Chapter 16 Pure Boxing
The fight raged on, the momentum unbroken. The orc remained the relentless aggressor—his every move more calculated, more attuned to Zane’s rhythm. He wasn’t just strong anymore; he was adapting.
But so was Zane.
Every exchange honed him sharper. His footwork became more fluid, more instinctive. The once carefully practiced movements evolved into something raw and responsive—born not from training, but survival.
He was growing.
Fighting that battle-hardened, blue-skinned beast was pushing him past his limits—forcing growth at an unnatural pace. Each dodge and sidestep refined his instincts, turning split-second reactions into subconscious reads. And as the orc adapted, so too did Zane.
More importantly, he started to see.
Between the chaos, the noise, the flashing fists and rupturing earth—Zane began to catch the pattern. Tiny moments of imbalance. Openings the orc didn’t realize he was exposing when switching from melee to ranged combat. His transitions weren’t seamless—not yet.
"There..." Zane whispered under his breath, eyes narrowing. "You’re strong... but not perfect."
And Zane would exploit that.
But time was running out.
He could feel it—his speed inching toward its saturation point. He wouldn’t be able to maintain this tempo much longer. The orc, with his monstrous stats and bottomless stamina, would eventually overwhelm him if the fight dragged on.