Have you ever seen the blade of a master swordsman?
It is less elegant than it is vicious. An inch of distance, the gap of half a step, a difference of no more than a quarter-beat suddenly protrudes as death itself.
Power and efficiency were irrelevant.
This belonged purely to the realm of technique.
Only a madman who had devoted decades solely to the craft of the sword could imitate such skill. No matter how much of a ‘Master’ one might be, it was impossible to catch up with a lifetime of training.
And my opponent was a woman who had once been called a genius of the sword.
She was no goldfish raised in a pond. The old swordswoman had accumulated experience against countless masters of swordsmanship in bouts scarcely different from actual combat, and it would not have been an exaggeration to call her the ultimate killing machine in her own right.
Just as she was now.
There were no footprints where she had kicked off the ground and charged. The encroaching blade cast thousands of shadows, and I had no choice but to thrust my sword out against them.
Toward the most threatening trajectory, the one strike upon which all killing intent converged.
It was a misjudgment.
It fell short by the slightest amount.
Literally by no more than a hair, the sword failed to reach me. Anyone else might have mistaken it for an error, but the old woman standing before me was a master of the killing sword.
There was no chance she would make such a careless mistake.
My reaction came faster than…