Saya slowly unsheathed her sword, inspecting it while laying it on her arm. It still had the same dull shine back when Kwazhak took Mashuu and her to the Kinto Smithy. However the scars from each battle took a toll on the blade, scratches and depressions hammered into the metal. When she glided a cloth along the sides of it, rough metal splinters gave tiny gnashes.
After getting a feel of the weapon, she practiced swinging it a few times, using both hands. It strained her stomach area, since Saya had not fully recovered. Her body gradually remembered the nostalgic weight the scimitar possessed, as she performed the katas and kibondongjak her father and Kwazhak taught her.
In a quiet block of Taikai-ku, she whirled her blade to various positions, in sync with the falling petals of the blood lilies. Like a corkscrew Saya’s body propelled into x and eleven blocks, returning the imaginary parry with the sharp sound of cutting air. Drifting into a great stance, her legs locked into place before switching stances on the concrete floor.
She didn’t know where Suruj had gone off to, nor the result of Jose and Kwazhak’s match, but after she was discharged from the infirmary, she needed to move. Saya couldn’t just wait and take orders, she had to make sure she would contribute to the rebellion.
“Wham! Niktar slams Suruj into the sand with that counter!”
Saya watched from the hallway connecting the spectator stand to the atrium. She desperately looked around for a view of the arena, even going as far as to tiptoe above people’s heads. Eventually she got through the crowd, only to see Suruj being beaten to a pulp. Getting kicked in the face, jabbed in the stomach, dislocating his shoulder, Saya tensed up. If it went on for longer, then Suruj was likely to die. Pushing people’s shoulders away, she had one idea in mind. The private palanquinesque structure, where the champion sat. Once Saya made sure that she was within earshot, she gave a solemn shout.
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“Ms. Toya! Stop this madness at once!” She let out, her silver hair drooping along with her head. For a while, Saya’s cry yielded no response. The crowd around her drilled their eyes at her, bewildered. It was when she was on the verge of collapsing from the heat, that the champion came out and stood before her.
“And who are you?” Those were the words Saya first heard from the champion.
“...” Saya swallowed, “Izdaha Saya. Please save my friend, Suruj Zundui,” She got down on her knees to prostrate.
“Saya… Hmph. Get up,” She brought her up from the ground, intrigued by her name. “You ask of me to stop this fight? Then what do you propose to me?”
“F-” Saya stuttered. Her hands trembled, trying to think of something.
“Time’s up! After a fierce one-sided beatdown, both of them are on the ground! You know the rules, folks, now getta voting!”
“Here’s this; if you agree to spar with me, then I will save this Buhang,” Toya answered for her, crossing her arms. Saya quickly nodded. Once Toya got her consent, she turned around and confronted the announcer.
“It seems you’ve returned back to health,” Toya suddenly arrived at the block, taking Saya by surprise. She stopped swinging her scimitar to see that Toya had two shinai practice swords made from sandwood. “We’ll use these, to even the odds.”
She tossed one towards Saya, rolling onto her foot. For a moment, she hesitated to sheathe her sword. She didn’t know why Toya thought up of sparring, but if it saved Suruj’s life for another day, then it was worth it.
“Izdaha Saya… I look forward to seeing your swordsmanship,” Toya said calmly, before matching the distance between them, with a menacing glint in her eyes.