Ryun and Rylan stepped back, momentarily separating.
Up to that point, the duel had gone better than Rylan expected.
He hadn't landed significant damage on Ryun, but the prodigy hadn't gained a real advantage either.
His only successes had been some superficial cuts.
But an expert observer would have noticed that Ryun was less fatigued, that until now he had been the one setting the pace, dictating the rhythm, controlling the exchanges.
Rylan considered that merely holding his ground against Ryun would already be an accomplishment.
They circled each other, testing, analyzing, measuring every second.
Ryun moved first. He didn't run. One step, then another, katana aligned with his center, the blade pointing at Rylan like a natural extension of his arm.
And then he struck.
A direct, clean cut, no feints. Rylan crossed one of his sabers to deflect the katana and countered with the other, aiming for a flank. Ryun twisted his wrist, pulled the blade just enough, letting the saber pass inches from his torso. Without losing balance, he advanced half a step and launched a second strike, this time ascending.
Rylan retreated, blocked, spun, and responded with a rapid sequence: right, left—continuous pressure forcing Ryun to move. The clash of steel echoed through the cave, dry and precise.
Sparks flew from each contact.
Rylan dodged a diagonal cut from Ryun and raised his right arm to strike down—but the downward attack stopped midair. It had been a feint. In the same motion, his other hand thrust the second saber straight at Ryun's stomach, seeking a clean, decisive blow.
Ryun read the feint instantly. He spun, letting the tip pass in front of his abdomen, and executed a precise, fluid footwork sequence that placed him at Rylan's side.
The katana descended in a short, elegant arc. One swift, exact motion. The blade grazed Rylan's side before he could adjust his guard.
Rylan didn't slow down or let the cut intimidate him. He spun his torso and launched a clean strike at Ryun's neck.
Ryun stepped back and tilted with millimeter precision. The blade passed in front of his eyes, so close it seemed to brush his lashes—but it didn't touch.
Rylan pressed on. One more step, kneeling unexpectedly, using his weight to spring upward and deliver a violent ascending slash. It didn't hit flesh but tore Ryun's tunic in a clean line, a clear mark of proximity.
Ryun's eyes widened. He hadn't anticipated the tactic. His response was immediate and visceral: the katana dropped in fury, a direct cut toward Rylan's clavicle.
Rylan met it, crossing both sabers at the last moment. The impact sounded like a hammer on metal—dry, brutal. The blades screamed under pressure.
For a fraction of a second, they locked eyes. Rylan, kneeling, anchored to the ground. Ryun, upright, commanding the height advantage.
Rylan moved first. He pushed both sabers upward, lifting Ryun's blade and breaking the attack line.
Without pause, he spun and delivered a low strike to the ankles.
Ryun reacted explosively. He leapt, spinning through the air, and before landing, delivered a quick, precise kick to Rylan's face.
Rylan couldn't block. The blow landed clean in his nose, forcing him backward, sliding over the stone floor.
Struggling upright, Rylan looked up.
"I didn't know the master swordsman used kicks too," he said, spitting blood across the stone.
Ryun didn't reply immediately. He brought the katana down in a clean cut toward the ground, the blade tracing a short, dry line. Drops of Rylan's blood fell among the cave dust.
"The sword doesn't fight alone," Ryun finally said. "Your hand, your arm, your leg, and your heart must complete it."
He raised the katana and returned to guard, firm and balanced.
"If swinging steel were enough, even a butcher could call himself a swordsman."
Without another word, he charged Rylan, cutting twice in a wide arc. Rylan blocked and deflected.
Ryun stepped forward. Just one step. Enough to compress the space and force Rylan to react.
The katana traced a short, almost lazy cut toward the abdomen. Rylan crossed a saber to block.
Ryun twisted his wrist, chaining the motion. The blade shifted angle and rose toward the chest.
Rylan barely dodged. The blade didn't strike fully but slashed across his abdomen and chest in a controlled line.
It wasn't a wide cut; Ryun intentionally stopped the rise of the weapon, immediately chaining into a clean, quick lateral strike.
Rylan reacted reflexively, his left saber intercepting just enough. Simultaneously, he twisted his torso and thrust the right saber at Ryun's neck. The gap existed.
Ryun's katana closed the angle mid-motion, blocking before the blade could bite. The clash sounded dry.
From the outside, it may have seemed like a missed opportunity. From inside, Rylan realized something different.
Now he was setting the pace—for the first time since the fight began.
Rylan advanced.
He attacked relentlessly, chaining short, direct cuts, alternating heights, forcing Ryun to respond in different ways. Focused on speed over strength, aiming to overwhelm.
But Ryun responded.
Every strike blocked with absolute precision, never retreating more than necessary, adjusting the blade's angle, wrist and hip in perfect synchronization.
No nerves in defense. Only efficiency.
Rylan swung a wide horizontal cut from the left, forcing Ryun to respond. Ryun didn't. He crouched just enough, letting the saber pass above his head.
Rylan continued; his shoulder rotation flowed into a descending diagonal toward the neck. Ryun raised the katana to block.
Before Ryun could reset, Rylan twisted his wrist, launching an ascending left-handed strike. Ryun stepped back half a step, evading by inches.
Rylan pressed on. A vertical slash down. Ryun instantly raised the katana horizontally above his head, stopping the blow.
Rylan stabbed with the other saber toward the center. Ryun stepped sideways cleanly, letting the thrust pass through empty space.
Then Rylan changed the pattern. Without lowering his arms, he advanced his hips and delivered a frontal middle kick to the torso.
Dry, sudden.
Ryun didn't expect it. The impact struck his abdomen, forcing him backward for the first time, breaking balance and rhythm. He didn't fall, but the stone groaned beneath his sliding feet.
His back slammed against the cave wall. Cold stone, no room.
Rylan granted no pause. He advanced with a short roar, crossing sabers in a frontal strike designed to crush the guard.
Ryun blocked, but the impact was too heavy. The recoil pushed him further against the rock, stealing margin and options.
Rylan read it instantly.
Without lowering his blades, he aligned them at the center of Ryun's body and leapt with controlled violence, transforming momentum into a double thrust. Seeking significant damage.
Ryun reacted instinctively, leaping laterally, brushing the wall to gain distance. The maneuver avoided a full strike but wasn't perfect.
One saber grazed his side. The blade cut through cloth and flesh in a clean line. Not deep, but real. Enough to stain the kimono and mark that he was no longer unscathed.
Ryun landed, sliding a step to stabilize. Katana returned to guard in the same motion.
He brought his free hand to his side. Fingers stained red. He examined them and said,
"I see."
He raised his gaze to Rylan, withdrawing the bloodied hand.
"On the surface, the style looks aggressive and violent, built around constant pressure that gives the opponent no room to breathe. The advance never truly stops; blows are traded head-on, damage is accepted without hesitation, and everything suggests an attempt to impose a brutal rhythm from the very first second. To a casual observer, it seems direct and almost reckless, a way of fighting that relies on sheer intensity to grind the opponent down and force mistakes through exhaustion.
That reading, however, is incomplete.
Beneath that pressure lies something far more deliberate. The fight is not meant to be dominated immediately. Space is given for the opponent to act, pressure is allowed to come in, and even taking hits becomes part of the process. While all of that unfolds, observation is constant. Reactions are measured, habits are noted, timing is dissected. Both weapons are used as tools to provoke answers in different ways, not merely to strike. Once an opponent begins to adapt to one blade and believes they have grasped the pattern, the other takes over and subtly alters the flow. And when confidence finally settles in, when the opponent thinks the style has been read and understood, the angle changes, breaking that certainty and turning it into hesitation."
Without waiting for Rylan's reaction, Ryun shifted his posture
Until that moment, he had maintained a low, flexible guard, designed for reading and reacting. Now he didn't. He advanced his left foot, raised the katana above his right shoulder, blade pointing diagonally backward. Arm relaxed but ready. Body upright. Center of gravity high, dominant.
The air between them changed.
"All this time, you were holding back?" Rylan spat, angry.
Ryun shook his head slowly, never breaking eye contact.
"Of course not. A man like me would never dare. That would be insulting."
He adjusted the grip slightly, aligning wrist and blade.
"I simply love combat. Analyzing other styles is part of my path. Understanding, respecting… and then surpassing."
After a brief pause, he calmly said.
"Forgive me if it offended you."
Then they lunged at each other.
Just as Rylan prepared his attack, the prodigy appeared before him with unexpected speed.
Rylan barely had time to react, raising sabers to block.
Ryun's style shifted instantly. What had been calculated defense, precise counterattacks, measured movements, became relentless assault.
Strikes arrived from impossible angles, twisting and adjusting trajectory with near-inhuman speed. Every move pushed Rylan back, forcing unceasing reaction.
He no longer dictated the pressure. Ryun now set the pace, shifting attacks constantly, keeping Rylan on the defensive. The initial calm vanished, replaced by a whirlwind of fluid, fast, lethal attacks—anticipating Rylan's responses before they occurred.
Suddenly, Ryun surged, closing distance with an explosion of speed. His cut came from above, diagonal, a descending strike that Rylan barely deflected with a saber.
Before he could recover, Ryun spun, changing the angle to an opposite diagonal, slicing air exactly where Rylan had positioned the other saber. The blow grazed his arm.
Rylan countered instinctively—but Ryun had vanished from sight. He spun to block an unexpected cut, and the next instant received another, fast, angle-shifted, straight to the torso.
The following exchange was nearly a blur: Ryun attacked with an upward strike, immediately shifted to a low sweep, forcing Rylan to duck; rising, Ryun changed rhythm again, a rapid descending diagonal catching Rylan off guard, letting a cut pass through his defense.
Rylan was overwhelmed.
The fight continued like this for several seconds. Every exchange increased Ryun's tempo, opening deeper wounds on Rylan.
At last, Rylan understood the dynamic clearly: if he let Ryun control the rhythm, the cuts would worsen until elimination was inevitable. He needed a decisive strike, a blow to break the prodigy's cadence.
Even if it exposed him and left him open—he had no other choice.
In an offensive push, Rylan launched a horizontal strike to destabilize Ryun.
But it didn't reach him.
He hadn't blocked or dodged.
A whistle cut the air—sharp and precise—and suddenly a burning, piercing pain ran through his arm.
His left hand was cut by Ryun.
The metallic sound of blade slicing flesh and bone echoed through the cave, accompanied by the instant his fingers detached from the weapon.
The saber hit the floor with a solid thud, blood splattering the stone. Rylan barely had time to react. Instinctively, he struck with his right hand—
But Ryun was gone. Vanished from view.
Rylan spun violently, tensing every muscle, searching. No trace of him.
He scanned his surroundings, every shadow, every stone… nothing.
He even looked up, hoping to spot him—still no sign.
Then, without warning, he felt cold metal pierce his back. Ryun's katana appeared from nowhere, slowly slicing through Rylan's stomach.
Rylan could only watch in disbelief as the blade emerged from his body.
All that time, Ryun had been there, moving in step with him, back-to-back. For a fleeting moment, he became invisible to Rylan.
With a strong pull, Ryun withdrew his katana from Rylan's body.
Rylan fell forward, a pool of blood spreading beneath him.
Without looking back, Ryun walked toward the west entrance, carrying the poise and unshakable calm of a samurai.