Chapter 10: Shame on the Blade
Trapped within the Orb of Blades, the two swordsmen circled each other, eyes on each other's blades, eyes on each other's hands.
Naturally, the interior arena of the Orb was built to Falstaff's advantage. It was a flat disk of a battlefield alongside whose edges stood up dozens of blades that snaked along the surface of the Orb, a stage hazard that meant there could be no dodging. It was to be a duel of short distance attacks, a close quarters clash of glancing sabers.
Zoro asked no questions. He knew only that there existed before his eyes an enemy to the crew, to the future pirate king, and that enemy had to die. Falstaff, on the other hand, ran his mouth like no tomorrow.
"They call you Pirate Hunter, do they not?" Falstaff drawled. "How ironic a man like you should become a pirate himself."
"Anything it takes," Zoro said, "to spread my name across the heavens."
"So you would throw aside your principles for fame?" said Falstaff. "I admire your candor, pirate. I myself am a vagabond at heart… but I have been bound to my estate, by my responsibilities to society. I've only just switched societies."
Falstaff's thumb caressed the hilt of his blade, and it popped a little from its sheath.
Zoro licked his lips and bit on his sword's handle.
"A sword in your mouth, is that your handicap?" asked Falstaff. "How inventive! Normally I can only come up with the standard fare by way of handicaps: not moving one foot, one eye closed, et cetera et cetera. But always I end up scoring the kill more quickly than I'd like, it's a shame, really."
Zoro smirked at the mention of one eye closed; was he trying to get Zoro to spill on his eye? The other two swords soon shed their sheathes and glinted in Zoro's hands. "Let's just get this over with."
"Confident, are we?" Falstaff drew his sword, not a katana but a strange serrated dao designed to catch, deflect and destroy katanas. But never would he have guessed Pirate Hunter Zoro was proficient in a style that used three katanas. "Interesting. Engarde!"
Because of the arena of blades, Zoro didn't have all the room to move he would have liked, so at first he tried to slash them away. But it had no appreciable effect.
"They're seastone," said Falstaff. "You just can't beat that stuff. If it wasn't so heavy it'd make for an indestructible sword material."
Damn. To hit the proper stances, Zoro needed plenty of space—swordsmanship was just as much about footwork as it was about swinging blades.
More often than not Zoro could gauge his opponent just by subtle cues in his expression, but outwardly Falstaff appeared completely indifferent, as though he was so prodigious and wealthy he'd never faced a serious challenge in his life.
Zoro aimed to change that. "Three Sword Style: Three Thousand Worlds!"
Zoro spun his swords to gale force speed, his ultimate finisher. He was banking on his opponent's reluctance to step within range of the blades. But Falstaff thrust forward and jammed the technique. Falstaff deftly raised his dao up and flung Zoro's heaviest blade, Shuusui, out of Zoro's grasp. The black sword clattered outside the perimeter of blades, meaning he could no longer use it during the course of the duel.
Tch! Zoro couldn't read him at all.
"Is that all you've got? How boring. I guess I'll have to make my sword a little duller." Falstaff started picking his teeth with his sword.
Zoro narrowed his eyes. "That sword must hate you, if you disrespect it so remorselessly."
"'Disrespect?' What on earth are you talking about? Swords are merely tools. As soon as this battle is over I will discard it for a better blade, more suited to whatever task is at hand."
Zoro grimaced. The man was insanely rich, so rich he could not see the true value of his blades. No wonder Zoro couldn't read him: he was so emotionless as to be barely human. "Do you feel nothing for a sword that's been at your side through countless battles?"
"No."
"Hmph." Zoro smirked and closed his eyes. "And they call me a devil."
Falstaff lunged forward once again with frightening speed, but this time Zoro was ready for him and parried; with just two swords against one, they seemed evenly matched. Neither could find an opening for the kill.
Falstaff seemed surprised, even scared. He was almost happier to finally find a worthy opponent than he was at the idea of deification.
Zoro surmised that the fewer swords he had to focus on, the more of an edge he had against Falstaff, since he could more accurately determine which attacks worked and which didn't. And so he sheathed the cursed sword Sandai Kitetsu and relied on his most treasured blade, Kuina's blade, Wado Ichimonji. They resumed combat and sure enough, Zoro was gaining the upper hand, pushing Falstaff back a half-step towards the unwelcoming floor-blades with each parry and swing.
Falstaff, now in a full-blown panic, switched his fighting style to his most dastardly, a swordsman's shameful last resort—deliberately seeking to sever the enemy's sword instead of the enemy himself. As far as Zoro was concerned, this tactic was the lowest of the low and a blatant disgrace to the swordsman's way. Wado Ichimonji was strong and full of the spirit of life, and this was beneath her.
Zoro had no choice but to turn his blade away from this palpable shame; he held her by the blade and blocked Falstaff's attacks with the hilt, winning more effortlessly than ever. It seemed the more handicaps Zoro placed on himself, the better he fared.
Falstaff was utterly humiliated, defeated without question by the hilt of a katana. He fell to his knees and was about to beg for mercy, but Zoro ended his life before the first word could be uttered. This, he believed, was the only way the shame on Falstaff's blade could be absolved.
Zoro affectionately sheathed Wado and Shuusui before sitting beside Falstaff's bleeding corpse, clasping his hands and furrowing his brows in meditation.