The dark blue knight was enormous. The grotesque combination of horse and armor only amplified the impression.
Right now, facing off against him fifteen feet away, in the eyes of onlookers intoxicated by food and wine and the atrocious smell of blood, Kyoya Izayoi looked positively diminutive. One stomp of the mad stallion’s hooves would send him flying.
Any rational person would say the same. Nobody noticed the knight and horse taking a small step back. This wasn’t the horse’s initiative. The knight had tugged on the reins. Perhaps without realizing it himself.
He alone knew the hidden skills of this seemingly insignificant high school student. The nenpo of Kyoya Izayoi.
As if coming to his senses, the knight brandished the lance in his right hand and whipped it around. The synthetic soldier skewered on the end flew off and landed next to Kyoya. Its twitching death throes continued for a spell, then ceased.
“Freakazoid psycho killer,” said Kyoya, fearlessly returning the cold gaze peering down at him through the slits in the helmet, then turning away.
“Wait!” The loud voice filling the hall stopped the crowd’s expressions of relief and Kyoya in his tracks. It was none other than the lord of this magical palace, the masked lord of the manor. “What a wonderful performance! Absolutely wonderful. The courage to face that knight alone is commendable. And a chivalrous spirit unable to abide such atrocities, even if committed by androids, makes it all the more so.”
It took an unscrupulous kind of cowardice to say such a thing, when he himself must have ordered the atrocities in the first place.
“Reckless courage, however, is foolish courage. You surely did not venture where angels fear to tread without being assured of victory. How about it? Why not put your true talents on display for our guests here?” A murmur shot through the crowd. A moment later, “What about it, everybody?”
A thunderous burst of applause followed. Ordinarily, caught between a rock and a hard place, Kyoya would have jumped into the fray. Though given the hackneyed and conniving nature of the proposal, would he nevertheless rise to the bait?
Kyoya smiled. To be sure, a little flattery worked wonders on him, but in a situation like this, raising his hand and flashing a V sign was a bit too much. Even Sayaka shot him a you’ve got to be kidding look.
“Rest assured,” said the masked man. “It’s all part of the show. I’m sure he will pull his punches where appropriate. If there’s a little slip-up here and there, it will be duly compensated.”
Laughter and cheers arose, and then died away.
Kyoya gave Asura a casual practice swing, just once, and yet it sent an electric charge through the gentlemen and ladies in attendance, like the flowing of a cold, clear stream.
The crowd fell silent. And not only them, but a tension in the formless presence of the masked lord could be felt as well.
The disarming smile of an amiable honors student hadn’t vanished from his face when Kyoya Izayoi said in a cool voice, “I’m also one of the invited guests. I wasn’t eager to so rudely intervene in the fun. I would have walked away, but will happily answer the challenge. Keep in mind, though, that however he may go easy on me, I won’t return the favor. I wouldn’t be standing here otherwise.”
He spoke with unexpected force and fluency, and turned on the spot to face the knight. No applause or cheers greeted him this time. The combat unfolding in front of their eyes had ceased to be a sideshow and became a life and death struggle.
Kyoya lowered his arms to his sides in a natural stance. The blue knight remained motionless.
As the two relaxed in the final seconds before the war commenced, the spectators couldn’t help but sense the threads of their dreadful auras tying them inexorably together, binding them to the impending moment as surely as it did Sayaka.
One famous female critic could not abide the rising tension and swooned. Reflexively throwing out an arm to catch herself, her hand hit the plate and knife she’d placed on a nearby table. The knife went flying through the air, drawing a graceful arc and smashing into a big bowl several yards away with a clamorous jangle.
At that moment, the black horse snorted. With the war cry lingering in the air, the horse and rider kicked against the sand and raced toward Kyoya like a rocket. Twice what they’d shown their previous opponents, faster than the fastest racehorse.
The blue knight thrust his lance at Kyoya’s chest. The air hummed. Startled shouts erupted from the mouths of the onlookers.
They would have all sworn they saw the spear tip penetrate his rib cage, and the lance trace an arc through the air like a giant needle through a pin cushion, the ferocious centrifugal force finally flinging Kyoya’s body over the stands to a certain death.
But that was not what happened.
They saw Kyoya leaping straight up, like the surging current of a great river suddenly reversing course. The wooden sword he’d been holding in his right hand he now held in both hands high over his head. And swung down.
The blue knight couldn’t skirt the blow. The center of the blade connected squarely with the top of his helmet.
The loud clang struck their ears. Invisible sparks stung their eyes.
“Yes!” Sayaka cried in triumph.
Kyoya pushed off in midair. The blue knight leaned wildly over. Sayaka had fought alongside Kyoya before, and knew instinctually that he’d hit the bull’s-eye with the kind of power that would incapacitate just about any monster.
As Kyoya landed in the sand a dozen yards away, the blue knight toppled over. Before Sayaka could react to Kyoya’s wary, sword-ready stance as he bounced to his feet, she looked at the knight and her congratulatory cry turned to surprise and fear.
The knight righted himself.
He’d been leaning almost horizontally in the baroque saddle, but still held onto the lance, supporting himself only with the reins in his left hand. He yanked himself to the vertical and again leveled the lance. The horse’s forefeet pranced on the ground, antsy for round two to begin.
Kyoya was amazed but impressed. He’d pinned the initial attack beneath his arm. He didn’t fight it, but jumped in concert with the direction of the motion. As expected, the momentum took him right over the knight’s head, where he delivered the telling blow with Asura.
The nen he’d poured into Asura didn’t deal a killing blow, because he hadn’t detected that intent in the opponent’s thrust either. Thinking he was being taken for granted, at first he was resolved to take no prisoners. He’d let up at the last moment because he was, almost despite himself, a good person underneath all that attitude.
However, no matter who he might be fighting, even striking with his upper arms alone there was no way the recipient should have been able to remain conscious. Absorbing physical energy in stages, the propagating thought waves directly impacted the living thing within, regardless of the thickness of the defenses.