Newton didn't panic. The moment Gregory's stance shifted and the air around him tightened, Newton already knew what was coming. He had seen that look before. Not in Gregory, but in others. That slight forward lean. That hunger to end things quickly.
"I expected this," he reminded himself, steadying his breath.
Then Gregory moved. He didn't hesitate this time. No testing, no probing strikes. He came in fast and hard, his blade cutting through the air with a speed that felt almost unfair. Newton raised his sword and tried to keep up, his eyes tracking every movement, every shift of weight.
But Gregory was faster. Too fast. The first strike brushed past Newton's guard and sliced into the side of his ribs.
Pain exploded instantly. "Aaaahhhhh!"
The sound ripped out of him before he could stop it. His body folded, his legs giving way as he dropped to the ground, one hand clutching his side while the other struggled to keep hold of his sword.
Outside, the students stiffened. Samuel's heart jumped into his throat. He took a step forward without thinking, his body already moving toward the arena, but a firm hand caught his arm.
"What are you trying to do?" the master asked, his grip unyielding. "He will kill him," Samuel said, his voice tight, almost breaking.
The master only smiled faintly. "Then that is his fate."
Samuel's jaw tightened, his eyes refusing to leave the dark arena.
Maxwell, standing among the others, let out a low chuckle. "He shouldn't have lasted this long," he said, shaking his head slightly. "It is time for him to die."
Inside the darkness, Gregory advanced slowly, his sword rising above his head as he approached Newton's fallen form.
"You think you would defeat me just with that torch?" he roared, his voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space.
Newton didn't answer. Gregory's tone shifted, dropping into something colder, quieter. "It is time for you to meet your maker."
He brought the blade down. But at the last second, Newton rolled.
The sword struck the ground where his body had been, sending a dull vibration through the floor. Newton's hand moved quickly, almost instinctively, pulling out the Ninja bomb and slamming it against the ground.
The explosion wasn't loud. But the smoke came instantly.
Thick, and blinding.
Gregory staggered back, coughing as the cloud swallowed him. "What!"
By the time the smoke began to thin, the spot where Newton had been lying was empty.
Gregory's head snapped up. "Where are you, coward?" he barked, turning sharply, trying to locate even the faintest movement.
Silence answered him. Then, a sharp movement behind him.
Before he could fully turn, a blade swept low and clean across his second heel.
The cut was precise. Too precise. The vein split open, and pain shot up his leg like fire. "Aaaahhhsss!"
He collapsed immediately, his body hitting the ground as his hands instinctively reached for his leg. Blood pooled beneath him, warm and fast.
Outside, the crowd gasped. Samuel's fists, which had been clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, loosened slightly.
Maxwell's face twisted in disbelief. "He just cheated!" he snapped. The master beside him turned his head slowly, glanced at him once, then looked away without a word.
Inside the arena, Newton stepped out of the fading smoke.
His breathing was heavy. Blood still seeped from his ribs, staining his clothes, but his grip on the sword remained steady.
He stood over Gregory now. Watching him. "I guess you are the one to meet your creator after all," Newton said quietly, lifting his sword.
Gregory's chest rose and fell unevenly, but his lips curled into a faint smile.
Newton didn't see it. He brought the sword down, and then, something hit his eyes.
Fine, and sharp. Like dust, but worse.
It was sharp particles.
Newton jerked back instantly, dropping the strike as his hands flew to his face. "My eyes! My eyes! My eyes!"
The pain was immediate. Burning. Blinding. His vision blurred, then disappeared completely as tears streamed down uncontrollably.
He staggered backward, disoriented. Gregory laughed. Low at first. Then louder.
"You are not the only one capable of using tricks," he said, pushing himself up slowly. His legs trembled under him, both heels damaged, but he forced himself to stand.
Pain shot through his body with every movement, but he ignored it. The thought of killing Newton drowned everything else.
"Now," Gregory continued, gripping his sword tightly, "you won't even be able to see me as I drive this blade into your heart."
Outside, murmurs spread through the crowd. No one spoke clearly. No one moved. They just watched.
Waiting.
Samuel's chest tightened as he stared into the darkness. "Newton!" he whispered under his breath.
Then he shouted, his voice cutting through the tension. "Newton! Remember your training. See with your other senses!"
The sound was faint due to the noise, but it reached him.
Inside the arena, Newton stopped moving. His breathing slowed. The pain in his eyes was still there, sharp and overwhelming, but something else pushed through it.
Memory, the blindfold training. The master's voice.
Sight is not the only sense.
Newton lowered his hands slowly. His vision was gone completely.
But he didn't move. He stop panicking.
Tom's laughter echoed from outside. "What other senses could a blind man see with?" Samuel didn't respond. He just stared.
Inside, Newton reached up and tore a piece of his robe. Without hesitation, he wrapped it around his eyes and tied it tightly.
Gregory paused, confusion flickering across his face. "You are not even trying to see?" he asked. "You tied it?"
Newton said nothing. He just stood there. Still, and listening.
Gregory's grip tightened on his sword. He stepped forward and swung.
Fast, and direct. But instead of flesh.
Clang! Steel met steel.
Gregory's eyes widened. Newton had blocked it cleanly, without sight.
Gregory pulled back immediately and struck again from a different angle, faster this time, aiming to catch him off guard.
Again, Newton met it. The clash rang out sharply. Newton turned slightly, adjusting his stance, and then moved.
Not wildly, not desperately, but with a strange, controlled precision.
He lunged.
The movement was quick, calculated. Gregory barely managed to react, raising his sword to deflect, but the impact forced him backward.
Outside, the crowd shifted uneasily. "Can he see with his eyes tied?" someone whispered.
Inside, Gregory's breathing grew heavier. His heels burned with every step. His balance wasn't what it used to be.
And Newton, Newton was adapting. Gregory stepped back, trying to reposition himself, but the pain slowed him just enough.
Newton heard it. The slight drag. The uneven weight. He moved in.
Fast.
His blade struck Gregory's guard, then slid off and drove into his side, forcing him down.
Gregory's knees hit the ground gard. His sword wavered. For a moment, he tried to push himself back up.
But Newton didn't give him that chance. He stepped forward, closing the distance completely.
No hesitation. No wasted motion. He raised his sword, and drove it straight into Gregory's heart.
The blade sank in, deep.