“You... don’t look human,” Roof remarked, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Aziz. “Yet I recognize you.”

It was as if Aziz was seeing a completely different person. The arrogance that had once filled Roof’s gaze was gone, replaced by a composed, calculating expression. This was someone approaching him with caution, not bravado.

“It seems neither of us is what we seem,” Aziz replied, planting his foot back slowly, readying himself. He needed to figure out how Roof was being protected. There had to be a weakness in the technique.

“Ah, I remember now.” Roof’s voice remained calm, undisturbed by the dozens of unconscious bodies surrounding them. “You’re the so-called Ghost, yes? A figment of Nessa’s imagination, or so they said. Your name is Aziz.”

So, Roof had been fooling everyone. Was the bully act all a façade? Aziz felt a flicker of unease. He had thought he understood what kind of opponent he was up against, but now everything felt uncertain, thrown into the dark. Still, his resolve hardened. After all, darkness was where he thrived.

Aziz reached for a handful of sharp stones he had collected earlier from the forest, flinging two directly at Roof. At the same time, he used Shadow Grasp to hurl a third from a different angle.

As expected, Roof deflected the first with a swift, fluid motion, unsheathing his sword in the same instant. The second and third stones never even made it close—they were knocked away by some invisible force. But Aziz noticed something crucial: Roof’s eyes. The technique had something to do with his eyes. Roof had to see the attack to deflect it. Is he deflecting them with just a look?

“How about we stop with these cowardly tricks and fight like real martial artists?” Roof taunted, stepping forward, his sword drawn in one hand, the other raised in a defensive stance, ready for any surprises.

Aziz didn’t answer. He launched a few more stones, all of which were easily deflected.

“Unless... you don’t know martial arts at all,” Roof sneered, the corner of his lips twitching in amusement. He caught the subtle flinch in Aziz’s posture. “Ah, the slum boy picked up a few parlor tricks, but it seems he never learned how to defend himself properly. Your master must be quite the disappointment.”

At the mention of his master, Aziz’s blood boiled. How dare he. What could Roof possibly know about Master Zhang and Master Xiang? His rage surged, and he Shadow Stepped, vanishing from sight. Roof’s eyebrow twitched, surprised for the first time.

“The coward has many cowardly tricks,” Roof muttered, scanning the area just as Aziz reappeared behind him, aiming for his neck with Shadow Grasp. But Roof’s eyes moved too quickly. The moment he looked over his shoulder, the shadowy hand dissipated before it could make contact. Aziz was left vulnerable—he couldn’t maintain two techniques simultaneously yet.

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Before he could react, Roof swung his sword in a sharp arc, slicing across Aziz’s chest. The pain was immediate, but Aziz suppressed it, stumbling back and flipping away to create distance, his focus on survival. He needed time to gather his internal energy again.

Roof smirked, his confidence returning. “You’re fast, but you’re not fast enough.”

Grunting with effort, Aziz dashed to the side again, using Shadow Grasp to reach for Roof’s leg, hoping to pull him off balance. Once more, the shadowy hand was stopped, dissipating just before contact.

“I don’t know why you’re even trying,” Roof said, unimpressed as ever. “A martial artist without the heart to kill is not a true warrior. You’re playing pretend.”

Aziz vanished from sight again, his movements quicker, but Roof didn’t flinch.

“What could you possibly know about me?” Aziz’s voice was cold, dark. He reappeared farther away this time, flinging the last of his stones.

Roof deflected two with his sword, the others harmlessly veering away as if pushed by an invisible barrier. He cocked his head, looking at Aziz with something akin to pity—a look that infuriated him to the core.

“Why didn’t you kill them?”

Aziz faltered. “What?”

Roof took a step forward, and Aziz instinctively stepped back, the heat from the campfire behind him rising.

“Clearly, it was poison,” Roof continued, his tone almost conversational. “But why didn’t you just kill them? I’ve seen eyes like yours before. You may have a demon’s gaze, but not a demon’s heart. These people stood in your way. They were courting death, and yet... you merely put them to sleep. If that’s the depth of your conviction, your heart is weak.”

Aziz froze. The words struck deeper than any blade.

Roof smiled, sensing the impact. “Tell me—what are you afraid of? Or is it that you don’t have the strength to do what needs to be done? Was it fun learning a f ew tricks thinking this was it? Do not mock the warriors before us.”

Aziz’s chest tightened, the words cutting through the fog of battle. He had told himself it was strategy, that incapacitating Roof’s men would make it easier to move undetected. But Roof was right—if he had truly been committed, they’d be dead. He could have killed them all, swiftly, effortlessly.

Why didn’t I kill them?

The question sank in, rooting him to the spot. He had always told himself he was prepared to do whatever it took. He had trained for this, lived for the moment to take vengeance on the Order. But when the opportunity to murder had come, he hesitated. Would the Order hesitate? Some part of him—small, buried deep—had stopped him from taking that final, lethal step.

Roof’s smirk widened. “See? I was right. You don’t have the heart of a killer. You're just another slum boy pretending to be a warrior.”

Aziz’s fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms as heat rose to his face. He had faced death countless times, bled more than most, endured more pain than Roof could imagine. And yet, in this moment, the truth stung more than any wound.

His breath hitched. The fire crackled behind him, the heat licking at his back as Roof advanced slowly, like a predator who had cornered its prey.

“Come on then,” Roof taunted, lifting his sword slightly. “If you’re really as dangerous as you pretend to be, stop hiding in the shadows. Show me your conviction. And I will show you mine.”

Aziz’s heart pounded, the battle within himself growing louder than the one outside. Roof’s words echoed in his mind, but beneath them, another voice spoke—Master Zhang’s voice.

Hesitation is weakness. Resolve is strength. The snake always strikes first.

The question now wasn’t whether Roof was right. The question was whether Aziz was ready to embrace what he had to do next.