Laughter rolled through the village.
Honda Tadakatsu lay on his side where he had fallen, staff a few paces away, breathing shallow and uneven. His once imposing figure and aura had vanished entirely, like a lamp snuffed out mid-prayer.
The Oni leader wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.
"So," he said toward the shocked Ichigo, still smiling, "do you still wish to try your luck? Or would you rather come quietly and enjoy yourself?"
The others chuckled.
Ichigo snapped out of it and stepped forward.
"I'm up next," she said.
Her voice was calm. Flat.
The laughter dimmed.
The leader studied her properly this time, eyes tracing the sword at her side, the gray token on her hilt. Then he shrugged.
"Very well. Same rules."
She nodded once.
"Send the one who beat him."
The man rolled his shoulders as he stepped up, the others dragging the big oaf away to the side.
His knuckles were swollen and dark, veins faintly green beneath the skin. Each breath passed through his nose slowly, deliberately. Poison Fist was a crude art, often relying on practitioners developing their own antitoxins and coating their strikes in varied toxins—its effects extremely diverse depending on the poison used.
He raised his hands.
Ichigo loosened her grip and lowered her blade.
The duel began.
He struck first, a short punch aimed at her face.
She stepped back, causing the fist to miss by inches. The next came low. She turned her hips and let it graze her sleeve.
A sting bloomed immediately, crawling warmth under the skin.
She shifted her footing and activated Misty Step, one of her newly mastered techniques she purchased from the clan. It required tremendous power in her calves, flexibility of her ankles, as well as mastery of altered intent. It allowed her to step in one direction with a burst of acceleration while creating the illusion of a "definite step" in another.
It was one of the basics of the sword school, but for her, it was a technique with great compatibility. After all, she already knew a far more difficult technique—Sword Style: Mirage—and the effects and combat applications were quite similar.
Her shoulders dipped left. Her weight committed. To the eye, she moved one way.
But her feet went another.
The Poison Disciple frowned and advanced, throwing a quick chain of punches meant to herd her. She retreated unevenly, breathing heavier than necessary, blade lagging behind her movements.
He smiled.
"You're slowing down," he said.
He lunged, attacking at the apparent weakness—but he stepped in too close.
Ichigo suddenly pivoted on her heel.
Misty Step.
For a heartbeat, she looked as if she stepped away. Then she was instantly right in front of him.
The flat of her blade snapped upward and struck his jaw.
THUD.
The sound was thick and final.
The fight with the noble had shown her a whole a way of fighting due to their similar fighting styles—one completely compatible with her martial path, with a few adjustments.
His legs folded. He hit the dirt unconscious.
She exhaled.
That's one.
"Great technique!" The Oni leader clapped his hands. "You're up next, Runner."
The next martial artist snorted and stepped forward.
He was bulky, armored in muscle, iron spikes embedded along his shoulders and forearms. His stance was low, weight forward, calves coiled like springs. A pure charge specialist.
The moment the duel began, he launched instantly. The ground shook under his feet.
Ichigo did not panic. In fact, she smiled.
She had fought a beast far more terrifying than this.
She waited until the last possible instant, raised her katana, and swung just as he crashed into her. His charge tore through her as her figure dissipated—an afterimage.
He skidded, twisted, and tried to turn.
Too late.
Ichigo used her bread-and-butter technique, Sword Style: Mirage, repositioning behind him and swiftly striking the back of his head with the flat of her blade.
THUD.
He collapsed face-first.
That makes two.
The Oni leader's brows furrowed. "Fucking idiot. Only had one attack. Useless. Next."
The third man removed his mask.
His mouth was scarred. Lips cracked. The flesh around his jaw looked burned and poorly healed.
Fire-Breather Arts. A dangerous supplementary art that used breath control to expel bursts of flame. Powerful—and self-damaging.
As the battle started, he inhaled deeply.
Ichigo felt the heat before the flame appeared.
She used Misty Step to retreat, blade raised defensively as fire the size of a man washed past her, scorching her hair and burning exposed skin. Pain flared along her shoulder.
He was an offensive striker, using flame breaths to supplement his combat. Forcing Ichigo to go defensive as she gauged his flame's capabilities.
Each time he struck, he inhaled. She pressured him just enough to force another breath. Each flame was powerful—but noticeably weaker than the last.
Eventually, his breathing grew ragged as his face reddened. Fire consumed oxygen, after all.
Finally, he lunged with a punch, flame sputtering uselessly at his lips.
Ichigo slipped inside his guard with Misty Step and struck his temple with the flat of her blade.
THUD.
He went down choking and wheezing, alive.
Three.
Ichigo's breathing grew heavier now. Burns smarted across her arms.
"Next."
The Oni leader was visibly angry. "Beat her already. NEXT!"
The fourth man did not move.
He stood still as Ichigo approached, her burned arms hanging loose.
Then his arms extended and popped.
POP. KRRK. TIK. POP.
Elbows extended beyond natural limits. Shoulders cracked. He smiled.
His arms lashed outward like whips, striking from impossible angles. The air snapped with each blow.
Ichigo barely dodged the first barrage using Misty Step. Strikes came from blind angles, targeting ribs, knees, throat.
When she couldn't dodge, she blocked with the flat of her blade, each impact rattling her bones.
She tried to cut his arms as they approached, but he adjusted his strikes into awkward positions, denying her clean cutting lines.
Minutes passed.
Her breathing worsened. His did not.
"What's wrong?" the man laughed. "Tired already?"
She wasn't going to win through attrition.
She closed her eyes and made a decision.
She charged.
Misty Step, layered into full commitment. Dodging blows that should not have been avoidable, she raised her blade forward.
Sunlight fractured.
She revealed her trump card.
Swords of Deceiving Light.
Her katana split into three blades—illusory images created by reflected light, intent feints, and lightning-fast hand movements.
This was the technique the noble martial apprentice once used against her. It had imprinted itself into her mind, and she later found it among the clan's techniques.
One of the most compatible and deadly tools in her arsenal.
The man hesitated, momentarily blinded and confused, unsure which blade to risk striking.
Too late.
The first blade descended. He struck it away—illusion.
The second stabbed toward his eyes. He blocked—nothing.
The third, clearly blunt, came for his chin. He reacted instantly, ready to counter.
But—
It phased through him.
Another fake.
Ichigo appeared behind him as she layered Sword Style: Mirage beneath the illusion and struck mercilessly.
THUD.
The flat of her blade cracked against his skull.
He fell.
That's four.
Ichigo dropped to one knee, chest heaving, hands trembling. Her body screamed for rest.
The fifth martial artist stepped forward immediately, pressured by the leader's fury.
He was broad and thick-limbed, skin mottled and uneven like bark grown over muscle. With every breath, faint gray spores puffed from his nose and mouth. His eyes were dull.
A symbiotic body reforging art.
The duel began slowly. He stood in place, plain stance, unmoving.
Ichigo felt it immediately.
This one would not flinch. Would not fall for tricks. Would not stop.
He advanced in a straight line. No guard. No intent to dodge.
His body had assimilated an esoteric spore said to give toughness rivaling a squire's. The downside—he would remain an apprentice unless he found a compatible higher-grade spore.
No matter. One problem at a time, the man thought.
Ichigo circled him, checking for weak points, then suddenly burst towards him.
Her blade flashed toward his shoulder joint. The edge bit shallowly, scraping rather than cutting. The flesh beneath resisted, dense and fibrous. The man didn't react as the cut regenerated quickly.
He swung an arm wide. Slow, heavy.
Ichigo slipped past it with Misty Step, but for some reason, her timing was late. The wind of the strike clipped her ribs. Pain flared white.
She grit her teeth.
That hit? Was her condition worse that she thought?
She looked back at her opponent.
No pain response. High regeneration. No vitals.
She adjusted her strategy.
Ichigo left her katana high, then landed a powerful slash toward his thigh. The blade sank much deeper this time, blood dark and thick as sap. The man staggered half a step, then straightened as muscle visibly tightened around the wound, already closing.
She backed away, breathing uneven.
Suddenly, he surged forward.
Each swing heavy enough that blocking felt like catching a falling log. She could dodge easily, but for some reason, it felt like her body was getting slower, forcing her to move preemptively, but her stamina bled away with every shift. Her legs burned. Her lungs felt tight.
Something wasn't right. Her balance was starting to get off, her body was lagging behind her thoughts... the spores!
She needed to end this as soon as possible.
Ichigo darted in, slashed at his forearm, then retreated. Then again, at the calf. Then again, at his ribs.
The man followed predictably, absorbing damage without thought.
On the fourth exchange, she ran in from behind, slashed both his rear legs, and retreated... however, this time, she didn't.
Misty Step carried her beneath his counterstrike and she ended up under him. She pivoted low and readied a powerful slash.
I have something much tougher I need to cut once I get back. Ichigo thought to herself.
SLICE.
She aimed at the part of the leg weakened by her previous strike as the crushing sound of bark and splattering of sap exploded. Both his legs have been cut off.
The man collapsed forward, hitting the dirt with a dull thud. He still tried to rise, dragging himself with his arms with numb determination, spores clouding the air, but she kicked him in the jaw, finally knocking him out.
Weirdly enough, his limbs kept trying to move but his head stayed down.
Still... that's five.
She leaned on her sword, vision dimming at the edges.
One more, she told herself.
The Oni Leader was about to go step in himself, looking both angry and... afraid.
But the last of his martial artist goons stepped forward.
He removed his mask.
He was young and handsome. Clean-shaven, with calm, red eyes.
He had no visible scars, no warped body, nothing... just a normal martial artist.
That worried her more than anything else so far.
They faced each other in silence.
The duel began.
He didn't rush.
He was light, hopped on his feet, circled, posture relaxed. His breathing was controlled. When he moved, it looked graceful. Like every step was measured.
Ichigo tried to Misty Step forward, but he followed her anyway.
Not predicting her path. Reacting to her weight shift.
She slashed. He slipped inside her range and checked her wrist with his forearm, redirecting the blade. His other hand shot forward and seized her collar.
She twisted free using Mirage, but just barely.
Her heart hammered.
They exchanged again. This time he closed the distance fully, shoulder driving into her chest. She staggered backward, breath knocked from her lungs.
He pressed.
He was a grappling expert.
Hands like iron found her arm, then her waist. She tried to disengage with Misty Step, but he surged forward at the same moment, acceleration snapping her balance.
They hit the ground hard.
Her katana pinned awkwardly between them.
His forearm slid under her chin.
Game over.
He applied tremendous pressure.
She couldn't breathe.
She clawed at his arm, vision tunneling.
I was so close....
"I'm on your side," he whispered, breath steady. "Go limp."
Shock flickered through her.
She believed him.
Her body slackened. Her breath stilled.
He released her carefully and rolled away, rising smoothly.
"She's out," he said casually.
The Oni leader laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. I'll enjoy this one."
He cracked his knuckles. "Breaking a powerful woman has always been my dream!"
The man turned his back.
Terrible mistake.
He stepped behind the leader and locked a choke in place, perfect and sudden. The leader's hands flew up in panic as Ichigo surged forward, forcing herself upright.
She drove the flat of her blade into the leader's gut, and another quick hook to his face.
Air exploded from his lungs, blood and teeth splattered across the floor.
The man whispered something in the leader's ears.
Color drained from the Oni's face. Fear hit harder than the strike. His body went limp, collapsing unconscious, frothing by the mouth.
Silence fell over the square as he let go of the body with a thud.
Ichigo stood swaying, barely upright.
Six... out of seven huh.. not bad.
Ichigo stood there, shaking... but her martial path had become solidified.
Deferred Resolution. To delay a guaranteed outcome. To struggle and destroy that outcome.
To turn "certainty" itself into a weapon.
The man placed his hand on her shoulder, "Such a powerful warrior," he smiled, "What is your name?"
He's asking for her name? Can he really be trusted? ...Well they were doomed if not for him.
"Ichigo Furuts—"
Then Tadakatsu stirred and suddenly sat upright.
"…Huh? Ichigo, did we do it?" he asked while looking around. "Have we delivered justice?"
Ichigo looked down at him.
The image of a hero in her heart had cracked completely.