Warrior Jiro locked his resolve, driving every fraction of his internal parameters into his right fist. He had staked his entire being on this single, absolute strike. Whichever combatant prevailed, the outcome would be absolute—and Jiro would harbor zero regrets.

Jiro’s fist ground against the descending dark beam, struggling against the continuous torrent of corrupted aura surging toward him. The kinetic pressure was staggering, a dense wall of dark magic seeking to disintegrate his physical frame.

Penetrating a long-range bombardment of this magnitude was an extraordinary feat, proving the terrifying validity of Tora's parameters. Yet Jiro refused to yield, straining his core to drive his fist deeper into the storm.

FLASH!

In that split second, a memory flashed through Jiro’s mind—a conversation he had shared with Aji after suffering a duel defeat at the young man's hands in Dompai. It was the very moment Jiro had confirmed Aji as the direct successor to the legendary Saint Thunder Striker.

"Warrior Jiro," Aji had said, seating himself across from him in the quiet hall. "You did not lose to me because you lacked raw parameters. You lost because your focus was fragmented—your aura was scattered, and you bound your potential within artificial limits. You operate under the assumption that your parameters have reached a fixed ceiling."

Aji had stood up, gazing toward the high rafters. "If you wish to transcend any force in this world, you must shatter your self-imposed boundaries. Once you break the chains of doubt and step beyond those limiters, your parameters will soar into the heavens. Humanity possesses no absolute limit—so do not allow your mind to build a cage around your potential. Parameters are infinite, Warrior Jiro."

I understand your words now, Aji!

Jiro’s eyes ignited with incandescent light. A towering pillar of energy erupted around his frame, burning like a divine inferno. It was not mere elemental fire, but the absolute manifestation of his refined internal aura, radiating with brilliant, blinding intensity.

His understanding of martial disciplines, internal pathways, and natural mana absorption synthesized into a seamless, unified state. Jiro achieved a level of enlightenment that had eluded him for decades.

He finally understood why his cultivation had stalled at its ceiling: his soul had remained bound by subconscious fear. He had constantly questioned whether his physical frame could endure higher parameters, fearing his internal output would shatter his own vessel. Those subtle doubts had functioned as an invisible cage around his core.

Whether limiting one's aura or doubting one's vessel, both were mental chains. Today, Jiro broke them all. He opened his pathways completely, allowing ambient natural mana to flood into his core without restriction. He no longer calculated volumes or measured limits—for he had become the energy itself.

WOOOOOSH!

A blinding glare erupted behind Jiro’s back. Three colossal, glowing needles forged from crystalline light materialized in mid-air, each as thick as a structural timber. They blazed with incandescent aura, radiating pure celestial light.

The three light needles functioned as external parameter reservoirs, storing the vast surplus of natural mana that exceeded his physical vessel's baseline capacity. It was a new breakthrough born of absolute enlightenment: if a mortal frame could not hold infinite energy, one needed only to manifest external vessels bound directly to their soul.

Jiro had chosen needles—weapons designed to pierce deeply and shatter defenses. The three light needles floated behind his spine, synchronized with his spiritual pulse.

Powered by this infinite reservoir, unrefined energy surged through Jiro’s right arm. His fist drove relentlessly through Tora’s galactic dark beam. Resonating with his core, the three light needles discharged a continuous torrent of celestial mana through his right arm, propelling his strike straight through the warlord's long-range assault.

"Weapon Fist Magic!"

Jiro’s entire frame shone like a miniature sun. Moving at absolute velocity, backed by the infinite energy drawn through the three needles, he shattered the galactic dark beam and closed the remaining distance in a fraction of a second. Enveloped in an absolute defensive barrier, his vessel absorbed the residual dark magic without taking a single scratch.

The two grandmasters collided at point-blank range, their final strikes crossing through each other's vectors to determine who would remain standing.

BLAAAAM!

A violent kinetic pulse detonated outward, sending shockwaves rippling across the entire battlefield. The colliding aura fields generated a heavy gale that swept away troops and whipped up a dense shroud of dust, obscuring the outcome. Around them, combatants on both sides continued their desperate skirmishes, unable to verify who had prevailed.

Every warrior was locked in their own life-and-death struggle.

Meanwhile, high above the field, Tora felt a sensation he had not experienced in decades. To fight as a true knight, to lock blades with a worthy equal in a fair duel—it brought a profound, serene fulfillment to his soul. Hovering in the air amidst the roaring war, Tora’s massive frame shuddered softly.

Behind him, Warrior Jiro landed lightly on the earth, his breathing heavy and ragged. He was completely exhausted, having expended every drop of his refined parameters in a single, unprecedented strike. His physical vessel was not yet accustomed to channeling such immense force, leaving him temporarily drained. He needed time to recalibrate his core.

"Thank you for a magnificent duel, Jiro," Tora spoke, his voice surprisingly calm as he looked up at the sky. "I am completely satisfied with our outcome. After a long, weary path... I can finally depart in peace."

Tora gazed at the heavens, recalling the crushing solitude he had endured during twenty years of subterranean exile, waiting endlessly for Shura's commands. Truthfully, he had long grown weary of his wicked existence as a dark warlord. He had waited decades for a peerless master to defeat him in an honorable, one-on-one duel.

He had longed to die as a true knight of the martial path.

In his youth, Tora had been a frail, unremarkable disciple in a third-rate martial academy that garnered zero respect. Yet his master had treated him with unconditional kindness, patiently teaching him the fundamentals of the martial arts. His master had held absolute faith that Tora would one day grow into a great grandmaster who would uphold peace across the realm. The young Tora had conditioned his vessel day and night, desperate to bring honor to his master's modest sect.

Yet during inter-sect tournaments, disciples from third-rate academies were treated as stepping stones. Tora had been defeated effortlessly in his very first duel. Returning home in shame, he had expected disappointment, but his master had offered only warm encouragement and unwavering faith.

When Tora felt like giving up, his master kept his spirit alive. But then disaster struck: rival first- and second-rate academies formed a coalition to eliminate their modest sect. Master and disciple fought desperately to defend their home, but his master was slain before Tora's eyes.

Savagely beaten and left for dead by the rival disciples, Tora swore absolute vengeance. That night, he crept into the rival academy's compound, dropping a slow, lethal poison into their main water well. By sunrise, every cultivator in the rival sect had perished in agony.

The cold massacre caught the attention of Lord Demon Shura, who summoned the young Tora into his presence. Intrigued by the burning malice in Tora's heart, Shura taught him taboo dark disciplines. Possessing newfound parameters, Tora embarked on a bloody crusade, destroying dozens of martial academies and devouring the internal aura of his fallen enemies.

He rose through the ranks to become one of the 10 Annihilation Demons. Following Shura's retreat after his clash with the Three Legends twenty years ago, Tora was ordered into subterranean exile in the Mirror World alongside his legion.

During those long years of isolation, a quiet realization had taken root in Tora's mind: he had failed his master. His master had urged him to become a knight of justice, yet he had evolved into the very tyranny he had once sought to destroy.

His master had believed in him—and Tora longed to return to his master's side in the afterlife. He wished to die, yet he refused to perish as a mindless monster. He resolved to seek an honorable death as a true knight, falling in fair combat against a grandmaster who could best him in open battle.

Yet for twenty years, every cultivator he encountered was either too weak to challenge him or relied on cowardly group tactics. That was not the path of a knight.

Then, Lord Demon Shura unsealed the global invasion, calling the dark host back to the physical plane. Tora had felt a flicker of hope—perhaps on this grand battlefield, he would finally encounter a true grandmaster who would grant him an honorable end.

That hope had been fulfilled when he crossed blades with Warrior Jiro—the brother of Commander Dasatama. Dueling Jiro had reignited the long-forgotten spirit of his youthful days as an orthodox cultivator.

Jiro’s unyielding honor and noble combat stance were those of a true knight. When Tora's own subordinates had tried to intervene, Tora had struck them down, insisting on a solitary, uncorrupted duel. The clash had been magnificent, and Tora had cherished every second, praying that Jiro possessed the parameters to defeat him honorably.

He wished to conclude his role in the dark army and face his master in the void beyond. He would bow before his master, admit his fallen path, and report that he had been granted an honorable end by a true knight who would carry the light forward.

He could depart with a clear conscience, having fought fairly and entrusted the future of justice to the man who had overcome him.

"Remember my words, Warrior Jiro," Tora said softly, his voice echoing in the wind. "Carry your crusade forward and uphold justice across this world. But do not view all your enemies through the lens of absolute hatred... for some villains were simply denied a choice, forced into darkness by circumstance. I depart in peace, knowing grandmasters like you remain to guard the light!"

WOOOOOSH!

Tora’s massive, demonized frame began to dissolve, fragmenting into fine black dust. A soft, serene smile touched his lips as he looked upon Jiro one last time, his vessel drifting away on the wind until zero trace remained.

Standing alone upon the plain, Warrior Jiro watched the black dust scatter into the heavens, a profound truth settling in his heart. Evil was undoubtedly vile—but far more tragic were those who were denied a choice, good men forced into darkness by the cruelty of the world.