The second day of the tournament, my opponent was a middle aged old man with a body small enough to rival a kid’s.
As the starting signal sounds, the small old man bent his body down as far as it can go and charged.
If I held the sword the normal way, its range would be too short for an enemy coming from below.
The reason he bent down and charged was probably to slip under my sword and strike at my lower body.
“GOT YOUUUUU!!”
“I suppose so”
I ‘Got him’² by flipping away his sword with my right hand and delivered a low kick to his face. He fainted.
² «TN: Japanese sentences can be written without the subject or object, so I got you and you got me can be written the same way»
“What are you, an idiot?”
He thrusted his sword and charged at me, practically declaring “imma stab you now!”
If you could tell that he was going to stab, you can flip it away easily.
To add to that, he even told me the timing of his attack with a yell.
I never thought that there’d be this many small fries.
Maybe the real battles will take place in the national arena.
My fourth battle opponent was another idiot.
He chose a two-handed sword as his weapon but he held it in just his right hand, leaving his left empty.
Sure enough, when the battle starts I parried his sword away, destroying his posture and making him step back.
However, he didn’t stop with the one-handed hold.
I’ll finish it with the next move.
As I stepped forward, I felt a sharp pain on my left thigh.
When my pivot leg reflexively stopped because of the pain, he lunged.
I immediately moved to parry it with my sword but this time my left arm hurt.
I used all my strength to flick him off and stepped back for a moment.
What happened?
When I looked to my thigh and arm I saw something like a thin metal needle stuck there.
It was too thin to wound and it didn’t even bleed much, but where did it come from?
“What’s wrong? Is running all you can do?”
He taunted me with a grin.
I get it now, his face is the face of a man who cheats when he gambles.
I made a move to charge at him like before, and his left hand moved. I brought the handle of my sword in front of my face.
There was a schink and a needle stuck into the cloth wrapping the handle.
The guy was holding his sword in his right hand while using his left to throw needles.
It was a foul, but since he did it without superfluous moves and since the needle was small the referee and the audience didn’t notice.
Even if I did tell them it’d probably look like I stabbed myself with a dropped needle, I’d just be insisting without any evidence.
Maybe if I did make a fuss of it they’ll recognize the foul play, but I don’t want to do that.
A fight is essentially done to the death.
Rules that say it’s a match or a brawl are no more than artificial restraints.
That guy tore down those restraints by himself.
Therefore there was only one conclusion.
I charged once again.
He threw a needle with his left hand again, but once I knew the trick it was no more than throwing a pebble with his fingers.
I guarded against the needle aimed at my eye and it stuck into my leather gauntlet.
Of course, a mere needle wasn’t strong enough to pierce the armor.
He panickedly held the sword with both hands to match my moves.
He didn’t match my moves.
I let him match my moves.
While we were in the middle of locking swords, I brought my face close to his and said.
“Show’s over. Die”
He was about to make a surprised face but I kicked him in the gut, giving us a 1 meter distance.
I wouldn’t let him use the needles anymore.
I raised my sword to my upper right and swung down, aiming at his head.
A man relying on tricks won’t be able to avoid it.
It made a bam sound like a hammer hitting the wall. He flew to my left and collapsed on the ground.
His head was cracked and leaking blood and brain. The audience shrieked in surprise.
The fourth match had ended.