The Eminence in Shadow Style: Simple Battle Lessons (How You, Too, Can Become an Eminence in Shadow!)

SHADOW

"I was lost."

I muttered those words to no one in particular while wandering through the deserted underground facility.

Everything had gone well enough when we first stormed the hideout, but I’d quickly grown bored of the endless waves of small fry. I’d decided to head on ahead and take out the boss myself, only for it to end like this. And after I spent all that time practicing my dramatic performance for when I finally encountered the boss, too.

It was a massive facility. Judging by the vibe, it felt like some bandit group had moved into a decommissioned military base.

"Hm?"

Right then, I sensed someone running toward me from further down the passage. A moment later, the other guy seemed to notice me as well. He skidded to a halt, keeping his distance.

"So, you’ve cut me off..."

The guy was absolutely ripped, and for some reason, his eyes were glowing red. Whoa, what is that? That’s actually kind of cool. Can he fire beams out of them or something?

"Regardless... if it's only one of you, this will be easy."

A twisted smile spread across his face, and in the next instant, the RED-EYED MAN vanished. Or rather, he moved so fast that an ordinary person would have hallucinated his disappearance.

But not me. I stopped the RED EYE’S sword with a single hand.

Speed isn't much of a threat once you know where the attack is coming from, and power is all about how you apply it.

"What—?!"

I gave the stunned guy’s shoulder a light shove to create some space.

His MAGIC POWER was incredible—honestly, it was even higher than Alpha’s. Unfortunately, the guy was a complete MAGIC POWER idiot; he had no idea how to actually handle it.

Personally, I’m not a fan of power-reliant fighting styles—the kind of "if I just beef up my speed and strength with MAGIC POWER and swing really hard, I’ll win" mindset. Look, I’m not saying I ignore the physical side of things. If I were forced to choose between pure power or pure technique as some ultimate choice, I’d pick power without hesitation. Technique without power is worthless. However, I absolutely loathe unrefined, distorted combat styles that rely solely on raw physical stats—speed, power, reflexes—while completely neglecting the finer details. It feels like giving up on the craft.

Physicality is a gift you're born with, but technique is born from effort. That’s why the EMINENCE IN SHADOW I strive to be will never lose when it comes to skill. I layer technique onto my power, I optimize my speed, and I use my reactions to scout for possibilities. Physicality matters, but I refuse to engage in an ugly fight that relies on it. That is my aesthetic.

Honestly, these "swing-and-pray" types just annoy me. So, I decided to teach him a lesson. I'd show him the proper way to use MAGIC POWER.

"Lesson One."

I took a light stance with my SLIME SWORD and began to walk. One step, two steps, then three. On the third step, the RED EYE swung his sword. That was his range.

In that exact moment, I accelerated.

I used the absolute minimum amount of MAGIC POWER, concentrating it into my legs, compressing it, and then releasing it all at once. That was it. But that tiny, compressed burst of power increased my momentum exponentially.

The RED EYE’S blade sliced through empty air. Now, he was in my range.

I didn't need speed anymore. I didn't need strength. I didn't even need MAGIC POWER.

I let my JET-BLACK BLADE graze the RED EYE’S throat. Just a paper-thin cut. Leaving a thin red line across his neck, I stepped back out of his reach. At the same time, his blade whistled past my cheek, barely missing.

"Lesson Two."

I stepped forward again, timing it with the recoil of his swing. I didn't use any MAGIC POWER this time. In terms of raw stats, the RED EYE was much faster than me. But no matter how fast you are, you can't move and attack at the same literal instant.

And that’s why I could close the gap.

Just a half-step. A subtle distance—too far for me, yet too close for him.

A momentary silence hung between us. The RED EYE hesitated. I saw it. He chose to retreat to reset the distance.

I already knew he’d do that. I’d already read his intent through his MAGIC POWER MOVEMENT. So even though he was faster, I moved first. I closed the distance before he could even begin his retreat and used the tip of my blade to graze his leg. A little deeper this time.

"Gah...!"

He let out a pained groan and retreated even further. I didn't pursue.

"Lesson Three."

After all, we were just getting started.

OLBA

Had he ever felt a gap in power like this before? As his body was cut time and time again by that JET-BLACK BLADE, OLBA found himself wondering.

Not when he fought the ELF named ALPHA, nor when he lost to the Princess at the BUSHIN FESTIVAL—he had never felt such a sheer difference in quality. If he had to compare it to anything... it was like when he was a child who had only just started training, standing before his master. Adult and child, master and amateur—it didn't even qualify as a fight.

The gap he felt now was exactly that.

The boy didn't look strong. He didn't radiate the same intimidating pressure ALPHA did. If anything, he felt like nature itself. His stance, his MAGIC POWER, his swordplay—everything was perfectly natural. His physical strength and speed weren't particularly noteworthy. No, they didn't need to be. His swordsmanship was perfected through pure, unadulterated skill.

He was overcoming a desperate deficit in MAGIC POWER through sheer technique alone. And that was exactly why OLBA felt such an overwhelming sense of defeat.

The only reason OLBA was still standing—the only reason he was still breathing—was because the boy allowed it. If the boy willed it, OLBA’S life would end in a heartbeat.

In his current state, OLBA could regenerate from any wound that wasn't immediately fatal. There were limits and heavy side effects, of course. If he lost too much blood or had his bones shattered, it would take time to mend. Yet, despite the repeated crises, OLBA lived.

No—he was being kept alive.

"Why...?" OLBA gasped.

Why spare him? Why oppose them? Why was he so strong? Just... why?

The boy clad in pitch-black simply looked down at him.

"We lurk in the shadows to hunt the shadows. That is the sole reason for our existence."

His voice was deep, carrying a faint hint of sorrow. In that single sentence, OLBA understood the essence of the boy in black.

"You... do you truly intend to resist that?"

There were those in this world who stood beyond the reach of the law. OLBA knew this; he considered himself a part of that hidden world. Vested interests, the privileged class, the hidden side of society. The light of the law never reached the world's furthest corners. OLBA had reaped the benefits of that darkness, only to be crushed and discarded by those even higher up the ladder.

That was why he had sought power... only to be defeated here.

"No matter how strong you are—how strong all of you are—you cannot win. The darkness of this world... is far deeper than you can imagine."

OLBA wasn't offering a warning. It was a prayer. He wanted this boy to fail miserably, to lose everything, and to rot in despair just as he had. He desperately wished for it, yet feared his wish would be denied. It was a cocktail of petty jealousy and envy.

"Then we shall dive," the boy replied. "To the very bottom."

There was no strain in his voice, no sign of exertion. There was only absolute confidence and an unwavering resolve.

"Don't give me that crap, kid!"

He couldn't accept it. He refused to accept it. Because that resolve was exactly what OLBA had once possessed before it was shattered.

In that moment, OLBA decided to cross the final line. He pulled a handful of pills from his pocket and swallowed them all. He knew he wasn't walking away from this alive. But if he was going down, he would use his final moments to show this boy the truth.

The true depth of the world's darkness.