Chapter 120: A Solution, Quickly!
The room seemed to close in around them, the atmosphere heavy with Belgaroth’s overwhelming presence and the rumbling flames of his aura. But for Isaac, all this slowly faded away, dissolving into the blur of memories. Before him, Akane stood straight, shoulders slightly forward, legs bent in a perfect combat posture. Her breathing was calm, regular, her fists rising gently, maintaining a perfectly mastered guard.
It was no longer the slave with empty eyes that he saw. It was the warrior she had been, that indomitable fighter he had observed from the stands, that living flame in the arena, defying monsters and gladiators with deadly grace.
Isaac clenched his fists, holding back a shiver that ran down his spine. I cannot hit her... he thought, but deep down, he knew he would have no choice.
- "Isaac, focus," whispered Naesha behind him, her voice low and tense.
He nodded, taking a deep breath. Akane didn’t move. Her eyes were empty, but her body... her body remembered. She was there, somewhere under this cursed hold, locked in her own chains.
Without warning, she leapt forward, her feet seeming not even to touch the ground. Isaac raised his arms in a cross, blocking the first blow that exploded against his forearms. The power of the impact made him step back a few centimeters, his muscles trembling under the impact. She hasn’t lost anything... he thought, gritting his teeth.
Akane didn’t give him time to catch his breath. She turned on herself, her foot describing a perfect arc that split the air with millimetric precision. Isaac tilted his head, dodging by a hair’s breadth, but already, she followed up with a lightning hook, her fists cleaving space with methodical violence. He parried, deflected, absorbing the blows without striking back.
- "What are you doing?!" exclaimed Naesha, her voice betraying slight panic. "She’ll destroy you if you just keep defending!"
- "I can’t... I can’t," he whispered between parries.
But Akane wasn’t slowing down. Each blow delivered, each movement executed reminded Isaac of the long battles she had fought in the arena. Her technique was perfect, a deadly ballet of direct strikes, subtle dodges, precise attacks. Her style hadn’t changed. Despite the chains, despite the humiliation, her body remembered every sequence, every step, every block.
She moved closer, gliding across the floor like a shadow, and her hands began to dance before her. Isaac narrowed his eyes. He knew this movement. It was the same one she used to disorient her opponents in the arena: a series of false strikes, quick, seemingly disordered, but carefully calculated to create an opening.