Ashan gripped the wooden sword, holding it before him in a guarded stance. He focused on not leaving any obvious openings. Across from him, the olive-skinned boy mirrored the readiness, a meter of tense space between them.
"Start the duel!" Head Instructor Rees barked.
The boy didn't hesitate. He charged, closing the distance in a heartbeat, and brought his sword down in a powerful overhead slash.
'Fast! But manageable.'
Ashan threw himself into a roll to the left, the wooden blade whistling past his ear. 'Rolling is a necessary, if undignified, skill.'
He sprang up and immediately thrust toward his opponent's sword hand. Clank! The attack was met and countered with a sharp parry. Ashan stepped back quickly, steadying his breath, his knuckles white around the hilt.
His opponent pressed the advantage, unleashing a furious combination of slashes and thrusts. Ashan was forced into a desperate defense, parrying and rolling again, each movement draining his stamina.
"What the fuck is he doing? He should attack!" Dris muttered in frustration.
"He must have a reason for dodging. Trust his judgment," Imla countered calmly.
"But all that dodging will wear him out faster than standing his ground," Damara voiced her worry.
"Ashan has a plan. I'm sure of it!" Roderic said with forced confidence.
"He'd better," Ballio watched, anxiety etched on his face. "Or he's going to lose."
"Well, he's holding on. He looks somewhat natural," Helma commented with a shrug.
'Natural? Hardly. I've watched a thousand duels in movies and games, but watching and doing are worlds apart. I'm running on instinct alone. I can't keep this up.'
His movements were slowing. A stinging blow caught his forearm, another his shin. The pain was a sharp, clarifying fire.
"Nowhere left to run!" the olive-skinned boy smirked, seeing Ashan cornered, his sword arm drooping.
Seeing his opening, the boy committed to a final, decisive downward slash aimed at Ashan's right shoulder.
In that moment, Ashan's own lips curled into a faint smirk. The faint grayish-white swirls in his eyes faded. 'Viksana!'
He had been using the ability in bursts, analyzing the flood of information that appeared like a panel in his mind—a process that threatened to split his skull. But within the data, he found what he needed: weak points.
'Right rib cage. Upper left thigh. The dominant wrist.' Grayish-white dots, visible only to him, bloomed over his opponent's body like targets.
As the slash descended, Ashan didn't retreat. He lunged forward. Ignoring the impending strike, he drove the tip of his sword into the boy's right ribs, followed by a sharp jab to the upper thigh. As the boy recoiled in shock and pain, Ashan finished with an upward slash against his wrist.
Clank! The wooden sword clattered to the ground. The boy crumpled, grimacing. "You red-haired fucker!" he cursed through gritted teeth.
"The duel is over! Team 7 wins! Next fighters, step forward!" Rees announced.
'Ouch. That guy did a number on me. I fought rashly. Against a truly skilled opponent, I'd be dead for the second time. This was a reality check: only my own strength will keep me alive.' His body throbbed with pain, but the victory left him not with joy, but a cold, sharp motivation.
"Whoa! That was something else! One second you're cornered, the next you're whacking him senseless!" Dris praised, clapping him on the back.
"Yeah, that was awesome!" Roderic agreed.
The whole team buzzed with the win.
"How did you do it?" Ballio asked, hesitant.
Ashan took a moment, catching his breath. "By observing. And then deceiving."
The team contemplated his cryptic words.
"Are you injured?" Damara asked, concerned.
"Your skin is all red," Imla observed, her eyes scanning the welts on his arms.
"She's right, you're all red," Helma said, reaching out to lightly touch his swollen hand.
Ashan winced sharply. "Don't touch it!"
"Ah! Sorry!" Helma recoiled, apologizing.
"My turn. Time to beat some ass," Dris growled, gripping his sword.
"Don't lose, numbskull," Roderic scoffed.
"Don't need to tell me," Dris waved him off.
"Dris!" Ashan called out, stopping him. He met Dris's eyes, clenched his own fist, and offered a slight, pained smile. "Break his bones."
Dris's lips curled into a wicked grin. He nodded and strode to the arena.
"Start the duel!"
Dris's opponent was smaller and thinner, struggling to hold the sword properly. Dris gave him no quarter, overwhelming him with a brutal onslaught of thrusts and slashes. In moments, the boy's sword was knocked from his grasp.
"The duel is over! Team 7 wins!"
Dris returned unscathed. "See? That's how you win a duel," he boasted.
Roderic clicked his tongue. "Your opponent was weak. My turn now."
"Be careful," Ballio said.
"Don't worry." Roderic stepped forward.
The next duel was evenly matched. Both fighters were of similar build, and the battle reached a stalemate. Roderic, having watched Ashan, incorporated the rolling dodge.
'An opportunity!' He rolled right to evade a downward slash, popped up instantly, and drove a solid thrust into his opponent's arm.
"The duel is over! Team 7 wins!"
"Thanks for the trick, Ashan. The roll worked," Roderic said, grateful.
"We're a team. No thanks needed," Ashan waved it off. He looked at the remaining members. "Who's next?"
Helma looked hesitant. "I'll go last."
"I will go," Imla stated calmly.
Ballio and Damara nodded, wishing her luck.
"Start the duel!"
Imla's opponent, a boy with muddy brown hair, lunged forward aggressively, swinging with wild, energy-wasting fury. Imla avoided every attack with nimble, precise steps.
'A fool. He's exhausting himself for nothing.'
Then, she did the unexpected. She threw her wooden sword high into the air. The boy froze, his eyes instinctively tracking the spinning weapon overhead.
In that split second of distraction, Imla moved. She clenched her fist, channeling force from the ground through her hips, and landed a clean, powerful punch squarely on his chin.
As her sword came back down, she caught it effortlessly and finished with a downward slash that knocked the dazed boy's sword from his hand.
"The duel is over! Team 7 wins!"
The boy stood bewildered, clutching his jaw. "Head Instructor! You said we lose if our sword falls! She threw hers! How is that not a loss?"
Rees fixed him with an angry glare. "Are you deaf, boy? The condition is to disarm your opponent and make their sword hit the ground. Her sword was never disarmed; she released it voluntarily. It never touched the ground before she retrieved it."
The boy lowered his head in shame.
"Looks like you're not a complete idiot. Just a partial one," Imla scoffed, walking back to her team.
"Wow, Imla! When you threw your sword, my heart stopped!" Damara exclaimed, a mix of shock and admiration on her face.
The others echoed the sentiment.
"You just have to understand the rules clearly," Imla replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
'Perceptive. She found the loophole instantly. I need to keep my guard up around her,' Ashan thought, silently reassessing his teammate.
"Ballio, if it's okay, can I go next?" Damara asked.
"Oh, sure. Go ahead," Ballio replied.
"Start the duel!"
This time, both teams sent out their female candidates. Damara faced the only girl in Team 13.
'She's the only girl... Huh. Stop right there. No lustful thoughts. Is it lust an innate sin all men are born with?' Ashan quipped internally, a wry smile touching his lips as the next duel began.