In Pursuit of Truth
IV
Yasuo and Fu Peng sat on cushions in the main hall of the school, a porcelain tea set between them. Fu Peng watched the students outside train, their moves synchronized to one another. Every stroke of the arm, every step given, matched the body next to them in a mesmerizing display of their art. "Your school has very fine students."
"They have potential. Still need work," Yasuo commented.
Fu Peng picked up his cup with both hands and smelled the tea, hot steam rolling across his face. He took a reserved sip of the brew, barely even a taste by Yasuo's standards, but the older man's actions held a certain...urbanity to it, as if he were honoring the tea itself with his actions. Yasuo envied that. Master and Yone tried to teach him the proper etiquette for tea serving long ago but he had ignored them, deeming such things as useless to a true warrior. Now he regretted it, feeling like a barbarian in the presence of a noble. Yasuo attempted to hold his cup in the same manner, but it felt awkward and foreign; the damn thing was so small! So he settled for using one hand as he would a saucer of sake.
"This tea is marvelous. I haven't tasted such a brew since my days in Shon-Xan," remarked Fu Peng. He offered his empty cup to Yasuo, who picked up the kettle and filled it to the brim once more. "The young man that made this is quite talented."
Yasuo sipped his own. "I think Heng's family runs a tea shop back in Shon-Xan. Maybe that's where you had it last?"
"A tea shop?" Surprise raised Fu Peng's eyebrows.
Yasuo nodded and answered the unspoken question. "Our master takes anyone who comes to him. Doesn't matter if you're of samurai blood or some beggar from the slums. You show him you've got what it takes, he takes you," Yasuo chuckled to himself a bit. "Though getting here is a good test of that."
Fu Peng smiled back and looked toward the snow-tipped peaks to the south. "Indeed."
Heiwatanigi was not a village that many Ionians knew of. Situated in the eastern-most region of Ionia and hidden behind a vast mountain range, the rural area was as far from the Placidium as one could get. Compared to the more 'civilized' cities of the south and west coasts, most settlements beyond the ranges were rustic, lacking in the technological and magical developments of their distant neighbors surrounding the capital. The rocky terrain to the south made it a great risk to pass through. Even if travelers safely made it past the mountains, the untamed forests and grasslands were no more forgiving. Only the most stalwart or desperate of travelers made the trip east, because items from the other provinces and overseas were so rare that the inhabitants would pay double, sometimes triple the normal price.
That attracted merchants, and merchants attracted bandits. With the Placidium police force so distant and the lands not as strictly regulated as other areas, it was not hard for citizens who held no interest in 'the path of enlightenment' to partake in the seedier professions of society.
People who headed east were deemed very brave or very stupid.
The two fell into a lull as they enjoyed their tea and observed the training students, the silence only broken by the sounds of mock combat. The sun was high overhead, the hottest time of day, but a gentle breeze diminished its heat and carried with it the scent of fresh blossoms from the forest. Nearby was a large koi pond that spanned the side of the school grounds, small bonzai, sculptures, and flower bushes surrounding it. Crystal clear water allowed the fish to be easily seen as they swam around one another in a lazy drift, the shouts and rattling of the exercises nearby doing nothing to disrupt the tranquility. Their master intentionally made it that way. It was a balance; the intensity of the practicing martial artists complimented by the serenity of the well-tended koi pond.
Fu Peng set his tea cup back down with a small clink. "So you truly don't know when your master will return?" Yasuo shook his head and drank from his cup while the older man sighed in disappointment. "Unfortunate. I had hoped to duel the famous Sword of the Eastern Tides. Master Lito once spoke of a fight between the two that lasted from dusk to dawn," Fu said as he looked to the eastern horizon, imagining a battle that would only take place in his mind. "Now my journey has been for naught. If I may, where did Master Masato leave for?"
Yasuo choked on his drink and beat his chest, Fu Peng's supportive hand reaching around his back to assist him in clearing his throat. He had hoped to spare the poor guy the news, but he wasn't about to lie to a man's face and dishonor them both. "Well...uh...let me put it this way. You came from the Placidium, right?" Yasuo asked after he recomposed himself. He let the question hang in the air.
Fu Peng's brow lowered in confusion, but a moment later understanding quickly crossed his face and he let out a hearty laugh, the first unrestrained reaction Yasuo had seen from the man. That alone put Yasuo at ease enough to join in. He always hated keeping up formal appearances. Their voices filled the courtyard, causing the students to momentarily pause their training and look towards the main hall, but a subtle glance from their impromptu master sent them right back into their forms.
"I see," Fu Peng said when he finally calmed down. "It would seem that fate does not wish for our paths to cross. Or perhaps it was my own impatience that bested me."
"Sorry..." Yasuo said. The Navori native hid his frustration well. To be able to accept such news with grace was something he respected; had he been in the same position, Yasuo was certain he would have cut down something in rage.
"Such is life. If it was truly meant to be, I would have come across him on the road," Fu Peng stood up. "Thank you for the tea, young master Yasuo. I am afraid I must take my leave. It is a long way back to the Hiten dojo, and with my purpose for being here gone I do not wish to take up more of your time."
With a humble bow, Fu Peng exited the main room and stepped out into the grounds, heading towards the gates. The students made way for their guest to pass by them as they sparred. Yasuo watched Fu Peng leave and frowned. It wasn't right for someone to go so far for nothing. Fate be damned. He looked down into his tea cup and gazed at his reflection.
What could he do?
"Fu Peng!"
The swordsman turned to see Yasuo jog up to him, a long item in hand. It was an odachi, and an impressive one at that: it was easily taller than Fu Peng, let alone the young man holding it. The metal scabbard was a dark blue with a silver etching of what looked like a zephyr on the side, matching the molded hand guard. Despite it's size Yasuo carried it without strain. It was an elegant weapon that clashed with the messy image of its owner.
Their eyes met.
"Duel me," said Yasuo. Fu Peng was silent so Yasuo pressed on. "I'm not the old man, but I've been living under him since I was five," he said with a grin. "I think I can make your trip worthwhile."
Fu Peng stared at the boy, deep in thought, before a grin of his own broke out on his face. "Very well then."
"Hey!" Yasuo's shout made the others in the courtyard jump. "Take a break and give us some room!"
The class scurried over to the sidelines and into the shade as the two men walked to the center of the area. Exhaustion forgotten, the students waited in anticipation for the two to begin. It had been a long time since they had seen Yasuo fight seriously, but when he did it was a sight to behold. Even more were they eager to watch a practitioner of the Hiten style, argued to be the most favored swordsmanship in all of Ionia for its poise, unconventionality, and difficulty to learn. Yasuo never took time to duel someone if he didn't think they were worth it, so this was sure to be a spectacle.
They bowed and readied themselves.
"I must admit I am curious as to how one so young became the senior student of this school," Fu Peng noted. "You look as if you haven't even seen your eighteenth winter."
Yasuo shifted into his battle stance, his left hand holding his sword to his side by the sheath while his right hand floated just above the grip. "Come. I'll satisfy your curiosity."
Fu Peng responded by drawing his own swords from his sash, the one in his left held defensively in front of him while his right hovered over his head with the second . There was no word of ready or verbal signal to begin. The match started the moment their hands touched their weapons. The two circled one another slowly, getting within striking distance but not acting. Yasuo gauged his opponent; Fu Peng's stance was perfectly balanced, so trying to stagger him with an all out assault was out of the question. His long sleeves hid any potential openings, his body movements and the daggers he still had at his waist. Yasuo surmised that he'd use the daggers to poke at him from afar, then go in with the dao swords. He would use his shorter swords to his advantage and hug Yasuo's zone of control to restrict movements with the odachi.
His moment to strike would have to be in the interval between the throw of the daggers and the inevitable rush with the dao swords. Victory would be decided by a paper thin margin. Yasuo's hand twitched in excitement.
And his opponent took that as the signal to go.
Fu Peng twisted his torso, his left shoulder leaning inwards before he snapped back, arm outstretched and sending two daggers spinning through the air in an arc, their whistling growing louder as they approached. A flick of the arm and a third dagger flew straight at Yasuo.
Just as expected.
Yasuo, leaning to the right, dodged past the first projectile with ease, preparing for the rush, but something fast and white shot by his ear, catching him off guard. He tumbled underneath it, catching a glance of the object as he rolled along the ground. It was one of Fu Peng's sleeves - long, white, and waving in the wind like a giant snake made of silk, it coiled back to its wearer. Yasuo rolled onto his feet when the sound of whirling blades approached from behind and he instinctively ducked, the two daggers from earlier spinning over his head and lodging into the dirt. Looking up, the white sleeves obscured his view again. Suddenly they vanished and were replaced by an airborne Fu Peng, swords pointed right at Yasuo's chest.
It was too late to dodge and there was no time to draw his sword. So he did the only thing he could; Yasuo yanked his still sheathed sword from his belt and blocked the attack with the scabbard. The tips of the blades bounced off the metal with such force that Fu Peng landed off balance, his back leg the only support keeping him upright.
Yasuo saw an opportunity and made to grab his hilt, but Fu Peng let his own momentum carry him into a back-flip and flung out his hands, sleeves extending. They darted towards Yasuo's right wrist, forcing him to jump backwards, and giving Fu Peng all the time he needed to recompose and charge forward.
The dao swords flashed all around Yasuo, near invisible thanks to the Hiten wielder's speed, but he always just barely blocked or parried with his scabbard. The ringing of steel on steel reverberated through the courtyard, an orchestra to the fight being waged between the two swordsmen.
Fu Peng attacked with greater fervor, swinging, stabbing and kicking, until Yasuo found himself being pushed back to the pond, still unable to draw his sword under the intense pressure of his opponent. He needed space.
Students rushed out of the way of the combatants, tumbling over themselves to avoid the sphere of razor sharp death that was Fu Peng's offensive. Fu Peng yelled out, attacking from the left and right simultaneously in a scissor motion aimed at Yasuo, who blocked yet again. However, the older man had anticipated it, and rather than pulling back, he locked Yasuo's weapon between his, the dao swords crossing around and caging the odachi within. He pressed the lock, sliding the younger swordsman further to the water. Yasuo's sandals skid along the dirt while he desperately pushed back against Fu Peng with little success. He felt the waters of the pond caress his heel, defeat literally a step away. There was only one option open to him.
With a shout Fu Peng threw his entire weight into one final shove, expecting his challenger to try and resist. But Yasuo was clever; the young man hopped up at the last second and used the force of the push to propel into the air. He launched over the pond and landed on the opposite side, a cocky grin across his face.
Until he heard the steady ring of a sword being drawn.
Yasuo's head snapped to his side. White cloth was wrapped around the odachi's hilt. With a simple tug from Fu Peng, the sleeve yanked Yasuo's blade out of his scabbard and sent it spinning into the sky like a dazzling pinwheel. Yasuo's frown deepened as he watched it plummet into the water and scatter the koi, its silver sheen lost beneath the surface. He cursed, and looked up to see Fu Peng reel his sleeve back in with a complicated flourish of his arm, the slightest of smug looks on his face.
"I win," he said.
"Not yet," replied Yasuo.
"You have no weapon."
In response, Yasuo flipped his scabbard over and grasped it with both hands like he would a sword. He held it in front of him at the waist, the tip pointed below Fu Peng's chin, and positioned his left foot slightly behind his right, hips facing forward, posture perfect. It was the most basic of stances, the first thing that all who practiced the sword in Ionia learned.
"The wind is my weapon," Yasuo stated.
He closed his eyes.
Sounds, sights and smells disappeared into a dark emptiness, leaving Yasuo in the center. Ionia no longer existed. There was no Fu Peng. There was no school. There was Yasuo. Nothing more, nothing less.
The swordsman's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the calmest his breathing had been since the fight began. And then the wind came. It was the only sensation he felt - a familiar presence and one that brought a smile to his face with its touch. Cool and soothing, it washed over his body, an invisible force that slowly lifted his arms above his head, scabbard ready to strike. Yasuo's breathing deepened, intensifying with the air around him as it stormed, whipping his hair and filling the area with its howling voice.
Yasuo stayed in place for what felt like hours, the heart of a tempest, until at last his eyelids opened and the world returned. The students had already backed as far away as possible. They knew what was coming. Fu Peng watched them scamper and stood his ground, hints of curiosity etched on his face.
Yasuo grinned.
"Ton!"And with a shout he brought the scabbard down.
The length of metal sliced into the pond, a blast of wind speeding forth that made the pool violently explode. Fu Peng leapt back as water, koi fish, and lily pads erupted skyward and rained down on the courtyard.
With the Navori swordsman's vision obstructed, Yasuo dropped his scabbard and made his move. Mustering all the strength in his legs, he jumped into the wall of water, both hands outstretched ahead of him. He felt something hard collide into his right palm and grabbed hold. Either by miracle or sheer luck, he successfully snatched his sword, the odachi's familiar grip fitting snugly in his calloused palms. Yasuo's drenched form soared through the curtain of rain and landed in front of an equally drenched Fu Peng. The look of sheer shock on the older man's face was priceless. But there was no time to savor it.
Yasuo went on the offensive. His attacks were a maelstrom that hammered Fu Peng's guard. Strike to the neck. Strike to the waist. Shoulder. Chest. Thigh. Wrist. Head. Every potential opening was bombarded with Yasuo's lightning fast blade work. It took everything Fu Peng had to keep up a defense, and each time he finished a block another attack would already be coming from somewhere else. It was the exact opposite of how their duel began, Yasuo controlling the fight while Fu Peng floundered against his assault. The dao swords rippled with each blow, their strained wails joining the cacophony of swishes from Yasuo's sword and the squelch of the wet ground beneath the two fighters.
Fu Peng tried to distance himself, jumping back and throwing his sleeves out to ensnare Yasuo. He may as well have been sending them into a cyclone. Yasuo's blade sliced through them in an instant, pieces of the beautiful fiber scattering away like helpless white petals.
"Hasagi!" Yasuo's thrust at Fu Peng's chest, who brought up his dao swords in a cross to defend.
There was a resounding crack.
The tip of the odachi impaled both swords. Fractures spider-webbed across the flats of the weapons until they shattered completely, and the sheer force of the blow made Fu Peng lose his balance, his feet wobbling in the mud.
Checkmate.
"Aseryo!" Yasuo spun in a circle from his previous movement, and using the momentum, swung upwards. A whirlwind burst forward and collided with Fu Peng. The older man let out a yell of shock as his body rag-dolled through the air and over the courtyard.. He slammed back to the ground at the front of the gate. He did not get up.
All was silent.
Yasuo, who had kept his pose after the attack, finally relaxed and looked up with that same grin on his face.
Then the color drained from his face.
He had been so concentrated on the duel that he hadn't noticed who waited at the front gate.
The unconscious form of Fu Peng laid at the feet of an old man, flanked by an impressively muscled giant who gave a toothy smile and a petite woman that glanced around the area in disdain. Farther to the side was the unmistakable image of a furious Yone, face red and lips pursed.
Yasuo swiveled around. It was a disaster. The dirt was muddy and filled with footprints. Koi fish flopped around helplessly, some even on the roof. What had been the pond was little more than a soggy hole in the ground, the plants around it nothing more than twigs.
The students had mysteriously vanished.
The old man prodded the prone Fu Peng with his cane before letting his eyes glide over the school, taking in the damage with a mask of aloofness. Finally his eyes landed on Yasuo. And he raised an eyebrow.
Yasuo chuckled nervously.
"W-welcome home, Master..."
The walk through the Institute was one of the most awkward moments in Yasuo's life. Not because he was a stranger to his subterranean halls, nor because passing students eyed him warily, looking over his rags with a disdainful snort or minuscule gulps once they glanced his odachi. No, it had to have been because of the silent bundle of anger striding just four feet in front of him. Irelia's footsteps echoed throughout the stone passageway. Since they left for the training hall she had never said a word, never looked back to see if Yasuo was still following her. Maybe his words had some sort of impact after all?
Or maybe she just couldn't stand the sight of his face? Probably the latter.
Summoners tread by in greater numbers as the moved deeper into the Institute, faces hid under hoods. Many fumbled whatever books or scrolls they held in anxiety and scrambled to pick them up. Yasuo recounted the words of Archimes from earlier that morning, of how the Institute had a tendency to make people crack, and wondered just what the hell went on in the subterranean halls. These guys looked one assignment shy of a full mental breakdown, constantly keeping their noses in tomes, mumbling their notes, only looking up to twitch and spring out of the way lest they face Irelia. With the seemingly permanent scowl on her face, Yasuo reckoned most professional soldiers would flee too.
It didn't help that her floating weapon throbbed with barely contained bloodlust.
Irelia stopped abruptly and turned to the left. Then the right. Then another left. The Institute was a labyrinth of doors, doors, and more doors, all of which were dimly lit by crystal chandeliers dangled high overhead. How anyone was supposed to navigate the subterranean halls was a marvel to think about for another time, but Irelia navigated it as well as the Placidium's grand halls. How long did it take her to memorize the layout of this place? Was there some sort of map she'd studied? Yasuo just hopped that he could remember where is room was at the end of the day.
"We are here," Irelia spoke, snapping Yasuo out of his musings. Before them were two large wooden doors, a golden plate with the word 'gym' drilled into the front, matched with two round, golden doorknobs. With lithe hands, she gripped the knobs tightly, twisted, and threw the entryway open with unsurprising strength: it was expected of the Will of the Blades. The doorway gave one echo of their strain that reverberated down the halls as they banged against the walls.
"What is with this place and loud doors?" Yasuo mumbled to himself. Irelia did not reply. She walked in, the wanderer falling into step behind her once more.
Now when Yasuo thought of a training ground, he expected something simple: a few striking posts here, a sparring pit there, maybe a weapon rack or two. Even when he was traveling the Noxian settlements during the war, the training areas were scarcely more than a few clear spots to fight or exercise.
This place was anything but simple.
The entire room was as big as his whole school. Unlike the Institute's corridors, the crystals above illuminated the underground room as if it was a bright summer day, a brilliant blazing yellow instead of the ominous blues out front. A number of sparring pits that varied in size, shape, and more sat to the left. There were traditional rings of padded mats, but there were also wood, sand, and, to Yasuo's surprise, even snow covered ground. Some were flat while others had terrain and obstacles protruding from the surface.
In one of the pits, where the ground was ice, a rugged and angry looking fellow roared as he charged at his enemy. He dragged a colossal sword along the ice, the sheets cracking under its incredible weight, water slowly seeping through. His opponent - a regal, white-haired woman with airy black garments - readied a bow of blue crystal at the barbarian. She fired a volley of ice arrows right into her foe's bare chest, but the man either didn't notice or didn't care, and continued to speed forward, swinging his sword with one hand.
Yasuo would have loved to continue watching, but something knocked into his back. His hand dropped down to his hilt as he quickly turned around, and came face to face with a shirt that said...
"Gym Mundo?"
"YOU IN MUNDO'S WAY."
Yasuo wasn't sure what stood before him, but it was without doubt the most disturbing thing he had ever seen. The aforementioned shirt, along with gym shorts, strained to hold the bulging purple muscles of its owner, which glistened in sweat and smelt like a sick cocktail of chemicals, body odor and, for some odd reason, coffee. It's face was a malformed mask, tiny eyes glaring from above a slobber-coated mouth that let a blue tongue flop out over what few, bacteria-plagued teeth were left. In its hands were an oversized barbell and water bottle. A yellow head band completed the look. Because why not?
Yasuo was speechless. Which only irritated the abomination further.
"MOVE! MUNDO WANT TO BENCH PRESS. MUNDO BENCHES WHEN HE PLEASES!"
And with that, "Mundo" shoved Yasuo to the side. The samurai wasn't even angry. His brain was still trying to process as he watched the behemoth lie down on a metal bench behind him and began to lift the barbell with rather impeccable form. For the first time, Yasuo took notice of the other side of the room. So busy was he marveling at the training pits that he had completely missed the state-of-the-art gym that spanned the right side. Hextech machines of all sorts were lined up in perfect rows. There were weights, treadmills, bicycles, elliptical trainers, ab crunchers, inclines and more, all finely polished as if they were freshly purchased from Piltover or Zaun. It was also possible that they just weren't used as much - other than a scant few people, the entire place was surprisingly empty.
"Ahem," a voice coughed, drawing Yasuo out of his thoughts. Irelia stood near an empty ring further down, arms crossed and glaring.
Yasuo glared right back before making his way over.
Not counting Mundo and the two battling in the ice ring, there were perhaps five others. In the corner, two men took turns using a butterfly machine. The one currently using it - Yasuo recognized him as the ax-man from that morning's match - grunted as he finished his final rep, an impressive number of metal slabs clinking as he rested them down carefully. His partner, a wild-haired guy with tattoos and a fu manchu, snorted and moved behind the machine, increasing the weight by three more slabs before sitting down and giving the most egotistical smiled ever. The other man rolled his eyes.
" -violated several protocols, Vi!"
"If the guy didn't want me to punch him more, he shudda kept his fat mouth shut! Don't they have the right to remain silent or some shit?"
Yasuo's attention turned to an arguing pair of women drinking from a water cooler. The brunette one sighed. Rather than sports attire, she wore a purple outfit with matching top hat and a short skirt that left little to the imagination; Yasuo never had an imagination on him, so he wasn't particularly complaining. A number of pouches, gadgets, and other doodads clung to her person, the most remarkable of which was a long, hextech rifle slung over her shoulder. "That's not how it works."
"Well it should," snorted the other woman, a pink-haired punk. Gym clothes drenched in sweat clung to her muscled form, and Yasuo was able to discern the small insignia of Piltover's police force sewn into the fabric. Suddenly her eyes switched to him and she raised her hand to give him the finger, bandages around her knuckles. "The hell you looking at?" Her partner huffed in disapproval.
Yasuo promptly picked up his pace. He already had one officer on his ass, he didn't need two more.
Farther away, a young blond girl, Demacian by the looks of it, jogged on one of the treadmills. He pretended not to notice her subtle, analyzing glances. There was an intelligence behind those eyes that screamed 'dangerous.'
At last he reached Irelia's location. She pointed to the ring beside her. "We'll fight here."
It was perhaps the simplest of them all, little more than a circle of sand pressed as flat as possible. A coil of rope wrapped around the perimeter, marking the boundary. Of course, Yasuo thought to himself. It was a pit stylized in the traditional Ionian fashion for sparring practice Irelia stepped into it, Yasuo following after her as they both took positions across from one another.
"Ready yourself," said Irelia as she shifted into a fighting stance. Her weapon floated in front of her and followed her hands movements.
"Wasting no time, eh?" Yasuo asked. He started to stretch, extending both arms above his head as high as they could go, and was pleased to see her eyes smolder in irritation. Yasuo bent down and touched his toes. Then he spread his legs out to the sides and stretched from one to the other, holding for just a second longer each time. Irelia's annoyance was palpable. It felt good to be an ass.
As he continued to warm up his thoughts returned to the past. The last time he had a 'friendly' duel was with a Navorian long before his exile. Now that he thought about it, that person was also a practitioner of Hiten-ryu. Funny how things worked out. That was about seventeen years ago, give or take a few. Had he really been traveling that long?
"You know, I fought someone from your school once," Yasuo mentioned to Irelia while he finished stretching, cracking his neck before settling into his own stance. "He was a good man. Very skilled," A cheeky smirk crossed his face. "I hope you live up to the bar he set."
A slight twitch of Irelia's eye marred her impassive face.
Yasuo's smirk faded away, and their duel silently began.
Yasuo's brain snapped to attention, fully focused and already formulating a plan. Assuming that the Hiten style hadn't drastically changed since his bout with Fu Peng, then Yasuo could guess Irelia would attack with all out aggression, perhaps using those daggers from her regalia as a distraction. He scrutinized the Ionian captain, analyzing everything about her to predict just how she would fight. Her posture was perfect: no openings, perfectly balanced. It didn't help that her living blade blocked much of her body with its size and width.
Now that was a whole other variable to consider. Obviously, Irelia could attack from a whole new set of angles that would normally be impossible for one holding a conventional weapon. Did she control it completely? Or did it have a mind of its own? Yasuo was uncertain which prospect was more dangerous.
The best option would be to make the first move. It was risky, considering he had no idea what she was capable of, but he didn't want a repeat of Fu Peng, being kept on the back foot and skimming the line of defeat by a hair.
Mind made up, Yasuo's leg muscles tensed and shot him forward, sword already sliding out of his scabbard.
Apparently Irelia had come to a similar conclusion, and met Yasuo in the center.
Their swords rang against one another, sparks flying from metal on metal and weapons shaking from the force exerted by the two fighters, neither backing an inch. Their eyes stayed locked, Irelia's green piercing into Yasuo's brown, as the two struggled for supremacy in a test of strength. She had nice eyes, Yasuo noted, bright and deep. A pity they were filled with such anger.
Eventually Irelia's strength won out. She pushed Yasuo out of the lock and swung her arms, her blades coming in from the right. Yasuo hopped back and narrowly avoided the swipe before jumping in with a thrust, but the odachi tip was parried away by the flat of Irelia's swords. Yasuo spun with the momentum, his sword homing in on Irelia's flank. But the silver-haired swordswoman batted the strike away, bringing her blades to form a shield in front of her.
Yasuo sped around the ring, testing Irelia's defenses with his sword and dodging past her counterattacks, but he had little to show for it. He hadn't even nicked her armor. With just the slightest of hand gestures from Irelia the blades would spin around her in a dance, protecting her from all of his moves.
After parrying another of Yasuo's stabs, the blood red orb at the center of Irelia's weapon flashed. The blades opened, making the shape of of a great pinwheel, and began to rotate like a saw, a shrill buzzing filling the gym as she let them whirl across the ground. Clouds of dirt were kicked up, wrapping both fighters in a sandstorm. Yasuo squinted his eyes and brought an arm to cover his mouth, all the while searching through the dust for a sign of his opponent.
He didn't have to wait long.
Irelia's giant spinning rotary blade zoomed out of the cloud right for Yasuo's neck. He leapt to the side, swinging the odachi where the attack had originated from, but only hit air.
The blades came in once more, leveled at his stomach and ready to saw him in half, but as Yasuo moved to dodge again, three streaks - Irelia's daggers - shot out from the other side. His body reacted instinctively, his torso turning him towards the new threat. Yasuo pivoted on the balls of his feet and grabbed the scabbard from his sash with his free hand. Using the torque of his movements to spin, he swung his sword and created a wall of wind. The daggers collided into it as if it were made of brick and bounced off somewhere.
"Watch it!"
Yasuo flinched in mid-spin. That was a new voice. A man's voice.
Had someone else entered the fight? Was this a trick by Irelia? Was he surrounded by soldiers?
Answers would have to wait. Irelia's larger blades were almost upon him. He followed their rotation, patient despite their proximity to his gut, and a split second before they could impact he rammed his scabbard downward. The metal shaft blocked one of the deadly swords, halting the spin in its tracks Yasuo's arm rattled with the sudden impact and made his whole figure shutter as the spirit blades tried their best to continue the rotation, shaking along the scabbard. He tightened his grip and shoved the blades away. He watched as it disappeared back into the sand clouds, but not before catching the subtle movements of its silhouette.
It repositioned itself to the left. She was there.
Yasuo sheathed his sword before immediately redrawing it and slicing upwards. A gust radiated forth, blasting the sand away from him and, hopefully, at his target. In a matter of seconds the wind had swept the clouds away, leaving a sandblasted Irelia standing at the opposite end of the arena. Yells and shouts were heard all around him, but Yasuo, if anything, was relieved. The fear that this had all been a trap eased in the warrior's chest.
Now that he was able to see, he knew it wasn't the case.
Some time during the battle, their private little duel had become much more public. A number of people circled the pit. Some he recognized as the others that were working out in the gym. Others were new; champions, no doubt eager to see what the newest member could do.
Yasuo turned back just in time to throw up a hasty block and just narrowly avoid getting impaled by Irelia's charge, who had taken his momentary glances as an opportunity to close the distance. Her hair was a tangled mess that fell over her face, filled with clots of dirt, eyes red, small grains of sand sticking to her long lashes. It would not be far off to say that she looked like one of those ragged ghosts Yasuo heard about in Ionian folklore.
He couldn't resist.
"Windswept's a good look on you," Yasuo grinned while he pressed harder against Irelia's blades, "You should wear it more often!" He punctuated his statement by pushing the woman away firing another tornado at point blank range. The wind smashed into the Will of the Blades like a tidal wave, sweeping her off the ground and flinging her to the other to the far edge of the ring. She was completely at its mercy.
Or so Yasuo thought.
Still reeling in the air, Irelia wove her arms around her in a complicated pattern. Like a master puppeteer she commanded her blade to fly in front of her and plant itself into the ground, putting it directly in the way of her course, the flat side facing her. Just as she was about to collide with her own weapon, Irelia back-flipped and landed on the blades feet-first, using it as a springboard to fight against the wind and shoot right back at Yasuo, four spirit blades speeding along with her.
Yasuo created another wind wall with a swish of his sword, the blades bouncing off once again, but Irelia's size was too much and she passed right through, fist wound back into a haymaker. The Ionian captain's knuckles smashed into Yasuo's jaw and flung him to the far side of the ring. A coppery taste exploded in the back of his mouth, while the scratch of his own heels skidding through the sand rang in his ears. He had one moment to rub the side of his face with his free hand, before Yasuo's body instinctively rolled to the side. A second later, Irelia's 'fangs' slammed into the ground where the samurai had been. As the woman willed her weaponry back out of the earth, it gave him a merciful second to take a breath, and wipe away the small trickle of red that dribbled down from the corner of his lip.
"First blood's yours, then." Yasuo smiled grimly and sheathed his sword. He stood up to his full height, a much more relaxed state than his usual fighting stance that left his sword arm lax at his side. One might even say such a casual position meant that he had surrendered. However, a true warrior knew better, and the experienced eyes of Irelia, along with the small audience in the gym, were quick to catch the nuances of his posture. How his left hand still kept its thumb touching the tsuba - the elaborate hand-guard of his sword. How his feet were still kept slightly spread apart more than normal. It was an act of challenge, a silent gesture for his opponent to put everything on the line for one final move, winner take all. "Though judging by how your hair looks, I'd say I'm winning."
Irelia made no motion to correct him, responding the only way she deemed worthy; charging once more with all her blades formed into one massive board of metal . She'd acquiesce to his request. The otherwise stoic woman yelled a fierce battlecry and swung forward, aiming straight for her opponent's neck, while Yasuo did much the same. At the last second, the samurai reached down to his odachi's hilt and coiled his whole body around it, unsheathing the blade in one perfect, fluid motion. Steel rang out against the inside of his scabbard as the man struck, bringing his sword out to speed towards Irelia's own throat. They attacked at the same instant and time slowed down.
Yasuo watched Irelia's blade in slow motion, as it passed over his, inched bit by bit to his jugular. He saw his own sword reach her neck an infinitesimal fraction of a second later. And in that brief moment, where time slowed down to a crawl, Yasuo knew that their destructions were mutually assured. That their duel had reached its end, and that his journey was over.
Maybe it was this revelation that caused his vision to suddenly explode into light, a brilliant hue of blue surrounding the warrior before him. Could this be what everyone sees before they die? he wondered to himself. He'd often heard stories of how those on the brink of death were visited by memories of the past, or a bright light that encapsulated all before complete darkness. Maybe that's it?
Irelia's face contorted into a mask of shock and indescribable rage as the light covered her, growing brighter, brighter, brighter...
He felt the cool chill of her blades pressed along his neck.
And then?
He was alone. Time sped up and Yasuo found himself alone in the sandy pit of the League's gym, sword out and cutting through air. Irelia was gone. Vanished. The only remnants remaining to show any indication that she even existed at all were the footsteps and trenches dug into the earthen ring from their battle. The samurai stood lamely in the center, still trying to piece together what had happened, when he heard a derisive snort from the sidelines.
"Anti-climactic. Not even worthy of Draaaaven's time." The speaker was none other than the mustache-sporting tattooed man from the lifting machines earlier. He, along with his work-out partner and a number of others Yasuo hadn't the chance to notice during the bout, turned and returned to their duties.
"H-hey! Wait!" The Ionian exclaimed, quickly sheathing his blade, and moving to hop out of the arena. "What the hell happened there!?"
It wasn't until later, when he found Archimes, that he discovered that the blue glow was summoning magic at work. He was back in his room, watching Irelia on the scrying crystal as she cleaved through a wave of those same blue autonomous 'minions' he'd seen earlier in the day. He still hadn't a clue what was going on, yet he doubted even a League novice such as himself could miss the ferocity in the Ionian warrior's attacks. She tore through the front line and bashed her blades against the nearby tower in her 'lane', tearing through it so quickly that the announcer screamed something about a record being broken.
"Guess I left an impression," Yasuo murmured, and brought a hand to his neck. The red line from where her sword had broken skin was still there, though the bleeding had stopped a while ago. The empty remains of his meal atop the bedside table (a humble bowl of rice) carried with it the aftertaste of defeat.
Yes. Defeat. They may have had their duel end prematurely, but it was most definitely a loss for both of them. He knew it, and judging by the look on Irelia's face as she pounced on some peculiar monster in the rugged terrain of the jungle, she knew it as well. He wondered if she also sported a mark of shame along her throat, and if it stung as much as his did. Their story did not end, there was no conclusion to their bout, and it left both warriors wanting. A younger part of him pressed Yasuo to march back to the Will of the Blades after her match and demand they continue. Yet a swift note delivered to his door a few minutes prior forbade him from such an action. Forbade him from even interacting with the Captain except on purely 'professional' purposes, whatever the hell that meant. Apparently the Grand Summoners really could see everywhere, a fact that made the hairs along his neck bristle as to just where exactly the limits on their omniscient vision were...if there were any at all.
Yasuo flopped back onto his bed, nude and clean after a long rinse in the shower. It did little to assuage his ego. After almost a year of amassing enough coin for travel from Ionia to the mainlands and keeping to the lowest paths as to avoid recognition by the authorities, his journey nearly ended just a day - a day! - after his admittance into the one place that could hold the key to his exoneration. He had already made an enemy, possibly two if his antics in the gym had garnered Kolminye's ire enough. And then there was still Luli...
"Feh. What's a guy gotta do to make a friend around here?"
A.N: WELL HI FANFICTION, LONG TIME NO SEE! Man, looking back at when Chapter 3 came out, I guess I might be a liiiiiiittle bit late with this one .
I apologize to folks for leaving things hanging like that; the past two years have been a bit rough, and coping with some depression and a bunch of other things killed my creativity for quite a while. It's just been recent that I got to interact with my friend Cinis again (you definitely should check out their work if you haven't already, it is seriously awesome!), and through that, managed to wake my lazy ass up and write again! So here's chapter 4 of my Yasuo fic; I hope folk enjoy it! The next chapter will be posted MUCH faster than this one.
Also, a bit of a second note, I've been out of the LoL lore loop for a while and am just catching up on everything again. Now I know that there even more character changes and updates even after the big retcon from the Journal of Justice being finished, but I'm still going to press forward with the League/ Institute of War being canon for the sake of this story. Feel free to ask me any questions about anything too!