"Come on, make your move already!" he taunted.
That peaceful dawn was shattered by a dynamic voice. He was an older man with bound up snow-white hair and was 175 cm tall. Despite his age, he had the physique of a young man. Major muscles bulged from his fencing uniform.
In his hand was a sword of nearly 85 cm. Its shining edge was in sharp contrast to the lines of age etched into his face. However its wielder defied frailty, for he was a man of great physical prowess.
There was a young man waiting at the other end of the blade, prepared to take his chances.
"You old man, if I had a real sword instead of this blunt one you are using now, you'd be dead. Not that I would care much, but clearing up the mess would be a pain."
His smile was warm and pleasant. In height, he stood nearly a hundred and ninety centimeters tall. Such a body, weighing into the eighty-fifth good kilogram, was power; but his open visage dispelled right away any fear that seemed to engender.
"Hah! You think you've got what it takes to bring me down?" The old man let out a short laugh; he couldn't, however, laugh her fond expression out of his eyes.
"Who knows! I've been training hard. If I keep this up, one day you won't be able to escape that's what ends you!"
"Oh really? Do you think you've already passed me?" The old man's smile was barely restrained; he raised one eyebrow. "Okay! When that day comes, forget about your training. You even stop inheriting from now on I must give."
He transferred his sword into a one-handed grip, where sunlight danced upon the polished blade. "If you die my job won't be to follow in inheriting your talents," he laughed using the same stance and preparation. "But I'll still accept."
Their glances met in mid-air, each aware fiercely that in a real fight there was no time for prolonged exchanges--victory turned on speed and precision, a single blow killing for all intents and purposes. Since drawing such an intention would mean certain death, all thoughts remained broad and alert, cautiously waiting for the first move.
"Ha!"
"Hi!
One grasp of energy and they swept out.
Clang!
There was a whirring in the air: The impact of metal against metal filled senses with feelings such as crashing and clanging. But both reset their positions as if the blow had simply been a warm-up, readying themselves for next attack."You little hellion!" The elder barked as he crept closer. "You went for my throat from middle stance!"
The young man smirked but stood his ground. "Didn't you always say that in a fight, you should be ready to kill—even your own father? Besides, we wouldn't have clashed if you weren't aiming for my neck too!"
Every skill the young man possessed had been hammered into him by the elder since he was a child. It grated on him to be chastised for applying what he'd been taught. But the old man saw things differently.
"Exactly! A real technique should be fatal in one blow!" the elder roared, his voice filled with intensity. "Hesitate, and you're dead."
The young man sighed helplessly. "That's the problem, it's to overkill! Who am I supposed to use this against, and honestly, where in England would I need to be this lethal? And why aim at my vitals during practice?"
But the old man didn't care and waved him off.
"Enough, boy, you talk too much! Now focus!" The old man roared while bringing his sword down with ferocity. Had the young man been any slower in his defense, that blow would have injured him severely.
Thunk!
The sound of swords crashing into each other once more; This was the recent quiet forest where they practiced in isolation. So although they fought with extreme force, the morning world around them showed no change.
But the young man began to feel that such an equality would not exist for long. Although the elder was a well-versed fighting person, age was slowly taking him over and his strength was on the wane. The younger man's sword slowly approached the older man's neck. The distance between them also decreased bit by bit.
Whoosh!
Suddenly the elder, with one hand, released his sword jabbing a finger at the young man's eye. The young man instinctively stepped back, taken aback by this sudden movement.
"You sneaky old bastard!" he retorted, wiping sweat from his brow."Pulling dirty tricks in the taikai-like bout? At your age?"
"HMMPH." Unfazed, the elder snorted. "A fight with real danger? The only difference in twisting a hundred keys to unlock the door is whether you get lucky or not."
Clenched jaw, the young man fought to control a retort--even worse would be an argument. Right or wrong, as much as he hankered to refute what that old man had just said he knew that it was true. In combat there was no room for fairness; only survival, and sometimes that meant getting your hands dirty.