Draco's POV
"Whyy?" The way he whimpered like a crybaby only made me frown in disgust.
His body was covered in slashes, blood still pouring out as he knelt on one leg, too drained to even stand properly.
Our battle had been legendary, at least for me. It was the first time I'd ever been forced to go all out. He was strong, no doubt, but his strength was wild, thoughtless, driven by raw instinct. Probably the side-effects of those pills he took to boost his power.
That was his weakness. If he'd been one of those green, angry monsters who only grew stronger the madder they got, I would've run without a second thought. But pity for him, he didn't have that kind of luck… or maybe that kind of curse. Depends how you look at it.
Either way, I could feel the difference now. His power was fading, his movements slowing, the drugs burning out of his system.
Not that I was in perfect shape either. My own state was slipping; my breathing rhythm was breaking down. I couldn't hold out much longer.
"Because I am STRONGER," I declared, forcing my voice steady, refusing to show weakness.
He clenched his fist and slammed it into the already-cracked ground, sending tremors rippling through the battlefield. Only then did I truly register the devastation around us, shattered earth, splintered stone, a wasteland carved by our clash.
I still had much to learn. Not just about controlling my own strength, but also about controlling my enemies. If this fight had taken place in a city, or worse, in my future base, the destruction would've been unforgivable.
"Leave… before I strip away the last shred of respect I earned for you today," I said, my voice cold, as though his death was already marked on the clock.
The reaction was perfect. His face twisted with rage and conflict, jaw tight, eyes burning, not sure whether to lunge at me or choke on my words.
He had experience on his side, and I knew he could sense it too. My state was just as bad as his. The problem was, nothing here was absolute. I could still kill him, but it would cost me. The same went for him. Neither of us could guarantee survival.
And that was the hesitation, the line between pride and survival neither of us wanted to cross.
His eyes flicked past me, probably to Yukime, still lying unconscious. That was it. The decision was made in an instant. He stood, his body taut with silent fury, and moved, not toward me, but away.
He left.
I stayed standing for a few seconds, still on guard, waiting for the attack that never came. When it didn't, my body finally gave in, knees buckling as I collapsed.
"Hah… what an experience."
I gasped, dragging in deep breaths to steady myself. That was unlike anything I'd ever gone through. The thrill of it, the raw pressure, forced me to think fast and react even faster just to stay alive. Every swing, every slash, was a gamble. I even pushed back, going on the offensive, trying to sever those claws stained with blood. Life and death balanced on my split-second choices. One mistake, and I'd already be shaking hands with the Grim Reaper.
No wonder people say you have to fight to learn. What I just experienced, no lesson, no lecture, not even watching someone else fight in front of me, could ever compare.
My eyes dropped to my left forearm. Blood trickled from deep claw marks, stinging with every breath I took. I let out a bitter laugh under my breath. "So this is what they mean by experience, huh?"
It was the first time I'd been this seriously injured since arriving in this world. Not every strike had been blocked. Some slipped through, like this one.
I wanted to groan, to collapse and let the pain swallow me whole. But I couldn't. Not now. My gaze shifted toward Yukime's unconscious form. Forcing in one last deep breath, I pushed myself back onto my feet.
I couldn't stay here any longer.
As I walked closer, my eyes traced the bruises scattered across her body, the ugly wound running down her back. Some of it had to be from that bastard ex of hers. The rest, probably from the fight she barely crawled out of.
Cid had managed to heal her in series, but my own experience with mana was still too lacking for something on this level.
But mana isn't all I have.
I tugged at the torn fabric on her back and pressed my hands against her skin. A dim green light flickered to life, seeping slowly into her wounds. Chi.
Richard had enough practice to patch himself up at a surface level. But serious wounds on someone else were beyond him. That's where I picked up the thread. I'd pushed myself past where he left off, training to refine its quality, shaping it into something capable of mending others. The result wasn't perfect, the healing I could give others was weaker than what I could channel into myself, but it was enough.
And right now, enough was all she needed.
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