

Neither spoke.

The wind carried dust through the center of the ruined field.

Then—

Rin fell forward.

Face-first.

Her sword clattered from her grip.

Yujin blinked once, then twice.

Her lips parted, about to say something—but no words came.

The system chimed.

[Match End.]

[Winner: Yujin]

Yujin's head drooped.

She didn't collapse—but only because she couldn't afford to yet. Her claws retracted slowly. Her arm turned back to human. The scorched lines across her chest dimmed. Her knees felt like glass.

But she smiled.

Just once.

"Next time," she whispered, looking toward Rin's still form, "don't hold back."

Then her glass prison reformed around her, lifting her away.

And the arena began to reset.

Another trial.

Another battle.

But for now—Yujin had earned her place.

And somewhere, far above, Jin exhaled.

"She didn't just survive," he murmured. "She adapted."

And that was more terrifying than anything he could've imagined.