Things were far from ideal. His preparations fell short, and the few aces he held couldn't be played more than once. A slow-burning anger began to stir within him—quiet, like embers smoldering beneath the ashes. But he didn't let it flare. With a deep breath, he quelled it, as the wind erases yesterday's footprints from the sand.

His eyes, gleaming with a quiet resolve, showed no trace of hesitation. His will was like tempered steel, and his belief in carving his path through any hardship was firm—like a mountain unmoved by the storm. A faint smile curled on his lips as he muttered under his breath, steady and certain,
"So what? Even if this mission had to be done ten times over, how could I have known there'd be this many Khais beasts? Doesn't matter. As long as I keep moving, nothing can truly stop me. Step by step. One wall at a time… That's how I've always lived. And there's no turning back."

In the endless tide of dangers and disasters that had shaped him, he knew this wasn't the result of a miscalculation or some personal failure. It was fate—plain and inevitable. And that feeling… it wasn't new. It had long walked beside him, like a shadow cast on every road he took. He had traveled winding paths, survived countless ordeals, and accepted—fully—that chaos and the unknown were stitched into the very fabric of his journey.

To him, the uncontrollable wasn't something to fear or loathe. It was simply there—part of the terrain. Total control? That was an illusion, a myth no longer worth chasing.

Now, with the three Khais beasts standing before him, their auras dripping with death, he didn't waver. His sharp eyes followed their every move—the slightest twitch in the muscles, the shift in wind as they growled, ready to strike. Their fangs glistened under the dim light. Their coiled bodies screamed of violence. But escape was never an option, nor did he look for one.

The fight was inevitable.
And he—just as he always had been—was ready for it.