[Realm: Álfheimr]
[Location: Heart Kingdom Outskirts]
The mountain plain stretched out under the washed-out sky. The air was thinner here — not suffocating, but light enough that each breath came with a faint reminder of altitude. The rocky ground was broken and uneven, scattered with stone and stubborn tufts of dead grass clinging to life between the cracks. No mist clung to the horizon; every line of the surrounding peaks stood unblurred.
Mikoto rolled his shoulders in a slow stretch, his expression caught somewhere between disinterest and irritation. A few paces away, Shuten-dōji stood in a relaxed stance, arms folded, that infuriatingly smile tugging at her lips.
Mikoto glanced to the side — and felt his mood sour further.
Not just one smiling fool… four of them. Gretel and the three goblins he'd unfortunately gotten to know: Arabella, Meryl, and Adrian.
His gaze lingered on them longer than it should have. "Should those brats even be out here?" he muttered. "This is a little far from their safe little village."
"Aww," Gretel crooned, grin widening. "You're worried. That's adorable."
Mikoto gave her a look that promised he was moments away from finding a rock to throw at her.
"But it's fine," she went on breezily. "Didn't you say you had a way to keep an eye on, you know… that? And the three of us are hardly defenseless." She gave the goblins a sidelong glance. "Strong enough to keep them in one piece, at least."
"Yeah!" Arabella piped up with an eager grin. "And we wanna see the fight too! I didn't even know you could fight, Miss Mikoto."
Mikoto's jaw twitched. "Still a guy, you brat."
"And I'm not a brat!" she shot back.
Meryl and Adrian exchanged a shared sigh at the familiar back-and-forth. Meryl, sniffling loudly, decided to speak.
"I'm… not really into fighting," she admitted, voice nasal from her clogged nose. "But it's so boring in the village when nothing's happening… so I came along."
"I—I'm really excited for your duel!" Adrian blurted, surprising everyone with his sudden enthusiasm. The shyest of the trio had a rare light in his eyes. "I've only ever read about fights in books. Seeing one… in real life… it's—" He stopped, almost embarrassed by how much he'd said.
"Oooh, lucky you, Adrian," Gretel drawled. "I've got a feeling this is going to be quite the bout."
Mikoto let out a sigh, dragging his gaze back to Shuten-dōji. She stood there, perfectly still, that same calm smile on her face.
"So… are you ready, Yuki?" she asked warmly.
Mikoto scowled at the nickname. "Gimme a sec."
He closed his right eye. From the outside, it looked like nothing — a simple blink, perhaps — but for him, the shift was far sharper. The world's flat mountain plain vanished from his perception. In its place, he soared above a blackened, dead forest. The connection thrummed in his skull — a link forged with one of the many crows in the forest, its sight now his own.
A subtle heat pressed at the back of his right eye as the magic thread tightened, binding his senses to the bird. Through its vision, he swept over the Heart Kingdom's encampment. Soldiers in black armor and red diamond emblems moved with rhythm between tents and sleek structures. And there — faint but distinct — the Nill. Still in place. Still a threat. He catalogued every position before pulling back.
His breath left him as his own vision returned. "Fine," he said, flexing his wrist. "Let's get this over with."
A faint pulse of red light sparked in his hand, the air rippling faintly around it. Then, with a sound like steel being drawn through something, the familiar presence arrived.
Sabre.
The blade manifested in full — long, sleek, its crimson alloy catching the light of the mountains in a way that made it seem all the more beautiful.
Mikoto's fingers curled around the hilt, both hands steadying the weight. It felt almost too natural to hold again after so long. His eyes ran along its edge, the red gleam painting his gaze.
("Hm. You seem more alive than usual.") His thought brushed the blade. ("Probably those dragons, huh?")
"Whoa!" Adrian's voice cracked through the moment. "That— that just came out of thin air! That's amazing!"
Arabella leaned forward, frowning but unable to hide her awe. "That's… actually pretty cool," she admitted grudgingly.
Meryl blinked at the weapon, her earlier boredom gone. "It's… pretty."
Gretel didn't speak right away. Her eyes stayed fixed on the blade. Something about it unsettled her, though she wouldn't name it aloud.
The sword's presence pressed outward — not hostile, not comforting… but it was a thick blanket upon her. It wrapped around them like a mantle, and none of them could quite bring themselves to look away.
It was beauty married to danger — a contradiction so perfect it almost felt intentional.
("I thought his Schema was illusionary… is that thing part of it?") Gretel's gaze narrowed. ("No. This is… real.")
"My, my…" Shuten-dōji's voice was one of genuine appreciation. "Such an exquisite blade." She stepped forward slightly, her smile softening in something almost reverent. "I can feel the power in it. You carry it well." Her gaze traced the blase's surface as though committing every line and curve to memory. "This is not the work of mortal hands. I've never seen craftsmanship of this kind." She exhaled, almost wistfully. "I fear my own weapon pales beside it."
Her hand lowered to her stomach, and a faint violet glow began to pool in her palm. It spread across the fabric until a small saucer shimmered into existence, and she plunged her hand into it without hesitation.
Mikoto caught the first sign — the intricate hilt of a katana emerging from the glowing circle. But the blade didn't stop where a katana's length should have ended. It kept going, impossibly long, until the full absurdity of the weapon was drawn free.
She raised the great odachi above her head, feet sliding into a deeper stance. That smile of hers never wavered.
"An odachi, huh?" Mikoto remarked. "Those things aren't exactly durable."
"Ordinarily." Shuten-dōji's free hand moved along the flat of the blade, and Mikoto caught sight of the slip of paper she held — white, rectangular, covered in dark inscriptions.
"Fulu?" he asked, brow tightening.
"Ah, you know of it?" She arched a brow, almost impressed. "A talisman I… acquired from a rather stubborn monk in the mountains. Now…" She spoke the word with precision. "—Strengthen."
The talisman flared white-hot, flooding her blade with light until the paper burned away to nothing. The glow faded as quickly as it had come, leaving the steel humming faintly with its new weight.
Her smile sharpened. "Now, Yuki… let us embrace violence together."
Mikoto's grip on Sabre tightened, the blade's hum answering in kind. "Hmph."
The area fell into a silence for a moment. A sharp wind cut through the space, carrying flecks of dust and dry leaves in its current. It passed over the gathered group. Neither Mikoto nor Shuten-dōji flinched. They stood rooted, their gazes locked.
The silence snapped just as quickly.
With a thunderous burst of force, the ground beneath Mikoto and Shuten-dōji cracked and split, fragments of stone erupting as both shot forward at the same instant. Their figures blurred as they collided with a sound that reverberated.
Steel shrieked against steel. Sparks flared violently, momentarily illuminating the area. Mikoto's Sabre met the length of Shuten-dōji's odachi, the oversized blade groaning under the pressure.
Mikoto's eyes narrowed. He could feel it—the sheer durability of her weapon. ("So that talisman made it this durable?") he thought, his muscles straining as he forced his weight into the clash.
Shuten-dōji's grin widened, sharp teeth glinting as she leaned into the bind. "Not bad," she said, her voice thrumming with an almost playful malice. "Most would already be crushed under this weight. But you—" her horns glimmered faintly, "—you're different. That makes this interesting."
Mikoto's grip tightened, his boots digging into the earth. He shoved forward with a sudden burst of force, breaking the deadlock. The impact of his push sent Shuten sliding back a pace, her heels carving trenches into the dirt.
Gretel's eyes flicked wide for an instant. "They're both so fast," Gretel whispered under her breath, but Arabella caught them.
"I can barely keep up." Arabella murmured in awe, Meryl and Andrew seemed to share her awe.
Meanwhile the fight surged back into motion.
Shuten-dōji twisted her long blade in a sweeping arc that should have cleaved Mikoto in half. He ducked beneath it, the rush of displaced air tearing a strand of his hair loose. Mikoto surged up from the crouch, his sword flashing upward in a vicious strike aimed at her ribs.
Clang! The odachi swung down in time to parry, the clash ringing like a bell tolling across the clearing.
The speed of their bout defied reason. To an ordinary eye, it would have looked like nothing more than streaks of brief flashes of steel and the sounds of collision.
Shuten-dōji pressed forward, her odachi slashing in wide arcs that sought to overwhelm with reach and technique. Mikoto met her with a direct strike.
A thrust was parried and a slash—dodged. A counterstrike—deflected, sparks scattering.
Shuten-dōji laughed as she blocked another brutal downswing. "You've got power to burn, Yuki! But tell me—how long can you keep forcing me back? How long before your arms give out?" She pushed against him, the odachi's edge grinding against his blade with a hiss of friction. "Strength fades."
"How about you just shut up?" He shoved forward again, his sword driving her massive odachi upward, forcing her to step back once more. The ground cracked under the pressure of their bout.
Mikoto darted forward again, boots digging grooves into the earth as he closed the distance with unnatural speed. Sabre arced downward in a clean, direct stroke aimed at Shuten-dōji's collarbone.
Shuten met it with a sidelong parry, her own weapon angled to glance it away. Sparks flew, and the shockwave of the meeting rippled through the plains, rattling the bones of those watching. Her counter came swift — a diagonal slash meant to carve him open at the waist. Mikoto twisted, his body folding almost unnaturally lithe, boot skimming the dirt as he pivoted and turned her edge aside with the flat of his blade.
Their swords shrieked and hissed against one another.
Again and again, they clashed — each swing seemed to carry intent to kill, but neither could break through. Mikoto ducked beneath one arc, white strands scattering loose from his bun. He answered with an upward slice that carved the air, forcing Shuten to step back, heels tearing shallow trenches into the clearing.
"Not bad," Shuten's voice came amused. She sidestepped a slash that might have torn her arm from its socket, lips curling in the faintest grin. "And all while looking so delicate. You really are something, beautiful as a doll, yet you strike like a storm."
Mikoto grit his teeth, sliding back after another deflected blow. "Creep,"
Shuten only chuckled, batting aside his next strike and leaning closer as if to study his face. "I mean it," she pressed. "Most warriors I've met wear their ugliness on their scars, their blood, their rage. You look like you've walked out of a perfect painting. Fragile, almost—" her odachi swung, only to be parried at the last heartbeat "—yet I can feel the strength in every strike. I wonder, which side of you is the truth?"
Mikoto's boots skidded against the earth as he pressed back. "Both. Neither. Doesn't matter," he hissed, blade trembling for a moment as their weapons locked, pressing against one another in contest of strength. He tilted his chin up. "You talk too much."
With a sudden twist, he disengaged, spinning his blade outward to force her off-balance. He lunged — one, two, three strikes in perfect sequence. She deflected them all, every one answered.
"They're too fast," Arabella whispered. "I can't… I can't even see who's winning…"
"No one," Gretel answered. "Neither's landed a blow. But—" she paused, eyes narrowing. "He's stronger. I can tell. She's more skilled… but Mikoto's body, it's just—"
"Monstrous," Andrew muttered, barely able to drag his gaze away.
Meryl sniffled, eyes wet, though her focus never broke. "Why does it feel like the ground's gonna break every time they swing…?"
Their eyes returned to the duel as another flurry erupted. Mikoto ducked beneath a slash aimed for his throat, twisting and countering with a knee-high strike that Shuten only barely danced away from. He pressed harder.
He could feel it though. Her restraint. She wasn't using anything beyond the talent of her limbs and her blade. No sorcery, no hidden tricks, no supernatural cards played. Just her hands, her feet, her sword. Mikoto's lip curled faintly, frustration mixing with grudging respect. ("She's keeping something back. Smart. She knows I'm testing her…")
Shuten grinned again, catching the thought in his eyes, voice purring as their blades locked once more. "You're clever, aren't you? Noticing what I'm not showing you." She leaned in, her red gaze flaring with amusement. "That just makes you even more intriguing."
Mikoto shoved her off with a grunt, snapping back a step, blade poised before him like a ward. "Or it makes you a coward."
The grin deepened, her teeth flashing. "Careful, Yuki. Keep speaking like that, and I might just decide to stop holding back."
"Tch, like that'll help you." Mikoto spat, in another burst of force he shot forward once more.