"Hah! Who are you calling 'big skull,' you little..." Dhruba's voice was a furious roar. He lunged and drove a heavy fist into the empty air, which caused Azuma to utter a crisp, light chuckle—a sound that drove Dhruba into a deeper, blinding rage.

  "Come now, what are you waiting for? Defeat me, and then you can claim your prize!" Dhruba challenged, deliberately spreading his arms and exposing his entire defense.

  "Ah, Uncle Dhruba, that's not how our dances go," Azuma's voice replied, laced with amusement. "I am typically the one setting the traps, and you are the one stumbling into them. Like this situation, for example."

  "Is that a fact, you little shrimp? I will consume you whole!" Dhruba resumed his frantic, directionless pursuit. Yet, underneath the anger, a core of confidence remained: The boy cannot touch me, even blindfolded. I will win this, no matter the cost.

  "Hee... we shall see," Azuma murmured, fastening a loaded wristband onto his arm. "Let the final act commence."

  Azuma adopted a quick, hit-and-run strategy, but no matter how swiftly he moved or where he aimed, he was unable to land a solid strike against Dhruba’s critical points. It was as if the veteran warrior’s body operated entirely on instinct. Whenever the small boy came near, Dhruba’s defenses would snap into place, creating an impenetrable guard.

  As expected of the battle veteran, Azuma conceded internally. Even with the loss of sight, his body’s knowledge is too profound.

  Azuma paused, his mind racing. There is no time. The illusion is already weakening. He quickly loaded the remaining power disks, or toruses, into his wristband and began shooting them at Dhruba while engaging him in close combat. Dhruba simply deflected every shot. The fight stretched on for ten exhausting minutes. Slowly, visibly, the illusion's power began to fade. Dhruba’s attacks grew heavier and more certain, while Azuma’s evasions became agonizingly close, often missing by a mere thread.

  "HAHAAAAA!" Dhruba’s laugh was a triumphant, terrifying sound. Then, with sudden clarity, his world snapped back into focus. The illusion had vanished. "I can finally see! BOY! The battle is truly over!" Dhruba roared, closing the distance in two thunderous steps. He threw a single, powerful punch. Azuma barely dodged, jumping back and executing a tight roll across the broken stone. In the same motion, he snatched up small stones and hurled them, but Dhruba smashed them aside as if they were soft clay, relentlessly bearing down on the child. The fight had become a crushing, one-sided chase.

  Boris, watching the brutal confrontation, felt a mixture of relief and regret. "He lost," he stated simply, turning with a weary smile toward Valerian. "Your son is remarkable, even in defeat."

  Valerian, however, did not take his eyes from the desperate struggle. He drew a deep, slow breath. "Azuma, though taught by all four of my guards, is still only five years old. But he is no ordinary child, Boris. Do not look away until the very last moment."

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  Boris followed the gaze. Azuma, unable to evade the onslaught, was struck by a heavy fist and violently pinned to the ground.

  "Hahahaha! I’ve got you, you little shrimp! Surrender now!" Dhruba shouted, pressing his advantage.

  Azuma, bruised and trapped against the cold stone, struggled without success. He looked up at Dhruba, a sly, unexpected smile crossing his face. "I was about to say the exact same thing, Uncle. What an amusing coincidence."

  "Nonsense! I, Dhruba, will knock some sense into that arrogant head! This battle is finished, Azuma. Good night," Dhruba declared, preparing to deliver a stunning, final blow. Just as his immense hand descended, his wrist was violently arrested by an invisible, powerful force.

  Dhruba’s heart seized. Did I lose control again? Did Valerian intervene? He turned, fearing the reprimand and the knowledge that he had almost grievously injured the boy. Instead, he saw his hand was held fast by a shimmering white string that originated from the ground. More precisely, it was anchored to one of the toruses he had carelessly knocked away earlier. Zing! Another string shot out from a second torus, locking his other hand, swiftly followed by two more for his legs. Before he could react, he was bound face-down, tied tautly by the five glowing strings anchored in four directions. Azuma stood up, walked over to the restrained guard, and repeated his own earlier line: "You are correct, the battle has ended. Uncle, give up. It is over."

  "Never! These small threads cannot hold me for long! I will break them and come for you, boy. Just you wait!" Dhruba strained, his body trembling against the tight bindings.

  "Are you truly certain you wish to proceed, Uncle?"

  "What choice is this? I will not be defeated by a five-year-old child! Go on, try your absolute worst!"

  "You asked for it," Azuma replied, without a hint of malice. "Don’t blame me." He tossed two remaining toruses onto Dhruba's back. The first activated, deploying an anti-gravity Formation that sent Dhruba hurtling toward the high roof of the cave, while the white cords holding his limbs pulled suddenly tight against the floor anchors. Dhruba was struck by a dreadful certainty of impending disaster, but his warrior's pride silenced his cry. Just as he approached the ceiling, the anti-gravity power abruptly ceased. Simultaneously, the second torus on his back exploded. The combined force of the blast and the sudden, taut recoil of the four white strings violently whipped Dhruba back down. He crashed face-first into the center of the ruins. When the settling dust fell, all four Royal Guards lay incapacitated.

  "What the... what just happened?" Boris stammered, his body rigid with shock. He was both horrified and profoundly impressed by Azuma’s absolute victory. He turned to share the moment with Valerian, but the King was gone. Frowning, Boris scanned the surroundings and saw Valerian sprinting toward his child. "Hah, couldn't wait, could you?" Boris murmured with a small smile, but the smile immediately froze. Valerian was not running in celebration; his posture was one of sheer, unadulterated panic. Boris’s gaze snapped back to Azuma and saw a subtle, sinister magic circle shimmering at the boy's feet. Azuma himself was completely unaware, his eyes still fixed on the defeated Dhruba.

  Azuma’s victory was complete. He stood breathing heavily, raising his small, triumphant hand toward the cave roof. He searched for his father, a radiant, beaming smile fixed on his face, ready for praise. But the smile was never returned. Valerian was running too late. Before the King could reach him, the magic circle flared. With a silent flash, Azuma was instantly transported away from the battleground.