About before, Ren—I accept your challenge to duel."
Ren met her gaze, unwavering. "Good. But before that, I have something to return."
Yuki frowned. "What must you return to me?"
The words barely left her lips before memory surged—a flood of recollections from the battlefield. Ren, Jaime, Guinevere. The clash of steel, the weight of every strike. And then—his face.
The youth of an eighteen-year-old boy. Crimson-black eyes, burning with unreadable emotion. The sharp curve of his smile—not malice, not cruelty, but enjoyment.
"Now then, are you ready to face me?"
Ren's tone was calm, but something was behind it—history, challenge, expectation.
"Your ancestor trained with the weapons she forged for me, proving her mastery of creation. She never disappointed."
His gaze lingered on Yuki's grip, as if seeing more than just steel.
"It's a shame she died of old age—like all mortals. Even with the advancements meant to extend life, she lived five thousand years. A full existence."
He exhaled, almost contemplative.
"In the end, she was tired. She chose rest. But I wonder… will she return? Will she choose reincarnation?"
The thought hung in the air, but Ren dismissed it as easily.
"All well. Let's go."
His attack came fast, calculated, sharp.
Yuki blocked with unwavering determination, the impact forcing her heels into the earth, but she did not falter. She couldn't.
Her family had invested everything in her. She was their legacy—the next heir of Dawn Industries.
She would not fall.
Ren's movements were effortless, honed beyond perfection—every strike a statement, every motion a command. Yet Yuki met him without hesitation, without wavering. She had perfected the art of the sword, not just as a warrior but as a dancer, weaving precision and fluidity into every clash of steel.
Ren wasn't surprised. She was a general, but more than that, she had trained since childhood, refining each technique and forging herself into something unstoppable. He could see it in how she moved—each step calculated yet seamless, each counter like the continuation of an unbroken rhythm.
His gaze flickered to her hair. Pitch black, except for the single white streak cutting through like a mark of time itself.
If she chose immortality, what shape would she take?
Would she remain as she was, unchanged and preserved, or would she shift, like the blade she wielded, forged and reforged until it became something else entirely?
Ren did not have the answer.
But as their swords met again, ringing across the battlefield, he wondered if she did.
There was nothing Ren didn't know.
He chose not to know.
Omniscience was a prison, a slow suffocation of discovery. To know all was to strip meaning from experience, to reduce the world to predetermined patterns and inevitabilities.
So he shut that part of himself away.
Not because he was incapable, but because he refused.
To live, truly live, meant surrendering to uncertainty. It meant allowing himself to be surprised, feel the weight of doubt, and ask questions he already had answers to hear them spoken.
Knowledge was power.
But ignorance, when chosen, was freedom.
Gratitude in the Blade's Dance: Ren's Acknowledgement of Yuki
"You're doing great, Yuki. Thank you for this battle. You don't know how much it means to me. You've helped more than you realise. Thank you."
"It's a pleasure."
She knew exactly what he meant. Knew the weight behind his words, the unspoken gratitude laced between them.
But she let it drift.
Steel sang between them, each clash a wordless answer. She fought not just to engage him, but to distract him, keep him in the moment, and push herself further.
She had to prove herself.
Her skills, her worth, her place.
And so, she did not stop.
Ren was having fun.
And Yuki—he could see it in her movements—was too.
She was distracted, caught in the rhythm of battle, but it wasn't a weakness. It was engagement, immersion.
They let their swords do the talking.
A sharp strike. A swift counter. The flow between them was seamless, unbroken, as if speech would only disrupt the conversation their blades had already begun.
Neither spoke.
They didn't want to.
The training ground was unrecognisable, reduced to fractured debris beneath their relentless duel.
Steel met steel, sending shockwaves through the reinforced walls, rattling the advanced infrastructure meant to withstand unimaginable force. Sparks danced in the air, remnants of the energy surging through their blades.
Ren deflected, his stance unwavering, his movements precise. Yuki pushed harder, fueled by the exhilaration of the fight. She was invested—fully, completely—in her strikes, which carried both mastery and intent.
Then, Ren caught her hand mid-swing.
The force didn't dissipate; it radiated outward, distorting the air, pushing wreckage aside with sheer power. The advanced systems monitoring their battle flickered, struggling to adjust to the escalating destruction.
She had given everything to that strike.
And yet, he held firm.
Around them, the ruins of the training ground were a testament to their clash. But the fight was far from over.
Ren released her hand.
Yuki stood still for just a breath, adjusting, recalibrating. Then she struck.
Ren deflected. Not with resistance, but with control—redirecting her blade effortlessly, forcing her momentum to dissipate. And in that instant, he seized the offence.
His speed increased.
The battlefield blurred. The remnants of their destruction barely registered as Ren moved—each step a calculated edge, each strike precise and relentless. Sparks burst from their swords, scattering into the air. The energy around them cracked, charged with something beyond mere technique.
Yuki felt it immediately.
This was different.
He wasn't responding to her anymore, pressing her into a rhythm she hadn't anticipated. Each strike landed faster, sharper, demanding a reaction before she had time to think.
She met his assault, but he was a storm now, his movements fluid, ceaseless.
This was no longer an exchange.
This was Ren, entirely in motion.
Within the Emperor's Domain: A Duel Beyond Limits
Before Yuki could react, the world around her fractured—dissolving, reshaping, bending to Ren's will.
This was no longer the training ground.
This was Ren's domain.
The battlefield had been discarded, deemed inadequate, unworthy of their fight. The previous arena had crumbled under their clash, so Ren chose to abandon it entirely, forging something new in its place.
And watching from within the space, the other Ren observed with amusement.
But it was the main Ren who had made this choice.
It wasn't instinct. It wasn't circumstance. It was pure intention—his will exerted over reality itself, a deliberate shift to continue their battle somewhere worthy of their strength.
Yuki steadied herself, adjusting to the change. The space felt different—larger, heavier, charged with something beyond simple combat.
She had stepped into Ren's world.
And here, the fight would continue under his terms.