The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill
Chapter 142: The Edge of What’s Possible

The whistle came again—sharp, vicious.

Jin twisted sideways, blade angling high just in time to deflect the slicing arc that carved through the air toward him. The weapon wasn't a blade, not in the traditional sense—it was a gleaming thread of metal, winding and serpentine, glowing faintly at the edges.

It struck the wall behind him with a snap, leaving a shallow groove in the stone.

A low hum followed. The thread reversed direction, cutting through air like it had a mind of its own.

Jin ducked under it.

The moment it passed overhead, it snapped toward the figure's outstretched hand.

The man caught it effortlessly—no strain, no struggle—and as it reeled in, it began to twist, shift, fold in on itself like a coiled ribbon taking shape.

When it finished forming, it was a scythe.

Not elegant.

Not ceremonial.

But jagged. Segmented. A weapon designed to move with momentum, to lash out without warning. It shimmered faintly, like it was barely holding itself together in one fixed shape.

"Nice dodge," the man said, swinging it once like he was testing the weight. "Most people just get split in two by the third swing."

Jin said nothing.

He adjusted his stance.

Muramasa hummed softly in his grip, the white threads of aura still faint but present. The weight of the katana grounded him.

The man didn't strike immediately. He rolled his shoulders, circling slowly, keeping his eyes on Jin.

"You're sharper than I expected," he continued. "Most people hit a wall by now. You just keep going."

"I don't care what you expected," Jin said evenly.

The man smiled. "Of course not. You're used to being the exception. The one that's 'different.' The one they can't categorize."

He gestured with the scythe. "An anomaly."

Jin's eyes narrowed. "So that's what this is. Another test from the system?"

"Something like that," the man said, stopping his pacing. "But I'm not part of your quest. Not really."

Jin didn't move. His heart pounded—not from fear, but focus.

"Then what are you?"

The smile widened. "A good question."

There was a pause. The air between them felt dense—like a breath held too long.

"Are you like me?" Jin asked. "Do you have… infinite potential too?"

The man's grin dimmed slightly.

"No."

He spun the scythe once, resting the blade lazily against his shoulder.

"I'm not like you. You grow because the system lets you. Or at least," he tilted his head, "that's what it thinks it's doing."

He stepped forward.

"I'm not like that. My strength doesn't come from the system. My advantages don't follow its rules. So no—I don't have infinite potential."

He stopped just a few feet from Jin, gaze unreadable now.

"I just don't have limits."

Without warning, he moved.

A burst of momentum—almost silent. Jin felt the shift before he saw it. His feet reacted first.

Blade met blade.

The scythe crashed into Muramasa with a force that felt heavier than before—like the weapon itself had added weight mid-swing. Jin shifted low, redirecting the force and slipping sideways, then pivoted and slashed diagonally toward his opponent's exposed flank.

The man let it come.

Then twisted.

Another shimmer—this one faint, almost like the outline of his muscles had flexed faster than his body should've allowed. He raised his elbow and blocked the strike with the shaft of his weapon.

Jin's feet scraped against the ground. Sparks shot out between them.

The man grinned again.

"I've fought a lot of people," he said, casually twisting to break the clash. "But I've gotta admit—this one's turning into a favorite."

Jin didn't answer.

His body moved again—low sweep, sharp thrust, rapid draw.

Muramasa blurred.

The white aura flared briefly, catching the edges of the man's coat as he ducked beneath the strike and slashed in return.

Jin backstepped, raised his blade, and caught the scythe again—this time angling it up, forcing the momentum into the air.

The man landed, flipped the weapon backward, and threw it like a whip.

Jin braced—then lunged straight into it.

Muramasa met the coiled steel with a sideways parry, and in the same breath, Jin slid under the man's guard and struck a second time.

This time—he hit clean.

The blade kissed flesh—just along the ribs.

The wound wasn't deep, but it was real.

The man hissed through his teeth and stepped back. Blood smeared his fingers as he touched the spot.

Then he smiled again.

"Good," he said. "You're learning."

He didn't heal.

He didn't flinch.

He just spun the weapon once and let the scythe settle again.

"Now show me what else you've got."

Jin didn't answer.

He was already moving again.

Jin launched forward.

Muramasa flashed silver-white in his grip, aura pulsing with heat and weight. Not quite underworld. Not quite heavensent. It flickered between the two—like the blade hadn't decided what it wanted to become.

His footwork twisted off-axis mid-step.

Third Form—Fukashi Sashi.

No. Eighth Form—new.

A fusion.

"Yaezakura."

The blade split light in eight arcs. Petal-like. Beautiful. But deceptive. A spiraling slash with crisscrossing impact points. The moment the technique activated, the air turned razor-sharp.

The Catalyst's eyes widened.

He dropped low, letting three of the arcs pass above him, but one clipped his side. Then two more grazed his coat as he flipped backwards, momentum stuttering. The wind from the attack split the stone in curling crescents behind him.

"Hoo," he laughed, stumbling back mid-air before landing on the balls of his feet. "That one had bite."

Jin skidded to a stop, breathing even, not overextended—but watching. Tracking.

He could tell the damage landed. The coat was torn now. Blood dripped lightly from the man's wrist.

But the grin was still there.

Still whole.

Jin narrowed his eyes.

"You're enjoying this."

"You're not?" the anomaly countered.

He flicked his wrist, and the segmented weapon unraveled again—flaring outward like a blooming iron flower, orbiting him in a lazy halo.

"You're testing me," Jin said. "But you haven't said why."

"Do I need a reason?"

Jin didn't answer.

The man raised his arms, scythe circling with him.

"I could give you answers," he mused, "but where's the fun in that?"

Jin's gaze sharpened. "How did you even get here?"

"This place isn't closed," the man said easily, ducking under another feint and countering with a sweeping strike. Jin deflected and spun out.

"It's a cage. A system-generated labyrinth. But it still has walls."

He grinned wider. "And walls are just invitations."

Jin felt a sliver of unease crawl into his spine. "You shouldn't be here."

"You're probably right," the man agreed, before lunging again.

Their blades clashed mid-air—Jin pushing with raw control, the Catalyst answering with staggering unpredictability. One blow hit like a war hammer, the next like a whip, the next a dancing rapier flick.

Jin growled.

"How are you—?"

"I don't train like you," the anomaly said, low and close as their weapons locked. "I don't need to. Every fight I walk into rewrites the rules around it."

He spun. Jin's foot slipped for half a second on the shifting ground.

"Who are you?"

The man didn't answer.

He launched into a vertical leap, flipped once, then slammed the scythe downward mid-twist—its reach extended, warped, curving in mid-air.

Jin shifted stance.

"Roku no Kata—Enshō."

Sixth Form: Flame Halo.

A full spin. Aura ignited mid-swing. Muramasa glowed white-hot as he redirected the incoming slash with a ring of force that scattered embers in all directions.

The anomaly landed lightly, barefoot now. His coat fluttered as if reacting to invisible wind.

"Why me?" Jin demanded. "Why this trial?"

The Catalyst tilted his head. "Because you're interesting."

"That's not an answer."

"I don't answer questions I don't like."

The Catalyst smiled again—lazy, deliberate. His eyes gleamed beneath the flickering maze torchlight like he knew something Jin never would.

"But," he added, shrugging, "I'll answer one. Just one."

Jin didn't move. Didn't lower his blade.

The other man tilted his head slightly, as if considering which truth to unwrap.

"You asked how I got here," he said. "Why I can be inside your trial—why the system didn't stop me."

A small, mischievous grin stretched across his face, almost boyish despite the violence in his wake.

"Well, that's simple."

He stepped to the side, twirling the shaft of the scythe like it weighed nothing. "This trial happens to fall within the edge of my domain."

Jin's eyes narrowed.

"I go where I want."

The Catalyst leaned closer, his voice dipping into a mock whisper. "And the system can't stop me from entering what already belongs to me."

There was no arrogance in his tone.

Just certainty.

Jin's grip tightened.

"You have a domain?" he asked, voice low.

"I didn't say I'd answer that question," the man replied with a wink, then lunged.

This time, Jin was ready.

The scythe came low, spinning mid-air, the blade widening just before contact—shifting. It cracked against Muramasa, and Jin twisted with the blow, letting it glance off before spinning into a forward thrust.

"Shichi no Kata—Amagiri."

Seventh Form: Heaven's Mist.

A feint. A blur. A burst of white pressure in three directions. The blade cut upward through the shifting light, carving an illusion of multiple strikes.

The Catalyst dodged two of them—but the third clipped his shoulder, sending a shockwave behind him that split a nearby pillar clean down the middle.

Still, he landed on both feet.

Still smiling.

"Now that was nice," he said. "Didn't think you had more heaven-style forms in you."

"I've got more than that," Jin said.

He shot forward again—this time aiming low, shifting his stance mid-run. The white aura surged once more along Muramasa's edge, bending light.

The Catalyst's eyes glimmered with delight.

The scythe shot out, but Jin didn't strike back.

Not yet.

He ducked.

Skimmed under the spinning blade, one hand touching the ground, using momentum to roll through and come up just behind him.

One clean slash.

The white energy arced forward.

For a moment, it looked like it might hit—

But the Catalyst vanished.

Jin's strike cut through air, cracking the wall ahead.

A whistle sounded behind him.

He turned just in time to see the glowing segments of the scythe hurtling back—forming mid-air, realigning, solidifying into its full shape once more in the man's hand.

"You're not bad," he said again. "Quick. Sharp. Almost like the stories said."

Jin's expression didn't change. "Stories?"

"Sure. You're the Sword Saint now, right? That comes with a reputation."

He spun the scythe, dragging the blade's edge along the stone like a conductor setting the tone for an orchestra.

"An anomaly with infinite potential," he said. "Or so they say."

He turned slowly, measuring Jin again.

"But you're still bound to your weapons. Still tied to form. Precision. Discipline."

He grinned.

"Me? I'm bound to nothing."

Jin didn't answer. He shifted his footing slightly, the white light around Muramasa coiling tighter, thicker.

The man noticed.

"Thinking of trying something new?"

Jin's silence was all the answer he needed.

The Catalyst laughed.

"Good. Try harder."

He dashed forward again—no warning, just raw motion.

Jin met him mid-way.

Sparks flew again. Steel roared. The ground split beneath them as both men collided with more than strength—with presence.

The maze shuddered.