The Wyrm's screech echoed through the cavern, the force of its rage shaking the very foundation of the dungeon. The golden veins of mana pulsing along the walls flickered under the intensity of the battle. The air was thick with heat and dust, the remnants of Buji's relentless assault.
And yet, despite the damage he'd inflicted, the beast still stood.
Buji cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders as he exhaled. His eyes, sharp as blades, locked onto the faint glow beneath the Wyrm's second rib. That was it—the core. The key to everything.
"Alright, big guy," he muttered, twirling the Phantom Fang Blade in his hand. "You've been a good dance partner, but I think it's time we end this waltz."
The Wyrm growled, its massive frame shifting, coiling in preparation for another devastating attack. It had learned. Every failed attempt to strike Buji had refined its strategy, adapting to his unpredictable movement.
But Buji wasn't just fighting with strength. He was playing a mind game.
