Ghizlan blurred across the pier. He didn’t bother with tactical feints or footwork. He simply became a projectile of pure kinetic force.

Iron-Scale fired his left spool, launching himself backward. Ghizlan’s fist slammed into the space he just vacated, unleashing a shockwave that rattled the Kobold’s teeth. Before Iron-Scale could even land, Ghizlan pivoted smoothly. He reached out and snatched the retracting steel wire right out of the air.

Iron-Scale’s eyes widened as Ghizlan yanked the cable.

The sheer force tore the pneumatic mechanism completely off Iron-Scale’s hip. The metal housing shattered, sending gears scattering across the wood. Iron-Scale tumbled through the air, adjusting his momentum just in time to evade a sweeping kick that would have taken his head off.

He fired his right spool to gain distance, but Ghizlan was already there. The Conqueror chopped his hand downward, severing the high-tension cable with his mana-reinforced palm. The violent backlash of the snapped wire sliced across Iron-Scale’s cheek.

Landing heavily, Iron-Scale discarded the ruined remnants of his gear. His primary mobility was gone.

He wiped the blood from his face and studied his opponent. It was deeply ironic. Ghizlan stood in the middle of a warzone, facing down an elite Vanguard commander, and he hadn’t drawn a single weapon. He didn’t need one. His own body was the siege engine.

Watching the Conqueror roll his shoulders, Iron-Scale was struck by a sudden memory. ’Gorak.’

Gorak fought with the exact same unarmed brutality. Iron-Scale had sparred with Gorak countless times back at the Onyx Hall, and he had always struggled to overcome that overwhelming wall of muscle. He relied on his mobility gear to survive those matches.

Now, the wires were gone.

’If I can kill the Conqueror,’ Iron-Scale realized, a new fire igniting in his draconic core, ’I can finally defeat Gorak.’

The thought pushed him past his limits. He stopped relying on external tools. He drew his twin serrated daggers and flooded his body with every ounce of his draconic aura. His scales hardened like forged iron as he compressed his internal energy to match the density of Ghizlan’s atmospheric pressure.

"No more running?" Ghizlan taunted.

"No more running," Iron-Scale agreed.

Ghizlan lunged. He threw a devastating right hook aimed squarely at Iron-Scale’s chest.

Instead of dodging away, Iron-Scale stepped directly into the strike. The Conqueror’s fist slammed into his armored ribs with the force of a cannonball. Star-iron plates buckled. Bone cracked. Iron-Scale coughed a spray of blood, but he anchored his boots to the deck and refused to fall.

By taking the hit, he had completely closed the distance.

Ghizlan’s eyes widened in genuine shock as Iron-Scale trapped the extended arm under his armpit. Channeling all his remaining aura into the tip of his dagger, he drove the blade upward. The concentrated energy pierced right through Ghizlan’s passive mana barrier.

The serrated edge sank deep into the joint of the Conqueror’s shoulder.

Ghizlan let out a sharp hiss of pain. He threw his free hand forward, blasting Iron-Scale backward with a raw pulse of magic.

Iron-Scale skidded across the splintered dock but stayed on his feet. He spat another mouthful of blood and twirled his daggers. His breathing was ragged, and his ribs burned with every inhale, but the dynamic of the fight had fundamentally shifted.

Ghizlan clutched his bleeding shoulder. His right arm hung awkwardly at his side, the tendons completely severed.

The Conqueror was bleeding, severely crippled, and staring at Iron-Scale with absolute disbelief. Iron-Scale lowered his stance, holding the undeniable upper hand.

Ghizlan stared at his ruined shoulder, flexing his fingers only to find the tendons completely unresponsive. Blood dripped steadily from the joint, pooling on the splintered wood beneath his boots.

"I underestimated you," Ghizlan admitted softly. His voice lacked its previous mockery. "You traded your own bones to break my guard. That requires a specific kind of madness."

Iron-Scale adjusted his grip on his daggers, forcing himself to ignore the agonizing flare of pain in his fractured ribs. "I simply adapted to the obstacle."

Ghizlan nodded slowly. Reaching behind his waist with his uninjured left hand, he gripped the hilt of a weapon he hadn’t intended to use.

As he drew it, the surrounding atmospheric pressure violently shifted. It was a jagged obsidian longsword that seemed to actively swallow the morning light, radiating a suffocating killing intent.

’He was holding back a Herald-tier artifact this entire time,’ Iron-Scale realized, tightening his stance. ’A single graze from that blade will rot my core.’

"Let us finish this," Ghizlan said.

He lunged forward, sweeping the obsidian blade in a lethal horizontal arc. Iron-Scale ducked beneath the strike, feeling the air itself tear above his head, and thrust his right dagger toward Ghizlan’s knee.

Ghizlan pivoted gracefully despite his dead arm, bringing the pommel of his sword down to deflect the strike before launching a devastating front kick.

Iron-Scale crossed his blades to block, but the sheer kinetic force sent him skidding backward across the pier. Before he could recover his footing, Ghizlan pressed the offensive.

The obsidian sword became a blur of dark strikes, forcing Iron-Scale to rely entirely on his draconic aura to reinforce his daggers against the crushing blows. Sparks showered over the docks with every desperate parry.

Footsteps echoed loudly over the ruined cobblestones leading to the harbor. Aaron sprinted back toward the water, his breath ragged and his armor still stained with Gulag’s blood. Having left the Vanguard brawler with the field medics, he fully expected to return to the docks and find Iron-Scale’s corpse strung up on the mooring posts.

Instead, Aaron stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening at the impossible scene unfolding near the water.

Iron-Scale wasn’t just surviving the onslaught, he was actively dictating the scale of the duel.

As Ghizlan brought his longsword down in a heavy overhead cleave, Iron-Scale refused to block. He sidestepped smoothly, letting the obsidian blade bury itself deep into the thick wooden dock.

Taking immediate advantage of the vulnerability, Iron-Scale surged forward. He drove his left dagger into Ghizlan’s thigh, pinning the leg in place, and slashed his right blade upward. Ghizlan barely leaned back in time to save his throat, taking a deep gash across his jawline instead.

Stumbling backward to free his leg, Ghizlan tripped over a pile of broken mooring chains and crashed heavily against the hull of an anchored transport ship. He raised his sword to defend himself, his chest heaving as blood poured from his jaw and shoulder.

Iron-Scale stood directly over him, twin daggers dripping crimson. His draconic eyes glowed with a lethal promise as he boxed Ghizlan in against the ship’s hull.

Aaron stared at the bloody tableau, his grip slackening on his own hilt. ’He actually cornered him,’ the knight thought, completely stunned by the shifting momentum. ’He is going to kill a Herald.’