Tenjo took a deep breath and then slowly let it out as she stared past the tip of her sword towards her opponent. As she did, she imagined her whole body relaxing, every little bit of tension draining out, leaving it loose and ready to snap into motion at any time.

  Her sword was made of seasoned oak, a replica of a katana. Today, her training partner wielded an identical one, both with dented edges from the heavy use they had been put through time and time again in their sparring matches today.

  They had exchanged so many blows that the skin on her hands had blistered despite her calluses and then ripped open, causing her sweat to make her palms sting as she gripped the blade. All over her body she could feel the impacts of his finishing blows from their previous matches.

  Her stance had her sword gripped low, just in front of her gut, with the tip rising up to point at the base of her opponent’s throat, so that if he advanced in a straight line it would pierce through and exit from the back of his neck. This stance was one of the most versatile, the sword in a perfectly centered position that could respond to an attack from any direction instantly.

  Her eyes were fixed on the man across from her, focused on every tiny movement he made. Slowly, he lifted his own weapon from a matching stance to one where the hilt was next to his eyes, and the tip pointed down towards her own.

  Then he burst into motion, and the tip began to move forward towards her face before spinning back past his head into a slash poised to strike the side of her neck. She struck back at it, and the weapons smacked into one another with a clack before his blade continued past, deflecting off hers to the other side to chop down at her shoulder in another attack.

  She defended again, and the blows continued to come in at the same speed, each one using the movement of the last without any hesitation. While only a single one needed to slip through, Tenjo needed to defend against each one fully, a single failure meaning the end.

  The vibrations shook down the wood and into her hands, making them began to feel numb from the force. Her breath became labored as each blow came closer to striking her, and her defense slowly began to crumble before the onslaught.

  Jumping backwards, she attempted to open space between them and break the rhythm, but he sprang at the same moment, keeping her in range of his blade. Before her feet settled on the ground, she unleashed a counter strike, the awkward defending position of her sword now a prime chance to attack due to the change in position.

  It rose up in a slash primed to land at the base of his ribs, but his blade instead took the faster route, aiming towards her exposed front wrist. It never landed. Halfway through the movement, Tenjo twisted her strike, and his sword glanced off it as she pushed it forward into a stab that was already inside his guard.

  The moment she had landed, her feet both planted themselves solidly on the floor, but his rush never stopped. He followed his sword as it was deflected to the side, and stepped past her as the thrust slid just past his ribs.

  As she started the movement of bringing her own sword around to her side, he struck her, landing his blow along her half-raised arm and the back corner of her ribs. The full force carried over, and her sword clattered to the ground as she instinctively stiffened with the pain and shock, her hands opening by reflex.

  She opened her mouth to speak, then thought better and let out a long breath through her teeth, holding it until her chest became tight from the lack of air. Her only response was a low chuckle from the victor.

  Daichi made no attempt to hide the grin on his face as she turned towards him, her body still stinging from the impact of the blow.

  “That was pretty good,” He said. “I nearly fell for the thrust at the end there.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “I completely forgot about my feet though,” Tenjo replied. “I was too focused on my attack, so I couldn’t even respond when you dodged me.”

  “Just because it failed once doesn’t mean that it’s not a good technique,” He said. “You just used it in the wrong moment.”

  It was her turn to let out a chuckle. “I’m starting to think the right moment is when I’m fighting someone else, judging by my history of challenging you.”

  As she took a knee in order to pick her weapon up again, she noted that even more dents had been put in it, the edge almost entirely rounded away. Any more matches with this one, and it was likely to snap into pieces.

  “I think that’s enough for today,” Daichi said. “It’s been a while since I’ve fought this many matches straight in a row.

  The floor of the dojo was hard stone, one of the few substances that wouldn’t be destroyed in hours under the weight of swordsmen’s auras in combat. Despite that, after spending the better part of the day bearing constant battles, in many places the top had been worn away, leaving a faint layer of dust over the floor that needed to be swept.

  Putting the wooden swords away and collecting a broom, Tenjo began to sweep the floor clean. As soon as she started, her former opponent held out his hand for the broom.

  “I’ve got all day,” He said. “You, on the other hand, have something to take care of tonight.”

  As she handed it over, she couldn’t help but notice that his hands were unharmed, the skin the same as when they started this morning despite the countless strikes his sword had taken and dealt out in their sparring.

  She stepped out into the sunlight, feeling the fresh air wash over her for the first time in hours. The soft breeze was soothing, almost as though it was washing away the aches and pains from her losses.

  The sparring room was one of three in the village, all from the same school of swordsmanship. Despite that though, it was rare for just two people to have it by themselves. However, the last day of the year was a day for festivals and relaxation, where few people could be caught training.

  For Tenjo though, this was the one day she could least afford to hold off on polishing her skills. Tonight, was an event that happened twice every year, when all the local masters of swordsmanship would come together, and aspiring students would compete for the right to become a disciple.

  The pathway to the main school took her through the village, dodging around festive villagers and fellow students, all preparing for the celebration and the event tonight. Most students never ended up competing to become a disciple, happy with pursuing the path of the blade as a hobby rather than truly dedicating their lives to it.

  The ground was dusty, the last rain having been several weeks prior. She looked up and saw grey clouds gathering on the horizon. Stopping for a moment, she made a silent prayer to the spirit of the storm that the rain wouldn’t arrive tonight.

  Beside the sword school was a house, large enough that it could be called a mansion, but simple and unadorned with the typical trappings of a nobleman. There were no guards outside the entrance, and she didn’t pass a single person as she made her way down the halls to her destination.

  A single sliding door of wood stood at the end of the hallway, with a crest of a crescent moon drawn on it with a practiced hand. From in that room Tenjo could feel an aura that pulsed with life and power, threatening to overwhelm her at any moment.

  She knocked twice, awaiting a response before opening the door.

  “Enter,” It came, curt and simple.

  Swallowing down the saliva that had gathered in her mouth, she slowly slid it open and stepped inside with a bow. As she closed the door behind her, she could feel the master's gaze bore into her back, taking note of ever detail about her in an instant.

  The master’s name was Noboru Hitamuki. His second name was given to him by the empire when he was raised to nobility for his skill with a sword, and his achievements for the nation. He had clawed his way up from a family of lowly laborers, and made himself a lord and swordsman known far and wide through nothing but his blade alone.

  Only his hands, neck, and face were exposed, yet numerous scars could be seen, faded white lines running under his skin. That skin had barely begun to crease in spite of his many years, and his hair had only partially begun to gray, a result of the longevity granted to a true master.

  Tenjo could feel her hands instinctively clench on her thighs as she sat at the table before him, fingernails digging into the raw skin. As the master slowly poured two cups of tea from a pot on his table, she struggled to gather her nerves to speak.

  He beat her to it, his voice silencing her inner struggle and seizing her attention instantly.

  “Tonight,” He said slowly, eyes fixed on hers. “Is the night you die.”

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Chapter end

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