Jin didn’t hesitate. The moment Mustafar reeled from the blast, he moved.

  “Sanburēdo.”

  His katana ignited, bathing the cavern in a warm, golden glow.

  The blade hummed with power, infused with pure light. Then, he struck.

  With a single, effortless leap, Jin closed the distance, his movements fluid, precise—like a perfectly executed dance.

  His first two slashes tore into Mustafar’s lower body, slicing through its muscle and tendons with surgical accuracy.

  Then, with a final graceful pivot, he delivered the third—aimed directly at its skull.

  It was mesmerizing.

  The way he moved—controlled, refined, deadly. Even in the heat of battle, Sam couldn’t help but whistle.

  “Looks like we’ve got a sword saint on our hands.”

  At first, the slashes seemed ineffective—no visible wounds appeared on Mustafar’s flesh.

  But then—the monster shuddered violently.

  The damage wasn’t external.

  Jin had severed something deep inside.

  A low, guttural sound rumbled from within Mustafar’s chest.

  Then—

  It began to move again. In an instant, Mustafar’s body regenerated. Every severed limb, every missing chunk of flesh—restored in a flash.

  The ground shook violently as the monster let out a distorted, bone-chilling roar.

  Then, it lunged.

  Jin barely managed to dodge, stepping back just as a massive claw came crashing down where he had stood. But the real problem came from below.

  The ground ruptured, spilling forth putrid, writhing masses of flesh.

  They rose like living walls, forming a twisted barricade that cut off any chance of escape.

  Some of the grotesque limbs whipped toward them, slamming against bodies and obscuring their vision with sickening, fleshy tendrils.

  Jin moved with razor-sharp precision.

  With each calculated swing, he sliced through the creeping appendages that reached for him, slowly pushing forward.

  Ahead, Mustafar lashed out wildly, swinging its massive, clawed limbs blindly, its frenzy making it even more unpredictable.

  Jin paused for a moment—and took in the battlefield.

  His comrades were struggling.

  Claire and William were locked in battle, now protecting Nigel while fending off the relentless Darkcrawlers that accompanied Mustafar.

  Sam, Nyx, and Layla were wounded—badly. Their movements were sluggish, their defenses barely holding against the flying masses of flesh attacking from all sides.

  It all came down to him.

  Jin gripped his katana—firm, yet gentle.

  Then, he began to move.

  Taiyō no Dansu.

  The Dance of the Sun.

  A series of sword techniques passed down through his family.

  As he stepped forward, a voice from his childhood echoed in his mind—his mother’s words, soft but unwavering.

  Two steps forward.

  A turn to the left.

  Feel the energy around you.

  Let it guide you, even with your eyes closed.

  His blade flowed through the air, his movements graceful, unwavering.

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  Clear the Sun’s path.

  And as you hold your sword—

  Draw a great protective circle.

  The world faded around him.

  Step by step, he closed the distance to Mustafar.

  But he didn’t strike.

  Not yet.

  Feel its energy.

  Feel its connection to the Sun.

  His breath steadied.

  And when you find it—

  Cut it.

  Jin had always found his mother’s words cryptic when she first taught him the Dance of the Sun.

  But the moment he had truly used it in battle, he understood.

  It wasn’t just a way to defeat an enemy—it was a way to end a fight without needless suffering.

  A way to cut without killing.

  As he moved, Jin’s blade wove through the air, his body flowing like water between the massive chunks of flesh and wild, frenzied attacks from Mustafar.

  The others watched in awe. His movements were flawless, untouchable. But they didn’t know—they couldn’t see—the sheer amount of energy it took to maintain this level of precision.

  Jin couldn’t keep this up forever. He had to finish it.

  Then, standing before the beast, he searched for its connection to the Sun. And what he found shook him to his core.

  Most creatures—most enemies—had a single, delicate thread that tied them to the flow of life.

  But Mustafar’s was different.

  Dozens of threads tangled and twisted, stretching in every direction.

  He wasn’t bound to this world by his own will.

  Jin tightened his grip on his katana.

  Then he cut.

  The moment he severed the threads connected to Mustafar’s left arm, the limb collapsed, breaking apart into the same rotting flesh that had formed it.

  Jin exhaled.

  “…I see,” he murmured. “This is how I’ll defeat you.”

  With swift, precise slashes, he moved through the tangle of threads, severing them one by one.

  Even as Mustafar howled, even as its massive claws swung wildly, Jin never wavered.

  Yet—its vitality refused to drop.

  This wasn’t about damage. This was about release.

  Soon, Mustafar’s legs collapsed.

  Then, its remaining arm.

  Until all that remained was a broken torso, writhing on the ground, releasing a sound that was no longer a roar—but a cry.

  A cry of pain. Of exhaustion. Of relief.

  Jin could feel it.

  The beast’s soul trembled, pleading in silence.

  Begging.

  End this.

  Jin met its empty gaze.

  “…You were never meant to be here,” he murmured.

  The torso stilled.

  Jin raised his katana.

  “Now… you’re free.”

  With a final, graceful arc, he severed the last thread.

  The remains of Mustafar disintegrated.

  And as its body faded, a small, radiant sphere of light drifted toward Jin.

  Just before it vanished—

  A whisper, carried in the stillness.

  …Thank you.

  Jin held his katana in front of him with both hands, and made a small reverence.

  A sign of respect for a beast that fought until the end, even if it was against its own will.

  At that moment, Dovak felt his grip loosen.

  The ship had finally released him.

  Without hesitation, he turned to his companions, scanning the battlefield one last time before kneeling beside Nigel’s unconscious body.

  “We need to go. Now.” He lifted Nigel onto his back, adjusting his weight. “The ship spoke to me… It said it can get us out of here instantly.”

  No one questioned it.

  They were too battered, too exhausted to care how absurd it sounded.

  “Yeah, well, these weren’t exactly my dream vacation plans,” Sam muttered, offering a hand to Nyx and helping her up.

  One by one, the survivors began making their way toward the ship—except for Layla and Jin.

  Jin stopped at the edge of the battlefield, glancing over the bodies that weren’t there anymore.

  There were no corpses.

  No remains.

  Only the faintest echoes of their presence.

  Layla hadn’t moved.

  Her hands were clenched into fists, her shoulders trembling as she stared at the empty space where Lars and Lawan had once stood.

  Jin turned toward her.

  “…I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  Her fingers tightened further.

  “…It’s my fault.” Her voice was raw, barely above a whisper. “I failed as a leader. If I had been stronger… if I had made better decisions… they wouldn’t have died.”

  Jin watched her for a long moment.

  Then, he spoke.

  “The blame isn’t yours alone. It belongs to all of us.”

  Layla didn’t answer.

  “But the only thing we can do now… is move forward.” Jin extended his hand to her. “And keep their memories alive.”

  Layla hesitated. Then, slowly, she took his hand. Without another word, they headed for the ship.

  As soon as they stepped onto the deck, an exhausted silence fell over the group.

  It felt… wrong to relax, but the relief was undeniable.

  Sam let out a long breath, leaning against the railing. “That was insane.”

  “No kidding,” William muttered, his hands still trembling from adrenaline.

  Nyx lowered herself onto the deck beside Nigel.

  He was still unconscious, pale, and covered in wounds.

  “…You would’ve been useful, you know,” she murmured, brushing a few strands of his hair out of his face.

  His breathing was steady—but weak.

  She wouldn’t admit it, but it unnerved her to see him like this.

  Meanwhile, at the helm, Layla approached Dovak.

  “How exactly are we getting out of here?” she asked.

  Dovak shrugged. “Beats me. The ship said it knew how, but I don’t have a damn clue.”

  Layla sighed. “So we’re guessing. Great.”

  Dovak turned toward the ship itself.

  “…Alright, dear Mustafar. Mind taking us out of here?”

  Nothing happened.

  “Worth a shot,” he muttered.

  He grabbed the ship’s wheel, turning it sharply to the left.

  Nothing.

  Then he tried to the right.

  Still nothing.

  “…Okay, maybe there’s a trick to this,” he mused, scanning the helm.

  That’s when he noticed it.

  At the base of the wheel, the wood had a distinctive grain pattern—not spreading outward like normal, but instead curving downward.

  His brows furrowed.

  “…A mechanism?”

  He gripped the wheel tightly and pulled upward.

  No movement.

  “…Huh.”

  He tried pushing down instead.

  Click.

  The ship rumbled.

  Deep within its frame, ancient mechanisms whirred to life, groaning and shifting as something unseen activated.

  Then—

  A vortex erupted around them.

  The deck shook violently, forcing everyone to brace themselves as a powerful force wrapped around the ship.

  The cavern vanished. In the blink of an eye, they were somewhere else.

  The air was different. The sky stretched wide, open and endless. Waves rocked beneath them.

  For the first time in what felt like forever, they were at sea.