CHAPTER 256: A FIRE THAT WOULDN’T DIE.

Jin staggered forward and his vision blurred. Blood ran down from the side of his forehead, dripping over his jaw, staining his neck.

His twin swords hung loosely at his sides, both blades cracked from the earlier fight.

His body was covered in cuts, his breathing ragged — but his eyes still burned with that stubborn fire that refused to die out.

He had just fought Ethan — the top third-year mage of the academy — and though Jin had won, it wasn’t a victory anyone could call clean.

Ethan lay unconscious back there.

Their battle had torn half the road towards their home, trees were cleaved, and scorch marks from Ethan’s magic still smoked faintly in the air.

Jin wanted to walk away.

But before he could reach the path out of the roadside, a mocking voice echoed behind him.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

Jin froze. He turned his head slightly.

Ethan’s group.

They looked down on Jin.

"Do you think you are strong just because you beat Ethan?" one of them said.

The tallest of them, a muscular student, stepped forward. His face was twisted with contempt. "You think you can hurt Ethan and just walk away like nothing happened?"

Jin tightened his grip on his swords. "None of your business," he said.

"Not our business?" they scoffed. "Ethan is our brother. You made him bleed. You embarrassed him. You think we’ll let that slide?"

Another one, cracked his knuckles. "He’s barely standing. Look at him — he’s already half-dead. This won’t take long."

Jin’s breath hitched. His body screamed for rest, but his pride wouldn’t let him bow.

He lifted his head, meeting their gazes one by one. "If you want to fight, then come. But don’t think I’ll just kneel for you."

"Big words from someone about to crawl," they sneered.

He flicked his wrist, and the others spread out, surrounding Jin from all sides.

Jin steadied his stance, bringing his twin swords up even though his arms trembled.

Every movement made pain shoot through his ribs and back.

The first strike came fast — a punch from the side. Jin barely raised his left sword to block, but the impact still threw him back several steps.

Another attack followed, a boot slammed into his abdomen.

He coughed out blood, the metallic taste filling his mouth.

"Not so tough now, huh?" one of them taunted, circling him like a predator.

"Without Ethan here, you’re just a broken dog."

Jin exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay upright. "I’ve fought worse than you," he said.

"Oh really?" said the lean one.

"Then let’s make sure you don’t fight anyone again."

He charged. Jin twisted, slashing with his right sword, managing to cut the attacker’s shoulder, but before he could recover, another fist crashed into his jaw.

His vision flashed white. He stumbled.

Ryle grabbed him by the collar and slammed his knee into Jin’s stomach.

"Pathetic," he hissed. "You were just lucky against Ethan."

Jin coughed, his knees buckling. "Lucky...?" He spat blood to the ground, glaring up through the strands of his messy hair.

"Luck had nothing to do with it."

"Then let’s see what happens without luck."

He threw Jin across the dirt path.

Jin hit the ground hard, his swords clattering beside him.

Pain exploded through his chest. He gasped, forcing himself to reach for one sword — but a boot came down on his hand, pinning it.

"Still trying to fight?"

The boot pressed harder. Jin groaned, feeling his knuckles crack.

"You don’t know when to stop," another voice said mockingly.

They kicked him again, this time in the ribs. Once. Twice. The sound echoed — dull thuds against flesh.

Jin curled slightly, but he didn’t scream. He bit down on his lip until he tasted blood again.

Ryle crouched beside him. "Look at you... so proud, so silent. Why don’t you beg a little? Maybe we’ll let you crawl home."

Jin lifted his head weakly, his right eye swollen.

He smiled faintly — not in mockery, but defiance. "I’d rather die than beg."

Ryle’s smile faded.

"Then die."

He swung his fist. Jin barely managed to roll aside, but another kick caught his shoulder.

He gasped, his body jerking from the blow.

He tried to stand, using one sword as support, but his left leg trembled violently — he could feel it, the deep bruise from earlier reopening.

He wasn’t going to last much longer.

The four of them circled him again.

Dust rose around them as they moved.

Jin slashed once, a weak arc of steel.

One of the attackers ducked easily, retaliating with a hard elbow to Jin’s back.

Jin staggered forward — straight into one of their knees.

He felt something snap in his leg as pain shot up through his bones. He dropped to one knee, panting heavily.

"Still want to play the hero?" they asked.

Jin’s hands trembled as he tried to lift his swords again. "Heroes... are overrated," he whispered.

"I’m just someone who doesn’t run."

"Then let’s fix that," they said. "Let’s make sure you can’t walk again."

The next few minutes blurred into agony.

Fists.

Boots.

The world around Jin narrowed to pain and dirt and blood.

Every time he tried to get up, they knocked him down again. Every time he reached for his sword, they kicked it away.

The sound of metal scraping stone echoed with each blow.

His breathing grew uneven.

His vision dimmed at the edges.

Still, somewhere in that haze, Jin’s mind clung to one thought:

(I won’t fall)

But his body had already reached its limit.

His right leg twisted wrong under another strike — he felt the sharp crack, the kind that ended fights.

He collapsed completely, unable to move.

Ryle stood over him, chest heaving, sweat glistening on his forehead.

"Done already? I thought the ’dual swordsman’ would last longer."

One of his companions wiped blood from his knuckles. "He’s tougher than he looks, but it’s over."

Jin tried to lift his head, to at least glare at them one last time — but all he could manage was a shallow breath.

One of them crouched beside him again, gripping Jin’s chin. "Next time, remember your place," he said quietly.

"You’re beneath us."

He pushed Jin’s face down into the dirt and stood. "Let’s go."

The four of them turned and walked away, laughing quietly among themselves, putting Ethan on their soldier.

Their footsteps faded into the distance, leaving only the broken silence behind.

Jin lay there for a long time.

The wind moved softly through the trees.

The faint scent of dust and blood filled the air.

He tried to move his hand but nothing.

His fingers twitched weakly. He tried to sit up — pain shot through his body, and he immediately fell back.

His breathing came in sharp gasps, every inhale scraping against his ribs.

Blood oozed from the corner of his mouth, thick and dark. He coughed, the sound echoing hollowly in the empty courtyard.

"Damn it..." he rasped and voice was barely audible.

He stared up at the dimming sky, the clouds drifting slowly across it.

The red light of sunset burned faintly over him, painting the dirt and blood around his body in crimson hues.

The laughter of Ethan’s group still echoed faintly in his mind.

But he refused to close his eyes.

He thought of the reason he had fought Ethan in the first place.

It wasn’t for pride, or for recognition. Ethan had provoked him, humiliated someone Jin had to protect.

Jin had stepped in because he couldn’t watch injustice happen.

That was who he was.

And now, lying there broken, he wondered if that was foolish.

"Was it really worth it?"

"To fight people stronger than him?"

"To bleed for something no one would remember tomorrow?"

He coughed again, this time harder. Blood splattered on the ground beside his face.

He could taste iron, feel the sting of air against open wounds.

Yet even then, his hand moved. Slowly, painfully, he reached out and grasped the hilt of one of his fallen swords.

His fingers barely closed around it, but that small act — that refusal to let go — was all the defiance he had left.

The blade was cracked, chipped from the fight, but in that moment, it was his only anchor.

He dragged it closer to his chest, pressing it against himself.

A faint, bitter smile touched his lips.

"I am not... over..." he whispered weakly.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment. He could hear his heartbeat — slow, unsteady — thudding in his ears.

The wind picked up, carrying with it the faint sound of footsteps from somewhere in the distance — but Jin couldn’t tell if it was real or just his mind playing tricks.

His body was numb, his consciousness fading.

He took one more shaky breath.

Then another.

Finally, his body gave up, collapsing completely against the dirt. The last thing he saw before his eyes closed was the cracked sky above — vast and distant, like a silent witness to everything.

Jin lay motionless at the road towards his home, his body battered.

Blood continued to ooze from his wounds, pooling beneath him.

His twin swords lay beside him, one in his grasp, the other half-buried in the dirt.

He had fought with everything he had — against Ethan, against the four third-years, against fate itself.

But in the end, they had beaten him until he couldn’t walk, until his body refused to move.

And then they ran — cowards hiding behind their numbers and pride — leaving Jin alone under the dying night.

As night fell, the moon slowly rose over the road, casting its pale glow over the fallen swordsman.

Jin’s breath came shallowly, but somewhere deep inside that battered body, his spirit still burned faintly.

Even if his body was broken, his will wasn’t.

And that — though no one saw it he tried to be conscious.