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Yan Kong stood tall, his presence sharp as a drawn blade, exuding an intense aura of pressure. His face was smeared with blood, droplets trickling down his cheek and falling onto the floor, adding to the already heavy stench of blood in the room. His grip on the hilt of his knife remained firm, his gaze locked onto the commander in the center of the room.
After a moment of silence, the commander slowly rose to his feet. His movements were calm and graceful, the metallic embellishments of his armor glinting coldly under the light. He cast a cold glance at Yan Kong before suddenly bursting into laughter, a deep and arrogant sound that echoed harshly in the quiet room.
Yan Kong furrowed his brow, the murderous intent on his face undiminished. His voice was cold and tinged with impatience. "What are you laughing at?"
The commander’s laughter gradually subsided, but the mockery on his face became more pronounced. He stared directly at Yan Kong, his tone dripping with disdain and derision. "What am I laughing at? I'm laughing at a wild dog that was just robbing the streets a few weeks ago, now thinking he has the right to stand here, believing he has become important."
He stepped forward with steady strides, an invisible pressure emanating from his presence. His eyes were as cold as ice, and his tone carried deliberate insult. "Just because someone picked you up, bestowed upon you armor and a knife, do you think that makes you special? Do you believe you will be the key figure to 'change the situation'?"
Stopping just a few steps away from Yan Kong, a cruel smile curled at the corners of his mouth. "Wake up, Yan Kong. You are nothing but a tool—no different from that knife in your hand. Just a slightly more useful tool. To them, tools are merely things to be used and discarded. Don’t you find that laughable?"
Yan Kong's breath grew heavy; his fingers instinctively tightened around the hilt, producing a faint sound. His gaze was sharp as a blade, fixed intently on the commander, resembling an enraged beast ready to pounce.
Yet deep within him, those words pierced like thorns into the deepest parts of his heart. A flicker of anger crossed his eyes, mingled with a hint of confusion. The commander's mockery seemed to strike at his very soul, causing him to involuntarily question everything about himself.
At that moment, the air in the room felt as if it had solidified; killing intent and ridicule intertwined, pushing their confrontation to its peak.
The commander's cold laughter echoed through the room like an invisible knife stabbing at Yan Kong's heart. He tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting with cunning and coldness, his tone laced with deliberate mockery. "Oh, I can feel it... that hint of weakness. Your eyes tell me I’m not wrong. Somewhere deep within your soul, you are silently acknowledging my point, aren’t you?"
He began to retreat slowly, moving with such grace that his footsteps were nearly silent. As he moved away, the dim light gradually slipped off him; his figure faded into deepening shadows. The darkness enveloped him like a tide of gloom, leaving only his bright eyes visible—like those of a predator watching Yan Kong from within the dark, radiating an unsettling glow.
"You understand this, Yan Kong," the commander's voice was low and eerie, seeming to come from all directions. "You are merely a knife—a knife wielded at someone’s whim. When they are done with you, when you dull and lose your edge, you will be discarded like those fallen soldiers—no different."
Yan Kong's breath quickened, his chest heaving violently. His teeth clenched tightly, and the muscles in his face twitched slightly with anger. The questions and fears that had been forcibly suppressed in his mind seemed to be torn open by the commander's words, flooding in like a tide.
"Enough!" Yan Kong's voice was low but laced with uncontainable fury. His hand gripped the hilt of his knife tightly, trembling slightly as if ready to unleash a deadly strike at any moment.
He slowly drew his blade, the sound of the steel sliding from its sheath crisp and cold, as if announcing the impending slaughter. His gaze was sharp as a blade, locking onto the pair of eyes in the darkness, and he growled softly, "Draw your knife. Stop trying to sway me with your pathetic words. I will not be influenced by what you say."
The air in the room seemed to freeze, the murderous intent silently permeating between the two. Yan Kong's knife glinted with a cold light, raised slightly forward, aimed at the commander hidden in the shadows. Those flickering eyes continued to watch him, filled with mockery and disdain, as if waiting for a deadly confrontation about to erupt.
The commander's voice emerged from the shadows, low and mocking, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue in the dark. "Of course, I will draw my blade. This is what you want, isn't it?" His tone was casual yet carried an undeniable threat that thickened the atmosphere in the room.
Then, a crisp sound echoed as metal slid from its sheath, breaking the silence like a sharp crack. With this sound, the commander stepped forward slowly, a long Daito gleaming with blinding white light under the dim illumination. The blade seemed to carry a chill that instantly lowered the temperature of the entire room.
Yan Kong's gaze was fierce as he gripped his knife and stepped forward, maintaining an appropriate distance from the commander. The air between their blades seemed to tremble slightly, an invisible rope of murderous intent tightly binding them together.
"Come on," the commander sneered, a mocking curve on his lips. He raised his knife lightly, slowly pointing its tip at Yan Kong with precise and delicate movements, like an experienced hunter teasing its prey.
Yan Kong did not respond; his eyes remained fixed on his opponent, burning with lethal intent like flames. He tightened his grip slightly; the blade traced an arc through the air, confronting the commander's knife tip. They began to circle each other slowly, their footsteps nearly silent yet each step struck heavily against each other's psychological defenses.
The acrid scent of blood filled the air, stimulating Yan Kong's nerves. His breathing grew heavier, his heartbeat quickening as his instinct for battle awakened; every drop of blood within him burned with a desire for confrontation. This was a familiar scene for him—a deadly duel amidst flashing blades—both brutal and exhilarating.
The cold glint of their knives reflected off one another in the dim light, foreshadowing an impending thunderous strike. Their steps gradually drew closer; the murderous intent intensified as the air became increasingly thin. In that moment, all sounds faded away, leaving only the deadly standoff between them.
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