Beating my own shadow in under a minute sounded easy, like plucking a leaf, but reality bit like winter frost—I knew how hard it was.
It was built on my foundation, then sharpened where I was dull—close-quarters swordwork honed like a whetstone on bone.
I was lucky it was just a shadow, a husk without will, unable to use Sword Intent; if it could, I’d fall like a leaf in storm.
Even so, the air felt tight as a sealed jar; I parried its frenzy, anxiety buzzing like hornets, and hunted for a way to win in sixty heartbeats.
No method surfaced, only blank snow; if I could land my strongest technique, maybe the ice would crack, but its gaze pinned me like iron nails.
…!!!
You don’t daydream in a fight; that truth is a blade. With half my mind drifting, my reflexes dulled like a misted mirror.
It caught the gap like a hawk stooping; dark-gold Sword Aura carved toward me, and a dim Shattered Light Sword flashed like dusk glass.
If I didn’t block, I’d die like a candle in wind. Cold sweat slid down my spine; arrogance stung me like nettles—I’d dared split my focus before a stronger foe.
I jumped back to max range, scraping space like a skater on thin ice, barely dodging the slash; I gathered Sword Aura and cast Sword Qi Dance.
Ripples of blade-light met the incoming arcs, wave against wave, and every note felt like a tightrope in storm.
The chain of motion looked simple, but each step was a cliff edge; a heartbeat slower and I’d be cut, strength falling like a toppled pillar.
…ugh.
I had flared Sword Intent at full, moonfire burning to survive, but Intent eats you like a hungry flame; my stamina guttered to embers.
My skull throbbed like drums in cold caves; the shadow blurred into doubles, as if frost smeared my eyes.
Thirty-some seconds had blown past like seeds on the wind.
Not good, not good. My strength was a drop in a dry cup, less than one percent; wounds mapped me like scratches in bark.
Pain hammered my head; even lifting an arm felt like lifting a mountain. No matter how I looked, hope thinned like smoke.
Right now, all I could muster was a single technique, the plain kind, without Sword Aura—no storm, just a straw.
…
Seeing me half-dead, the shadow smiled, a charm like a fox in moonlight. It wore my face, yet I almost stared—terror wrapped in silk.
It didn’t press the advantage. It simply walked toward me, straight as a needle.
Tap-tap-tap…
In this dark sealed space, its steps rang like beads on jade, a countdown drumbeat to my end.
What do I do? Am I dying here? My heart bit like a trapped bird; I thought of the Nine Cold Labyrinth, only two floors left.
I thought of Hill, still sleeping like snowbound willows; unwilling, I gripped the Shattered Light Sword, knuckles white as bone.
But my body had hit its limit; even victory would be ashes, recovery a long winter. The shadow still stood; there was no spring yet.
What remained could fuel only one technique—Extreme Sword: Soul-Devour. No Sword Aura, reach a half-meter, accuracy low unless the target turned to stone.
Once it lands, its eruption rivals Destruction Invisible Sword, a volcano under snow—but that hit rate dragged me toward despair like mud.
Winning would be easy if the shadow just stood there for my stab; that fantasy felt like fog—I was nearly gone, dreaming of the impossible.
Soon it came close, so close I felt its breath like warm wine. My hand twitched to strike; I forced myself still—one miss and the world would collapse.
If it had walked to my doorstep, then fate had cracked a door. There was a chance in this narrow hall.
Extreme Sword: Soul-Devour rarely hits, but at this distance the odds breathe; I only had to wait like a hunter in reeds.
It had kindly delivered its neck instead of finishing me from afar; if I didn’t win, I’d insult its cruel mercy.
…
At arm’s reach, it didn’t strike; it stared, amused, eyes hot as coals. That burn crawled my skin; a strange ripple stirred like a blown lantern.
Embarrassing truth—I wore its face and body like a mirror, and in a dress it looked pretty, cherry-soft. At this distance, boy vanished like mist.
Wait.
After raking its gaze from head to toe, the shadow stripped off its skirt, pale skin like porcelain under frost, a blush warming like dawn.
Its lips parted, breath sultry as incense, a faint, wicked rhythm in the dim air.
Not the worst part—the worst was it peeled down to underwear, then hugged me tight, arms winding like vines, fingers tugging at my clothes.
What is this?! I screamed inside, and the void stayed silent. A sweet scent, orchid-soft, flooded my nerves like wine.
!!!
My ear tingled, sugar and sparks; I glanced aside—the shadow was licking it, face drunk with heat, shameless as summer.
I wanted to shove it away, but my body melted like wax near flame; not a drop of strength answered my call.
What do I do?! If this keeps up, I’ll lose my chastity to my own shadow—self-sabotage carved in flesh. No way.
I refuse to be pinned by a double of me, face and body mirrored like water. I thrashed, trying to break free, but it clung like tentacles.
…ah!
As my clothes were almost peeled off, a thought struck like lightning—I had to wait for the moment, then unleash Extreme Sword: Soul-Devour.
Right now was perfect—a door in the storm. A trickle of strength rose like spring thaw.
I wrenched my right hand free from its bind, aimed the Shattered Light Sword at its heart, and drove the blade like a falling star.
Extreme Sword: Soul-Devour!
Even if it wore my face and form, I had to steel my heart and end it, clean as winter steel.
…
