The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill
Chapter 135: Reflections Do Not Bleed

His own shadow stood again now, clean, composed, walking from the center of the arena like it had never fallen. No wound. No mark. As if the first duel hadn't happened at all.

It didn't charge.

It just watched.

Waiting.

Testing.

Then it stepped forward.

Jin's grip slid over Muramasa's sheath.

Across the plaza, dust cracked under pressure as Jisoo's double lunged again—an afterimage trailing behind its frame. The sound of two collisions rang out in sequence: one from Jisoo ducking under a strike, the other from her knee landing in the clone's ribs.

Yujin didn't have time to look. Her shadow had taken on a form almost wolf-like now—its limbs twisted, front paws fused with humanoid anatomy, frame bigger, heavier than before. It launched from wall to wall, claws dragging sparks across the stone.

Her body adjusted mid-run—tail narrowing, spine coiling. She twisted her arm into a scaled limb, gaining whip-snap torque, and lashed, catching the beast across the snout.

It didn't yelp. It didn't blink.

It just landed, turned, and charged again.

Jin's focus stayed on his mirror.

They circled each other—two steps, a half pivot, pause. It was him. Too much of him. Footwork timed exactly. Posture too precise.

Jin exhaled and stepped forward.

The shadow moved in tandem.

Jin flicked the sheath, baiting a reaction. It didn't bite. It only shifted stance—drawing the sword just a few inches, blade gleaming with the same red glow that had carved through the air minutes ago.

A whisper of heat crossed between them.

"San no Kata," Jin said quietly.

Third Form: Fukashi Sashi. Hidden Measure.

His foot slid forward, and Muramasa cleared its sheath in a blink. A shallow draw—not for power, but precision. The blade hissed out and back in almost instantly, trailing red like thread through silk.

The shadow parried it. Barely. But it did.

The clash was tight. Measured. No wasted movements. Jin's technique collided with his own past instincts—timing he had used, spacing he used to favor, reactions that were once reflex.

It was like fighting the version of himself that never stopped drilling the same moves. Clean. Effective. Predictable.

And that predictability made it dangerous.

The shadow stepped in and unleashed its own form.

"Roku no Kata—Yomi no Kuzure."

Sixth Form. Collapse of the Underworld.

The blade struck downward with terrifying control, a crack of red light splitting the tiles at Jin's feet. He rolled aside, tucked low, and rose into a wide stance. Another step. A half-cut to feel distance.

They exchanged ten strikes in three seconds.

Each impact echoed once. Then silence.

A breath passed.

They disengaged.

Across the field, Jisoo was sweating. Her shadow blinked again—this time zigzagging. It didn't just mimic her dashes—it chained them, cutting angles she hadn't thought to use.

She planted a foot hard and blasted backward, using the debris pile to redirect.

Her clone followed.

She turned suddenly, catching the edge of a steel beam—and launched forward with a full-body burst.

Impact.

Her elbow smashed into the shadow's jaw. The clone cracked apart into smoke.

Jisoo landed, panting. "Got you that time."

Yujin snarled, twisting her body mid-clash. She kicked off a ruined column, twisted in air, and used her transformed tail to wrap the shadow's legs. Her claws slashed in quick succession, drawing black lines across its chest.

It stumbled.

She dropped, transitioned mid-fall into a lithe panther-like sprint, and drove shoulder-first into its chest. The impact crushed the shadow into the ground—and it scattered like ash on contact.

For a moment, the air steadied.

Three victories. No cheers.

Jin's shadow still stood.

He stepped forward slowly. Muramasa hummed.

The katana didn't shake. It waited.

So did he.

The two locked eyes—identical, unreadable—and then moved as one.

Steel flashed.

Jin twisted his wrist, blade drawing in a horizontal slice. His footwork shifted mid-strike, sliding in off-angle. The shadow mirrored the strike—but not the footwork. It anticipated a frontal clash.

That gave Jin the edge.

His blade caught the clone's arm—just a shallow cut, but it stuck. The edge didn't slice through like smoke this time. It met resistance. The blade passed, and the wound remained.

Not bleeding. Not burning.

Just there. Like a tear in fabric.

Jin's eyes narrowed.

The shadow stepped back—expressionless, stance unshaken—but slower than before. Jin moved in to capitalize, but—

Another rumble hit the plaza.

Behind him, Yujin shouted, "They're back!"

Jin turned his head, and his stomach locked.

The other shadows had returned.

Jisoo's double burst from a half-collapsed doorway, already mid-dash. Jisoo had barely recovered when she had to dodge again, flipping up into the air and launching into a lateral skid. "What the hell?!"

"I just beat you!" she barked.

Her clone didn't respond. It dashed again—clean, perfect, faster than before.

Yujin's shadow rose from the cracked ground behind her. This time it wasn't wolf-shaped—it was leaner, more serpentine. A shifting predator, skin flickering between forms. No fur. No tail. Just glistening muscle and sharp, unnatural speed.

She turned, eyes widening. "It's changing."

The clone didn't roar. It just struck.

Jin didn't watch the full impact. He spun to face his own shadow again—and it was already swinging.

He caught the blade on Muramasa's flat and twisted to the left, driving a boot into the clone's leg. It buckled slightly, but didn't stumble. It was adapting too.

He slid back, breathing steady, heart sharp. One cut. That was all he'd landed. But that cut hadn't healed.

Not like before.

The thought hung, but he couldn't chase it. Not yet.

His clone pressed forward—this time not with a sacred form, but with raw pressure. Its stance changed subtly—lower, tighter. Less elegance. More kill intent.

It was evolving too.

Jin tightened his grip and met the next strike clean.

Clang. Spark. Slide. Muramasa curved upward in an arc, and Jin twisted his body mid-step, slicing the air at a shallow angle that passed just under the clone's shoulder. The blade skimmed across its side.

Another wound.

No blood.

But real.

He didn't let himself hope yet.

Across the field, Jisoo yelled, "They're faster! I can't—"

She was cut off by the sound of her crashing into a wall.

Dust flew.

Yujin was pinned, tail wrapped around her enemy's throat while it thrashed like a cornered beast—but it was gaining ground. Her muscles were starting to shake.

Jin exhaled once.

Then moved again.

Muramasa's edge blurred.

"Ichi no Kata—Senkai."

First Form: Flash Reaping.

A forward surge. One step. One cut.

Jin vanished for a blink of time—his image sliding forward with a streak of red.

The shadow raised its blade a split second too late. Jin's strike passed beneath its defense, carved a diagonal cut across its chest, and carried him through the other side.

He landed low, pivoted once, and slid into a halt.

The shadow stood, twitching slightly.

Then—

It cracked.

Split down the middle.

Fell.

Dissolved.

Smoke.

Jin stood still, blade humming.

But this time, he didn't turn his back.

"Two times now," he murmured. "And you're still coming back."

His voice wasn't shaken. Just thoughtful.

Then—

The runes beneath the plaza flared green again.

Pressure shifted.

Footsteps echoed from the edges.

The shadows were returning.

Faster.

Each of them.

Jisoo's duplicate stepped from a shattered billboard above—barely giving her time to react.

Yujin's shadow launched from a rooftop, body now fused with limbs it hadn't used before.

And Jin's clone?

It stood again.

Wounds still on it.

He watched it rise—half-sliced, body slow.

It wasn't whole anymore.

But it wasn't stopping either.

Jin lowered his stance.

Not to rest.

To study.

Because something was beginning to take shape.

But for now—

They had to survive.

And the trial was far from over.

Jin slashed again, once across the chest of his copy—clean, fluid, textbook.

The shadow barely flinched. The cut slid through air, left a glowing line for half a second… and vanished.

Gone.

No wound. No tear. No smoke.

He stepped back, grip tightening. His breath didn't hitch, but his focus sharpened.

That last one should have landed.

It was the same exact strike he'd used earlier. The same weight. Same timing. Same angle.

And yet—

Nothing.

He turned slightly, eyes narrowing, flicking back through memory.

Earlier, during that clean arc through the ribcage—just before the wound stuck—what had he done differently?

His foot.

He'd shifted it.

Subtle, but real.

Instead of the standard weight-forward cut, he'd rotated mid-stride. Off-rhythm. Not instinctive. Just... different.

The shadow hadn't caught it.

And the wound had stayed.

Jin adjusted his stance slowly, Muramasa humming like a thought at the edge of a blade. The floor beneath him pulsed again—green light inlaid through stone, reacting to presence, to pressure, to something deeper.

He thought of the dokkaebi's voice again.

Not the words about power.

The warning.

"Only the ones who forget what they are... remember what they're meant to become."

He'd brushed past that line before. Dismissed it as another cryptic riddle.

Now, he wasn't so sure.

The shadow had all his forms. His stances. His moves.

Everything Jin was.

Everything he'd been.

But what if that was the point?

What if this trial wasn't about proving his strength, but what he chose to leave behind?

Jin took one step back.

The clone mirrored him, movement perfectly timed.

Then he stepped left—wide, loose, not a stance he'd ever used.

The shadow hesitated.

Just slightly.

Jin exhaled.

Then smiled.

Not wide. Not arrogant.

Just enough.

"I see."

Across the field, Jisoo was yelling again, backing off from her double. Yujin dropped to one knee as her mirror slammed into her with shifting limbs.

Jin didn't move to help.

Not yet.

He wasn't done watching his reflection.

He was learning.

And now, finally, so was the shadow.

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