Jonah calmly observed his opponent.
This Alonso guy looked like easy pickings.
Injured, struggling with his sword, and clearly exhausted—Alonso was a prime target.
Jonah closed the distance, eyes locked on him, studying every move. Alonso’s guard was solid, but there were cracks. The slight hesitation in his left arm, the sluggishness in his steps, the brief winces as he parried—each detail marked a man running on fumes.
Jonah tested him first, keeping his strikes steady but not too aggressive, gauging Alonso’s response. His defense was tight, almost overly so, as if conserving energy. His counters were sharp but predictable, each one following a familiar pattern. Alonso was good, sure, but his predictability made him vulnerable.
With each exchange, Jonah adjusted, noting Alonso’s reach, his reliance on the right side, and the delay in his pivots. Alonso was hurt, and that hurt was an advantage.
He kept pressing, forcing Alonso to react. Fatigue was evident in Alonso’s eyes, his breaths growing heavier with each parry. He was slowing, just as anticipated, scanning for an opening that wasn’t there. Each time Alonso thought he saw a gap, it was gone, already covered, each move countered.
When Jonah aimed low, Alonso jumped back, exactly as predicted. An overhead slash followed, and though Alonso blocked, the force sent him stumbling. He was losing his balance, losing control. Jonah saw it, felt it in the unsteady way Alonso’s sword wavered when he tried to push back.
A desperate horizontal slash cut through empty air as Jonah sidestepped, noting Alonso’s shifting stance, the pain evident in his leg. Alonso’s injuries were catching up, and they would be exploited.
He lunged again, aiming for Alonso’s side. Alonso deflected, pivoted left, but Jonah was there, closing the gap with a quick step and delivering another strike. The blade aimed at his chest nearly knocked Alonso off his feet.
Sluggish movements, slower responses—the fight was tipping. Alonso’s desperation was evident, and the perfect moment was drawing near, a moment where he’d falter just enough to end this.
"I'm going to savor that orb of yours," Jonah sneered, letting the words hang in the air, watching the understanding settle in Alonso’s eyes.
But experience kept Jonah cautious; he knew the danger of a cornered opponent. Pressing forward, he waited for the right time.
Then the opportunity came.
With a swift motion, Jonah kicked up a spray of sand, hitting Alonso square in the face. Alonso flinched, his guard dropping for an instant, and that was all it took. Jonah began to swing his sword in a feint, knowing Alonso’s EM senses would follow.
As the blade neared, he released it, letting it fall short while his other hand, armed with a sharp rock, swung forward in a deadly arc. He sidestepped, ready to grapple Alonso from behind and go for the throat.
But then—something stung Jonah’s face, sharp and fast. Metal fangs? Dammit!
Eyes squeezed shut against the pain, he cursed, relying on EM waves to track Alonso’s sword. He sensed it coming, dodged, but then—
Impact
Something sharp and solid drove into Jonah’s stomach. What the—
Before he could react, a cold slash crossed his throat. The world tilted, vision blurred, and then—
Nothing.
image [https://i.imgur.com/EPU265m.png]
That was close. Way too close.
Alonso gasped for breath, his exhausted body crumbling to the ground, completely spent, pain radiating from every injury. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, leaving him weak.
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“The guy wanted to play it so safe he ended up dying. Makes you wonder.”
“Yeah,” Alonso gasped, forcing air into his lungs. “You’re... quite calm for what just happened.”
“If you want me to tell you how lucky you were that he didn’t pass yesterday, I’m telling you now. And even today, if he hadn’t tried that ‘trick’ of his with the EM tracking on the sword, he would have eventually won.”
“Not without paying the price,” Alonso muttered, his gaze darkening as he looked up at the sky. It was afternoon, still some time until the sun started to set.
He winced as a sharp pain shot through his side, probably from a cut he hadn’t even noticed during the fight. “What about the fangs? Wasn’t it yesterday you were saying what the hell we were going to do with them?”
“Yesterday’s problems for yesterday’s mind. By the way, just pick the orb already, will you?”
Alonso’s gaze fell on the orb lying on the ground. It was... ordinary. Not red, not special in any way, just a simple orb like the ones he’d collected from any casual worm. The realization felt almost anticlimactic.
With a grunt, he forced himself to crawl toward the orb. His fingers closed around it, and he absorbed the energy.
> Stage 1 - 1.378%
0.090%? Even humans give diminishing returns? Is the cap also 49?
The cold truth settled in. Here, it didn’t matter whether you killed a mindless creature or a thinking human being—the result was the same, reduced to a percentage, a small step forward in these twisted trials.
He leaned back, trying to steady his breathing as he processed this new information. His eyes focused on the calm beautiful cyan sky. Made him remember his conversation with Chiara, not exactly sure why.
"So, what’s next?"
"Leeches, panthers, training… nothing’s changed. We still need 29 more leeches, so fix that flimsy trap of yours and get back to it. We’ve got a lot of panthers to deal with tonight."
"So now you're the bossy type?"
"I’ve always been the boss."
Alonso chuckled, turning his face up to the sky, letting the calming breeze wash over him. These short fights were incredibly taxing on both body and mind, especially when his body was already in bad shape. What had saved him from dying this time wasn’t just skill—it was Jonah’s misjudgment, a bit of preparation, and a lot of luck.
Well, that, and some panther fangs turned into makeshift shrapnel, along with a sharp rock he had stashed in the sand.
He had prepared these things in case he ran into a not-so-welcome human. Even now, admitting it left a bad taste in his mouth, but he’d also prepared them with Abhijit in mind, just in case things went south. The fangs came from the panther he’d killed a couple of days ago, hidden under his pants in a tiny pouch he’d made by rolling a piece of his tattered shirt and tying it with small vines he had found.
The rock was something he’d fashioned that very morning while setting up his leech trap. He had thought about needing a weapon that wasn’t metallic—something he could use to throw off someone relying on EM detection, just like Jonah had tried. The fangs to the face, followed by the sharp rock to the stomach, had been his planned combo, and seeing the rock Jonah had been holding, it seemed he wasn’t the only one with such ideas.
What had truly saved him, though, was his improved motion sensor. He could now stack up to eight EM waves, and after repeated training, he had developed a better 3D grasp of his surroundings, even for non-metallic objects. This was what had kept him from falling for Jonah’s trick of leaving his sword in the air and sidestepping. He hadn’t tracked Jonah with perfect precision, but he had enough of a sense of his approximate location to throw the fangs at his face and finish the job with the rock he had kept hidden close to his feet, buried in the sand, ready to grab and throw quickly.
Alonso pushed himself up, wincing as he did so, and took a deep breath. His body was still screaming in protest, but he couldn’t afford to rest. Not yet.
"Let’s get to work.”