Bakuto's eyes blazed with fury.

Neither his head nor body could react in time.

Whoosh—

In a flash, it was over.

One moment Blaine was at one end, and in the next, he seemed to appear at the other.

The handsome swordsman moved with ease, almost playfully.

Bakuto finally came to his senses—only to feel a sharp pain in his right arm.

Slice—

He looked down and saw a wound cut across his arm.

What happened?

Bakuto felt both relief and dread.

Relief that he hadn't been killed instantly.

Dread because he couldn't understand why.

That was the real question.

With Blaine's lethal swordsmanship, it made no sense that he'd strike only Bakuto's arm instead of killing him outright.

So what was going on?

Had Blaine's speed created a flaw in his strike?

As the thought spun through his mind, Bakuto's expression twisted in horror.

Poison!

From the shallow wound, black lines crept outward, writhing unnaturally beneath his skin and spreading rapidly across his body.

"Ahhh!"

Bakuto cried out, his right hand clutching the sword at his side before losing strength. His body collapsed forward onto the ground.

Before his vision dimmed, he caught sight of Blaine's mocking smile.

No…

Not good at all.

Bakuto's thoughts sank into despair as the black curse-lines spread, consuming his entire right arm.

Should he cut it off to save himself?

The thought surfaced—but he rejected it instantly.

Death itself wasn't terrifying.

With the power of the dragon bone, he could be resurrected.

But the dragon bone couldn't restore lost limbs.

And as a master swordsman, his hands meant everything. Losing one would cripple him permanently.

Better to die whole and return than to live maimed.

Besides, Blaine was standing before him.

In this situation, he was already as good as dead. Cutting off a hand would change nothing.

As that thought vanished, the black lines climbed up his neck, spreading toward his heart and brain.

"Ahhhhhh!"

The agony was unbearable.

Even knowing resurrection was possible, the suffocating stench of death still terrified him.

Bakuto twisted on the ground like an insect, roaring in pain, veins bulging, his face hideous in torment.

One… two… three.

In just three seconds, the poison reached his heart and brain.

Bakuto's pupils went dim, his breathing stopped, and his body fell silent.

Though much had been thought in that instant, only three seconds had passed from beginning to end. The cursed poison consumed Bakuto, claiming the life of one of the five Fingers of the Hand.

[Bakuto: Death… this stench again!]

[Bakuto: What kind of poison is this?!]

[Bakuto: Damn you! After I'm resurrected, I'll tear you apart!]

Blaine looked at Bakuto's body, covered in strange black lines, and curled his lip in disdain.

Resurrection? Then be resurrected—if you can.

Already, footsteps of approaching students echoed from downstairs.

Without hesitation, Blaine melted into the shadows and disappeared.

When the students arrived, they found their teacher Bakuto collapsed in a grotesque position, his body covered in trembling black markings, lying helpless and disgraced.

"Teacher!!!"

"Who did this? Show yourself!!"

Hearing the cries behind him, Blaine only shrugged indifferently.

Giving their teacher even a chance at resurrection was generous enough. These naïve fools didn't realize they were witnessing a mercy. Did they know what had happened to the last who dared gamble on resurrection?

So why hadn't Blaine simply butchered Bakuto—cut him into pieces, erased him completely?

The reasons were many, but not kindness. Certainly not fear of a handful of students.

Blaine was not merciful. If he wished, he could have slaughtered them all. These students, even well-trained, were nothing more than pawns—Captain America himself could outmatch them easily.

No, there was only one reason.

Bakuto was an experiment.

The dragon bone could extend life and even restore it.

But Blaine wanted to see if his cursed poison, born of the Cursed Blood Knife, could overcome the bone's power.

Curse poison. Curse first, poison second.

Could the dragon bone suppress the curse? Could it purge it entirely?

Blaine didn't know. He had never studied the dragon bone himself.

But he did know it was strong enough to bring the dead back freely—though never without cost.

The cursed poison was formidable, but likely still weaker than the dragon bone.

Perhaps the ratio was seventy-thirty: seven chances for resurrection, three for oblivion.

Even so, that thirty percent was deadly.

If Bakuto had known he risked true, permanent death, he would never have dared to gamble. He'd have cut off his own arm instantly, hesitation be damned. Whether it worked or not, he would have tried.

Now, all he could do was pray the dragon bone was strong enough. Otherwise, Blaine had just cut away one of the Hand's five fingers forever.

A smile tugged at Blaine's lips. The thought of gripping such a vast organization in the palm of his hand—and crushing it at will—was intoxicating.

No wonder the powerful clung so desperately to their thrones.

Shrugging off his thoughts, Blaine slipped home.

It was already two in the morning when he arrived.

After a stretch and a shower, he collapsed into bed, drifting to sleep in a daze.

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