“Hmm.”
Thud. The assistant master’s wooden sword slammed into the ground.
Instead of launching an attack of his own, Inke had evaded from the very first move and easily slipped to the side. Then he planted a foot on the sword that had driven into the earth and held it down.
“Ah—!”
The assistant master, dripping with sweat, stared at Inke with trembling eyes. Inke, breathing hard, glared steadily as he raised his wooden sword.
He’s not panicking!
Because his sword was pinned beneath Inke’s foot, the master could not dislodge it. He could drop the weapon and retreat out of Inke’s range, but then he would be forced to fight this man unarmed.
If I beg for my life...!
It was already checkmate. Everyone watching—soldiers, townsfolk, and those involved in martial arts alike—understood what was happening. Inke had dodged the attack, secured the opponent’s weapon, and was about to finish him. The calm, deliberate motion contrasted with the earlier, brutal single strike, and the crowd swallowed hard.
This time, unlike the previous bout, the interval after the opponent realized defeat had stretched too long.
“I-I’m sorry... I’m a fraud—”
“Is that so? Die.”
A sideways stroke snapped the assistant master’s neck as he confessed his sins.
Inke had paused to breathe even amid the killing, and then he struck down the second man as well.
“My lord, as you heard, he was a fake. I suppose they cannot complain even if they are killed,” Inke said.
“Indeed... To use Master Sansui’s name deceptively is an insult to the Sepaeda main house!” the lord replied.
Seeing how dependable even just one of the five combat instructors was was heartening. The lord smiled broadly at the unexpectedly effective demonstration.
This is bad, this is bad!
The sword school master, cornered and deprived of any escape, had lost all semblance of dignity from his face.
Inke had already caught his breath and looked better than before. The senior instructor was no fool who believed he could win in this situation.
He already proved that begging for our lives is useless! I must win, but how...?
If Inke struck, the master could not defend; if the master struck, Inke would evade and pin him down. Inke had revealed some of his techniques, and each card he showed was terrifying.
The faux master, who only knew battlefield swordwork, no longer had any idea what to do.
“Go on, then. You are the last one.” The lord smiled cruelly at the terrified fraud.
Refusal would surely earn immediate death.
“Y-Yes!” the man stammered. He regretted agreeing to fight. If only he had begged earlier—would there have been mercy?
Somehow...I must win...!
He accepted a wooden sword from a soldier—the only weapon left to defend himself in this situation. Yet his hand shook uncontrollably as he gripped it. Seeing that, every onlooker understood the fate that awaited him.
Because the two assistant masters had been frauds, the master could not possibly be genuine. If he were real, he would not be cowering so pitifully.
Like the two before him, he would be dispatched without fuss.
Everyone knew it, and yet no one moved to help. Those who had been deceived by him kept their distance, and even the accomplices feared the scandal spreading to themselves.
“Begin!”
“Urk—!”
The master no longer had any will to fight. Driven only by the desire not to die, he staggered backward, his wooden sword wavering.
Inke, however, hesitated not at all. He raised his sword, gave a single shout, and lunged.
“Hah!”
“Eek!”
The so-called Shirokuro-style master instinctively tried to protect his head. It wasn’t that he had read the blade’s line—he simply reacted defensively.
But a single wooden sword could only defend one spot. Inke calmly swung and struck elsewhere: he hit the opponent’s knee joint with a heavy blow.
“A-Ahhh!”
At first the master felt no pain in his head or in the hand that held the sword, but the pain came up from his leg a moment later. The false master who had claimed to be Sansui’s pupil screamed as the sword dropped from his grasp.
“Hmph.”
Inke hauled the wretched man down, standing over him while still holding the wooden sword, ready to finish him off as the fallen man struggled weakly to rise.
“Pathetic.”
With a single word, voiced as if with pity, Inke judged him.
Then he brought down the pommel of the wooden sword with one hand, striking the man’s forehead as if with a blunt club.
With a crushing sound, the pommel sank into the supposedly sturdy head. It was a fatal blow, and the man never moved again.
The soldiers and townspeople trembled.
Through this three-match sequence, Inke hadn’t shown a single hint of vulnerability. Every attack and defense was executed flawlessly, as if prearranged.
The sheer skill and fearless composure inspired fear in everyone present.
“My lord, as you can see...”
Inke stood over the fallen body and spoke with utmost dignity.
“There are no disciples of Master Sansui in this town.”
“Indeed... You are correct.”
Even those unfamiliar with Sansui Shirokuro had to accept it. This was the undeniable strength of someone trained directly by Sansui.
The Sansui Shirokuro style of combat, witnessed in its genuine form, ensured that the townspeople would never again be deceived by impostors.
Naturally, the soldiers and the lord themselves were included among those convinced.
Before the sun set, the truth of the sword school that bore the signboard of Sansui Shirokuro had become clear.
It differed in style from an ordinary trial, but in the end the result was the same: It was obvious that the impostors had been killed by the genuine one.
And that outcome put the sword school’s accomplices in trouble.
The instructors and others who had been working at the fraudulent school together with the master and assistant masters were immediately pressed by the disciples—who had realized the truth—for refunds. Because all the money had already been spent and nothing remained, they could only confess; thus they were handed over to the local lord as criminals.
The mayor, who had profited from his cooperation with the fraudulent school, along with those surrounding him, also came under fire. The sword school had disciples from neighboring towns as well, and because the mayor had taken the initiative in promoting it, the town as a whole suffered a severe loss of trust from the surrounding region. There was no avoiding punishment, and they too were delivered to the lord as criminals.
It had been an extremely malicious incident, yet its resolution was almost anticlimactic. Given the overwhelming difference in ability in the display at the plaza, there had been no room for argument—justice had simply been done.
The victims hurled their anger at the criminals, all while being captivated by the combat instructors’ prowess.
And their employer, the local lord, felt the same. He could not suppress his excitement at seeing the swordsman he employed win so brilliantly.
“You are strong. I’m grateful—you showed me a fine match. It was unpleasant work, I know, but I truly enjoyed it.”
That night after sunset, the lord summoned Inke to the room prepared for him, naturally to commend the day’s performance.
“No, when I actually saw those guys tricking people, I couldn’t help getting angry... So I think it was good work.”