Hunt/Dreams

 Bruce didn't hesitate. He struck first.

A brutal lunging punch tore through the air—Yulli barely ducked. He felt the force of it whistle past his ear, close enough to ruffle his hair.

No time to think. He spun away, bolted—his heart hammering against his ribs.

His target: the wooden plank a few feet away. His only shot.

Bruce saw right through him.

With one monstrous leap, he landed right on top of it. The wood splintered under his heel.

Yulli's stomach dropped.

"He jumped from that far?!"

No time for panic. Bruce was already moving.

A fist swung like a hammer. Yulli barely twisted away, but he felt it graze his ribs—just a touch and it already burned.

Bruce kept coming. His movements weren't refined, but they were devastating. Every punch was meant to obliterate.

Yulli dodged, ducked, twisted, barely scraping by—but it was costing him.

His breath grew ragged.

His legs felt heavier with every step.

Sweat dripped into his eyes. His muscles screamed for air.

Bruce didn't let up. Not for a second.

The crowd roared, eating it up like a bloodthirsty mob.

"Holy hell—he's fast!" someone yelled.

Muetaki watched, calculating. "Bruce is too big to be fast. His weight holds him down. That's Yulli's only advantage." His gaze darkened. "But if Bruce lands even one hit…"

Yulli could feel it—his limit creeping closer.

His dodges slowed.

Bruce's fists got closer.

Then—his foot slipped.

A fatal mistake.

Bruce's fist smashed into his stomach.

It felt like his insides exploded.

Air. Gone.

His body crumpled as the world tilted.

Pain. White-hot. His vision blurred. His ears rang. He barely felt himself being caught—shoved back into the ring.

The crowd laughed.

"Keep fighting!" someone cheered. They didn't care if he died here.

Bruce grinned, licking his teeth like a rabid dog.

Yulli gasped for breath. His fingers dug into the dirt, his stomach convulsing. His body screamed at him to stay down.

But Bruce wasn't waiting.

Heavy footsteps. Charging.

Yulli braced for impact—

CRACK!

A wooden plank slammed into Bruce's face.

A stunned silence.

Bruce stumbled, eyes blazing with fury. "Who the hell threw that?!"

The crowd looked around—then a single hand raised lazily.

Muetaki.

"No rules, right?" he said, bored.

Bruce's vein popped. "You bastard—!"

"Don't get distracted."

Bruce froze.

Too late.

The same wooden plank slammed into the back of his neck.

Yulli, breathing hard, stood behind him. Eyes burning. Weapon in hand.

Yulli didn't hesitate.

This was his moment.

His grip tightened around the wooden plank, now wielded like a sword. He flowed forward, his strikes slicing through the air with deadly grace.

Bruce barely had time to blink.

CRACK! A swift blow to his liver.

THWACK! A devastating strike to his ankle.

WHAM! The finishing touch—a precise upward swing to the chin.

The force sent Bruce's head snapping back, his body staggering.

The crowd gasped.

They weren't just watching a street fight anymore. This was something else.

Yulli's swordplay was beautiful. His footwork light as air, his movements an elegant dance of destruction. The wooden plank in his hands became something more—an extension of himself, a blade in a master's grip.

Muetaki's sharp eyes gleamed. "Yulli may be weak, but with a weapon? He's a completely different beast."

Bruce was on the backfoot. Every strike landed. He had no room to counter, no chance to recover.

For the first time—he looked afraid.

The crowd erupted.

"He's actually winning!"

"Holy hell, he's good!"

"It's like we're watching a dance!"

Yulli's movements had a rhythm, a deliberate beauty that pulled them all in. It was precise. Powerful. Relentless.

Bruce was losing.

Or so they thought.

Yulli shifted his stance.

His breathing was ragged, but his resolve burned hotter.

His movements followed a pattern—one he knew by heart.

He whispered the name of his technique, almost like a prayer.

"Sword Style Kauta… First Style—Counter Single Thrust."

His final attack.

With everything he had left, Yulli lunged. The wooden plank shot forward like the tip of a spear, driving into Bruce's stomach with crushing force.

Bruce's knees buckled. He dropped.

The crowd exploded.

"HE WON! HE TOOK HIM DOWN!"

But something wasn't right.

Yulli didn't celebrate.

He didn't let his guard down.

He raised his weapon for the final blow—

CRACK.

The wooden plank shattered.

The arena fell into silence.

Yulli's breath hitched. His hands trembled.

Not because he had hit too hard.

But because Bruce was smiling.

Not a smile of pain.

A smile of triumph.

His body hadn't broken.

His head, where Yulli had aimed his final strike, was untouched.

Mana manipulation.

Bruce had hardened his skull like stone.

Slowly, he stood. Towering over Yulli. Completely unfazed.

"This is the difference between our level, Yulli."

Before Yulli could even react—

BOOM.

Bruce's fist smashed into his face.

Yulli's body whipped backward like a ragdoll.

His skull slammed into the ground.

His vision blurred. The taste of iron filled his mouth.

Blood splattered the dirt.

The crowd, moments ago roaring for his victory, now watched in stunned silence.

Bruce cracked his knuckles.

"You've got your fancy swordplay…" He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing Yulli whole.

"…But I've got something you don't."

Muetaki walks towards yulli and lean him to his shoulder 

"Let's put this under us yeah? I wont tell anyone about this place and you leave us alone..fair?" meutaki flaty said

Bruce was not satifeist with the result but any further might get them killed so he compile and they leave.

Yulli's body twitched.

His breath shuddered.

His consciousness teetered on the edge of oblivion. His vision flickered between blurry shapes and the cold, indifferent glow of the torches above. The pain was unbearable—his skull felt like it had been split open, his ribs caved in.

And Bruce… wasn't stopping.

The rules were clear.

You fight until you can't anymore.

Yulli couldn't.

Bruce stood over him, towering like a god. His eyes burned with the ruthless satisfaction of a predator knowing its prey could do nothing.

"The mark is essential for us hunters."

He lifted his palm, revealing the mark Yulli needed.

Three kawung shapes.

The symbol of passage, the key to proving his worth, to moving forward.

Bruce sneered. "Without it, you're just another peasant the Cathedral has to deal with."

Yulli couldn't hear him.

Not really.

Everything was fading. His body didn't listen to him anymore. His fingers barely curled in the dust.

But Bruce wasn't done.

He raised his fist one more time—the final blow.

This would end it.

Then—

Nothing.

He couldn't move.

Bruce's arm shook violently, frozen in place.

"Huh?" His voice wavered. He pushed forward, strained every muscle in his body.

Nothing.

He was stuck.

"What the hell?!"

The air shifted.

A new voice. Bored. Unfazed.

"That's enough."

The crowd turned.

Muetaki.

He walked into the ring, his expression flat, his steps slow and deliberate—like this entire fight had been a mild inconvenience.

Bruce's rage twisted into confusion. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

The answer came from the spectators.

A student gasped, pointing. "His shadow—LOOK!"

Bruce followed their gaze.

A dagger.

A single black-handled dagger had been stabbed into his shadow, locking him in place like an unbreakable chain.

The realization hit the room like a thunderclap.

Marko's breath hitched. His face drained of color.

"No… It can't be."

A ripple of fear spread through the crowd.

"A dagger into a shadow? That's… that's only one family who can do that."**

Marko's voice dropped to a whisper.

"Xua Hei… Ancient Shadow Style."

A name spoken like a curse.

Muetaki didn't react.

His hand barely moved, but the dagger in Bruce's shadow sank deeper, making Bruce jolt like a puppet with cut strings.

"Shadow Style—Bind."

That was all he said.

And that was all it took.

Silence.

The onlookers froze, as if the temperature in the room had plunged.

Bruce had brought a shadow assassin here.

The students panicked.

"No way... He's one of THEM?"

"Are you insane, Bruce? You brought an Xua Hei here?!"

"You IDIOT! Do you know what they do?!"

Even Marko—who had stood smugly just moments ago—looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Bruce's face twisted. "I DIDN'T KNOW! I thought he was just that loser's friend!"

Muetaki blinked, expression unreadable.

The chaos spread like wildfire, but Marko—wasn't distracted.

He was already signaling his men.

Kill them.

Muetaki sensed it.

He didn't even look. Didn't need to.

The air sharpened.

Wind whipped through the underground chamber—fast, sharp, unnatural.

Then—

A flash of silver.

Daggers.

A dozen of them.

Floating.

Surrounding his fingers like an executioner preparing the guillotine.

The message was clear.

Muetaki's tone was almost lazy.

"Don't do anything stupid."

His fingers twitched.

The daggers tilted, ready to fly.

"Or things will get messy."

And everyone knew he meant it.

Nobody moved.

Not Marko. Not Bruce. Not even the ones who had started to circle them.

Marko bit his tongue, weighing the risks.

Then, after an agonizing pause—

He raised his hands. "Stand down."

The tension snapped like a pulled thread.

Muetaki exhaled, like this entire thing had been a chore.

The daggers dropped to the floor.

He stepped forward, crouching down.

Yulli barely stirred.

Muetaki grabbed his arm, slinging him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing.

Then, without urgency, without fear—

He turned back to Bruce.

"Let's put this behind us, yeah?" His voice was as casual as if he were discussing the weather.

"I won't tell anyone about this place."

His eyes flicked to the crowd, expression deadpan.

"And you'll leave us alone."

Silence.

Then—

Bruce gritted his teeth. His hands curled into fists. His face twisted with pure hatred.

But he didn't move.

Couldn't.

Muetaki's words hung heavy.

Everyone understood.

This wasn't a request.

This was a warning.

The Xua Hei never made threats.

Because they never needed to.

Bruce spat at the ground. He looked like he wanted to tear Muetaki apart.

But instead—

He let them leave.