Maxwell’s vision blurred, his body barely responding as pain pulsed through every part of him, yet even in that state, he forced his mind to remain awake, to remain aware, because something in his master’s voice had changed, something that he could not ignore.

Master...

His thoughts struggled to stay clear.

What do you mean... Anti Magic?

Inside his dantian, the presence that had guided him for so long grew quiet for a brief moment, as if weighing how much to say, as if deciding whether the truth itself was something that should even be spoken.

Then—

You have stumbled upon something far more dangerous than you understand.

Maxwell’s breath tightened.

Anti Magic...

The words echoed in his mind.

...is not simply a technique, nor is it just a form of resistance.

The voice grew deeper.

It is something that stands against the very foundation of magic itself.

Maxwell tried to focus.

Explain...

There was a pause.

Then the explanation came, slow, careful, as if each word carried a memory that was not easily spoken.

In the ancient eras, before the current systems of cultivation were established, there existed individuals who rejected mana completely. They did not refine it. They did not absorb it. They did not rely on it in any form. Instead... they turned their bodies into something that could exist without it.

Maxwell’s mind struggled to process it.

Without mana...?

Yes.

The voice continued.

They trained their flesh, their bones, their blood, to the point where mana itself became something foreign to them. Not just unnecessary... but incompatible.

Maxwell’s eyes widened slightly despite his condition.

Incompatible...?

Anti Magic users... his master continued, are not simply immune to magic. Their very existence disrupts it. Mana cannot settle properly within their presence. Spells weaken. Techniques lose stability. And when they strike...

There was a brief pause.

They do not just deal damage.

Maxwell swallowed.

They erase the influence of magic.

The realization struck him.

That’s why...

Yes.

His master confirmed it.

Your attacks did not harm him as they should have. They were reduced. Broken apart. Stripped of their full power before they could even land properly.

Maxwell clenched his jaw.

That’s... impossible...

It is rare.

The voice corrected him.

Extremely rare.

Then it grew heavier.

And extremely dangerous.

Maxwell’s thoughts tightened.

How... does someone even become like that...?

The answer did not come immediately.

When it did, it carried something darker.

Most do not survive the process.

Maxwell felt a chill.

Their bodies must reject mana entirely. Not suppress it. Not resist it. Reject it. That requires destroying the natural flow within themselves. Breaking what others spend their entire lives building.

His master’s tone lowered further.

Many die in the attempt. Those who succeed... become something else entirely.

Maxwell’s breathing slowed.

Something else...

They become weapons.

Silence filled his mind.

Then—

Weapons that magic cannot easily touch.

Maxwell exhaled slowly.

His gaze shifted slightly toward Borzoi, who stood not far from him, his body still carrying traces of that red state, his presence oppressive even without moving.

Then what do I do...?

His thoughts carried a hint of urgency now.

If my magic cannot hurt him...

He struggled to move his fingers.

Then how do I fight...?

There was no hesitation in the answer this time.

Your Dragon Body.

Maxwell froze.

Master...

His voice in his mind tightened.

Isn’t that... dangerous?

A faint sigh echoed within him.

Yes.

The answer came plainly.

It is.

Maxwell’s heart beat harder.

Then why...

Because you have no choice.

The words cut through everything.

Maxwell’s eyes focused again.

Look at him.

His master’s voice pressed him.

Maxwell did.

Borzoi stood there, watching him, his expression calm but his eyes filled with something far more dangerous, something that made it clear that the fight was not over, that it had never truly ended.

His intent...

Maxwell felt it clearly now.

He is not playing anymore.

The voice continued.

You cannot escape him.

Maxwell’s body tensed.

You cannot outlast him.

The truth pressed down on him.

And you cannot defeat him with magic.

A pause.

Then—

Unless you change the way you fight... you will die.

Maxwell closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Then opened them again.

Clearer.

Focused.

Resolved.

Before he could act—

Borzoi moved.

He stepped forward slowly, cracking his neck as if loosening his body, his expression returning to that familiar arrogance.

"...You’re still alive?"

His tone carried mockery.

Maxwell did not answer.

Borzoi continued walking toward him.

"Not bad."

He stopped a few steps away.

"But still disappointing."

Maxwell tried to rise.

His body resisted.

Pain surged through him.

But he forced himself up anyway, his movements unsteady but determined.

Borzoi watched.

Then smirked.

"Trying to stand again?"

His voice lowered slightly.

"Let me help you with that."

In an instant—

He was in front of Maxwell again.

His remaining arm swung.

Maxwell tried to react.

But his body was too slow. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

The strike landed.

A heavy blow that sent him crashing back down, his body slamming against the ground once more, the impact forcing another burst of pain through him that nearly blacked out his vision.

Before he could recover—

Another strike came.

Then another.

Borzoi did not hold back.

Each hit carried raw force, each blow landing with the kind of brutality that made it clear he had no intention of ending things quickly.

Maxwell tried to defend.

Tried to gather light.

But each time he did—

Another hit came.

Breaking his focus.

Breaking his rhythm.

Blood spilled from his mouth again.

His arms trembled.

His body struggled to keep up.

Borzoi’s attacks continued.

Relentless.

Unforgiving.

"You talk big..."

Another strike.

"...but this is all you have?"

Another.

"You can’t even touch me properly."

Maxwell gritted his teeth.

His vision blurred again.

Yet he did not lose consciousness.

Not yet.

Borzoi grabbed him by the collar, lifting him slightly before slamming him back down, the ground cracking beneath him once more as dust rose around them.

"You’re boring."

He released him.

Then kicked him.

Hard.

Maxwell’s body lifted into the air, spinning slightly before crashing down again several meters away, the impact sending another wave of pain through him that made his breath catch in his throat.

He lay there.

Still.

Struggling.

Borzoi walked toward him slowly.

"...This is why I hate fighting weaklings."

His voice carried clear annoyance now.

"No challenge. No excitement."

He stopped beside Maxwell.

Looking down at him.

"You’re just wasting my time."

Maxwell tried to move.

His body barely responded.

Yet his eyes remained open.

Focused.

Dragon Body...

The thought echoed in his mind.

I have to...

But before he could act—

Borzoi moved again.

He kicked Maxwell upward, sending his body rising into the air before gravity pulled him back down, his form crashing into the ground once more with a heavy sound that echoed across the area.

Dust rose again.

Silence followed.

Borzoi exhaled slowly.

"...Pathetic."

He looked at Maxwell’s fallen form.

"Is this really all you can do?"

His tone carried clear disappointment now.

"I thought you’d be more interesting."

He turned slightly, as if already losing interest.

But then—

A sharp sensation ran through him.

Borzoi frowned.

"...What?"

He looked down.

At his foot.

Blood.

A thin line of it trailing down from a wound that had not been there before.

His brow furrowed.

"...Huh."

He stared at it for a moment longer.

Then his gaze slowly lifted.

Back to Maxwell.

His expression changed.

Just slightly.

"...So you can bite back."