by Bryce Allen
“Kenji.”
A gentle grip on his shoulder finally pulled Kenji to the present. Kami was next to him. Kenji hadn’t seen the bald head she spoke of before, but it suited her. A thin layer of hair covered her scalp, but it didn’t take away from her wild beauty.
She, too, was dressed in a champion’s robe. It looked comfortable enough, but the way she moved made it look constricting. Kenji was sure she preferred her old clothing. For now, she wasn’t complaining.
“Are you ready for this?” she asked.
There was a hint of excitement to her voice that shocked Kenji. He locked eyes with Kami, casting her a grave look.
“We might die.”
Kami rolled her eyes. “I know that.”
Kami leaned in and lowered her voice. Her words were hushed but filled with anticipation. “Aren’t you excited? We are about to face the Zettai. Even better, we get a legitimate chance at killing Hiroshi. He is handing this opportunity to us.”
Kenji snorted a weak laugh and nodded. Kami was right. As a swordsman, this was the pinnacle. Kami’s excitement was inspiring.
“I have a plan,” Kenji admitted. “If it works, the empire will be safe. If it fails, we will die. Are you with me?”
Kami considered it for a moment.
“I’m with you.”
In little more than a whisper, Kenji explained his strategy. Kami didn’t speak, she only nodded. He’d thought hard about the actions they were about to take, and there was no room for error.
The murmur of the crowd grew for an instant, then fell silent. Kenji turned his attention back to the arena and saw Hiroshi. He wasn’t wearing his armor. Instead, he wore black champion’s robes. His shoulders were rolled forward, and his eyes seemed heavy. This wasn’t the arrogant Hiroshi that Kenji remembered from the first round of fighting. He was somber, tentative even.
He held his hands up to the crowd and took a deep breath. The inhalation seemed to breathe new life into him. Kenji didn’t know if it was a show for the people or something different.
“People of the empire!” His voice rang out like a bell.
“We have suffered much, but do not let that burden you. For today, we celebrate one of our greatest traditions, a tradition that holds us together.
“Many have told me to claim the Zettai and execute the traitors, but that is not the way of our people. The tournament officials have granted me permission to use the Zettai for this fight. It is well known that both champions have conspired together, and the Zettai will balance the match. I will do my . . .”
Hiroshi stumbled on his words and his face creased with pain. It wasn’t physical pain, but something deeper. He rolled his shoulders and pressed on.
“I will do my brother proud and see this tournament to completion.”
Kenji was surprised that Hiroshi felt the need to explain his possession of the Zettai. The people wouldn’t have had it any other way. As far as they were concerned, this was an execution. The faces in the crowd explained it all, each one angry and eager for blood.
Kenji’s eyes darted to the emperor’s balcony and his suspicions were confirmed. Taijin was there. The young emperor’s eyes wandered the blue sky above them. He didn’t seem to care much about what was happening below.
Sagura sat beside him. The swelling on his face was obvious, even from Kenji’s distance. Kenji doubted Sagura would move from Taijin’s side for some time. They would need to keep the new emperor close until Hiroshi’s power was solidified.
The iron gate before Kenji and Kami swung open. The crowd was silent. Kenji could hear the crunch of gravel underneath his feet with every step. He didn’t have to go far to see a crate against the wall of the arena. The champions went to it and pulled it open.
A fine silk cloth covered the contents. Kami pulled it away and revealed their weapons. Both were well taken care of and placed in the crate with respect. Kami pulled her short blade from the crate and unsheathed it. In a few quick motions, she cut slits in the armpits of her robes. Movement would be important.
Kenji’s eyes lingered on the weapon before him. He knew it well. He’d seen it every day for years. It had been wielded by the man who he respected most. As far as Kenji was concerned, this was his Zettai.
Kenji bowed to the blade. It was a small gesture, but it gave him the strength to pick it up. It was identical to the blade Ebusu had given him. They were both made by Ebusu’s favorite swordsmith. Every blade had a twin, created from the same metals and material. Not often were they kept together, but long ago when Ebusu purchased his first sword, he bought both.
Kenji slid it into his belt and fastened the sheath. He was ready.
Kenji turned towards Hiroshi and gave him a small nod. Hiroshi returned the favor, both gestures so minute the crowd wouldn’t notice. The champions took their places in the arena.
They created a triangle, each champion ten paces away from the others. They faced inward and performed their bows.
Hiroshi carefully drew the Zettai from its sheath. He held the sword in a horizontal position in front of his body. It was a defensive position best suited to facing two opponents.
There was a beauty to the certainty of their future. Nothing was complicated about it. Swords would clash, and wills would meet. Despite everything that happened, Kenji knew this best. He knew the sword.
He allowed himself a glance at Sagura. The anger would serve him well. He’d forgiven Kaito, but Sagura earned no such courtesy. His eyes found the governor with ease, but Sagura’s face surprised Kenji.
He was against the railing looking down at them. His eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open in suspense. His brow was creased with concern. Kenji wasn’t sure, but it seemed Sagura was worried. It was the same look Ebusu had given him after his first fight with Manzo.
Sagura’s lips moved. Kenji couldn’t hear anything, but it looked like he mouthed the words, “Be careful.”
Kenji looked away. He had no time for Sagura’s games. All that mattered was the warrior before him, the one that wanted to part his head from his neck. Kenji glanced at Kami, and the battle began.
With one last calming breath, Kenji furrowed his brow and narrowed his focus to Hiroshi. Nothing else existed. He dropped into an offensive stance and hovered his hand over the hilt of his blade. Beside him, he felt Kami do the same.
Kenji and Kami leapt forward. There were several paces between them that needed to be closed. Hiroshi was motionless until they closed in on him.
With the same speed Kenji remembered from Ebusu’s death, Hiroshi slipped through them. Kenji’s eyes barely tracked the movement. Gravel and dust were kicked up in Hiroshi’s trail. He had speed and strength on his side, gifts from the Zettai.
Hiroshi flanked them. His speed put him in a perfect position to strike either of them. He just had to choose. Hiroshi angled in Kenji’s direction.
Hiroshi was fast, but Kenji was better with a sword. Kenji went against his instincts and swept his sword backwards, turning with the momentum. He braced the blade with both hands, ready for the block. It was an instant earlier than he would have moved against a normal opponent, but that was the plan.
Everything hinged on Kenji’s theory. Trust his training and predict Hiroshi’s cuts.
Kenji tensed at the exact moment Hiroshi’s blade met his. The power of it would have cleaved Kenji in two, but Ebusu’s blade was strong. Kenji’s hands burned with the shock that traveled down the steel, but his grip didn’t falter.
Kenji and Hiroshi were face to face for a single breath. Their eyes were only inches apart. There was a hint of surprise in Hiroshi’s expression. Kenji could see in Hiroshi’s face that he had expected the cut to be fatal. After the surprise passed, respect filled its place. He acknowledged Kenji as a worthy opponent.
Kami’s robes fluttered in the wind, and Hiroshi turned away from Kenji. Kami was cutting through the air, horizontal to the ground. Her blade spun around her, picking up momentum with the circle her body made.
&
nbsp; Hiroshi batted her sword away and lunged towards her as she landed. He must have sensed Kenji’s attack, because he redirected his attack on Kami to defend against Kenji’s slash.
Kami landed in a roll towards Hiroshi. She performed two quick cuts blow the knee.
If it hadn’t been for the Zettai, the fight would have been done. Only an instant after blocking Kenji’s last cut, Hiroshi growled with effort and cut towards Kami’s low attacks. The full speed of the Zettai was blinding. Kenji couldn’t see the sword at all until it made contact with Kami’s attack.
Hiroshi over-committed to the block and lost his balance for a moment. Kami sprung to her feet and readied her sword. Kenji shifted into place, and they were on opposite sides of Hiroshi.
Hiroshi caught himself and straightened up. He didn’t bother taking a stance. There wasn’t a stance taught in the empire that would help him. He held his sword at his side and tensed, ready for their attacks.
In unison, Kami and Kenji screamed their battle cry and lashed out at Hiroshi. The pace of the fight was unbelievable, unlike anything Kenji had experienced. They were moving as fast as they could, but Hiroshi managed to block each attack.
Hiroshi turned again and again, sometimes dodging attacks completely. Other times he barely threw his sword between his neck and certain death. Kami and Kenji were able to keep him between them, but barely.
Kenji opted for a long stance. He launched cut after cut towards Hiroshi. The outcome was the same every time. Kenji would see an opening in Hiroshi’s guard and attack it. Then, with impossible speed, Hiroshi’s sword would appear to block the attack.
As Kenji recovered his balance, Kami would attack the opening that Kenji created. She usually attacked with several smaller cuts, but nothing got past the Zettai. She leaped into the air and changed her angle without warning, but Hiroshi was fast enough to evade them.
Kenji committed to every cut. His legs tensed, spurring him forward with every lunge, draining every ounce of strength he had. It was exhausting to have so many attacks blocked or redirected.
Their plan was working. Hiroshi didn’t have time to attack. They found his limit.
Hiroshi and Kenji’s swords met. The moment after they did, Kenji heard Kami’s foot catch the ground. She stumbled. It was so slight that most wouldn’t notice it, but it changed the timing of the entire fight.
Kenji readied another strike, trying to force Hiroshi’s attention on him. He was too slow.
Hiroshi lunged at Kami, the tip of the Zettai diving towards Kami’s center. She’d already found her feet, but Kenji didn’t know if she was fast enough to block the attack.
Kenji felt as if he was moving through water. His body responded to his commands, but nothing was fast enough. The air itself slowed him down. He cut with all the speed he had, trying to catch Hiroshi. Hiroshi didn’t bother to block it; he saw an opportunity and he was taking it.
Kami pivoted her hips, her guard dangerously close to her body. If she tried to hold her sword any farther out, the block would be too slow.
Her blade caught Hiroshi’s, and sparks scattered from the clash. Their steel sang as the length of the Zettai slid along Kami’s sword. She was almost thrown to the ground from the power of it, but her block was successful.
Hiroshi didn’t waste time. He used the momentum from her block to twist in a full circle. His leg snapped out in a lethal roundhouse kick. Kami wasn’t ready for it. She had anticipated an attack with the sword, not with his body.
Hiroshi’s foot caught her just below the ribs. The entire crowd shuddered. The air left her lungs, but only Kenji and Hiroshi heard her ribs crack.
The kick hurled Kami back. She was thrown at least seven paces away. It would be impossible for Kenji to get to her side. Hiroshi wouldn’t let him pass.
Once Kami tumbled to a stop, stillness came over the arena. It was jarring compared to the fury that had filled it an instant earlier. Kenji held his complete cut in place. He was breathing hard, but his blade didn’t waiver.
Hiroshi lowered his leg and turned to Kenji. He didn’t throw himself at Kenji. He, too, was catching his breath. Instead, he glanced at the tip of Kenji’s sword. His brow furrowed, and his jaw tightened.
Kenji didn’t look. It would only take a second for Hiroshi to be on him. He changed his guard and took a step back. It all became clear.
Kenji’s desperate cut to protect Kami had caught Hiroshi’s flesh.
The tip of Kenji’s sword was coated with blood. It was only a couple inches. At best, Kenji had left a superficial wound on Hiroshi’s back.
The crowd saw it, too. For the first time, rumbles of fear and awe filled the air. People turned to one another, questioning what they were seeing.
Kenji allowed himself to look at Kami.
Her robe hid how twisted and broken her body was. Kenji didn’t know if she would rejoin the fight. He’d seen her like this once before during her fight with Ren. The kick threw her dangerously close to the stone wall beneath the emperor’s balcony.
Hiroshi’s hushed words shifted Kenji’s attention.
“If you stop me now, everything I’ve done will be for nothing.”
Kenji’s stance didn’t change when he spoke, but his words were clear.
“Everything you’ve done?”
“You think this is all murder and treason? Taishi was weak. The empire was crumbling beneath his feet.”
Some of the crowd noticed Hiroshi’s lips moving. They leaned forward, trying to hear some of the words. The wind and whispers drowned out his words, but even so Hiroshi lowered his voice further so even Kenji had to strain to hear it.
“I won’t let you beat me.”
Hiroshi dashed towards Kenji. He was within striking range in an instant. He moved like a bolt of lightning. All the eye could see was a blur until he reached his target. Kenji was ready, but Hiroshi was moving faster than before.
Kenji had his full attention.
Hiroshi moved into a massive overhead cut. Fueled by anger and desperation, Hiroshi swung his sword down. Kenji twisted his blade and raised it above his head.
The Zettai skipped off of Kenji’s block and continued down. Kenji’s hands were numb. The full force of the strike nearly knocked Ebusu’s blade from his hands.
Kenji ignored the pain and moved directly to the next block. Hiroshi was still recovering his balance from the overhead cut, but Kenji knew what kind of attack an average swordsman would follow with. Kenji turned to his right and brought his blade with him, a dangerous move by any standard.
Kenji’s intuition was correct. Furious at the failed attack, Hiroshi wrenched the Zettai to the right, following Kenji. Kenji’s block caught the horizontal cut perfectly. Their swords clashing with immense force, but Kenji’s momentum was already moving away from the attack.
Kenji let the power push him backwards. He let his feet go and pulled his knees to his chest. He rolled before jumping to his feet. Kenji took a few steps back. His new position gave him several paces before Hiroshi could reach him.
Hiroshi’s frustration was mounting. He’d been relying on the Zettai for a swift victory. He hadn’t considered one thing, though. Until Kenji was brought to the arena that day, he hadn’t considered it either.
Kenji had watched Hiroshi with the Zettai once before. Hiroshi was a good swordsman, but he followed basic patterns. It was, perhaps, Ebusu’s last lesson for Kenji. It didn’t guarantee him victory, but it gave Kenji a chance.
Again, Hiroshi sprinted at him. The extra distance gave Kenji time to react, but not by much. Hiroshi tempered himself. He must have realized that rage and power alone would not grant him victory.
Using the momentum of his dash, Hiroshi twisted at the last moment and cut across Kenji’s chest. Kenji leaped back. The sword cut the air before him, narrowly missing his robes.
Kenji planted his back foot and countered with a quick, accurate cut. There were several targets to choose from, but Kenji ignored the obvious ones.
H
iroshi noticed the cut and his sword darted to the defense. Hiroshi thought Kenji was going for a fatal cut. It was his mistake. Hiroshi’s speed worked against him, and he raised his sword to cover his head and shoulder.
Kenji’s target was still exposed. Kenji’s sword slid over the back of Hiroshi’s dominant wrist. Kenji didn’t have time to muster a cut that would sever bone, but he didn’t need to. After the quick cut, Kenji dove to the side.
Hiroshi growled, more out of anger than pain. The cut was only a few inches long, but already it wept blood. The heavy liquid soaked his robe. Hiroshi pulled his sleeve back and away from the wound. He let the blood fall to the floor of the arena.
Hiroshi was fuming, and Kenji felt a tight, unyielding knot of fear form in his gut. Hiroshi was shaking his head, his face twisted in rage. Kenji had never seen him out of control. He took a few steps away and prepared for the outburst.
Normally, no one could wield a blade after a cut to the wrist like that. Kenji wasn’t sure if it was Hiroshi’s will or the Zettai, but he didn’t falter.
A clap of thunder exploded over the arena, and then Hiroshi was next to Kenji. He covered fifteen paces with blinding ease. His burst of speed deafened Kenji. The only sound he heard was a soft squeal and his own breath.
Hiroshi stabbed at Kenji. The attack was predictable, and if it had been only a fraction slower Kenji could have blocked it. Kenji tried to roll away from the tip of Hiroshi’s blade. He stumbled backward as a result, batting at the Zettai with his sword. He was going to be cut.
The steel pierced his chest. Kenji never knew pain so intense. The blade was a white-hot brand, parting skin from flesh and flesh from bone.
If Kenji hadn’t fallen backwards, the attack would have skewered him. Hiroshi had already over-committed to the lunge and didn’t have any more distance to give. Just before the attack penetrated Kenji’s rib cage, Hiroshi flicked the tip of his sword across Kenji’s chest.
Pain blossomed like a flower over his skin. The agony, no longer contained to a single wound, erupted. Kenji hit the ground hard. Dazed, he scrambled to get up. The whispers of the crowd told Kenji they thought the fight was over. As Kenji crawled away, he watched the drops of blood fall from his chest.
