"Wait," Morro's voice cut through the tension, his eyes narrowing as he studied the man before him. "Blonde spiky hair, blue eyes, average height, muscular but not overly built. Named Raven. Don't tell me you're from Vage Desert."
A slow, predatory smile spread across Raven's face. "That's right."
"This complicates matters." Morro's expression grew serious. "I've heard of you. You're no ordinary bandit. You've been in the newspapers."
"Bandits from Vage Desert enjoy quite the reputation. It's the only place on earth where there is no law. No clans, no government rule. Only bandits, pirates, and gangs hold sway there."
"Just out of curiosity," Morro asked, "what brings someone like you all the way to Windfall?"
"Enough reasons that you should be worried."
Windfall were territories on the southern continent, north and slightly west of Vage Desert. These territories contained dozens of larger and smaller villages. It was quite an unknown place, with no major infrastructure—Windfall had been named for its cooler climate despite being on the southern continent. Most people fled this place to live somewhere in the north.
To the south lay the great desert called Vage Desert. For a long time now, it had been a place everyone should avoid. Murders, robberies, massacres, and slavery were daily occurrences there. They fought over rich natural resources, and attempts to control the situation and destroy criminals had brought no results. Even if they killed one leader, another would take his place. If they destroyed one criminal organization, two more would be created.
The Windfall territories had very low population density and were officially protected by The Kensei, which Morro was a member of after training at the academy within Kensei's Windfall Headquarters.
"I'll ask again," Morro said, his voice firm. "Why are you entering Windfall territory? And why such a small group?"
Raven's smile tightened. "I'm not here to answer your questions, swordsman."
Raven drew his kyokami. Unlike Morro's katana-like blade, Raven's weapon had a more practical appearance—a straight, double-edged blade designed for brutal efficiency rather than elegant swordsmanship. The hilt was wrapped in dark brown cord in a precise diamond pattern over a light-colored base, revealing small menuki pegs. The guard was black and intricately designed with circular cutouts, while a prominent golden habaki separated the hilt from the blade. The blade itself was a masterpiece of folded steel, gleaming with a wavy, irregular hamon temper line that spoke of exceptional craftsmanship.
Morro's face became more serious as he focused on his opponent, no longer paying attention to other details or thoughts.
Raven wasn't like those other bandits. Swordsmen utilized an energy known throughout the world as Negacion. It allowed them to surpass the limits of the human body, enabling them to do much more than just swing their swords.
Raven, one hand on his lower back, knees slightly bent, began slowly approaching Morro.
The villagers began to withdraw slowly, some even fleeing the village.
Morro was ready and focused.
Raven suddenly shot forward from his calm start, leaning low. He moved with unnatural speed, aiming for Morro's stomach, wanting to finish him with one swing.
Morro quickly moved left, not allowing Raven to attack him in a straight line.
Raven straightened and struck from a low angle. As expected, Morro's kyokami held firm against the impact. So he's using Movement Negacion to speed up the blade and Shockwave Negacion for power transfer—just as I thought.
He clenched his fist and aimed a punch at Morro's nose. Morro sidestepped smoothly, his sword already arcing toward Raven's neck. Raven blocked with the tip of his blade, crouching as he switched to reverse grip and extended his free hand toward Morro's stomach.
Morro blocked—and activated King's Negacion.
A massive blue sword beam erupted from his blade, taller than both men combined. The energy blast shot toward Raven at an angle, forcing him back. Raven gritted his teeth, his own Negacion flaring as he absorbed the beam until it dissolved into nothing.
King's Negacion, Raven thought, respect mixing with alarm. He's not just some sheriff—he can handle this level of power.
Raven charged forward, frustration mounting. He launched a spinning backfist that Morro ducked under, followed by a roundhouse kick that Morro blocked with his forearm. Raven pressed his advantage—palm strike to the chest, deflected; sweeping kick to the legs, Morro jumped over. The exchange blurred into motion, neither gaining ground.
His Spiritual Pressure wasn't lying, Raven thought, his attacks growing more brutal. This isn't just any Sheriff.
He feinted left then exploded right, sword carving toward Morro's side. Morro parried, the impact ringing through the square. Raven used the force to spin into a flying kick that Morro barely avoided. They separated for a heartbeat, breathing heavily, eyes locked in deadly appraisal.
The villagers watching from windows gasped as the fight escalated beyond anything they'd ever seen—steel flashing, boots skidding, bodies moving too fast to track. This wasn't a duel anymore; it was war.
Raven's frustration sharpened into desperation. He drew deeper on Negacion, the air shimmering around him as his speed jumped again. Morro felt the shift immediately and reset his stance, bracing himself.
He's getting desperate, Morro realized. That's when he'll make a mistake.
Raven unleashed everything in a roaring rush—strikes threading toward vital points, too fast to track. Morro met him head-on, forcing clash after clash until the ground cracked beneath their feet from the pressure.
Then Raven saw his opening. As Morro deflected a powerful strike, Raven shifted his weight and unleashed a kick combining all his remaining strength. The move shot out with blinding speed, aimed perfectly at Morro's torso.
There, Raven thought, triumph surging through him. That's the end of it.
Raven's leg shot out in a powerful kick that connected squarely with Morro's torso. The impact was devastating—Morro heard ribs crack as he was knocked backward several feet. White-hot agony exploded through his side, each breath sending shards of pain through his chest. Blood filled his mouth, metallic and coppery. He fought to stay upright, vision swimming black at the edges, but his legs buckled—damn it, his legs buckled. The force of the blow had done more than injure; it had broken something vital inside.
The square fell silent as both warriors separated, each measuring the other, each knowing that the battle was far from over. Raven's chest heaved with exertion, a triumphant yet cautious gleam in his eyes. Morro, though clearly wounded, straightened slowly, his expression unreadable but his resolve unshaken. The fight had reached a new level.