The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill
Chapter 139: The Names We Claim

Jisoo hit the ground hard, skidding across stone, her palms tearing open on the impact.

She didn't scream.

Didn't shout.

She just gritted her teeth and spat blood.

The clone was already closing in again—same look, same build, same damn smirk that mirrored hers exactly. It launched forward with a clean dash that mirrored her own Burst Dash perfectly, and Jisoo barely rolled out of the way before a curved elbow slammed into the wall behind her, cracking the stone clean down the middle.

Too close.

Again.

She tumbled once, then pushed off into a burst dash of her own—zigzagging between broken pillars, using debris to break line of sight. It gave her seconds. No more.

The clone was learning.

Adapting.

And she was starting to feel slow. Not because her ability was fading, but because she'd been using it the same way since day one—to move.

Never to strike.

Not directly.

She crouched behind a shattered pillar, chest heaving.

A few yards away, she could hear the others. Distant now. But quieter than before.

Her eyes flicked up—Yujin wasn't crashing through things anymore. Jin's white-bladed glow was gone.

A chill slid down her spine.

They finished.

She was the last one.

Her grip tightened. She pushed herself up, sweat streaking her brow, blood trailing down one forearm.

Come on, Jisoo.

Her mind spun through every drill, every sparring match, every lecture Seul threw at her until her legs burned and her brain begged for rest.

"You're not just a rocket," Seul had said. "You're a blade with one edge. If you never learn to curve, you'll break the second you hit something harder than you."

And that was the problem.

She always went straight.

Hit first. Ask later.

It worked—until someone could move like her. Think like her.

She could feel the tension in the clone's steps. It wasn't hesitating. It was waiting. Watching. Predicting.

If she dashed again now, it'd catch her. Counter clean.

Her eyes narrowed.

So don't move like before.

Jisoo stood fully now, one foot grinding against the stone as she shifted her weight.

The clone took the bait. A blur of movement—same stance, same trigger.

But this time, she didn't dash straight.

She dashed up.

A vertical launch, using the debris to kick skyward—ricocheting off a bent metal beam, twisting midair to get above her double.

The clone twisted to follow—

That's when she pushed her weight forward, locked her limbs tight, and spun.

Not a dodge.

Not a lunge.

A drill.

All the momentum she usually stored for forward movement—she turned it inward, using her center of mass like a coiled spring.

The spin tore through the air, a blur of motion wrapped in system light.

Jisoo's entire body honed into one point.

A spiral.

A storm.

A weapon.

She didn't think about her feet. Her hands. The pain in her shoulder.

She thought about movement.

About how all her life, she'd been chasing things.

Running forward.

Punching through.

But now—she wasn't moving to chase.

She was moving to finish.

The name came from her lungs. Not shouted. Not screamed.

Just spoken, like it had always belonged to her.

"Seoncheon Gwihwan."

Whirlwind Return.

Her shoulder slammed into the clone's chest—followed by the full rotation of her hips and legs, spinning in a corkscrew burst.

The impact didn't shatter it.

It cored through it.

Stone cracked beneath her landing. Her feet skidded into the ground hard, but she stayed standing.

A beat passed.

She turned.

The clone stood for one final breath—

Then split down the middle and scattered into dust.

Gone.

Jisoo exhaled sharply, hands on her knees, the last of her strength leaking through her sweat-drenched clothes.

But she didn't collapse.

She straightened slowly, spit blood again, and smiled.

"Finally," she muttered. "About damn time."

Jisoo straightened, rolling her shoulder once. The pain was still there, tight along the muscles—but it didn't sting like before. It felt... distant.

Across the fractured plaza, she saw the others waiting. Jin stood at the center again, Muramasa back in its sheath, his aura calm. Yujin leaned against a cracked pillar, breathing hard but standing tall, her claws gone now, human again from fingertips to toes.

Jisoo didn't say anything at first.

She just walked over.

Three survivors of three selves.

When she reached them, Yujin gave a soft nod. Jin said nothing—he just looked at her and held up a single finger.

"You're the last," he said, voice quiet.

Jisoo raised a brow. "Took me that long?"

"No," Jin replied. "Took you exactly as long as it needed to."

She smirked, then winced. "Ugh. That sounded so dramatic. You hanging out with Echo too much?"

Before Jin could answer, the world trembled.

Not from any monster.

But from something deeper.

The ground under their feet rippled—not violently, but like water being disturbed from underneath.

The city around them shuddered.

Buildings tilted, flickering. Towering apartments melted into static. Glass windows bled upwards. Streetlights folded inward like paper burned without flame.

Above them, the sky cracked.

Darkness spread like spilled ink across a ceiling of stars, and the system's faint green glow blinked once, then vanished entirely.

Everything began to collapse.

No system alerts. No warning.

Just silence and decay.

Jisoo tensed. "Is it another round?"

Jin shook his head once. "No."

They didn't run.

There was nowhere to go.

The arena gave in without resistance.

Stone fell into black.

The air itself crumbled.

And then—

Darkness consumed them.

It wasn't like before. Not cold. Not hostile.

It was soft. Weightless. Like sinking into the moment before sleep.

And for a second, Jin felt his lungs expand fully—no ache, no pressure. The bruises on his ribs faded. His cracked knuckles cooled.

Yujin gasped once and looked down at her arms. The scratches, burns—gone. Her breathing steadied.

Jisoo blinked. "...I think it healed us."

Then, like a curtain pulling back—

Laughter.

Smooth, smug, delighted.

The kind of laugh that didn't come from joy but from satisfaction. Like someone had just watched a brilliant plot twist unfold and couldn't wait to brag.

The darkness rippled.

And the Dokkaebi appeared.

Floating above them, arms spread like the world's worst magician mid-performance. Its robe fluttered without wind. Horns gleamed. Teeth too sharp to be human glinted beneath an ever-widening smile.

"Oooh, how satisfying!" it said, spinning mid-air with theatrical flourish. "I have to admit—I had bets against you."

Jin didn't move.

The Dokkaebi landed softly, its sandals tapping invisible floor. "But look at you all. Three trials. Three wins. Not perfect, not polished—but alive."

It clapped once.

"Which, in case you were wondering, puts you first."

Jisoo crossed her arms. "First?"

"In completion! Of course. Other teams are still fumbling. Some haven't even hit their shadows yet. You three?" It leaned forward, pointing a long, clawed finger. "You figured it out."

"Figured what out?" Yujin asked.

The Dokkaebi's smile widened. "That this trial wasn't about force. It wasn't even about instinct."

It turned once, arms behind its back, pacing like a lecturer now. "It was about identity. You beat your shadows not by being better copies—but by becoming something new."

It paused.

Turned.

"And for that, you get a reward."

Jisoo raised a brow. "Stats?"

Yujin added, "Or an item?"

The Dokkaebi blinked. Then—cackled.

"Ah, no, no, no. You really think so small. What are stats compared to what you've begun?"

Jin narrowed his eyes. "Then what is it?"

The Dokkaebi snapped its fingers.

And everything stilled.

The smile faded.

Its voice dropped an octave—less playful. Almost reverent.

"You've earned something better."

A beat.

Then two words, quiet, yet heavier than anything before:

"Achievements."

"Achievements?" Jisoo echoed, frowning. "You mean like… trophies?"

The Dokkaebi turned toward her with a grin too sharp to be friendly. "Not trophies. Not baubles or little participation awards. Achievements are... echoes."

It floated backward lazily, arms wide. "Reflections of moments so significant, the system itself had no choice but to acknowledge them."

Yujin's eyes narrowed. "So… it watches us?"

"Oh, it does more than watch," the Dokkaebi said, voice lilting with amusement. "It records. Every choice. Every spark of resistance. Every moment that defies what should have been."

Its eyes flicked to Jin.

"And sometimes… someone does something so absurdly off-script, so deeply improbable, that the system marks them forever."

Jin didn't speak.

Jisoo turned to him, squinting. "Wait. You've got one already, don't you?"

He nodded slowly.

Yujin raised a brow. "From when?"

"The Qi Sha," he said.

The words were quiet. He didn't look at them when he said it.

"The first time we fought it. When it cornered us in the ruins."

Jisoo tilted her head. "You mean when you almost died before you met—wait. That's when you got an achievement?"

Jin finally looked at her.

"I didn't run. I didn't break. And I didn't let anyone else die."

The Dokkaebi cut back in, voice suddenly theatrical again, spinning mid-air with a grin. "Oh, and what an achievement it was!"

It flared a hand out, and golden letters shimmered across the darkness:

Achievement: He Who Defies Fate

"Now that," it said, "isn't something you see every cycle."

Jisoo blinked. "What does it even do?"

The Dokkaebi clapped once, delighted. "It granted him a relic. Something beyond stat sheets and shiny skills. Something conceptual."

Yujin's gaze sharpened. "The String of Fate."

Jin's jaw flexed once, but he said nothing.

Jisoo frowned. "You told us that thing was dormant. You said you didn't know what it did yet."

"I didn't," Jin said evenly.

"But you don't have it now," the Dokkaebi said, floating low, almost coiling through the air as it circled him. "Do you?"

Jin didn't answer.

The smile widened. "Traded it, hmm? How curious. A relic so rare it's whispered about in other sectors. And you used it in a deal?"

Jisoo blinked. "Wait—you traded it?"

Jin's silence said everything.

The Dokkaebi's eyes sparkled. "A shame, really. That string could've tugged you through the darkest trial, Jin. But instead…"

It let the thought hang, then flicked a wrist.

Golden screens appeared again—dozens, orbiting them like moons.

"Still, for you three," it said, voice giddy again, "rewards are due. Each of you has now earned your first real achievement."

Yujin's tail flicked behind her. Jisoo cracked her knuckles once.

"What kind of achievements?" Jisoo asked.

The Dokkaebi's grin returned to its full brilliance. "Let's find out."

The screens stopped spinning.

"Ready?"

The darkness pulsed once more.

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