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墨書 Inktalez
Ezel Moran's body was as rigid as if it were tightly bound by iron chains, unable to move. He felt an invisible pressure surging from all directions, engulfing him like a tsunami. This was not ordinary killing intent, not the violence of burning rage, nor the hatred of an enemy; it was a coldness from the abyss, devoid of emotion yet precise enough to suffocate.
Alarms blared in his mind as the Brain-Machine System desperately calculated potential threats, but Ezel could no longer focus on the data. His senses seemed completely overtaken by this killing intent, as if he were submerged in the deep sea, surrounded by endless darkness, where some terrifying creature lurked, patiently waiting to strike with lethal force.
He had never felt such pressure before. Even during his twenty years as a Terminator, facing countless enemies, he had never experienced such primal fear. His throat felt as though something were lodged in it, making breathing difficult; his chest felt like it was crushed under a massive stone. An absurd thought flashed through his mind, tinged with a hint of absurdity: "What should I say? Wait a moment?"
That was the collapse of his pride. He was the Iron Dome's Terminator, a powerful figure who had built his reputation atop countless corpses; he was used to others begging for mercy—how could it be his turn to say "wait a moment"? But just as this thought emerged, a bone-chilling cold swept through him. It was not like a gust of cold air; it felt like a sharp blade slowly freezing his will from within. Every cell in his body screamed; every nerve transmitted the same message—**he was going to die.**
Ezel's gaze was fixed on Bing Lie, yet he found himself completely unable to discern the man's movements. The man stood still, calm as still water, but that killing intent surrounded him like a predator hidden beneath the sea, fully enveloping him. At that moment, Ezel's Brain-Machine System emitted its sharpest alarm yet, more piercing than any before. **"Lethal attack! Retreat immediately!"**
His brain instinctively wanted to issue a retreat command, but there was no time. He sensed a subtle vibration in the air, like wind being sliced by some invisible force. It was pure sharpness—silent yet suffocating—as the sword intent sliced through the air, aimed directly at his vital points.
Bing Lie's sword finally drew forth.
Ezel saw the sword, slender enough to be broken by the wind yet exuding an undeniable deadly beauty. The blue light on the blade shimmered in the rain—cold and elegant, like a winter night's cold star or an arctic glacier. That flash of blue pierced through Ezel's last line of defense and entered his vision, leaving his mind blank.
"How could it be so fast?" He wanted to move, to resist, but found his body frozen in place. The Brain-Computer's processing speed reached its limit, yet the data stream seemed stuck, unable to capture the sword's trajectory. He could only watch helplessly as that blue light drew closer and closer until it became the only sight in his eyes.
The cold blue light filled Ezel's world. His consciousness gradually crumbled under this bone-chilling coldness. An unprecedented fear consumed all his confidence, all his glory, all his strength. That shade of blue became the last image before him—the final memory of his life.
Ezel Moran understood that at this moment, he was not the Terminator; he was the one being terminated.
Bing Lie's sword traced a cold light—clear and lethal. It formed a perfect arc, flowing like nature’s own rhythm without any unnecessary movement or sound. From the moment the blade was drawn until it returned to its sheath took less than a second—a speed so swift that even the air had no time to howl and blood would never have a chance to stain that icy blue blade.
As the sword returned to its sheath, Bing Lie remained standing in place, his demeanor calm as water, as if nothing had happened. He lowered his head and gently tapped the hilt of his sword, as if completing an exceedingly ordinary task. However, behind him, Ezel Moran had become a lifeless shell.
Ezel stood upright, his hands still raised high with the massive sword, frozen in place like a statue. His chest showed no violent rise and fall; his breathing had completely ceased. Rainwater cascaded down his artificial body and muscles, glinting with a metallic sheen. The warmth that once radiated from him had long dissipated, replaced by a bone-chilling cold that spread outward from within him, freezing the air around.
The passing of life did not stir any dramatic commotion; only a silent sorrow permeated the surroundings. Ezel's soul seemed to have departed long ago, leaving his shell hollowed out, supported only by its rigid posture. His massive sword remained raised, yet that pose of power and glory now appeared hollow and fragile.
In the distance, the soldiers could not discern what had transpired. They had just been cheering for Ezel's frenzied assault, but in an instant, everything fell silent. Bing Lie's strike had been too swift, too fast for their comprehension. Those at the front of the ranks craned their necks, trying to grasp the situation on the battlefield, their faces etched with confusion and unease.
"What just happened?" one soldier whispered, his tone thick with doubt. No one answered because no one knew the answer.
Further away, a Warrior sat in a chair, his brow furrowed tightly. His Artificial Eye attempted to capture the details of the recent battle but only saw blurred afterimages and flashes of light from the sword. Scenes replayed in his mind as he sought to find a flaw; however, everything had happened too quickly—like an illusion.
Bing Lie stood still, quietly observing the distant soldiers. His gaze was cold and calm, resembling an immovable iceberg. The rain continued to fall, its sound against the ground becoming the only rhythm in this silence. Only death lingered here quietly, devoid of any sound or warmth.
A drone hovering in the air suddenly emitted a series of sharp beeps before switching to a steady and mechanical tone, reporting in a cold and neutral voice: "Duel concluded; winner: Bing Lie."
These simple words struck like a heavy bombshell in everyone's ears. As soon as the drone's voice faded, Ezel Moran—once rigid as a statue—let out a low groan and toppled backward like a building stripped of all support. His raised sword slipped from his hand and plunged heavily into the mud with a muffled thud. His body fell to the ground amidst splashes of mud; his enhanced artificial body lost all vitality upon hitting the earth, emanating an aura of coldness that proclaimed death's dominion.
Bing Lie stood there silently watching it all unfold without revealing any excess emotion. He glanced down at the muddy cloak on the ground, bent down slowly to pick it up. He shook off the mud with deliberate care as if handling something significant. When he draped the cloak over his shoulders again, he was once more enveloped by that tattered fabric, merging with the solitary shadow in the rain.
He gradually knelt on the ground with stable composure, placing his hands gently on his knees while lowering his head slightly as if engaging in some silent ritual. The muddy ground seemed to grow heavier under his presence. His actions required no further explanation but conveyed an undeniable message—this piece of Lanzka Hill now belonged to him.
In the distance, the Warrior sat stiffly in the chair that had just been moved there, his hands still crossed over his knees as before. His Artificial Eye adjusted its focus repeatedly in an attempt to replay the recent duel but captured nothing at all. His mind was filled with chaotic thoughts yet lacked any explanation for why Iron Dome's Terminator—the warrior capable of shaking an entire continent—had fallen so abruptly.
"What on earth happened?" he murmured to himself, his voice filled with confusion and disbelief. His gaze lingered on Ezel's fallen body before involuntarily shifting to Bing Lie. The man draped in a tattered cloak knelt quietly in the mud, appearing as if he had merged with the very land itself.
The Warrior's mind was flooded with countless questions: How could Ezel's attack have been countered? What exactly had Bing Lie done? Why was even his most sophisticated Artificial Eye unable to capture any movement? Each question pierced through his thoughts like a thorn, yet not a single answer could explain the scene before him.
His hand unconsciously clenched, knuckles turning white, but the force of his grip could not suppress the shock and uncertainty within. He simply sat in his chair, staring blankly at Bing Lie, unable to find words for what felt like an eternity.
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