Is it Finally My Turn?

The counterattack was underway.

The Royalist prisoners, now cloaked in magic power, lunged at the guards.

"Triple Tornado Slash!!"

One of them shouted the name of his move while spinning three times in mid-air and swinging his sword. It was a truly wasteful movement, honestly, but since this was the daily life of a Sword Dancer, I supposed it couldn't be helped.

The guards’ movements weren't any less ridiculous, though.

"Sway-back Spin!!"

The guard shouted as he arched his upper body back to evade the blade. So far, so good. But then, for some reason, he started twirling around on the spot.

I had to admit, watching two people unleash sword techniques and evade while spinning like tops was strangely impressive. In terms of emphasizing performance, it actually shared some common ground with the 'Way' of the Eminence in Shadow, but I’d learned the hard way that you had to know when to stop.

"Butterfly Step!!"

"Death Spiral!!"

Apparently, shouting technique names was a requirement for earning technical points. It was just like shouting "Men! Dou! Kote!" in kendo.

It was all heading in a direction diametrically opposed to the "strength" I was aiming for, which actually made it kind of fascinating. Everyone looks for something different in a fight, after all.

They were fighting seriously in their own way. No one was half-assing it. I could read their aesthetics and convictions through their blades; it wasn't just about a simple victory. Within movements specialized for beauty rather than power, they fought desperately to snatch a win from one another.

They were playing by their own rules.

Despite myself, I was actually a little moved that such a style of combat even existed. I’d always believed that anything goes in a fight and that strength was everything—and that was true. The strength I sought lived within that reality. But that didn't give me the right to look down on their way of doing things.

For the first time in a while, I found myself watching someone else’s battle with sweaty palms.

Go for it! Do your best, both of you!

Nice! Right there! Give him a Groin Kick!

No! Stop spinning! Just use the Groin Kick!

Aaaargh, fine, whatever! Use an Eye Poke! Right now!

Why are you still spinning?! Why won't you just do it?! Bite him! Tear his carotid artery out with your teeth!

Gaaah, this is so frustrating... but I love it.

Maybe groin kicks and eye pokes were considered fouls in their world. Still, it should be fine as long as you did them beautifully, right?

It reminded me of my younger self, watching martial arts on TV on New Year’s Eve. I was so immature back then. Come to think of it, the year was almost over here, too...

While I was lost in thought, the tide of battle turned heavily in favor of the Royalists. Most of the guards had been defeated. They didn't have any major wounds, but they seemed to have reached their physical limits.

Well, yeah. Of course they’re exhausted.

And the Royalists didn't try to deliver any finishing blows, either. There it was again—that unknown conviction of theirs. Chivalry, Bushido... I didn't really get any of that, but they clearly followed the 'Way' of the Sword Dancer.

People rarely died in battles between Sword Dancers. In that sense, maybe they were actually far more advanced than us when it came to the concept of combat. If all the world’s conflicts were settled like this, humanity would probably be a lot happier.

It would be a total misfortune for me, though. I loved a world where everything was settled with primitive violence. To me, this world was just a little too peaceful.

Finally, the fight reached its conclusion.

"We win! Now, get out of our way."

"D-Dammit..."

"We won... thank goodness..."

Clara let out a sigh of relief.

Well, I guess that’s a happy ending. Wait, if it ends here, didn't I barely get any screen time? I mean, sure, the Detention Center Arc is over, but it looks like there’s more waiting once we actually get outside...

Just as I was debating whether I should forcibly create a scene for myself, one man moved.

"Honestly... you people do nothing but cause trouble."

The man, one of the Royalists, muttered those words as he suddenly slashed at his own ally. A middle-aged man fell to the ground, his back sliced open.

"Bart! Bart, please, stay with me...!"

Clara screamed and rushed to the fallen man’s side. Then, she turned to the man who had attacked him. "Guin! What are you doing...?"

"You were an eyesore," Guin replied. "Both this man who kept getting in my way, and you."

"Guin, what are you talking about...?"

"I mean this."

Guin leveled his sword at Clara’s throat. "I have no intention of entrusting my life to a little girl like you."

"N-No way... Guin, you told me you trusted me..."

"It was a lie, obviously. You don't have what it takes to lead. Everyone was mocking you behind your back. They called you a weathercock who does nothing but study her subordinates’ faces."

Clara’s face twisted as she fought back tears. Guin let out a mocking laugh, and I started getting ready, thinking it was finally time for my big scene.

But then...

"Well done, Guin."

A beautiful young man with gray hair appeared—it was Maximilian.