Taren stood slowly. His thigh burned. His forearm was slick with blood. His jaw throbbed where the shield had caught him. The Paladin stepped forward again, steady, shield high, sword ready.

  “It’s over,” the Paladin said.

  Taren didn’t answer. He reached for his Kaijin one more time. Nothing. No rise in his chest, no sharpening of the world. Just pain and breathing and the sound of his own pulse. He let it go. The Paladin stepped closer, and the boundary moved with him. The air shifted again. That slight drag returned to Taren’s limbs. His recovery felt off. His footing felt heavier. Taren took one step back, then another. The drag faded and the air cleared. The Paladin stopped. He observed Taren’s movements.

  “Running?” he asked.

  Taren shook his head. “No.”

  He began to circle. The Paladin stayed planted. Inside his Kaijin, he was strongest when he stood still. Balanced. Rooted. Every motion resolved first because the space favored him. Taren stepped toward the edge again. He didn’t rush it. He let one foot cross the boundary slowly. The drag returned. He stepped back out and it vanished. He circled wider this time. The Paladin’s eyes followed him.

  “Fight,” the Paladin said.

  “I am,” Taren replied.

  He stepped in again, this time from a different side. A low thrust, half effort in the attack. The shield moved instantly. The sword followed. Taren withdrew before the counter finished forming and stepped out again. The resistance disappeared. He didn’t attack right away. He circled, he waited. He stepped in only long enough to force a reaction, then stepped out again. Each time the Paladin stayed still, the Authority felt absolute. Each time Taren forced him to adjust, the boundary shifted.

  The Paladin moved his lead foot to keep him centered. And there it was. When the heel lifted from the stone, the Kaijin thinned slightly. The Paladin’s shield rose a fraction later. His footing needed a breath to settle. Taren didn’t rush the discovery. He circled again, testing the other side. It was the same result. When the Paladin moved, the space had to move with him. And when it moved, it wasn’t perfect. The Paladin’s patience thinned.

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  “You’re avoiding the fight,” he said. “Come closer.”

  Taren adjusted his grip on the spear. “How about you come to me.”

  He stepped in deeper this time. A jab toward his side, a snap toward the shoulder. The Paladin countered harder now, trying to shut it down quickly. Shield forward. Sword cutting tight arcs. Taren gave ground before the drag could trap him. He stepped out again, breathed, then circled. The Paladin finally advanced. That’s when Taren saw it clearly. Authority was strongest when the Paladin claimed space. When he rooted himself and forced others to enter. But when he chased—It had to reform. It had to settle again. Taren stopped trying to fight like Raizō, trying to break through something stronger. That wasn’t him. He was a hunter. He’d survived in places where rules shifted constantly. He’d learned to wait for mistakes. To strike when someone believed they were in control. The Paladin stepped forward again, more aggressively this time. Trying to corner him, trying to reassert dominance. Taren stepped inside the boundary again. The drag returned. He attacked shallowly then withdrew before the counter fully went through.

  The Paladin pressed harder. The boundary shifted. For a split second, it wasn’t fully settled. He stepped in at that exact moment. He slipped inside the rising shield. The spear shaft slammed against the rim and slid beneath it. He drove upward at close range, using shoulder and body weight instead of clean form. The spear pushed under the guard and into the space beneath the ribs. The Paladin’s sword lifted but didn’t finish the strike. His eyes flicked down.

  “You didn’t even use kaijin,” he said.

  Taren was breathing hard. Blood ran down his leg. His hands trembled, but his grip didn’t loosen.

  “Didn’t need to.”

  He pushed the spear deeper and twisted. The Paladin’s shield slipped from his hand and he collapsed. The air returned to normal. Taren stood there for a moment, chest rising and falling. The space felt quiet now. He let out a slow breath. His hands were still shaking, but not from doubt. He pulled the spear free and stepped back. The Paladin didn’t move again.

  Taren wiped the blood from his forearm onto his shirt and rolled his shoulder once. It hurt, but it held. His leg burned, but it supported his weight. He adjusted his grip on the spear. The hesitation from before was gone. He’d fought the way he knew how to fight, and it worked. Taren turned toward the corridor. The church was still shaking somewhere above. Stone dust drifted from the ceiling in thin lines. The others were somewhere fighting their own battles. He tightened his grip.

  “Don’t die before I get there,” he muttered.

  Then he started moving. Not rushed, but certain.