The moment Borzoi accepted the fight, the air between them tightened in a way that made even the wind hesitate, as if the land itself understood that what was about to unfold was not something ordinary, not something that could simply pass without leaving a mark.

Maxwell did not waste time.

Light gathered once more in his hand, forming into a condensed sphere that pulsed with quiet intensity, its glow steady and controlled, as if it reflected his own state of mind. Without hesitation, he released it, sending the spell forward with precision that did not waver even for a moment.

The spell cut through the air.

Fast.

Direct.

Borzoi tilted his head slightly, as if what he saw did not impress him in the slightest, and then he stepped aside with a motion so simple that it almost looked careless, allowing the attack to pass him completely before it struck the ground behind him with a sharp explosion that sent dirt and dust rising into the air.

He glanced back at Maxwell, his expression carrying nothing but mild disappointment.

"...Too slow."

Maxwell did not respond, not even a flicker in his eyes acknowledging the insult that had just been thrown at him, and instead, another spell formed in his hand, followed by another, and then another, each one released in succession as if there was no end to the flow of light gathering around him.

The attacks came one after another, filling the space between them with bursts of light and sound that echoed across the empty stretch of land, yet Borzoi moved through it all with ease, stepping, turning, leaning, each motion flowing into the next as if he had already seen everything before it even happened.

"...Still too slow."

His voice carried across the battlefield, calm and unbothered.

"You call that an attack?"

Maxwell’s face remained unchanged.

He continued.

The spells did not stop, and if anything, they became more consistent, more controlled, as if each one was placed with a purpose that could not be seen at first glance, yet slowly began to reveal itself through repetition. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

Borzoi noticed.

At first, he ignored it.

But then, as he moved again and again, avoiding every single strike, his eyes narrowed slightly, and a faint change appeared in his expression.

"...Hm."

He stepped past another attack, then another, his movements still smooth but no longer careless.

"This continent..." he began, his tone shifting slightly as if recalling something, "has something like the Young Warchief."

Maxwell did not respond.

Borzoi continued, glancing at him once more.

"So I expected more than this. Not just throwing light around like a child who learned magic yesterday."

Another spell came.

He avoided it.

"Not just relying on power without understanding."

Maxwell’s eyes followed him closely.

Inside him, his thoughts remained steady.

Master.

The voice answered immediately.

I see it.

Maxwell’s focus sharpened as another spell left his hand, its path slightly different from the ones before, its placement more precise.

His movement... it’s strange.

The answer came after a brief pause.

It could be a technique. Something ingrained. Something practiced repeatedly.

Maxwell adjusted his attacks again, each spell now forcing Borzoi to move in a certain way, guiding his steps without directly confronting him, creating a pattern that slowly tightened around him like an invisible cage.

Borzoi noticed the change more clearly this time.

"...You’re starting to think."

He smirked faintly.

"About time."

Maxwell did not answer.

He continued attacking, his breathing even, his expression calm, as if the taunts meant nothing and the only thing that mattered was what he was seeing, what he was learning with every passing moment.

He avoids before the attack fully reaches him, his master spoke again, voice low and certain.

Maxwell’s eyes flickered slightly.

He reads positioning. Not just intent.

Another spell left his hand, this time aimed not directly at Borzoi, but at a point where he would move next, forcing him to adjust in a way that he had not before.

Borzoi stepped aside.

But this time, it was closer.

"...Annoying."

Maxwell pressed further, sending more spells in succession, each one narrowing the space around Borzoi, each one removing another path of escape until the man was no longer simply avoiding attacks, but reacting to pressure that was slowly building around him.

"You’re trying to corner me?" Borzoi asked, his tone carrying a hint of amusement, though his eyes were sharper now.

Maxwell remained silent.

He attacked again.

And again.

Borzoi continued to evade, but now there was less room, less freedom in his movements, and for the first time, his steps began to feel restricted.

"Still..." he spoke again, his voice returning to mockery as if to cover the change, "you’re nowhere near enough."

He glanced at Maxwell, his expression carrying something almost dismissive.

"Do you even know what strength is?"

Maxwell did not respond.

Borzoi continued, stepping past another attack.

"Your kind relies too much on magic. Too dependent. Too predictable. Too weak."

Then he smiled slightly.

"Unlike Young Master Clay."

Maxwell’s eyes sharpened.

Borzoi’s tone shifted as he spoke, no longer mocking, but filled with something closer to respect.

"He is a true warrior. He defeated me... in one punch."

The words lingered in the air, carrying a weight that Maxwell could not ignore, even if his expression did not show it.

One punch...?

His thoughts tightened.

His master spoke quietly.

That man is beyond what you’re facing now.

Borzoi looked at him again.

"And you... you can’t even graze me."

Maxwell did not answer.

Instead, he attacked again, his spells now moving differently, their paths no longer straight, no longer predictable, each one curving slightly, adjusting mid-flight as if responding to Borzoi’s movement in real time.

The next attack came.

Borzoi stepped aside.

But the spell followed.

His eyes widened slightly.

"...What?"

Another came.

Same result.

The attack adjusted, forcing him to move again, but this time not in the way he expected.

Maxwell pressed forward, his attacks now relentless, each one forcing Borzoi to react instead of anticipate, breaking the rhythm he had relied on from the beginning.

Borzoi’s expression changed.

"...So that’s it."

He exhaled slowly, then smiled.

"You figured it out."

Maxwell did not respond.

He continued.

The pressure increased.

Borzoi’s movements grew tighter, more controlled, no longer careless, no longer relaxed.

"Good," he said, his voice carrying something sharper now.

"Come kill me."

Maxwell’s final spell formed, larger than the others, its light more intense, its presence heavier as if everything before it had been leading to this moment.

He released it.

Borzoi saw it.

He smirked faintly.

"...Another weak one."

He prepared to evade.

But the moment the spell moved, it changed.

Its speed increased.

Its form compressed.

Its path became unpredictable.

Borzoi’s eyes widened.

"...What—"

The impact came instantly.

"Boom!"

The explosion swallowed him completely, light consuming everything around him as the ground shook under the force, sending cracks spreading outward and dust rising into the air in thick waves.

When the light faded, the silence that followed felt heavy.

Maxwell stood still, watching.

Waiting.

Borzoi stood there, barely.

His body was charred, smoke rising from his skin, his stance unstable as if the force had nearly taken everything from him.

His eyes were white.

Unfocused.

Unconscious.

Maxwell exhaled slowly, the tension leaving his body as he turned away without hesitation.

"...Just that."

He began to walk, his steps steady, his mind already moving past the fight as if it had been nothing more than a test that had now been completed.

It’s over, he thought.

But then—

The ground trembled beneath his feet.

He stopped.

Slowly.

The tremor grew stronger, the air around him tightening once more as if something had awakened, something that refused to remain buried.

Then—

"Boom!"

The ground burst open in front of him.

Maxwell’s eyes widened.

Borzoi stood there.

Alive.

His posture straight.

His gaze sharp.

And something else burned within his eyes.

Something far more dangerous.

Far more hungry.