Ten-some minutes in, frustration pricked like thorns under my skin. I tried every trick I knew, but Jing kept me at arm’s length, a glass wall I couldn’t breach. My strikes skittered like stones on water. He dodged or parried them all, and my strength bled away like sand through a sieve. What little stamina I had shrank to scraps.
I didn’t know how long I could last. My chest felt tight, my arms heavy as lead. Just lifting the blade strained like dragging a net through mud, let alone trading high-cost blows. Jing was sly, a fox in calm snow. He leaned on Mirror Calm Water and ground me down. What could I do? Keep this up and I’d lose for sure. Victory sat one strike away, yet felt a horizon I couldn’t reach.
I slipped past a whipping slash, heart thumping like a trapped bird. I had to find something—anything. I swore it, like carving a mark into stone.
Sword arts weren’t yielding much. I couldn’t waste strength on them. I needed to close the gap, like crossing a river before the current swept me off. Ranged play cut against me. And I had to save a sliver of power; otherwise, even if an opening bloomed, I couldn’t pour a final, crushing sword art into it.
I rode my Sword Intent, a wind that mirrored Mirror Calm Water, and slid through several of Jing’s slashes. Yet the distance between us stayed fixed, like two boats stalled by a windless lake. It gnawed at me.
“No. Don’t rush. Be calm.”
I shut my eyes and breathed out, letting the restless waves in my chest settle. Then I drove my Sword Intent hard, like stoking embers under moonlight. It flared a touch stronger, but it still didn’t shift the board. And I felt something strange—my Sword Intent felt wrapped in a thin film, like silk over a blade. If I wanted progress, I had to pierce that veil. I had no idea what lay beyond, but it felt like the key to this duel, a door I had to open.
“Hoo… hoo…”
It might be the omen of the first tier of Sword Intent, a chrysalis about to split. Maybe my state of mind and will were rising like dawn—if I broke through. Fail here, and this feeling might not return for a long season. So I had to try at my peak. A calm heart was the seed; agitation was poison. The quieter the lake, the higher the chance the moon would reflect whole.
I drew deep breaths, brushed away every stray feeling, let thoughts drop like leaves into still water. I buried myself in that hazy pull. My body didn’t stop; I kept riding Sword Intent to evade and block Jing’s attacks—mirror for mirror, his style reflected in mine.
…
Wary of Yumigawa Sumeragi springing some underhanded trick, Jing chose distance—the most prudent path. Confidence flowed through him like winter clarity; with Mirror Calm Water, he believed he would win.
At first, it held true. Yumigawa Sumeragi found no advantage; Jing’s slashes tagged him a few times, cuts like cold rain. Barely into the long-range bout, Sumeragi’s stamina drained to dregs. Jing’s certainty rose like a steady sun. But little by little, Sumeragi stopped unleashing heavy sword arts. He copied Jing’s approach—predict, evade, block. His accuracy lagged far behind Jing’s, a novice trying to read the wind. Yet an unease slipped into Jing’s chest, a shadow lengthening at noon.
Minutes flowed. Jing’s unease hardened. Yumigawa Sumeragi fully closed his eyes, as if stepping into a bright moment of insight. Even so, his movements didn’t falter. They grew natural, like water finding its course. He came closer, inch by inch, as pressure seeped off him like storm scent before rain. Jing’s breath snagged.
“This is…”
A swordsman’s eye saw it fast. “Sword Intent,” Jing murmured—real, not that half-made echo from before. “This is the Mizumi Clan’s genius? Not yet twenty and he grasps true Sword Intent. I studied for decades and scraped only a sliver.” The thought pulled a wry smile to his lips, then he sharpened his assault, blades like hail.
Shock or not, he wouldn’t hold back. The sky doesn’t spare lightning.
Just a little more. Just a hair’s breadth. Yet I couldn’t break through. At the same time, Jing’s attacks doubled—power and number, a flurry like a squall. Dodging and blocking turned grinding, my strength burning faster, like oil to flame. Damn it, time was leaking away. If I didn’t break through now, defeat would lock in.
My once-still heart started to drum like storm on eaves.
“No. No!”
I shook my head hard and forced calm back, like pressing frost over a fever. The situation was already critical; agitation would tip me over a cliff. It told me my mental realm was still low, the road to Mirror Calm Water long as a mountain trail. I shoved that thought aside. After the fight.
“Ugh… hurts.”
Pain flared everywhere, sharp as glass. I glanced down. My mascot costume hung in tatters, a flag shredded by wind. My skin was crosshatched with big and small cuts, and sweat stung them like salt. The wounds swelled and burned, like nicking a finger while chopping, nothing at first—until it meets brine or chili water and turns into fire.
In battle, deep wounds don’t scare me. The worst are these peppered nicks, grief in a hundred needles. Gathered pain can be fatal.
Swish. Swish.
I stalled, body locked by pain, and more slashes flew in, silver arcs like cold rain. I couldn’t move in time. I watched new cuts bloom red across my skin.
“…”
I threw several healing-type augmentation sword arts onto myself, light like warm mist. The wounds knit, barely. But the pain clung like burrs; it would linger. Fatigue pooled in my bones, heavy as wet earth. Twice, three times, I almost stumbled. I had to end this now. My body was reaching its limit.
“Hoo…”
I took long breaths, let calm seep back, then gathered Sword Aura like storm-bent air. I spun once at full strength and swung the Shattered Light Sword.
“Sword Qi Storm!”
A giant tornado of Sword Aura roared up around me, a spiraling dragon that speared the lakebed and tore into the clouds. It screened Jing’s slashes, a wall of wind—but only for a dozen breaths.
I seized that precious time, dove into the earlier ethereal state, and chased the breakthrough like a hawk stooping. This time I had to make it. Absolutely.
