Chapter 12: The Man with A Thousand Moves
Magnus was actually rather surprised. Dalan Noh looked completely…unremarkable.
Everyone else Lucius had sent in had some manner of quirk or peculiar feature that made them stand out in some way. Dalan Noh was certainly not lumped into that category.
He had scruffy brunette hair, the outmost reaches falling into his eyes. His complexion was average, not tan nor pale, with a skinny frame, a few traces of sinewy muscle clinging here and there. Eyes were a gray/green, looking inquisitive and sharp, and a matching expression with a curious rueful smile, almost playful, as he came strolling gently forward.
Other than the plain long sword over his shoulder, he was both unarmed and unarmored, with no studded leather or plate mail or anything. Simple clothes, simple boots, and a simple sword. He looked the sort of man who could blend into any crowd and not stand out, a man who looked just like everyone else. An almost flawless camouflage for the ultimate swordsman.
Magnus knew this was him though, there was no doubt. The thoughts matched the face at last, and Magnus was certain this was going to be difficult. The mind he was sensing wasn't just sharp; it was razor. In a constant blur of motion, taking in every conceivable detail about the terrain, his opponent, and any other factors which could alter combat flow. He was as focused on battle as Magnus was focused on psionics.
Which meant Magnus was at a disadvantage here, if it came down to raw skill. Magnus wasn't worried about being killed; he could always use his abilities to quell any resistance against him. But not against Dalan Noh, but rather against any outside interference. Dalan Noh had nothing but high regard for his opponents, and fought honorably. He was, strangely enough, the least threatening of everyone in the whole warehouse.
Dalan stepped out, paying zero attention to the fans above, who were excessively quiet, or to Lucius who was unhealthily pale. He was watching Magnus only with that inquiring smile, his eyes flicking back and forth across him, taking into account his armor, his frame, his weapons, and any other deciding factors. With a twirl, Dalan brought his sword around, and planted it tip down into the dirt at his feet. He then proceeded to stretch, extending his legs, rolling his gaunt shoulders, bending his back, all the while watching Magnus.
"So you're the prowler," he mused in the midst of his loosening up, his smile never faltering, "You've made quite a stir around here. Not many can get this far. Actually, this is the first time I've been called out to fight in a long time. Maybe even ever. Although you aren't quite what I expected…"
"How do you mean?"
"I don't know…I always thought that someone who could get to this point would look…different. Maybe some huge hulking brute with more brains in his feet than his head. Too stubborn to submit to pain or to accept defeat. That's hardly what you look like. You actually look dangerous."
"You don't consider the large barbarian types dangerous?" Dalan shook his head with a grin.
"Hardly. If they've had enough to drink, they might be tough, but otherwise all one needs to do is use their own over-zealous dispositions to their disadvantage. But since you got here, I guess that means you don't make such mistakes. I'm hoping that it wasn't just a fluke on your part to get past everyone else. If not, then maybe I can finally have a decent fight here."
"You do not consider anyone else here a worthy warrior?" Dalan thought on that.
"Not especially, though I gotta say, I certainly like looking as Sola and Rava. They're not half bad in the ring, but their strength doesn't really lie in their blades, if you follow…"
"Elkin was impressive," Magnus recalled, "But since you are the one known as the world's greatest swordsman, I assume you are far superior to even he."
"Elkin?" he seemed to consider this, before shrugging. "Not too bad, but yeah, you're right I'm afraid. I'm in a different league them him. I kind of wonder…are you ready to face me?"
"I'm here aren't I?"
"I guess so. Well, let's see what I've got to work with here." After pacing in a tight circle, he retrieved his sword, and started towards his newest foe. Magnus stood poised, ready to react like lightning. And even then, it almost wasn't enough. Dalan closed with a gentle gait, and in a swooping turning arc, he lifted his sword for swift upward slash, Magnus almost not able to parry.
And before he was able to perform a retaliation strike, Dalan's sword went sweeping away, swinging around his body, and with a practiced nimbleness, his weapon changed hands, and it came in again, this time a thrusting downward spin, aiming for the neck. Again, Magnus was almost unable to react against the speed of it.
This swordmaster was really something else. He was perhaps the pinnacle of human dexterity, his movements agile and flawlessly timed; his feet graceful and his assaults fluid. Magnus returned with a counter-offensive of his own, a twin sword rush, crossing them, before making simultaneous rising draw-cuts to split his foe's torso. But nothing struck, Dalan watched with a mischievous grin, making lissome steps out of the way, moving as casually as if he was taking a leisurely stroll, rather than being attacked.
With no hesitation, he came skipping right back in, pressing Magnus hard, both hands on the grip of the long sword, and making numerous flurries like a visible hurricane, slashing high, then low, switching to jab and all the while stepping in to attack, making Magnus give ground.
Dalan Noh wasn't just fast, he was strong. And yet it wasn't just physical strength, but the calculating knowledge of where exactly to strike an opponent's weakest defense, so it felt like an overwhelming power, enough to leave them exposed for a finishing blow. But Magnus even at his weakest was still immeasurably strong, unquestionably stronger than Dalan. He caught on to this maneuver before it came, and for the moment decided to play along. His elbow bent under the blow, bending his arm back as if staggered, leaving a slight gap in his defense. Dalan saw it and took it, pulling his blade back, changed his grip and plunged it in.
Magnus was able to divert this with his second sword, veering the incoming blade off course just enough for him to slip around it. The two leapt apart, staring at each other. After all their bouts, Dalan's face was a bit flushed, and his breathing was heavier, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead.
Magnus was not suffering the same ill-effects of fatigue. He was by no means immune to it, even he would be begin to buckle under the strain of battle after a time, but this low level intensity of action wasn't enough to wear him down. He was busy studying the situation. He found it amazing that one man, with only one sword, one standard unmagical sword, could hold Magnus's two relentless blades off so effortlessly.
Dalan undoubtedly saw that Magnus was unaffected, and it no doubt put him on edge. But he showed no outward signs of it if he did, instead gathering his breath, and came charging in again, sword trailing behind.
Magnus recognized the same maneuver as before, though it was coming from the right side rather than the left. This time, Magnus was going to give the shock. Dalan came in, whirling through the air, his sword coming in with a rising horizontal slash.
For a brief moment, almost indiscernible, Dalan's eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. He preformed the same move, trying to use his position to push back Magnus's arm before taking another attack. This time, Magnus's arm didn't so much as twitch, let alone fold under the pressure. And with a slight twist, Dalan's sword was pushed back, leaving him with the hole in his defense. Magnus took the offensive, his sword lunging in but he did not connect. Dalan was able to use Magnus's counterattack to lean back, just out of range of the chisel point of the sword as it went swishing past. And the second he was clear, his long sword was reversed and came plunging inward.
Magnus twirled out of the way; escaping though the tip caught the flowing folds of Magnus's trench coat, getting caught but didn't manage to pierce it. As he landed, Dalan was watching, his eyebrow raised.
"Magic clothes? I've never seen someone wearing something like that before. But come on, are you really going to fight me with all that? I don't really see you as a guy who is afraid of being hurt. Do you mind taking it off so we're even?"
"Not at all," Magnus answered, already unbuckling the cuffs at his wrists, "I hardly remember that I'm wearing it most of the time. I suppose it's just comfortable." He tossed his black coat to land near where he had placed his sword belt, before retrieving his standard scimitars again.
Dalan gave a salute, and the two closed again. This time, Magnus altered the battle by suddenly shifting his fighting style in mid-swing, altering from a more defensive arching strategy to a forceful stabbing and hacking motion. It wasn't his ultimate goal in trying to win; he was simply interested in watching his opponent's reactions to such drastic changes, as a true warrior is able to predict the tide of battle and flow with changes. And again, the world's greatest swordfighter did not disappoint.
Without even a raised eyebrow, Dalan adjusted his own stance, retaking a grip on his sword, altering his own fighting style to best counter the aggressive attacks.
After a bit, Magnus this time not only switched to an even more elegant yet roundabout vigorous style, he also began to employ his own high dexterity more fully. His footwork became more accurate, his reactions seemed even quicker than before, and his ability to contort his body around the incoming blade of his enemy increased. And once more, Dalan's eyes narrowed at this change, but did not falter, keeping up his own offensive, adjusting himself to counter.
They raged across the pit, cautiously watching the other, making forceful and delicate attacks, testing the others defenses, closing to clash for a few bouts before breaking off. All the while both opponents were vigilantly taking note of the other; of sword styles, stances, and other little quirks each individual fighter possess that could give forewarning to a impending maneuver.
"I gotta say," Dalan now squinting at Magnus carefully, "You're quite the mystery to me. I've been able to read every single fighter I've ever come up against, and analyze their strengths and flaws so I can find the best way to beat them. It's sort of a habit of mine. And I did the same thing to you. You look tough, but not horribly strong, and you didn't really seem to have that dancer flare of deftness about you that keeps you on your toes. But both times you've proved me wrong. You're far stronger than your appearance suggests, and you have high awareness and coordination with your feet. Which makes me wonder…?" He trailed off, scrutinizing Magnus even more than before.
"Wonder what?" Magnus pressed, interesting in hearing his take on the situation, "Please speculate. What is it you are thinking?" Dalan Noh was quiet, but then gave a flashing grin.
"I think you're the one who's toying with me…not the other way around."
"I'll admit that there are certain…aspects of my abilities I have not brought to bear. But I have a suspicion that the same can be said for you as well. And I am interested in seeing the full extent of what you're capable of." Dalan scratched his chin, thinking on this.
"Heh, well truth be told, I'd say the same about you. I'd like to know what I'm dealing with. How about we put this fight on hold for a bit, and we go get ourselves a drink?"
"A fine idea," Magnus agreed. He replaced the scimitars where he found them, retrieving his own sword belt and coat, and both demi-god and blademaster walked out of the pit, shoulder to shoulder, leaving behind a bowled over crowd of spectators.