His sword spun in his hand as Adan tested it. Forged from low-grade laconia, the rarest and greatest of all metals, it was a family heirloom of Satera. The blade bore a slight curve before it tapered at the end to stab. Its edge never dulled and was enough to cut through the most resilient chitin armor and steel plate. It lacked a guard, leaving it as a weapon only with the blade and the grip. If you did not pay attention, the sword was just as willing to cut you as it was willing to cut your enemy.
It had a name. It was the enemy of its master's foes, but no ally to its master. It only made sense that some long ago Sateran king had named the weapon Friendless. Adan could well sympathize with his weapon's plight. It made them two of a kind.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Gwyn asked as she hovered near his shoulder. "You really don't have to, you know."
"I've already accepted," Adan responded patiently, Friendless dancing through his fingers as he twirled the hilt. It was all the explanation that was necessary.
"Yes, but…" Kara began uncertainly, hovering by his other shoulder.
"I've already accepted," he repeated firmly before he sheathed his sword and walked away from them. He heard Gwyn tell Kara in a very cross voice, "This is what I mean! He's so…ugh!"
He lost Kara's response in the murmurs of the crowd. Word had spread throughout the Falling Snow tribe, and people were coming from everywhere to witness his bout with the Kensai princess. The encampment's grand chamber was filling up with every tribe member who could make an excuse to escape their tasks and very likely a few who couldn't but had come anyway. Adan took the opportunity to observe his strange hosts. He saw men armed with bows, a traditionally Layan female weapon, sporting thick fur caps with ear flaps that looked liked they could be tied at the chin mingling with Kensai women dressed in pale blues and whites that would easily conceal them in plain sight in Frigidia's frozen wastes.
The women wore their swords at the hip. Kensai swords were curved, slender, single-edged blades with a cross-shaped guard and a long grip to accommodate two hands. Some of them wore their armor, blue-hued plate that offered good protection for the torso. The younger women wore maroon, so Adan supposed they were trainees as opposed to full-fledged warriors. That still left the twintails without an explanation, but at least it made them look cuter.
Not that the Kensai women needed help with their looks. As his Chirpers had explained, they were indeed as beautiful as their weapons, though he reserved judgment on how deadly they were. The men were consistent with the quality of the good looks of the women, but Adan paused when he caught sight of a particularly ugly male near the front, a pretty green-haired woman stroking his hair. The man had to offer an unusually strong trait in order for one of the Kensai to risk her offspring's beauty on his genes.
A space had opened up around the shousa's throne. It was a circular area around ten meters in diameter, large enough for freedom of movement in his upcoming match, and for plenty of spectators to observe the show. Adan folded his arms and watched as Sumire held her sword firmly in her left hand, her eyes sapphire daggers trying to break through his skull. If the girl did not consistently look like she was chewing nails even as her sharp eyes tried to stare him down, Adan would have called her one of the prettiest Kensai. As it was, her sour face left her merely average.
"Alteza Adan, I ask that you fight," the shousa said respectfully, seated on the ground where her daughter had been a short time before rather than on her throne, her younger daughter Amaya at her side.
Adan inclined his head in the Kensai overlord's direction, acknowledging his acquiescence to her request. Unsurprisingly, Sumire attacked in that short opening, her intent to kill about as subtle as a charging Gnasher. Without even drawing his sword, Adan dodged her attack, shifting away from her so he would have room to respond. Whatever Gwyn's worries, Adan did not fear defeat. For one, he would never allow anyone to beat him. For another, he was the inheritor of Orakio's secret sword art, the strongest blade techniques on the Alisa III.
Sumire advanced on the balls of her feet, her body ready to shift weight and stance on the heartbeat. Adan watched as she shifted her left hand to the bottom of the hilt, her right positioned near the tip of the sword, pointed at him. Her right foot led, right beneath her right hand, her left foot positioned similarly under her left hand. He shifted subtly, putting his right hand on his sword even as his left held the sheath.
The Kensai princess leaned back, then suddenly pushed forward with her right foot, launching a fast charge toward him. She suddenly thrust her weapon, aimed at his torso. He dodged in the nick of time, only to realize his mistake as Sumire twisted her blade's edge toward him before she launched a powerful horizontal slash.
The sharp ring of blade against blade filled the air as Adan drew enough of his sword in time to block her attack. As he expected, Sumire's slender frame concealed wiry muscles that made her far stronger than she appeared. But brute force to brute force, she was no match for him.
Before he could take advantage of that, Sumire pulled back her blade a bit, reducing the pressure against him just before he would have leveraged his greater strength. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of her right hand closed into a fist, aimed right at his ribs. Had he been applying the pressure he meant to, he would have overbalanced, becoming easy prey to what was obviously the girl's favorite attack, and that would have likely cost him the fight. As it was, he jumped back, barely avoiding her attack. Sumire's glare tried to drill through his eyes even as his opponent once more adopted her technique's stance.
The Orakian prince finished drawing his sword, eyes intent on the Kensai princess. Adan thought he had an adequate grasp on the mechanics of her move, but he would have to brave it once more to be certain he had an opening to attack.
Sumire dashed forward, her weapon steady as she thrust. Adan lashed out, the ring of weapon contact quickly displaced by the sliding noise of metal against metal as they closed on each other. Sumire quickly shifted her weight even as her weapon changed into the horizontal slash, pushing against him enough that momentum forced him back a step. It was enough of a break for her to withdraw, once again settling back into her technique stance.
Adan studied her. His ancestor's secret sword art was called "Moon Dance," and possessed many powerful techniques that could address virtually any situation. He sheathed his sword once again, this time adopting the formal sword draw stance, his right foot placed in front of his left, the blade of the sheathed Friendless against the curve of the sheath. Sumire's technique was powerful, but not as powerful as the Sa Riik sword art.
Once again, his opponent committed to her attack. Adan dodged, shifting his body into a spin even as he casually deflected Sumire's powerful follow-up. He sensed more than saw movement. Rather than the dull thud from the pommel of his sword striking the back of Sumire's head, he heard the clear ring of metal clashing. He instinctively dodged to his left, neatly evading a sword strike aimed at his back.
Two of Sumire's cronies had come to her aid. Adan did not bother glancing at the shousa to question the changed circumstances, as none of the onlookers had protested. Well, almost none.
"Three against one isn't fair," Kara said loudly and angrily. While he couldn't see the moon princess, for whatever strange reason, he had the distinct impression she was being held back from joining the fray.
"You're right. Three against one isn't fair," Gwyn replied calmly. "For them."
His twin was more or less right. Musubi was taught to Layan archers and slicers. It was a state of mind where everything became one, the weapon, the warrior… and the targets. Once he attacked, the action and result became one, uniting the past and the future at the same point. Ever since she had taught him the trick of musubi, he had become one of the strongest swordsmen in Landen, but only one of the strongest. He considered flattery any claims he was a swordmaster, let alone prattle that said he was better than his father.
The three encircled him, forming a lethal triangle with him at its center. In a single flowing motion, he sheathed his sword, eyes tracking his opponents, daring them to strike in the deliberate opening he had given them. Their failure to do so would cost them dearly.
He charged Sumire, his hands on Friendless, ready to draw. Even as her cronies broke their positions to close with him, he changed his charge midstep and turned on the other two. The surprise broke their concentration. Even as they moved to react, they knew they were too late.
His target tried to bring her sword down on his head, but Friendless blocked the strike even as his left hand hit her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. A rough shove sent her back several steps, enough room for him to block her compatriot's attack. Caught in a blade lock, he used his strength to break free of it, startling her enough that he took the risk of closing in to point blank range to strike her between the eyes with his pommel. Those eyes rolled up into her head before she collapsed. A hard kick in the ribs left his first opponent prone.
The skirmish had taken heartbeats. Sumire had finally closed in. When their gazes met, the sharpness of her eyes was obscured by her shock as she took in her defeated comrades. She took up her technique's stance, her movements betraying uncertainty. Aware that her cronies were stirring, already recovering from his assault, he sheathed Friendless and assumed sword drawing stance, his eyebrow raised in mocking challenge.
The Kensai princess glared before she launched, her strike as true as before. Adan evaded it once again, his body turning even as he parried her follow-up slash. This time, there was no interference as his pommel struck the back of Sumire's neck, dropping her to the ground.
"The match is done," the shousa announced. "The winner is alteza Adan."
There was no applause from the crowd, but Adan heard the appreciative tone in the murmurs. He eyed Sumire's body as she rubbed the back of her head, wondering if he should just keep her there. "Was there a point to that?" he asked, inclining his head at one of Sumire's cronies.
The shousa inclined her head in an apology. "They are her swordbearers. Their task is to protect her and help her. It is unusual for them to intervene in a match such as this, but not against custom."
He snorted softly. He had a thought or two about that, but it would be rude to say it aloud.
"They're doing a poor job of protecting her." Of course, rudeness only rarely stopped his twin from speaking her mind. Kara and Gwyn had joined him, Kara's eyes wide as saucers as she stared at him. He smiled at her, strangely pleased that he had surprised her.
"I am certain my daughter's head agrees," the shousa replied a little dryly.
The Kensai princess was on her feet, her eyes lowered, not looking at anyone. Her mother regarded her fondly before she said, "Your eyes are not lowered, Sumire. It would be unfair to expect you to beat one in whose veins flow the blood of gods."
Sumire took a deep breath before she turned to face him. Those sharp blue eyes never left his face as the lavender-haired princess declared, "I want this man as my mate!"