Tenjo had held the chance for victory, and she had let it slip from her grasp. There was no way the same tactic would work a second time, and it had taken her the entirety of the match to come up with that one.

  Her opponent would be in the same situation though, having just avoided death by a hair, and having her main strategy seen though and countered. In that case, they would both need to end things as quickly as possible, with everything having been laid on the table.

  She seized the opening move, attempting to close the space into range before her enemy had the ability to bring the point of her sword back up between them. Instead of attempting that though, she aimed a cut up across the center of her chest.

  As Tenjo defended against it, the sword changed, bending at the edge around where the swords met with the force of the blow, almost as though it had become a sharpened metal whip.

  She stiffened her feet and forced herself to stop so that the tip cut past in front of her, and then followed through with the motion as soon as it solidified again. The sword was now held at an awkward position, past her guard but in a situation where no force could be put behind any cut.

  A single powerful blow to where the blade met the hilt was enough to send it falling downward, the lighter weapon knocked out of her hand and onto the blood-filled stones below. There was a mute acceptance from her opponent as she bent to retrieve the weapon as Tenjo made her way off the slightly raised platform.

Two duels had been enough for her to show her ability, and each one after that would only be another unneeded risk. In addition, with everyone else having had multiples chances to see her fighting styles, she would be at a clear disadvantage.

  A gust of wind that stung her chest revealed the dodge hadn't been as perfect as she thought, another fainter wound crossing the one from her first duel. It was shallow enough that she hadn't noticed, hidden beneath the folds of her clothing.

  Her return was met with a mixed response from her family, each one wearing a different expression on their face. Encouragement for Daichi was counterbalanced by a look of contempt from her mother, who looked as though it was by the thinnest thread that she was holding her in her desire to voice her anger.

  That paled though, next to the faint look of disappointment on her grandfather's normally emotionless face as he looked at her. None of them said a word as she excused herself, and that sinking feeling of failure grew only stronger as she continued out of the house, and through the village.

  Her bloody clothes drew the eyes of some of the festive goers, but she quickly left them behind, mindlessly following her path by instinct while her mind replayed her failures again and again and again.

  She still felt the guilt from the injury she had dealt, yet she also felt as though her inability to follow through with the other strike was a failure. But if she had landed the blow, she couldn't help but think she would feel upset about that as well.

  No matter what choice she made, she would still have ended up here now, full of regret for both everything she had done and everything she hadn't. The unfairness of it all made her want to scream out into the gathering darkness.

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  The night sky had truly fallen now, the last of the sunset disappearing under the horizon. The clouds from before had gathered, concealing the light of the stars and moons from truly shining. The path before her was dim enough that anyone without an aura would struggle to see.

  Tenjo then realized where she had walked to, the same dojo where she had spent this afternoon. Why was she here again? Based on some unknown impulse, she stepped inside. It was deserted, the floor now clean after Daichi's sweeping.

  Practicing swordplay with wooden swords was fine. She never had any problem trying her best to land a strike on her brother, after all, no guilt or hesitation no matter how much force she put into it. If that was the case, even for her own family, then why did she struggle to land an attack on a stranger aiming to cut her down?

  Or rather, she hadn't had a problem until after she first cut off his hand. It was the guilt after that which made her chest clench and her stomach turn. For that matter, she had never landed a hit on Daichi, had she?

  Did she really even have the conviction to strike him with even a practice blade, or would that result in inner turmoil as well? As the thoughts raced through her head, she sank to the ground and put it in her hands, trying to think clearly.

  The persistent pain from where she had been cut strengthened as she bent, but she made no attempt to lessen it, instead focusing on the pain as a way to clear her mind.

  Getting hit hurt. Getting cut even more. Wasn't that enough of a reason to defend herself in combat however she needed to? In order to prevent herself from being the one bent over in pain and fear instead?

  Tenjo stood back up, and drew the sword still at her side. The length of sharpened steel that had always held such an image of beauty for her before now seemed off, that image twisted and painful to look at. The edge that cleanly soared through targets now something sharp enough to repel her eyes from it.

  Even with the katana in her hands, standing in this area of training, she was unable to bring thoughts of better movements and techniques to her concentration. Cut faster, strike harder, from closer or farther away, more accurately, with better timing.

  Swing the sword, again and again and again. That was what she had spent seven long years doing. Was it wasted time, squandered towards an impossible goal with a block set by her own mind that no amount of training could overcome?

  As she sheathed the weapon, she took another breath, and with its release imagined all her worries flowing out with it. They flowed right back in with the next breath.

  It had been long enough that the test was likely now nearing completion, and she would have to return in order to receive any forthcoming offers to become a master's disciple. As she slowly made her way back along the same path, Tenjo couldn't help but listen to the small nagging fear in the back of her mind that there wouldn't be a single one.

  She had won both of her matches, and proved her skill with both of her styles, even against unknown opponents. Surely that would earn her at least the eye of a single person who thought she had potential.

  Perhaps one of the masters whose students she had defeated would be interested, having seen her defeat their own trained pupil. Though, if their schools worked the same as her own, they would have been lucky to have had more than a handful of lessons directly from the master. In that case, she might not have done anything all that impressive by taking on a pair of throwaway students.

  Something caught her eye, just off the path where the woods were thicker. A gleam of metal that flashed when a beam of moonlight snuck through the clouds. It was accompanied by a scent that she had for the first time experienced less than an hour before.

  The overwhelming smell of freshly spilled blood.

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                          Chapter end

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