The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill-Chapter 83: Breaking the Unbreakable

Hanuel’s grip on his pole tightened, the tension in his arms steadying with each breath. He didn’t let the ache in his muscles distract him. This time, there could be no hesitation.

Daeho exhaled sharply, the motion alone sending dust scattering off his skin. His grotesquely enhanced muscles bulged unnaturally, pulsing with the force of his accumulated power. The earth beneath his feet cracked with the sheer weight of his stance, like the ground itself was struggling to hold him.

His lips curled into a slow, mocking grin. "You’re really trying again?"

Hanuel ignored him. He took a step forward, pole shifting in his hands.

A deep inhale.

His feet set.

His stance locked.

And then—he struck.

The pole lashed out in a blur, the execution sharp, precise.

Jin, watching from a few paces back, felt something click. He had spent enough time around Hanuel to know that his control over Genshu was absolute—despite being young, he had been training all his life, earning the title of master. When Jin had once asked him about it, Hanuel had shrugged and simply said: "It’s all I’ve ever known."

But that wasn’t what made this strike different.

Hanuel wasn’t just using a technique.

He was committing to it.

This was why the move was forbidden.

Not because it was supernatural. Not because it required an impossible level of skill.

But because once it was executed properly, it guaranteed death.

The strike landed.

Hanuel’s pole cut through Daeho’s midsection with surgical precision.

For a moment—silence.

Then—

Daeho barely moved.

Hanuel’s pupils contracted.

Something was wrong.

The feedback wasn’t right.

Horizon Severance was meant to be absolute. It wasn’t about power or speed—it was about certainty.

And yet, the moment his strike connected, Hanuel had felt something resisting—not Daeho’s body, but himself.

He had hesitated.

At the very last moment—somewhere deep in his subconscious—his body rejected the kill.

Daeho grinned.

"That all?"

Before Hanuel could react—Daeho moved.

A fist the size of a sledgehammer blurred into motion, and Hanuel barely wove back in time. The shockwave alone cracked the earth where he had stood.

Jin cursed, already moving.

Daeho’s follow-up was immediate—his brute strength enhanced further by his unnatural muscle expansion. He closed the distance in an instant, his next strike a downward hammer-fist aimed to cave in Hanuel’s ribs.

Hanuel twisted, pole sweeping up to block.

The impact rattled his bones.

Daeho didn’t let up. A left hook—Hanuel sidestepped. A sudden, crushing elbow strike—Hanuel spun, his pole lashing forward in a counterattack.

Daeho caught it.

Hanuel’s feet skidded against the ground as the sheer force of Daeho’s grip threatened to yank the weapon straight from his hands.

And then—Jin’s three-section staff lashed forward.

The chain-linked segments curved through the air, wrapping around Daeho’s thick wrist.

Jin twisted sharply—a yank designed to pull his opponent’s balance off-center.

It barely moved him.

Instead, Daeho snapped his arm forward, dragging Jin with him.

Jin’s instincts screamed. He released the weapon just before the force would’ve sent him flying.

Landing in a rough roll, Jin cursed under his breath.

Daeho clicked his tongue. "Tch. Persistent."

His stance widened. His grotesque muscles flexed unnaturally. They were shifting again.

Jin narrowed his eyes.

"Oi."

Hanuel turned his head slightly—just enough to acknowledge him while still keeping Daeho in his periphery.

Jin rolled his shoulders, shaking out the tension in his arms. He eyed Hanuel carefully, assessing him.

Then, with a small smirk—

"Gonna try again, or you need me to hold your hand?"

Hanuel exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping his pole tighter. "Shut up."

Jin twirled his staff. "Then let’s stop screwing around."

Daeho let out a low chuckle. "Oh? Finally waking up, are you?"

His foot shifted forward.

Then, in a blur—he attacked again.

Jin barely had time to throw himself sideways as Daeho lunged forward.

The soldier’s sheer bulk should have made him slow, but his unnatural muscle mass propelled him forward like a charging beast. His arm swept across the air in a wild arc, aiming to cave in Jin’s ribs—not with technique, but with sheer overwhelming force.

Jin ducked, his instincts screaming. If that hit landed, he’d be paste.

His staff—he needed to get his damn weapon back.

"Hanuel!" Jin barked, twisting his body as Daeho’s strike barely missed his head, tearing through a jagged chunk of the battlefield behind him. "You need to land that hit! I need a damn opening to grab my weapon!"

Hanuel didn’t respond immediately.

Because his mind wasn’t on the fight anymore.

His grip on his pole was tight, but his hands felt unsteady.

It wasn’t fear.

It wasn’t hesitation in his technique.

It was the reality of what this strike meant.

Jin’s words had all but confirmed it—Horizon Severance wasn’t something you landed just to win a fight. It was an execution. A finality.

And if he did this correctly—Daeho would die.

His master’s words echoed in his mind.

"If they survive, then you never used it correctly."

No chance to block.

No chance to react.

No chance to survive.

Could he do that?

Was he ready?

"Hanuel!" Jin’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "You freeze up now, and we’re both dead!"

Hanuel’s gaze snapped forward—just in time to see Jin twist his body, barely dodging another crushing blow from Daeho. He was fast—but not fast enough to keep dodging forever.

And Jin was right.

Hesitating here meant dying.

Jin swerved toward the fallen three-section staff, but Daeho was already pivoting.

Hanuel’s stomach dropped.

Daeho’s monstrous arms tensed as he shifted his weight, preparing to intercept.

If he reached Jin first, he’d kill him.

Move.

Hanuel’s body coiled.

His mind quieted.

There was no time for doubt. No time to question. This wasn’t about him.

This was about making sure they both survived.

His breath steadied.

He felt the weight of his pole in his hands, the positioning of his body—and then he moved.

His step was silent.

His strike was absolute.

Horizon Severance.

The moment his feet left the ground, Daeho sensed the shift.

His gaze snapped to Hanuel, pupils constricting. His instincts roared.

For the first time, Daeho tried to move back. novelbuddy.cσ๓

But it was too late.

Hanuel’s pole lashed forward.

This time—he didn’t hesitate.

His strike landed exactly where it needed to.

Daeho’s body jerked.

And then—he went still.

The battlefield fell silent.

Jin, frozen mid-motion, saw it first.

Daeho’s muscles, once bulging and overflowing with power, had suddenly seized up—like a machine that had finally overheated. The strength that had carried him through the entire battle suddenly locked down.

The massive soldier’s chest rose sharply... then struggled to fall.

His limbs twitched, spasming unnaturally.

His body had reached its limit.

Jin didn’t waste the opening.

He dove forward, snatching up his three-section staff before swinging it in a controlled, brutal arc.

Crack!

The segmented weapon struck three critical points in quick succession—one at the temple, one at the base of the skull, and one directly at the ribs.

Hanuel’s strike had landed on Daeho’s core.

Jin’s strikes had made sure he wasn’t getting up.

Daeho’s frame lurched.

And then—he collapsed.

For several seconds, neither of them moved.

Jin, breath unsteady, rolled his shoulders, exhaling sharply.

Hanuel’s fingers clenched around his weapon, his knuckles white.

Daeho... wasn’t getting up.

Jin flicked his wrist, snapping his staff back into its neutral form. He glanced at Hanuel.

"...You did it."

Hanuel’s throat felt dry.

He had landed the strike correctly.

He had executed it the way it was meant to be done.

And Daeho was still breathing.

Jin followed his gaze, then let out a short chuckle. "Guess even Horizon Severance has limits."

Hanuel didn’t respond.

His pulse was still loud in his ears.

His master’s words had warned him—if done right, it should have ended in death.

But here, Daeho lay sprawled on the ground, alive but completely incapacitated.

Had he failed?

Or had he subconsciously held back?

But if so why did it take him down?

Was it because of Daeho’s skill?

Jin nudged Daeho’s massive arm with his foot, watching as the soldier barely twitched.

"Not that I’m complaining. He’s down. That’s what matters."

Hanuel exhaled.

His arms felt heavier than before. Like the weight of what he had done was just now settling in.

Jin noticed.

His smirk faded slightly.

Then, after a moment—he clapped Hanuel’s shoulder.

"Hey."

Hanuel blinked.

Jin tilted his head. "You good?"

The younger fighter was quiet for a long moment.

Then—he nodded.

"...Yeah."

He looked down at his weapon, turning it over in his hands.

Jin let out a breath, stretching his arms behind his head.

"Good. Because that was one hell of a move, you gotta teach me that one."

Hanuel huffed softly.

Then, as if the moment had finally caught up with them—a deep, echoing boom rippled across the battlefield.

The ground shook violently.

Both of them snapped their heads toward the direction of the sound.

Jin’s expression darkened.

Hanuel furrowed his brows. "That came from the other side."

Jin exhaled sharply, rolling his neck. "Guess we know where we’re going next."