Chapter Sixty-Eight: Kael vs. Logan

Beneath the gray veil of dawn, atop the rooftop at daybreak, stood two figures locked in a tense standoff. One was a young man clad in black combat attire; the other, a weathered man, bare-chested and sinewy. Five meters separated them, yet the oppressive atmosphere hung dense, each ready to lunge into a lethal battle at any instant.

There was little need to introduce Kyle: a major general whose rank was forged atop piles of enemy corpses, a war hero whose name epitomized strength and conquest, the butcher of the battlefield—a demon among men. Facing him was Logan, this world’s Wolverine, the lone wolf condemned by mutated genes and a healing factor to endure endless cycles of war and separation across eras.

When two such men, radiating an aura of slaughter, confronted each other, the very air atop the building seemed to thicken with the scent of blood and the chill of impending death.

Was it truly necessary to come to this, just to draw the Healing Factor card?

Kyle clenched his fists, every muscle taut. Standing against an opponent as formidable as Wolverine, he could not discern whether the torrent within him was fear or exhilaration.

His left hand reached behind, gripping the exposed hilt of his sword, drawing forth the slender, razor-sharp sodium-carbon steel blade.

No matter the risk, this was an opportunity he could not afford to let slip. Waiting until the battle was over and sending the army to capture Logan would be safer, perhaps, but the man was just as likely to feign death and vanish into obscurity somewhere else in the world.

With a rare ability card within his grasp, there was no reason to shrink back from the risk of battle!

With this resolve, Kyle’s eyes shone with unprecedented clarity. He gripped his sword tightly in his left hand, while his right, encased in a vibranium bracer, curled into a fist.

Venom, too, expressed its anticipation. Without needing Kyle’s command, countless black tendrils streamed from the emblem on his chest, coalescing into a mask that concealed his face.

"Come on!" Logan growled, bringing his lupine claws before him. Every hair on his body bristled; animal instinct warned him that the young man before him was exceedingly dangerous.

In half a century, he had encountered only a handful of foes this strong.

Almost simultaneously, both men exploded forward, hurtling straight toward each other—neither willing to cede the initiative.

Five meters vanished in a blink, and the two figures clashed in a violent collision. Logan’s claws struck first against Kyle’s vibranium bracer; the bone claws, wolf-like and deadly, lost momentum as the impact was absorbed.

A flash of surprise flickered in Logan’s eyes, but he quickly twisted his claws with practiced skill, raking them along the surface of the vibranium, seeking an opening in Kyle’s defenses.

Kyle reacted swiftly, parrying with his sword and narrowly intercepting the three claws aimed at his chest. The sodium-carbon steel blade and the bone claws met again and again in a flurry of crisp, metallic clashes.

Their battle grew ever fiercer—sweat flying as sword and claw etched deep gouges into the rooftop floor.

Logic dictated that Logan, master of a hundred fighting styles, should swiftly overwhelm Kyle, whose super-soldier physique alone should not bridge the gap. Yet, with the all-encompassing enhancement of the Venom suit and the vibranium bracer’s advantage over Logan’s aggressive claws, the brutal contest stretched into a prolonged stalemate.

This was precisely the situation Kyle had hoped for.

Fortune favored him: at this point in time, Logan’s claws and skeleton had not yet been fused with adamantium. Otherwise, even the vibranium bracer would offer little advantage.

Now, the condition was met—not just within one meter, but even within half a meter during the fight.

Kyle held his breath, throwing himself wholly into the deadly contest with Logan. Yet, part of his focus drifted toward the ability cards he could extract from his adversary.

He knew it was impossible to draw the blue Healing Factor card, which required maintaining proximity for thirty minutes—a feat impossible under such circumstances. Thus, he first targeted the rare green combat technique cards, those that could gradually close the gap in skill.

True Mastery of Lethal Combat: Perfect command of highly aggressive fighting techniques. Rare green ability card.

True Mastery of Ancient Martial Arts: Perfect command of ancient, primal fighting techniques. Rare green ability card.

Each required only three minutes to read, and only these “rare green” combat technique cards could grant Kyle a tangible improvement in his abilities during the fight.

On the rooftop, the death struggle continued unabated. Sword and claw clashed, each strike threatening mortal peril, yet each masterfully deflected by the other.

This was the true duel of martial masters—countering move with move, their bodies embodying the art of attack and defense.

Both fighters possessed bodies far beyond ordinary men. Dust swirled around their relentless close-quarters combat, the rooftop threatening to collapse beneath their ferocity.

The battle raged on for over ten minutes. As exhaustion set in, the moment of decision drew near.

Three claws tore through the air, splattering blood as they forced the black-clad figure back several steps.

Logan’s face flushed red, his eyes ablaze with bloodlust. Crimson dripped from his outstretched claws.

Opposite him, Kyle clutched his chest with his right hand, breathing heavily. Even the Venom suit had been ripped open, exposing three deep, savage wounds.

“Sorry, even though we’re allies, you know too much about my secret. You have to die here.” Logan’s voice was cold as he gazed at the battered and bleeding Kyle. Yet, in the brief lull, Logan’s own breath had already begun to steady.

“The Healing Factor—this is where the difference lies.” Kyle shook his head with resignation; he had anticipated this very predicament.

During the fight, he had managed to supplement his skills by drawing ability cards, but in a war of attrition against Logan’s lone wolf genes and healing factor, even a super soldier’s endurance would eventually fail.

"It’s over," Logan declared, blood dripping from his claws as he advanced with chilling resolve.

“Is it over? Then let’s see!” Kyle drew a deep breath. Ignoring his wounds, he raised his sword and charged Logan, as if making a final, desperate stand.

He had rehearsed this battle dozens of times in his mind, clear on the one trump card he possessed—the only means of defeating Logan and his ceaseless regeneration:

The sodium-carbon steel sword in his left hand, capable of suppressing the Healing Factor.

Throughout the fierce minutes of battle, Kyle had only used that sword to parry, relying on the vibranium bracer for offense. He had never once allowed the blade to wound Logan, lest he grow suspicious.

It had all been in preparation for this final, decisive strike.