The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill-Chapter 79: The Right Weapon

Jin exhaled, adjusting his grip as the dust settled. The battlefield had changed. Echo didn’t just attack—he shifted the entire fight.

Massive walls of jagged earth and cracked asphalt now separated them from the rest of the battlefield, splitting the once-open space into distinct sections. It was subtle at first, but Jin quickly noticed the advantage—this wasn’t just an attack. It was a battlefield reset.

And the one who pulled it off?

Echo.

Jin turned, finding him standing nearby, rolling his shoulders like he hadn’t just literally reshaped the ground beneath their feet. His breathing was a little uneven, but his grin was intact.

Jin stared. "You planned that?"

Echo snorted, still catching his breath. "Kinda."

Jin narrowed his eyes. "Bullshit."

Echo smirked. "Alright, fine. Half-planned. Happy?"

Jin exhaled, shaking his head. He was about to call him out again—until a flicker of movement caught his attention.

A shadow rippled against the broken ground, twisting unnaturally—and then Hanuel stepped out of it.

He barely made a sound when he arrived, but his presence was immediate.

"Alright," Hanuel said, straight to business. "Joon and Areum are together on the other side."

Jin nodded once. That was solid.

"Doyun?" he asked.

Hanuel’s expression darkened slightly. "He’s alone."

Echo tensed.

Jin barely had time to react before Echo moved. Not a word, no hesitation—just action.

A blur of motion.

One second, he was standing beside them—the next, he was gone.

Jin caught the faint ripple of displaced air as Echo’s speed kicked in. A gust of wind followed, carrying the distant echo of shifting rubble.

Above them, Echo reappeared in midair, landing briefly on the jagged terrain before vanishing again.

"Damn," Hanuel muttered, watching. "That’s fast."

Jin exhaled. "Yeah."

Because Echo wasn’t just fast. He was improving.

And he’d just given them a real fighting chance.

A low, guttural growl rippled through the air.

Jin and Hanuel turned in unison.

Daeho was rising from the rubble.

And he was bigger.

Jin’s grip tightened on his makeshift weapon as he watched. Daeho had always been a massive guy, but now? His body was expanding—his uniform straining against his thickening muscles, veins bulging along his forearms and neck.

It wasn’t just size. It was presence.

The air around him felt heavier, like the sheer weight of him was pressing into the space around them. The cracks in the pavement deepened with every slow, deliberate step he took forward.

Jin had seen people unlock abilities mid-fight. But this wasn’t just an ability activating.

This was escalation.

Daeho exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. His neck popped.

"You think..." his voice rumbled, lower and rougher than before, "you can just toss me around like that?"

Hanuel tensed beside Jin, shifting his stance instinctively.

Jin didn’t move. His eyes were locked on Daeho’s every movement.

This wasn’t some random ability boost. This was controlled. Intentional.

The longer he stays in battle, the stronger he gets.

Jin clicked his tongue. Not good.

Hanuel must’ve noticed it too, because his voice was sharper when he spoke. "Jin."

Jin exhaled. "Hanuel, hold him back for a sec."

Hanuel blinked, glancing at him. "Wait—what?"

Jin didn’t answer. He was already pulling up his inventory.

Jin pulled up his inventory, his fingers scrolling fast.

His eyes flicked over the items he had on hand.

String of Fate. (Still had no clue how to use that.)

Bottled water. (Not helpful.)

A few snacks. (Definitely not helpful.)

And...

His fingers hesitated.

The broken katana.

The second he saw it, memories flooded back—the way it felt in his grip, the way it cut through air, the way the blood dripped from its edge.

He clenched his jaw.

He could still remember the overwhelming hunger—the creeping, consuming need to cut deeper, to fight harder, to lose himself in it.

The fear of what would happen if he ever lost control again.

But then—the gun.

He’d fired earlier, hitting those guys in non-lethal spots. The bullets had drawn blood.

And yet—nothing happened.

Bloodlust hadn’t triggered.

Jin exhaled, gripping the bridge of his nose. Does that mean I’m fine now? Or was it just because it wasn’t a blade?

He didn’t know. Didn’t have time to figure it out, either.

Hanuel’s voice snapped him back.

"Jin, seriously? You’re window shopping right now?"

Jin gritted his teeth. Right. Focus.

He swiped past the katana. Not now. Not worth the risk.

His fingers moved fast, switching to the shop.

Not guns—he was already out of bullets.

Not knives or swords—he still wasn’t ready to take that chance.

He needed something else. Something that let him control the fight without cutting.

Something that was fast, flexible, and didn’t leave him wide open.

His eyes landed on it.

A three-section staff.

Jin’s mind worked fast.

It was a weapon used for both offense and defense.

It had reach, mobility, and adaptability.

It could be fast when needed and defensive when necessary.

Most importantly—it was blunt.

No unnecessary risks.

Perfect.

"Jin, hurry the hell up!" Hanuel’s voice was sharp now.

Jin exhaled, tapping the purchase.

A second later—the weight in his hands shifted.

The air rippled. Metal links clinked together. The three-section staff materialized in his grip, cool and solid.

Hanuel blinked. "Huh."

Jin twirled it once, feeling out the balance. The weapon moved smoothly, the segments flowing like an extension of his arm.

Hanuel raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t take you for a nunchuck guy."

Jin smirked. "Good thing this isn’t a nunchuck."

He rolled his shoulders, gripping the staff tighter.

Time to put it to the test.

Jin didn’t waste a second.

The moment the weapon solidified in his grip, he moved.

Daeho lunged at him, his massive frame closing the distance with terrifying speed. Jin barely had time to react.

He didn’t block. He redirected.

Jin flicked his wrist—the first section of the staff snapped outward, extending his reach.

Crack!

The metal-capped end of the weapon whipped across Daeho’s forearm.

The force barely staggered him. But that wasn’t the point.

Jin twisted his grip, shifting his weight. The second section snapped forward—striking Daeho’s ribs before he could recover from the first hit.

This time, it landed harder.

Jin grinned. "Alright. This’ll work."

Daeho grunted, eyes narrowing. He was learning.

The next time Jin lashed out, Daeho twisted his body, letting the segmented staff strike his shoulder at an angle.

Less impact. Less damage.

Jin clicked his tongue. Not bad.

But he wasn’t done.

Jin shifted his stance, rotating his wrist in a tight motion—the three-section staff blurred, twisting through the air.

Then—he let go.

The weapon spun, shifting into a mid-air arc—then snapped back into his hands.

Daeho’s eyes barely had time to widen before—

Smash!

The momentum of the rebound drove the middle section of the staff straight into his collarbone.

Daeho stumbled—but didn’t fall.

Instead—he grinned.

Jin exhaled sharply. Damn.

Hanuel took that as his cue—he shadow-stepped behind Daeho, striking low with Jin’s old staff.

Daeho twisted at the last second, catching the attack on his forearm.

Then—he retaliated.

His muscles flexed, and his fist came down like a hammer.

Hanuel barely shadow-stepped away in time—but even then, the sheer force of the impact cracked the pavement beneath where he’d just been standing.

Jin saw the way Daeho’s body adjusted mid-motion. He wasn’t just swinging wildly—he was calculating.

Reading their movements.

Getting stronger with every exchange.

Jin gritted his teeth. This was gonna be a problem.

Daeho rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. "That all you got?"

Jin twirled the staff in his grip, exhaling. "Not even close."