“Aren’t you going to pick up your weapon?” Lin muttered, smiling faintly at the minotaur. The beast’s gaze shifted toward its bat a few meters away, but there was a cautious edge to its movements. From where the weapon had fallen, it noticed three more green balls scattered nearby—likely thrown by Lin whenever it had turned its focus away from him.

The minotaur’s keen instincts sensed something was off; thinking back to the exchange, the small shifts in Lin’s movements seemed almost deliberate, as if he had manipulated its steps to ensure it would unknowingly step on the tennis balls. Because of the deep snow, the balls had been hidden from sight, making them all the harder to detect.

The minotaur took a cautious step forward, mindful of its injured right leg to avoid worsening the damage.

Lin and Roben stood still, watching its every move as it advanced toward the bat. Once it reached the weapon, it picked it up and turned back to face them. Instantly, Lin and Roben raised their new weapons, both created using [Form] but identical to their previous ones—two daggers and two knives.

The minotaur scanned the ground warily, searching for any traps and even going so far as to use Echo Sight to reveal anything that might be hidden beneath the snow.

Yet, it found nothing—the area was as clear as ever.

“Rrr,” the minotaur growled, tightening its grip on the bat before suddenly raising its other hand. A surge of Soulex rippled around it, and in an instant, another large bat materialized, roughly the same size and just as menacing as the first.

With a weapon in each hand, it wouldn’t have to worry about missing its initial strike and getting overwhelmed by Lin and Roben’s speed.

But as if anticipating this move, Lin and Roben suddenly dropped their weapons, letting the knives and daggers fall to the snow. Soulex gathered around their arms, morphing and shaping into new weapons—long metallic blades tipped the edge of their newly crafted weapons, with sturdy wooden handles binding the weapons together—spears.

Still cautious, the minotaur continued forward with slow, calculated steps, carefully observing their movements. With each step the beast took, Lin and Roben moved apart slightly, forcing the minotaur to subconsciously choose its first target. The decision was obvious: it curved toward Lin, who stood his ground, holding the spear firmly with both hands and pointing it directly at the beast as he cautiously backed away.

Before the minotaur could close in to its advantage, Lin suddenly darted forward, Roben following up the next moment, both charging at the beast. Confused by their unexpected move, the minotaur hesitated for a brief moment before focusing on the closer of the two—Roben—and lunging toward him, swinging one of its bats with a ferocious arc.

Roben leaped back just in time, raising his spear with one hand. The weapon slid backward slightly with the momentum before he swung it forward in a wide arc, muscles straining as the spear aimed directly for the Minotaur’s head. The beast immediately raised its second bat, blocking the strike with a metallic clang that reverberated through the air.

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In the next moment, it swiftly spun around, arm still raised and pushing Roben’s spear away while swinging its other bat with the gathered momentum, aiming for Lin, who had been closing in from behind. Lin paused mid-step and jumped back just in time, but the Minotaur, in an unexpected move, released the bat mid-swing, sending it flying toward him.

Lin’s eyes widened as he threw himself backward, the bat grazing past his face as his back slammed into the ground. Before he could rise, another bat quickly descended, aimed for his face at breakneck speed. The Minotaur was already towering above him, swinging down at him with terrifying force.

I won’t make it.

This time, there was no maneuver that could save him. Lin accepted his fate, staring straight at the incoming bat as time seemed to slow down. It inched closer, slower with each passing second—until, suddenly, it vanished.

The beast towering over him disappeared as well, replaced by a deafening silence. A shockwave followed moments later, sweeping through the air around him and scattering snow in every direction.

Lin continued to stare upward, now glancing at the gray clouds above. His thoughts raced, trying to process what had just happened, fragments of panic and relief swirling together in his mind.

“Haah, that was way too close,” Roben’s voice cut through the stillness. He stood next to Lin, his figure towering above him, cold sweat dripping down his face as his eyes darted around the area.

“Mission complete?” he asked, glancing down at Lin.

Lin quickly raised himself, his battered body protesting with every movement. He ignored the signals, scanning the chaotic scene around them. The ground was now a messy mix of blood and dirt, scattered across the snow like a crime scene, but there were no bodies—nothing left of their opponent.

“We should get moving,” Lin muttered, forcing himself to stand despite his injured state.

Roben gave him a worried look, then offered, “I can carry you.”

However, Lin shook his head. “It doesn’t really matter what I do from now on. As long as I stay in the snowy region, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

Roben nodded reluctantly. Compared to Lin, his condition was far better—good enough to fight again if it came to that. He was slowly starting to understand why Lin had chosen this approach.

“Do you really think it was necessary? Honestly, I can’t see any way this plan would fall apart,” Roben said, his expression showing genuine confusion.

Lin’s current strategy seemed focused on preserving their strength for as long as possible. Yet with Ren’s plan, Roben doubted they’d even need to fight again. In fact, if everything went according to plan, they wouldn’t be fighting at all until their teammates timers hit zero.

“Who knows? I might have sacrificed myself for nothing. But I don’t think I’d be comfortable moving on without doing this,” Lin replied, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic tension. Even though he had handed full control to Ren, the idea of losing—whether or not it was his fault—seemed to be something he didn’t want to experience.

It was a mindset that Roben found troubling, especially from his own experience in combat, where even a small ego could lead a man to his death.

“Just trust your allies more,” Roben said with a self-deprecating smile, as if unsure of what else to say. Lin seemed to acknowledge his words, giving a simple nod, but deep down, Roben’s advice fell on deaf ears.

I don’t trust any of you.

For Lin, trust wasn’t something to be given to others—it was something that existed solely within himself. To him, stepping onto a tightrope above a raging fire wasn’t a reflection of his trust in the rope’s strength or agility, but rather, his confidence in his own ability to navigate it.

In the same way, he didn’t work alongside Roben because he trusted him, but because he trusted himself.

Trust in his own decisions.

Trust in his own judgment.

As the battle in the [Snowy Region] came to an end, Lin and Roben began to move, their part in Ren’s strategy now complete.

The plan, which Ren had so crudely named, was officially in motion:

The Rotating Centre Strategy.