Do Dreams Come True? (2)

The moment the storm died.

The dancer's brows knit together.

Probably because she couldn't see me in her field of view.

Even a dancer couldn't secure a clear line of sight inside a sandstorm. She might have ways to resist the wind, but nothing stopped the sand itself. She must have been flinging sword winds while cracking her eyes open only in brief flashes to grab what little vision she could.

Just before the retreating storm clouds fully withdrew, I burst from the shadows and drove my dagger forward in a wide slash. Black thorns erupted from the sand, and dense darkness clung thickly to the tip of the blade.

The strike aimed at her throat was blocked by a hair's breadth. Still, it wasn't without harvest—blood dripped steadily onto the ground.

"Tough. I knew you'd come, though."

"Oh, is that so?"

A little disappointing for the chance I'd finally seized. But there was no need to rush.

Since when had analyzing an opponent been my exclusive privilege? For a pro, it was simply expected. Traveler had said as much not long ago—that no one in this tournament would treat me as a mere amateur anymore. The moment I beat Ripper, every frame of every recording would have been dissected. The way she guarded her nape the instant my ambush began proved it.

But so what if she knew? Knowing didn't mean she could stop everything. The starting line had simply evened out. I still held the edge in stance and distance.

Leaving light cuts on her forearm and collarbone, I pressed the attack without pause. I knew her habits just as well as she knew mine, so I soon tore through her guard and sank a blade into her side.

I'd like to get rid of that fan first.

The source of the dancer's wind control was the fan in her left hand. If I didn't remove it now, I'd keep suffering long-range harassment. Ideally I needed to disarm her before the cooldown on her sword dance reset.

How much could I afford to give up... one of my arms? I decided to factor in a trade that accepted bleeding if it came to that.

I feinted low, then switched my grip and went for her chest. Her torso jerked. I kicked the side of her knee to break her stance, closed the distance, and stabbed into her forearm. On the other side she was blocking my curved sword, so our arms locked tight against each other. My attempt to pierce her lung had failed, leaving both of us in a deadlock.

I seemed ahead in speed and strength, but the slickness of the arms pressed together bothered me. Both of us were soaked with blood and sweat.

"Fighting on my home ground and all—it'd be really embarrassing if I lost, right?"

"You're overflowing with confidence. Looks good on you, but I'm a little worried. Feels like I might crush the spirit of a junior I finally got to meet."

"What, so I'm acknowledged as a junior now?"

"Of course. Surviving as a woman in this scene is hard enou—"

An opening.

I would have preferred she simply took it again. The blade meant for her wrist was blocked. The iron plate at the tip of her fan met my edge and trembled with a sharp rattle.

"You've had no manners from the start."

"I'm a worthless amateur, after all."

Her pure combat ability was still below Ripper's. In that case, maybe I should drag this into the mud.

People take the biggest shock when their greatest strength is broken. And one of Muse's specialties was outstanding submission skill. Ironically, that was an area where I had nothing to fear.

In kendo there is something called ashibarai—a leg sweep that begins from the sword. Often banned in tournaments, yet old sword arts frequently included grappling techniques. Fundamentally it was the study of force flow and body use; knowing it never hurt. Dig deep enough into any martial art and grappling becomes something you eventually have to touch.

I stretched my right leg out to hook hers and layered my body over hers. The arm that had been locked suddenly freed. I immediately threw my dagger into her wrist and used the opening to wreck her left arm. In ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠exchange I took a long, deep cut running from shoulder to ribs.

Muse dropped her fan. I dropped one dagger. Realizing my intent, she twisted her face into a scowl.

"You sure about this?"

"Yeah. I can already see what color you are right now, so I'll do something else."

"Color? Ah... y-you crazy bitch!"

Now we each had one weapon left. I kicked the wrist holding the curved sword upward and, at the same time, flung my remaining dagger. The blade sank cleanly into her wrist and disarmed the curved sword as well.

Bare-handed now, the fight shifted once more into pure physical contest. I drove my body hard into hers and we both toppled onto the rock. I was on top. The brown-skinned dancer was underneath.

She yanked at my collar and arm, hunting for a submission. The way her legs tried to slide behind my neck made the intention obvious—triangle choke, also famous as the triangle choke.

"Think that'll work?"

I pinned her thigh with my knee and defended. Both of us were slick, so movement wasn't bad. As I pressed her leg, her copper body shifted with it, changing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the angle. I thrust an arm forward to block, only to be stopped somewhere under her breasts. Her legs crept higher, countering. At this rate they would reach my neck, so I changed approach.

Both of us had arms weakened by injury. We were binding each other with body and technique, yet I held one decisive advantage. From the very start I had cut her Achilles tendon; her leg strength was slightly compromised.

I pulled the back of her neck with my left arm. Using the legs coiled around me, I squeezed with everything I had. Her body folded into a curled posture. From there, if I pressed her shoulder and drove inward... only her lower half floated skyward.

On camera right now, wouldn't it look like her rear was thrust high into the air?

"Pffft..."

The thrashing limbs trying to escape looked rather pitiful. Sharp nails raked my shoulder wildly, but I paid them no mind. Still, I couldn't finish the match like this. I forced her chin up to open the neck, clasped my hands, and dragged them inward. The dancer's waist arched roundly and choked, wet sounds began to rise.

"I used to play like this a lot in high school. Miss those days."

"W... what?"

"Doesn't everyone try a guillotine choke at least once when they're kids?"

I had both applied it and been caught in it. Back then I hung out with those meathead sports-club guys, so the sweat stench was awful. Whether it was because this was a game or because we were both women, the smell wasn't particularly unpleasant.

"Anyway, yeah. Shall we wrap this up?"

A ground technique fueled by killing intent is horrifyingly lethal. I finished the match by demonstrating exactly why this submission is called a guillotine choke.

In the next match Shadow Hall appeared, selecting a battlefield that favored assassins. Muse failed to deliver the same impact as the first game and lost. I secured my place in the semifinals of the quarterfinals.