"You are serious", Arthur's master stared blankly at him, as if he couldn't quite understand it, "fine- Fine! If you want to fight, you will fight but I will not let you go in unarmed! A weapon, any weapon in my shop, you can have it. If by some miracle you survive, which by the seven I wish for, you can repay me"
Arthur smiled and walked to one of the shortswords. Not exactly a kenjutsu blade or a kunai but it would do.
"Good, now get back to work. You still have your last day of work to do!"
After he was finished in the blacksmith's shop, Arthur walked to the tourney registration booth, near the edge of oldtown, "I would like to register for the melee" he said, projecting confidence like he had been in a hundred tourneys and that wasn't so far off, really, as a shinobi in his last life, he had fought in wars and killed more men than some people would meet.
"This isn't some game, boy", the old scribe at the booth didn't look at him, his eyes transfixed on some whores standing in front of a pleasure house, no doubt undressing them in his mind already. As a man who could read and write, he must've earned quite a bit of money and most men were one and the same, what did they spend their coin on? Women and Alcohol.
"Look, old man, I am not some kid-"
"Could've fooled me"
"... as I was saying, I'm not some kid and I have every right to-"
"Buzz off kid", he glanced at him with disgust in his eyes and Arthur sighed, forming a handseal, casting a weak genjutsu. This old fool didn't have a will strong enough to warrant a more potent genjutsu and it took effect without issue, "you will register me for the melee under the name Arthur"
The old man's eyes were glazed over and he nodded, quill dancing across paper, not even asking for the registration fee.
"Arthur", the scribe muttered, ink blotting at the edge of the parchment, "registered for the melee"
Arthur released the handseal and let the genjutsu unravel like mist under the morning sun. The old man blinked once, twice, then returned his attention to the pleasure house, as if nothing had happened. Arthur stepped away from the booth without another word.
Oldtown buzzed around him, fishmongers shouting prices, carts creaking over uneven cobble, the smell of salt, horse and sweat mixing in the air. Beyond the clustered rooftops, banners snapped atop the tourney grounds. The flaming tower of house Hightower being the most prominent amongst them but the stag of house Baratheon was amongst them too, not the crowned stag of the king but the uncrowned one of his younger brother. Renly Baratheon, just a year younger than both Arthur and Lord Hightower's youngest son, was also competing in the joust. This was no minor affair, coin and reputation were at stake.
The melee would be brutal.
Unlike the joust, where knights hid behind steel and heraldry, the melee was chaos, men died regularly, which was why his master -or former master now- was so worried. A stray blow to the head, a boot on a throat a second too long… accidents were common and sometimes it wasn't accidents. The melee was the perfect opportunity to kill someone without consequences.
But Arthur, or rather Li, had lived through worse. He had seen true war.
Arthur rested his hand on the shortsword's pommel at his hip. The balance was crude compared to the kenjutsu blades he was used to back at Konoha. No elegant curve like a katana, no familiar weight of a kunai between his fingers. Just westerosi steel, straight, sturdy, practical.
It would do.
The tourney wasn't for another moon and he would use that time to get familiar with this westerosi blade, lest he made a fool of himself during the melee.
He moved to a practice yard, there were a few of them all around oldtown, where squires would train against straw opponents when their knights were too busy. This one was empty right now.
Perfect.
He unsheathed his sword and felt the weight before slashing at the straw dummy. He misjudged the angle however and only lightly grazed it. Good thing he decided to practice beforehand. A mistake like this would mean death in real combat. He swung again and again. His slashes were made for a different kind of blade but he adapted, kept what was useful and overhauled what didn't work, which was most of it.
Steel hummed through the air.
Arthur adjusted his footing first.
A katana favoured a narrow stance, hips angled, centre low and coiled for explosive movement. This blade -this straight, double edged westerosi sword- demanded something else. It wanted broader arcs, stronger wrists, shoulders committed to the cut. Less finesse, more leverage.
He shifted, left foot forward, weight balanced, hand gripping the hilt with force and precision. He cut again.
Better.
He inhaled slowly through his nose and let the rhythm take him. Strike. Recover. Thrust. Pivot. A shinobi's discipline layered over a knights weapon. The blade demanded a different approach but the basics were the same. The sword grew less foreign with each repetition. It wasn't crude or unhandly, just different. Too bad this blade was not made of chakra metal. He knew a few advanced kenjutsu techniques that he probably would never be able to use again due to the lack of chakra metal in Westeros. Perhaps there was some in the far east, in Asshai?
Anyway, his technique was okay. Even with the katana, he had never specialised in kenjutsu. What would win him the melee wouldn't be straight forward fighting but the use of ninjutsu. Water clones to create more bodies on his side, fire release to burn his opponents… swordplay would only be a supplement. Some may call it cheating but Arthur thought it was just using everything available to him. Was wearing better armor cheating? Was being better fed cheating? Of course not, so why should ninjutsu be any different?
It was just another tool.