“So...who will go first?” the lord addressed the five swordsmen.
“I’ll go,” said Inke, stepping forward without hesitation. The other four said nothing, their stern gazes silently urging him to show no mercy.
“And among the three masters, who will face him first?”
“I will!”
The first to step forward was one of the assistant masters.
He was a decade or so older than the five young swordsmen, yet his body was solidly built. On his face was a confidence so unshakable it verged on arrogance.
“I will be your opponent, if you please, combat instructor,” he said.
Inke, the genuine article, offered no return bow. His eyes burned with unrestrained anger and barely contained hatred.
So young... With emotions this raw, he’ll come at me impulsively the moment we start!
A normal person would never underestimate someone staring them down with lethal intent. Yet this assistant master had real combat experience. He could calmly appraise an opponent even as their emotions threatened to overwhelm them.
“Weapons for both,” the lord commanded.
Soldiers handed wooden swords to the two fighters and collected the weapons they had been carrying. The crowd murmured in surprise.
“What’s going on? I thought they’d fight with real swords...”
“No way—they can’t draw live blades in front of the lord.”
“Ah, so it’s like a practice match, then.”
The townspeople had assumed a deadly duel, and some were disappointed. Others quietly felt relief.
But such relief was irrelevant to the two fighters.
With that level of anger, he’ll strike immediately when we begin. And he’ll go straight at me, no feints, no tricks.
The assistant master had already read Inke’s tactics.
I’m not underestimating him, but if I can predict his attack, I can defend. From there, I can force an exchange that will satisfy the lord.
He trusted his own read, braced for defense before the match even started, and prepared for a lightning-fast counterattack.
Inke responded only with a fierce glare.
“Then...”
At the lord’s signal, the two assumed a middle guard stance with their wooden swords.
The remaining two masters, four combat instructors, soldiers, and townsfolk all held their breath, watching intently. Of course, the unrelated spectators were excited, and the coconspirators rooted for the assistant master.
“Begin!”
“Whoa!”
At the signal, Inke exploded into action. He raised his wooden sword high and brought it down with a powerful shout.
Idiot!
It was a commonly used move, a simple yet deadly overhead strike aimed at the head. The assistant master raised his sword to defend.
“Ahhhhh!”
The wooden sword crashed down with full force, and the crowd saw the shocking result.
“Hey...the sword broke!”
“No—it’s lodged in his head!”
Inke’s strike had driven the wooden sword into the assistant master’s head, caving it completely.
The master had indeed attempted to defend with his wooden sword. It wasn’t that the strike was too fast—it was that the sheer force of Inke’s full-power blow could not be stopped.
“One strike.”
Even the soldiers serving as the lord’s bodyguards, each trained in rigorous combat, felt a chill run down their spines.
To face an opponent directly, weapons crossed, and still fell them with a single, perfectly delivered blow—such skill was almost unbelievable.
“Incredible...”
The same reaction came from the townsfolk. They simply stared at the corpse of the swordsman who had fallen with the wooden sword still lodged in his head.
“Ah... Ahh...”
The other two supposed masters trembled. They were each imagining that the very blow that struck their coconspirator might be struck at them next. No—depending on what came next, it was more prediction than imagination.
Everyone regarded Inke with eyes full of dread. Even ordinary people who had never held a real sword could understand the horror of that blow: a decisive strike that broke through defense, a power far too obvious to deny.
“My lord, anyone who cannot withstand a strike like that cannot possibly be a student of Master Sansui.”
“Aah, yes... That is true.”
Inke, who had landed that single, world-shaking stroke, breathed hard and wiped sweat from his brow as he addressed the lord. The lord himself had been transfixed by the corpse until Inke spoke, forgetting the pretense of merely “verifying the truth.”
“Indeed. If one cannot endure your strike, then one cannot claim to be Master Sansui’s student. In that case, they have no right to complain if they are killed.”
“Yes, you are quite right.”
Watching the soldiers carry off the body of their accomplice, the remaining two men shuddered. They had confirmed the painfully obvious fact that the lord’s combat instructors were stronger than they were, and now sweat poured from them.
This had become, in effect, a public execution. From the start, their fate had been to be slain.
“Well done, Inke,” the lord said, then looked to the other four combat instructors. “Now, who shall take the next match?”
“My lord, opponents of this caliber are not worth calling a match,” Inke replied. “As for who goes next... No, I will stay and finish this myself.”
“Oh... Is that so?”
The lord had not expected it to be decided so quickly. Faced with Inke’s strength, greater than he had imagined, he hastened to accept the offer.
“Then I’ll go next!”
The cry came from the remaining assistant master. Seeing that, the senior master regretted his delay.
Damn... Even if it was a single strike, using a technique like that exhausts a man... If I fight now, I’ll have the advantage...
If I kill this one, then I’ll be certified as the real thing. If I win, I’ll face one of the fresh four afterward... I’ll be the only victor!
The remaining assistant master stepped forward with a face drawn tight with nerves, standing before the man who had just committed murder.
Inke was still out of breath, yet his eyes were full of malice; sweat drenched him as he took up a new wooden sword.
Still...the weight behind his strikes isn’t normal. Even if he can’t repeat that full power, he might land a blow strong enough to knock me out...
The assistant master from the so-called Shirokuro-style school revered Inke’s earlier blow with real fear. Frankly, he wasn’t confident he could defend against it.
But if I run and dodge, I’ll be exposed as a pitiful fake and might be killed. No—strike fast. I’ll hit first and crush him!
Inke would likely attack again, but the second master had the advantage of being fresh.
If I fail...it’s death. I can’t afford to miss!
With that thought, he held his wooden sword high, waiting for the lord’s signal so he could strike at the earliest possible moment.
Hurry up and start! Every breath he takes to recover worsens my odds!
A single instant would decide the fight. That tension spread to the lord, the townspeople, and the soldiers.
Now, now!
The assistant master nearly moved before the start was even called—his body leaning forward, wooden sword raised, already stepping toward his opponent.
“Begin!”
“Whoa—!”
The lord’s signal pulled the trigger.
The second assistant master brought his wooden sword down, just as Inke had done before. An overhead strike was one motion quicker than an upward cut from middle guard; his blade should have landed before Inke’s attack even started.