I Am a Swordmaster (2)
“....Really, what an unpredictable man.”
He'd been so reluctant to step to the forefront, yet the moment crisis struck, he was the first to roll up his sleeves.
He'd thrown out that bold proposal, marched out of the castle, and now here he was, gripping a single sword, waiting to face the warriors.
She sat watching him with keen interest, his erratic actions defying any attempt to pin him down, when one of the staffers who'd been planning strategy with her approached cautiously, stealing a glance at her expression.
“Lady Lia. If I may ask without offense...?”
“What is it?”
The staffer's face was etched with deep worry. He hesitated even after reaching her side, then finally spoke, slowly.
“Why did you accept that man's proposal?”
“It was a tempting offer.”
There was no better answer than that.
Countless strategies had been laid out, but none promised results as fine as this.
A flawless victory without bloodshed. A feat worthy of the annals of war.
The odds were roughly fifty-fifty—not zero, so it was a gamble worth taking.
“We could have won this war without such a duel.”
“But at the cost of many lives.”
The staffers seemed opposed to her decision. After all, there were paths to victory with higher odds.
She didn't deny their words. She knew their counsel was wiser.
In war, victory demanded sacrificing hundreds of thousands of lives if need be.
But she hadn't yet reached the point of treating people as mere numbers, so the enticing gamble had caught her eye.
“He is a Swordmaster.”
“I am one too, and so is he. I judged it feasible.”
Defeating all the enemy in a single blow was impossible for anyone short of exceptional strength—but he was a Swordmaster.
As someone who had witnessed that realm herself, she knew it was possible, so she could bet on him without qualms.
“And besides...”
Above all, the real reason she'd accepted the gamble.
It wasn't just that victory would spare bloodshed.
“....If by some fluke we lose, we simply grant their demands.”
Even defeat meant no blood spilled.
“Of course, we'd have to cede much in that case.”
Food, resources, even a bit of land. Her standing and the prestige of Agehis would take a hit too.
“If we can preserve this peace without a drop of blood, that's the best outcome.”
But if mere concessions could buy peace, she'd pay them gladly.
She had already resolved as much. As lord of Agehis and sovereign of the North.
“....It's decided. He made the proposal, but it was my decision, and the responsibility is mine. No need to worry.”
With that, Lia turned her back on them again, focusing on the man. It was a silent declaration: no more dissent.
As those around her read her will and fell silent, one warrior finally lumbered into the center of the battlefield.
He was a giant, two or three times the man's size, yet the man standing before him showed no tremor. Just calm eyes scanning the warrior.
“....Ha. Yes. That's more like it.”
The man slowly drew his sword.
The ashen blade she'd gifted him before emerged into the world.
As he drew it deliberately, he advanced toward the warrior with quiet steps.
Sensing something instinctive in those steps, Lia curved her lips in a faint smile and gathered her anxious staffers.
“Watch closely, all of you.”
At that moment, Ian swung at the warrior.
The strike wasn't particularly fast, refined, or sharp.
Yet defying that, when the blades clashed—
“A Swordmaster.”
—it erupted with overwhelming aura, shattering the warrior's weapon and hurling his massive frame far away.
A deafening crash echoed as the sword's afterimage scarred the battlefield center vividly.
Gazing at the man's back as he casually sheathed his aura after that electrifying blow, Lia murmured with a smile of exhilaration.
“That is the sword of a man at the pinnacle.”
.
.
The warriors knew little of Swordmasters.
The frozen wastes didn't use that title.
But they knew these were foes on par with their proud khan.
They already knew one truth: they couldn't withstand a blow infused with their khan's full might.
'They all heard it clearly.'
The North's sovereign had chosen me as her proxy, proclaiming me a master. Everyone heard.
Even if not, Skadi would have warned them without fail.
That I wielded power rivaling hers.
They would believe it without question. That I was a master of that caliber.
That conviction turned me into a warrior their khan could match.
'That's all it takes.'
This sword turns belief and potential into inevitability, delivering strikes they can't endure.
They must have weighed me against their khan to gauge the threat.
But the moment they did, victory was sealed.
“One down.”
The warrior flew off into the distance. I didn't bother looking.
As if the outcome was already set.
Instead, I slammed my sword into the ground and taunted the warriors in a flat tone.
“Your reputation outshines your skill. No stronger warriors?”
No one argued. No one raged. They all accepted it.
What they'd just witnessed demanded as much.
'It's over.'
They all saw it. That massive slash I unleashed.
Now they'd be certain. Undeniably a Swordmaster.
Every foe would face me with that belief—and thus, I would triumph.
'No need to hold back.'
The next warrior stepped forward, and I swung with power surging fully.
Stronger than before, but no restraint needed.
The more overwhelming I appeared, the stronger I'd become next.
'Make them tremble. Even more fiercely.'
I felled the warriors.
One down, then another.
Each fall brought cheers from beyond the barrier, the warriors' morale sinking palpably.
The thrill of battle tried to lift my spirits subtly, but I kept calm, awaiting the next.
Victory wasn't real until the biggest foe fell.
“I serve under the great khan...”
The next warrior stepped up, introducing himself in their fashion, readying his stance—when a low voice from behind halted him.
“Enough. Come back, Ullagr.”
As he stopped, slow footsteps approached from behind, revealing the voice's owner.
The ice warrior of the wastes, clutching her double-bladed axe, who'd watched from afar till now—the foe I'd most guarded against in this duel—finally stood before me again.
“The khan steps up already?”
“Problem with that?”
“Thought you'd save it for last.”
“That would be textbook. Was planning to.”
A strategy of testing me a few times, then clashing with her full force. I'd expected it, but she shattered that head-on, appearing before me.
“Tried wearing you down, but it's pointless now.”
A wry smile tugged at her lips as she spoke.
It meant she'd conceded: I wasn't one to be drained by a few swings.
“Your last four turns count as our loss. I'm it.”
Declaring no more pointless duels, she slammed her axe into the ground. No reason to refuse, so I nodded, and she eyed my reaction before continuing.
“Instead, let's change the terms this once.”
“Let's hear it.”
Changing terms? Unexpected, but I stayed composed, face impassive as I listened.
“You and I have both reached the peak. Haven't we?”
“We have.”
I nodded flatly. As if it were obvious, she pressed on.
“Toppling me in one blow must weigh on you too.”
“So how about new terms?”
“We trade one strike each. First to fall loses. What say you?”
No need to fell in one hit. Survive their strike, get another chance. As long as you stand, it goes forever.
“.....Who strikes first?”
“We'll make it fair.”
She fell silent after that. As if now it was my turn to speak.
'Only one reason for these terms...'
Survive one strike, and she wins. Overwhelmingly favorable. Yet she insists on trading blows? Only one explanation: she thinks she might not survive mine.
'Think calmly.'
She must win. Under old terms, she'd bet on enduring one strike. But accepting this implies she doubts I can drop her in one—
After deep thought, I gave my answer.
“Fine. I accept.”
“And I'll yield first strike.”
“....Serious?”
Better to let her go first. Casually. Signaling I can take your blow and still crush you.
Like granting a chance to flail.
It flaunts my confidence.
“That way, after you lose, you'll have words for your tribe.”
“That the foe was absurd.”
I smirked arrogantly, meeting her eyes.
Eyes certain of victory, yet detached—not excited, just stating the obvious.
Meeting my gaze, Skadi paused, then shot back curtly.
“.....Fine. Confidence or arrogance—we'll see.”
She gripped her axe confidently, advancing slowly. Not a hint of shake in her steps.
But was her mind as steady?
'Humans are animals that imagine.'
We live imagining in our heads.
And those thoughts don't always obey.
Even if she'd transcended human limits as a warrior, she couldn't fully control her mind's whims.
'She'll think it.'
Whether she can drop me in one strike.
That splits two ways: endure or not.
The latter? No need to dwell. So imagination goes to the former.
'Assuming she can endure, that she will endure...'
That tiny doubt she'll endure swells into plausible possibility.
If she envisions my turn, she knows I'll get one—inevitably, with power to match.
“Afraid?”
Keep thinking, Skadi. Great warrior.
How strong am I? Can your axe fell me? Think endlessly.
“Afraid you can't surpass me?”
Imagine my strength. Fear me.
Your fear fuels my power; your hesitation forges my blade.
It will become the wall barring you.
'......'
No answer. Instead, she spun her massive axe.
That instant, far greater power than before surged through me. Focusing on the sensation, she murmured as she closed in.
“Hardly.”
She leaped skyward. Gripping her double-bladed axe true, trailing frost-like aura, she smashed down.
To meet the meteor-like axe, I raised Excalibur high—the blades clashed with a heavy thud.
'....Must endure.....'
Meteor-like weight crushed through the sword into my body. Muscles screamed to burst; the blade shuddered wildly. Unyielding deadlock—fleeting yet eternal—held. Then, as it broke, the shockwave hurled me back.
“......!”
Even with a Swordmaster's body and strength, facing another meant my frame, taking that head-on, was far from normal. Limbs quivered, organs ached from the quake.
“......Not bad.”
But I endured. Her strike ended; I still stood on both feet.
“My turn now.”
The duel wasn't over yet.