BATTLE FOR STARS

Jace now relied on the stone platforms to fight. Though the tall pillars were gone, these platforms still offered enough width to prevent Berg from landing a clean, direct strike.

Berg circled the platforms, relentlessly pursuing Jace. But the results were far from ideal. Jace had shifted tactics completely—he ran.

Whenever Berg closed in, Jace would simply sprint toward another platform. Even if Berg gave chase, his speed couldn’t match Jace’s. By the time he caught up, the fight had reset into yet another chase.

Several times, Berg managed to land hits—twice leaving wounds on Jace—but they were shallow cuts, nothing that affected his ability to fight.

On the final exchange of this pattern, Jace repeated the trick from the previous round. Instead of fleeing, he counterattacked at the moment Berg pressed hardest, attempting to force close combat.

This time, however, Berg was ready. He quickly pulled back and reestablished distance. Even so, without his dagger for backup, he still suffered a minor disadvantage in the exchange.

When the round paused—

Jace had a sizable wound on his arm.

Berg had a cut along his calf, about an inch long.

It didn’t look deep—but Berg knew the truth. The strike had affected his nerves. Every time he exerted force, a sharp pain shot through his leg. He could endure it—but his agility had undeniably dropped.

Over these two rounds, Berg had taken losses—not because he lacked experience, but because deep down, he had underestimated his opponent.

From the very beginning, the gap in their strength made victory seem inevitable. Even as he reminded himself this was a fight to the death, a part of him remained careless.

Especially in the first two rounds—

Jace had shown nothing but fear and hesitation. No real counterattacks.

That illusion had allowed him to deceive Berg at the end of the third round, creating a turning point. And because of that moment, Berg had lost his close-combat weapon—making him even more reluctant to engage at short range.

By the fourth round, Jace had begun exploiting Berg’s eagerness to win.

Several pursuits had nearly resulted in decisive blows, feeding Berg’s confidence—until, finally, Jace seized an opportunity and wounded him instead.

Now—

Both fighters were injured.

Who was worse off? No one could say. Only a post-round scan would determine that.

But for now, Jace had turned a losing situation into a draw.

If the round ended here, Jace wouldn’t mind—even if he lost the judgment, he still had two pieces of equipment. Losing one wouldn’t leave him defenseless.

But if Berg lost—

He would be forced to give up his only weapon.

The final round would become bare hands versus blade.

No matter how strong he was, that would be a death sentence.

So Berg refused to let it go to judgment.

He needed one more strike—something to tilt the balance. Even if it didn’t end the fight, it would ensure victory in the next round.

But his injured leg complicated everything.

If he could last until the break, medical treatment would restore him. But waiting passively wasn’t an option.

Jace, meanwhile, stayed cautious. He refused to step into open ground where Berg’s weapon had full advantage. He continued circling the platforms, maintaining distance.

Berg also restrained his movements, avoiding excessive strain that might worsen the wound. If it tore further, the post-round evaluation would go against him.

Then—

An idea formed.

Jace always circled the platforms to escape. But the platforms weren’t very tall.

Berg could jump onto one.

From above, he could launch a sudden attack—closing distance instantly while adding the element of surprise. And with his injured leg, Jace would never expect such a maneuver.

To sell the illusion, Berg began deliberately slowing his movements. His pursuit appeared clumsy, his footwork uneven.

Jace noticed.

A glimmer of hope appeared in his mind—but he didn’t rush in. Berg still had superior strength and reach. A single mistake would cost everything.

At the same time, he couldn’t flee too obviously. Passive avoidance might count against him in the judges’ evaluation.

So he maintained a careful balance—dodging, but occasionally countering.

Then—

Berg launched another attack.

Several rapid thrusts forced Jace back. After exchanging a few blows, Jace leapt away toward the far side of a platform—

And in that instant—

Berg gritted through the pain and jumped onto the platform.

From above, he unleashed a powerful downward strike.

The halberd drove forward with all his strength. Berg was certain—this surprise attack would break Jace’s defense.

But—

Something no one expected happened.

At the exact moment Berg landed on the platform—

Jace didn’t retreat.

He charged forward instead.

Launching himself upward from the ground, he met Berg head-on—as if he had been waiting for this very moment all along.

Berg hadn’t even completed his attack before Jace had already closed the distance.

This was completely beyond expectation.

Normally, Berg would have two options: press the attack, or retreat.

If he still had his dagger, he could have chosen to attack—he had the height advantage, the strength, and favorable positioning.

But now—

He had no secondary weapon.

In that split second, he could only leap backward, trying to widen the distance, while thrusting his halberd forward with all his might—hoping to force Jace back.

But Jace—

Didn’t hesitate for even a heartbeat.

The moment his foot touched the platform, he pushed off again, accelerating forward.

At this moment—

He was no longer the prey.

He was the hunter.

And Berg—

Was the prey he had been waiting for.