The blazing sun, directly overhead, seemed to press down on one's shoulders as if a bag of cement had been carelessly tossed onto them. It took considerable effort for Mateo not to drop to one knee, but he managed to keep his back straight. To the earthling, after agreeing to the ritual and drinking the potion, it felt as if his spine had been ripped out. Overwhelming weakness descended upon him like an avalanche. Every muscle in his body seemed to turn into jelly, and his bones into fragile glass. Even taking a single step forward felt like a challenging task. However, the earthling was mentally prepared for this turn of events. He knew that, in reality, his muscles and bones were fine. All the sensations were merely the consequences of the Great Tree ritual, which temporarily blocked his access to the energy of the Core.
Gathering his strength, the fencing master raised his staff and, fighting off the weakness, twirled it like a helicopter blade. The air didn't shriek from this sharp movement, plaintively parting before the earthling's weapon as it had during morning training, but merely rustled faintly.
Lifting his gaze, Mateo surveyed his opponents. They were clearly faring worse than he was. After all, he had only fallen to the Wooden rank from Iron, whereas the naval officer, who had reached the grand finals in the Steel bracket, was struggling far more. The officer's situation was exacerbated by the fact that his body had lost the memory of how it could live without the support of the Core's energy, as his days at the Wooden rank were far behind him.
Last night, the head of the "Rising Dragon" school had explained to the fencing master in a private conversation that the duel under the ritual of the Great Tree was not so much a battle between fighters as it was a personal struggle against one's own weakness. For most locals, this was undoubtedly true. Just look at the torment of Laore Tempai. His inability to even keep his back straight, his hands barely holding onto his sword, made it clear that the school head's words were truthful.
However, unlike Ain's inhabitants, the ritual and the potion hadn't affected Mateo as profoundly. The fencing master had only recently, less than a couple of months ago, learned of the Core. His body still remembered what it felt like to rely solely on its usual physical capabilities. In less than a minute, the masked man had adapted. He still felt weak, and he missed the Auras, but Mateo still had full control over his body. To test himself, the fencing master executed the initial kata from the warm-up routine of the "Rising Dragon" school - just four movements, not overly complicated but impressive to an outsider - and he was satisfied. After finishing this brief routine, Mateo once again looked at his grand final opponents.
The naval officer still hadn't recovered; even his gaze was unfocused, let alone anything more significant. But the earthling, who stood seemingly relaxed leaning on his spear, looked almost ready for battle. Almost, but not quite.
Many, without any hesitation, would have promptly used their temporary advantage over the enemy if they were in Mateo's place. They would have attacked now - when they were ready, and their enemies hadn't fully adapted to the unfamiliar conditions. However, the fencing master had his reasons. Planting his staff into the arena's sand, he assumed a stance of deliberate anticipation. As soon as he did that, he noticed a peculiar, understanding smile flit across the face of the man who called himself Raven. The earthling then raised his hand, showing the fencing master two fingers. Without a moment's hesitation, Mateo nodded in response, readily willing to wait the two minutes.
For almost a minute, Raven stood still, and then he began to move. His actions were smooth, cautious, and fluid, like water in a calm river. The earthling's body seemed to have no bones; he flowed from one pose to another like a liquid taking the shape of the container it's poured into. These movements were so familiar to the fencing master that he wanted to rub his eyes in disbelief. When, after changing several positions, Raven swung his spear like a staff and froze in a stance uncommon for Ain, goosebumps of immense size ran down Mateo's back. The former CERN engineer easily recognized in the set performed by the earthling the favorite exercise of Master Wan Yi — the exercise of the master who had taught Mateo himself for over a year when he lived within the walls of a school at the Shaolin Monastery.
It seemed impossible that two students of the same master would meet in a tournament in another world, but it happened. Only Wan Yi and his students performed this set of forms in the way Raven just demonstrated: viscous, slow, and fluid. No one else did it in that way. This observation explained much to the fencing master about the nature of the earthling's skills. Most likely, like Mateo, even before being transferred to Ain, he was a well-trained fighter and didn't acquire his skills magically in this world, as the engineer-physicist initially thought.
Laore Tempai, who had felt better, mistook Mateo's relaxed stance for weakness, rushed towards the earthling with all his might, and swung. The movements of the fighter demoted to the Wooden rank were so slow and clumsy that even students in their first month of training would have been embarrassed if they had executed such a clunky attack in public. The fencing master easily sidestepped the line of attack and then, with a sharp blow of his staff to the temple area, knocked out his assailant in one move. This naval officer didn't interest the earthling in the slightest since he hadn't shown anything unusual or noteworthy throughout the tournament. Consequently, Mateo had no intention of humoring him.
If Laore Tempai had been at his Steel rank, that staff strike wouldn't have knocked him out cold and, most likely, wouldn't have hit him at all. But the officer, being brought down to the level of Wood, simply couldn't time his movements correctly; his block was late. As a result, the naval officer took the staff blow with his head, his knees buckling instantly, and he fell to the arena's sand like a sack of rice.
Signaling a formal finishing move to the neck area, the fencing master nodded to the judges so they could remove the unconscious body from the sand. The lead steward noticed this gesture but did not give the command to remove the first loser right away. He first looked at Raven and, only after seeing his approving nod, gave the appropriate order. As the attendants entered the arena with stretchers, loaded Laore Tempai on them, and carried the officer away, the earthlings dispersed in different directions. Only when there were two left on the sand did they begin to converge slowly. Step by step, in a broad spiral.
Mateo closely watched every move of Raven. How he placed his foot on the sand, how he held the spear, how his fingers lay on the shaft. How straight his back was when walking, and how bent his knees were. All these details told the fencing master a lot, and with every meter of their approach, a more sincere smile appeared on the face of the former engineer-physicist.
He had seen all of Raven's fights, but it's one thing to watch from the stands and another to stand on the sand opposite him. Now Mateo had no doubts – he had met a fencer at least of his level. This was not a comparison in strength. In the same "Rising Dragon" school, there were masters who, due to the difference in ranks, could kill the earthling with a single snap. This was a comparison in pure weapon mastery, without the peculiarities of this world: magic, auras, enhancements, skills, and much more.
The fencing master's thoughts flowed as smoothly as his steps. But smoothly doesn't mean slowly. The former engineer-physicist compared, assessed, predicted, and when this peculiar analysis was almost complete, the forecast turned out to be grim. Mateo realized that in a direct confrontation, he would lose. Having stopped, the fencing master paused for a moment, grabbed his staff with one hand, then changed the direction of movement. The weapon, which had faithfully served him all the way to the grand finale, now felt alien. Almost a week ago, Mateo chose a staff not because he was best at this type of weapon. The reason for such a choice was that he was unsure of both his own skill and the skill of his future opponents. He didn't want to kill, even accidentally, so he settled on such a weapon as a simple staff. No, this didn't mean that Mateo was holding back - he was pretty good with a staff, one can say, even very good. It's just that his opponent now was of such a level of mastery that mere "good" wouldn't be enough.
Spear has the upper hand over staff. Essentially, both are long sticks, but one has a tip, and the other doesn't – and that's a big difference.
From many students of the "Rising Dragon" school, the former engineer-physicist had often heard the belief that a "true master" must prevail with any weapon. That, for a "true master," it doesn't matter what's in his hands, and he should confidently win with both a sword and a simple stick, or even chopsticks. Of course, if we're talking about a master's encounter with a random opponent off the street, the students' arguments had some merit. However, when facing roughly equal opponents, this youthful absolutism failed.
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Back on Earth, Mateo gave his students an example of a duel between an Olympic fencing champion and a mere national-level master in the same sport by familiar rules. There's no doubt that the Olympic champion is the best of the best at that moment. By Ain's standards, he's a master of masters, and he's up against just a good, average fighter. But would the champion win if, instead of his familiar epee, he was given, say, a real combat saber or a knightly longsword, even of the same length he's accustomed to, and his opponent kept his usual weapon? No, the champion wouldn't win. He'd lose outright - without even a shadow of a chance.
In confrontations of roughly equal skills, the difference in weaponry often plays a key role. If Mateo had his favorite pair in hand right now, the schiavona and buckler, then Raven's spear wouldn't have fazed him. But he was armed with a staff, and he felt a treacherous chill of slight uncertainty run down his spine. However, this was a fleeting weakness. The fencing master hadn't intended to win the Alchemists' Guild tournament from the start; he wanted to test himself and enjoy the duels. So the chill along his spine was quickly swept away by the warmth of flowing blood and a surge of adrenaline.
Despite the less-than-ideal weapon, Mateo wasn't going to give up in advance. A fight is not just a clash of skills, expertise, and reflexes honed over hundreds of training sessions; it's also a duel of minds. And this mental duel was what the fencing master intended to win, after which the grand finale's victory would naturally fall into his hands. Not that it mattered to him to come out on top in this tournament. This detail meant nothing to the earthling; he just wanted to defeat this particular opponent. He desired it down to a slight tremor in his fingertips.
Raven made a big mistake. He revealed himself. For his warm-up, he used an earthly routine, not a local one. An exercise whose roots were familiar to Mateo. Of course, the ravenhead couldn't know that, by a mere warm-up, he had given away not only his primary school but even provided the opponent with his teacher's name. And the fact that the core of the black-haired one's style was the Shaolin school, slightly adapted for the externally similar local Heron style, the fencing master no longer doubted. He had seen all of Raven's previous fights and watched how he moved now. Every detail: how the ravenhead held the spear, placed his feet, turned his torso, how he tilted his head – all these details came together in Mateo's mind to form a complete image. And as soon as this happened, the fencing master knew how to act.
When only about twenty steps separated the two earthlings, Mateo stopped. He took one of the classical stances of Wushu and, starting with lan-fa, the cross movements of the staff, continued the motion performing jiao-fa. After which, he sharply shifted this circular rotation of the staff ends into bao-fa, a quick lunge from bottom to top, at the head of the imaginary opponent.
Got him! His opponent took the bait! Raven didn't falter, didn't stumble, but his eyes widened in surprise, and his palms involuntarily gripped the spear shaft slightly differently. Up until this point, Mateo had been demonstrating the style of the "Rising Dragon" school, and now he suddenly showed something entirely different. Moreover, this difference should have been familiar to his opponent.
The second proof that the ravenhead had swallowed the bait was his sharper and more confident movements. This could happen if Raven understood the primary school of his opponent and realized he was quite familiar with it. And since he recognized it, he thinks he has figured out Mateo. The first step on the path to victory was taken.
Now, the second step had to be made. Lead the opponent's thoughts to confidence and, as a result, make him act according to a particular pattern. The plan of the former engineer-physicist benefited from the fact that the ravenhead was in no hurry to attack first. The black-haired man was closing the distance slowly, approaching Mateo in a wide spiral. During this time, the fencing master took advantage and began performing preparatory katas - exercises that should be familiar to a student of Wan Yi. Watching the eyes of the ravenhead closely, the fencing master noticed fleeting recognition of the various techniques and combinations he demonstrated. When only seven meters separated the earthlings, a smile of superiority could be seen on Raven's face. The ravenhead was already confident in his victory. They hadn't crossed weapons yet, but the black-haired man had no doubt about who would ascend to the winner's pedestal of the Alchemists' Guild tournament today. Mentally, he had already fought and won their battle. The second step to victory was taken. All that remained was the third step – surprise and, consequently, win.
The staff swung, tracing an upward arc. Oh, if only he had a spear in his hands, everything would be much easier. But he didn't have a spear, only a staff, which meant he had to take a risk. More precisely, first, completely lull the black-haired one's vigilance and then deliver only one but unexpected and precise strike.
Confident in his eventual victory, Raven engaged in the fencing master's game. Like Mateo, he was one of those who could enjoy a fight, and the fact that he was confident of winning allowed the black-haired one to prolong this pleasure. For a minute, they danced at the furthest distance, occasionally attacking, or, rather, imitating these attacks. Then they clinched, exchanging swift and powerful blows. Then, they parted again to continue the dance. Raven's eyes shone with excitement. The tips of his teeth even became visible in his smile. The ravenhead one was enjoying the fight, oblivious to the fact that he had already lost. Almost three times, Mateo could have struck his fingers. But due to the unfavorable angle of the attack, these strikes wouldn't have made Raven drop his weapon. Hence, the fencing master refrained. Unlike his opponent, who practiced eastern spear schools and was a true master in them, Mateo had an ace up his sleeve. The fencing master was equally proficient in both the eastern and western fencing schools of Earth, and his opponent would soon realize this. He would realize, but it would be too late to change anything.
It took a lot for the fencing master to restrain himself from responding to Raven's smug smile with one of his own, equally confident. Their duel swirled and clashed, separated, but soon exploded in a whirlwind of new blows. Both fighters relished every second, every moment of the fight, and neither wanted to end it quickly. But both were certain they could end it at any moment. Of course, end it with their victory. Blocking another attack, Mateo spun around and allowed a glimpse of his smile. Raven's problem was that his confidence was mistaken. The ravenhead had already lost the duel of wits, and he would soon lose the weapon fight as well.
Their duel lasted a quarter of an hour. Without the energy support of the Core, both earthlings breathed heavily. Yes, the Great Tree ritual couldn't take away passive bonuses from Achievements, such as "Mithril Body." But still, the fight was happening at such speeds that, even considering this Achievement, both were exhausted.
Pretending to launch a final assault, Mateo sped up and dashed forward. The staff in his hands merged into a single canvas of rotation, but this didn't worry the ravenhead. The latter adjusted his grip on the spear and charged on. That's precisely what the fencing master was waiting for. A flurry of swift strikes followed, and in line with Eastern tradition, the staff's low thrust met the spear's shaft. The shaft, not the tip. Raven didn't break the distance as taught in Western schools. He didn't use the advantage of the tip as Spanish or German treatises dictate. He took the hit as it's done in the East. And... He got caught.
The staff, swift as a mongoose, shifted its direction, deflecting the opposing shaft aside and aimed for the vulnerable throat of the astonished adversary. His spear was parried, too far from the attack line to defend.
It was a victo...
The unexpected leg strike caused Mateo to tumble in the sand, his thrust missing the ravenhead's throat by almost half a meter. The latter didn't think to block the fencing master's staff, realizing he couldn't in time, and responded with his own counter-attack. He made a thrust from a stance not used in Eastern schools.
Executing a somersault, Mateo sprung to his feet, barely managing to block the opponent's strike. The fencing master gave it his all, fighting as he never had before. His staff worked wonders, weaving the best patterns from Western and Eastern schools.
Yet it was all in vain...
Every strike, every thrust, every block was read by the ravenhead like an open book. The black-haired steadily moved forward. And against this constant advance, even such a master as the former engineer-physicist deemed himself could do nothing.
Their eyes met, and Mateo saw not a hint of superiority or joy in the black-haired man's eyes. They were the cold, icy eyes of a professional. The smug smile that once curled the ravenhead's face had disappeared entirely.
Mateo realized he'd lost. Not when the black-haired man parried his carefully prepared attack. It had happened much earlier. Mateo had been outplayed in a duel of minds and now merely reaped the inevitable consequences... The fencing master saw the onset of the attack, knew where it would land, but still couldn't change anything. As if reading his thoughts, the opponent's spear bypassed all his defenses, spun around its axis, and its sturdy shaft aimed for the earthling's forehead.
He, a fighter with over twenty years of experience, was fooled like a novice attending his first lesson.
The last thought of Mateo Schmeichel, before his consciousness left him, fading into a resounding ringing, was:
"What are you??! Raven!"
End of the third volume.