Swords of Justice
Chapter 12: (Strange Techniques)
One of the men leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and laughed confidently.
"You're impressive, man. I'll fight you myself and see if you really defeated Qasim."
Hamza smiled.
"If that's the case, then how do you think I'm standing here?"
The man shrugged.
"Who knows? Maybe you ran away from him."
The woman added coldly, "Fateh is one of my strongest fighters. You could say he's on an advanced level—maybe not so different from Qasim."
Fateh scoffed.
"You insult me, my lady. I'm stronger than Qasim."
"Very well," Hamza replied calmly. "Let's duel."
Fateh stepped forward, holding a thin, unusual sword. Jalal thought to himself: That's a sword? Why does it look so fragile? Can it really block attacks?
"Draw your sword," Fateh commanded.
But Hamza began looking around, as though searching for something. This puzzled the others.
"What are you looking for?" the lady asked.
"A stick," Hamza replied.
"A stick? What for?"
"Of course, to duel this man."
Fateh's face twisted in anger.
"Are you mocking me?! You want to face me with a stick? You must have misunderstood—we're not sparring with swords, this is a real fight to the death."
"I know that," Hamza said calmly as he kept searching. "But…"
At last, he found a stick and continued, "If I fight with my sword, I fear I'll kill you. I promised the princess I wouldn't take any of your lives. So I'll fight you with this stick."
Fateh's rage boiled over.
"You'll regret this!"
He charged at Hamza, leaping in a strange manner—springing from one foot to the other—while thrusting his sword in stabbing motions instead of swinging.
"What kind of technique is that?" Jalal muttered.
Fateh laughed.
"It's called boxing."
"Boxing?" Hamza repeated in disbelief.
"You won't understand until you feel it," Fateh replied.
He launched rapid thrusts toward Hamza, swift and relentless, like punches from a boxer. Hamza managed to dodge the fatal ones, but he still received shallow cuts before leaping back.
Fateh smirked.
"No one knows this style. Years ago, I sailed across the Forbidden Ocean. After endless days at sea, I spotted an island. The people there were unlike us—different culture, different tongue. But what caught my eye was a strange beast that lived there. It hopped like a rabbit, yet struck with vicious punches from its claws and devastating kicks from its legs. They called it 'the Kangaroo.' A mythical creature like no other.
By watching it, I learned its fighting style. I trained every day until I mastered it. Then I fought a kangaroo in a death match. It was powerful—stronger than anything I'd ever faced. But with will and determination, I defeated it. I had bested the greatest creature on earth.
I returned home with this undefeatable technique, and since then I've crushed countless warriors. You are no different, Hamza—I'll kill you here and now!"
The woman sneered arrogantly.
"End his life, then finish the others."
"I can't believe it…" Jalal whispered. "Such a bizarre style."
Hamza tightened his grip on the stick.
"Whatever it is, I'll defeat you with this stick—easily."
"Don't insult the style of Boxing! Don't insult the Kangaroo!" Fateh roared.
He attacked again, even more fiercely, thrusting and dodging with uncanny speed. His lower body remained rooted, while his upper body moved with blinding agility, putting Hamza in a difficult position.
It's time… Fateh thought.
He thrust his blade at Hamza's stomach. Hamza tried to block with the stick, but Fateh feinted, swiftly redirecting the strike upward toward Hamza's chin, aiming to pierce his throat.
But suddenly—CRACK!
Before he could comprehend what happened, Fateh was struck hard across the face by Hamza's stick. The blow launched him backward, unconscious, his jaw broken.
The woman's eyes widened in shock.
"How… how is this possible?!"
Everyone was stunned.
From the crowd, a man stepped forward, clapping.
"Incredible! Fateh changed his strike at the last second, but you predicted it. When you lowered your stick to block, you quickly kicked it upward, caught it, and smashed it into his face. Brilliant!"
That explains it… Jalal thought.
The woman frowned but admitted, "It seems you weren't lying when you said you defeated Qasim. What we just witnessed proves it."
Hamza smirked.
"He was far too weak."
"Perhaps," the woman said proudly. "Fateh was no match for Qasim. But this man…" she gestured, "he's on Qasim's level—if not stronger. Right, Muawiya?"
The same man who analyzed the fight stepped forward.
"Yes, my lady. I'll be your second—and final—opponent."
He drew two small sickles, one in each hand.
Jalal blinked in disbelief.
"He's fighting with twin sickles?"
Hamza's eyes narrowed.
"No way… That's the style of the Mantis."
Muawiya smirked.
"Surprised you know my secret style."
"My master once told me about it," Hamza replied. "But he said it was extinct. How did you learn it?"
"That," Muawiya said coldly, "is my secret."
He shifted into a stance resembling a praying mantis. Hamza readied his stick once more.
Muawiya darted forward with blinding speed, his sickle slashing in a motion just like a mantis snaring its prey. Hamza blocked, but the strike was so powerful it shattered his stick, cutting into his chest. Blood sprayed across the battlefield.
To be continued…