The tip of his right foot, in a wide movement, draws an almost perfectly calibrated semi-circle on the sand trodden by a hundred feet, as if guided by a compass.
Anchoring the foot.
Freeze.
This is a very uncomfortable position, easy to lose balance in, but the sword in the right hand, extended as if a counterweight, keeps him from falling and making a spectacle in front of nearly a dozen students.
A few long breaths - and the master of the Right Wing begins his seemingly unhurried movement again. His sword soars to the sky, and his body transitions into a low stance.
"The dragon prepares for dinner," whispers one of the students, commenting on the exercise.
Mateo has always treated such pompous names and fighting styles based on "imitating" animals or mythical creatures with a hefty dose of skepticism. Even being transported to another world did not shake this opinion much. But, nevertheless, now he obediently followed all the movements of the master of the Right Wing. He followed, seeing them for the first time, and did so flawlessly, provoking the skeptical and envious whispering of many students of the "Rising Dragon" school behind his back.
In reality, repeating the kata after the master was not as easy for Mateo as it might seem from the outside. Despite the outward smoothness and leisureliness of the movements, performing them accurately and on time while keeping the rhythm was very difficult. Not easy even for him, possessing a wealth of experience. An experience that none of the locals could even think of.
Even now, he looks and feels like he's twenty, although not long ago, he started to suffer from sciatica, which struck him at forty-five. For this rejuvenation alone, Mateo, unlike other earthlings, was ready to forgive a lot to those entities that had transferred them from Earth. To be honest, to forgive almost everything, even their cruel and eerie tasks. Mateo simply accepted all this as the price for a second youth and sincerely believed it to be a very profitable deal. Yes, he could die in this world at any moment, but for the mere fact that he wakes up in the morning without back pain, for that alone, he would have given a lot.
"The dragon catches its prey!" A new whisper from behind.
This exercise is already easier, although for some students, it seems more difficult, and one of them loses his rhythm, for which he immediately gets hit by the assistant's stick below the back. But for Mateo, all these katas, which the master of the Right Wing demonstrates and forces him to repeat, are indeed not very difficult. After he passed the exams for the second dan in Kendo in Kyoto and then spent more than a year in the closed part of the Shaolin, studying Eastern techniques, all these local katas seemed like some "child's game." Especially considering his newfound youth!
After perfectly repeating the complex transition from one stance to another after the master, Mateo smiled unabashedly.
"I can't believe he's just Iron!" One of the students behind him muttered.
To tell the truth, Mateo was now sincerely enjoying life, every moment of it. Yet just recently, less than two weeks ago, it seemed to him that his new young life was going downhill. The group he got into after the second group test turned out to be very unlucky. Four out of five people in it sincerely considered themselves to be born leaders and that the rest should obey them. For several days, Mateo's sensible and calm speeches, as well as the task that was easier to perform together, kept them together. Until after another visit from the Otherworldly Entities, everything collapsed at once. A strong argument about what to do next suddenly turned into a melee. Thank all the gods, nobody died then, but the group could no longer be together. Each of the four who fancied themselves leaders called Mateo to join them. And he refused each one because, from the height of his experience and true age, he saw rot and hidden villainy in each of them.
So Mateo was left alone.
Alone in a strange unknown world, without even the little moral support of his fellow earthlings. Unfamiliar with the local rules, etiquette, and laws. And on the very first day of his solitary journey, as he was leisurely wandering down a country road to wherever his eyes took him, someone's sharp shout reached him. A shout to which he, engrossed in his thoughts, did not react. And as a result, apparently, he violated some rules.
"Hey! Stranger!" He was called out more insistently. "Bow to the master!"
Turning around, Mateo saw a whole procession following him. At its center was a lavishly decorated palanquin carried on the shoulders of four strong young men. And around it were a couple of dozen fighters dressed in red kasaya. Precisely fighters - such nuance was instantly identified by the experienced gaze of the fencing master.
At that moment, Mateo hadn't fully immersed himself in Ain's rules. He hadn't fully realized that in this world, Rank holds even more weight than experience or skill. Instantly assessing the mastery level of the one who shouted, Mateo disdainfully shrugged his shoulder and continued his journey, ignoring the call.
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He had spent over forty-five years on Earth, living by its laws, and his short time in Ain hadn't yet prompted him to change his habitual behavior. Especially since he was too deep in his thoughts at that moment and didn't attach serious importance to the road situation.
The blow to his shoulder, delivered from behind with a staff, he didn't see, but his peripheral vision caught a looming shadow. A seemingly natural light step to the left, a turn of the body, and the one who struck from behind misses, failing in his lunge. Immediately, Mateo's boot hits the attacker under the knee, and his palms snatch the staff from the enemy's hands. Continuing the movement, the earthling crashes the stolen weapon onto the attacker's nape, and the latter, without uttering a sound, falls like an unconscious sack into the road dust.
"How dare to attack a student of the School!" One of the fighters in front of the palanquin roared.
Examining the stranger's staff in his hands, Mateo realized that he had done something wrong in his deep contemplation. He didn't intend to start a fight. His body had simply reacted to the sudden attack. Now Mateo, placing the staff on the road in a gesture of reconciliation, raised his palms upward. But it didn't help. From the palanquin came a stern, demanding, and slightly irritated voice:
"Four, Iron, teach the insolent a lesson!"
"Teach a lesson" didn't mean "kill," which slightly encouraged Mateo. He even decided to bear the beating without resistance. He folded his hands at his chest and froze. Perhaps he would have just been beaten, and everything would have ended there, but one of the four fighters who rushed at him shouted:
"What a beautiful sword this tramp has! It will be mine."
Mateo could not allow this. He was not about to easily part with the wootz blade that he had received in the Arsenal, and for it, he was ready to bite anyone's throat!
The one who had shouted was the first to receive. With a quick movement of his foot, Mateo flipped up the staff lying at his feet and, continuing the motion of his hands, made a primitive combination of a feint strike to the forehead and a subsequent switch of the attack to the solar plexus. Mateo estimated the skills of the assailants to be equivalent to the fifth rank in Kendo, so such a combination went smoothly, and only three of them were left standing.
However, even this number quickly changed. The staff in Mateo's hands drew a wide arc, indicating several attacks, but the real strike, delivered by an elbow to the nose of the nearest enemy, the latter didn't notice. By that time, Mateo already knew what the local Healing magic could do and hit with full force. This strike was enough to incapacitate the second attacker for some time.
Then, almost immediately, the third and fourth were sent to watch the clouds drifting in the sky nearly simultaneously. Back on Earth, Mateo had never managed this move, a synchronous attack on two in different planes; he lacked speed and accuracy. But here, thanks to the achieved Iron rank and the Aura of Acceleration, he succeeded, and only the earthling remained standing on the dusty stretch of the country road.
"Bronze, two. Forward! And no killing!"
A new command from the palanquin, and a pair of fighters who already looked more experienced and skilled, broke into a sharp movement.
Mateo could now admit to himself that he had won that fight, one might say, by chance. Yes, he was almost head and shoulders above the attackers in skill, but they were faster, stronger, and not shy about using magic and special strikes. The difference between Iron and Bronze was significant, and there were two enemies. Nevertheless, Mateo won. Or rather, he was the only one left standing. Beaten, with bruises and scratches all over his body, with a broken nose, a dislocated right shoulder, and a strained wrist, yet he was standing while all around him lay.
In just a minute and a half, he had to go all out. He showed everything he had learned from decades of training on Earth. His fighting style was a complete surprise for the local fighters; they were not ready for such moves. And since they weren't ready, they lost. They lost, despite their higher rank and the fact that there were two of them.
He was then prepared for the worst, but instead of a new attack, the curtain of the palanquin was thrown back, and the strong, commanding voice said:
"You surprised me, traveler. Come, sit next to me, tell your story."
Thus, Mateo met one of the most respected people in the large trading city of Tries, the founder of the "Rising Dragon" school, Sanshi Vaul. And surprisingly, the earthling, who found a second youth, and the master, who had long passed his sixtieth year, quickly found a common language, somehow taking a liking to each other.
And now, for the second week, Mateo is a guest at the "Rising Dragon" school, studying the combat practices of this style closed to outsiders.
Taking a deep breath, the earthling emerged from his memories and began to repeat the new kata after the master.
Just recently, he could not even dream about such a thing. About studying applied combat mastery directly from true adepts who grew up in it. For many years he collected the lost art of ancient fencing bit by bit. He studied medieval treatises and older frescoes. He traveled the whole world and even created his own school of historical combat. Moreover, a school that was popular and had an excellent reputation throughout Europe, not just in his native Switzerland.
On Earth, few believed that a whole professor of physics, in his free time from work at CERN, was engaged in historical fencing. Such an image doesn't fit into the head of a layman. But such was Mateo Schmeichel's real hobby, or as he believed, his true calling. A calling that caught up with him in another world!
Finishing the exercise, obeying the master's gesture, the earthling sat in the lotus position right on the sand of the training field. He adjusted the mask that covered his face, which he wore without taking it off at the request of the head of the school, and smiled.
He was almost happy now. This is the life he had always dreamed of.
"Esteemed Ronin." A servant stood beside him in a respectful bow. "The master calls you for tea."
"Tell him I'll be there shortly," the fencing master immediately replied, getting to his feet and smoothing the folds on his red kasaya...
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End of Volume Two.