Zenith of the Sword

SHADOW

The sun had officially exited the stage, replaced by a thick curtain of clouds that plunged the stadium into a moody twilight. Thunder rumbled—nature providing the perfect soundtrack—and right on cue, a light drizzle began to fall. Pitter-patter. Perfect.

"What are you standing around for? Pursue her quickly!!" Doem’s voice cracked as he shrieked. Honestly, the guy needs to work on his stage presence.

His hand-picked lackeys finally got the memo and started closing in on me. They moved to surround the hole I'd made, pouncing all at once. Big mistake.

A single Jet-black Flash was all it took to sweep them away.

Just one stroke. Doem’s proud, hand-picked spellswords were sent flying, rolling across the stone floor like discarded props.

"No way..." Doem stammered.

Yeah, I get that a lot. This is Shadow we’re talking about. He’d heard the rumors, I’m sure, but against the real deal, the rabble doesn't even stand a chance. Doem clutched his bleeding gut and scrambled backward, his face a mask of desperation. "S-someone! Anyone! Isn't there anyone who can defeat him?!"

The only reply he got was the rhythm of the rain.

The knights of the Midgar Kingdom kept their distance, circling me like wary dogs but refusing to move. No one was dumb enough to underestimate the man who’d already wiped the floor with Iris.

The drizzle turned into a downpour. Huge droplets hammered against the stadium. My black longcoat was soaked, but the way it caught the flashes of lightning? Total aesthetic. Every time the sky lit up, my silhouette popped against the gloom.

"I will go," a woman’s voice called out.

Suddenly, a Grey-robed woman launched herself into the air. She ditched her robe mid-flight—classy move—drew a longsword, and touched down on the battlefield.

"Bushin Beatrix..." someone whispered.

Ah, the legend herself. Standing there in the rain, she was a stunning blonde Elf. She was dressed light—just a breastplate and a loincloth—her pale skin glistening with rainwater and shining under the strobe-light effect of the lightning.

We stood there for a moment, quietly measuring each other up.

The second the thunder roared, the fight was on.

I extended my Jet-black Blade to match her longsword's reach. Then, with a flick of the wrist: a flash. I unleashed a horizontal sweep that was so fast it literally cut through the rain, leaving a momentary void in the downpour.

Okay, I’ll admit it—I swung through empty air.

Oho...

Beatrix had hopped back half a step with perfect timing, narrowly avoiding my sweep. She didn't miss a beat before launching a counterattack—a thrust so sharp and fast it was like a spear.

Behind my mask, I couldn't help but grin.

I pivoted to let the thrust slide past, then swung as she pulled back. But she was fast. She dipped low as she withdrew her sword, making my blade whistle harmlessly over her head.

Then it was her turn to push back.

For a while, we were just two people slicing up the weather. Our swords clashed and crossed dozens of times in the blink of an eye, turning the falling rain into a mist of tiny, glowing droplets. It was a Beautiful Sword Dance, if I do say so myself.

The audience was completely mesmerized. It was exactly like a choreographed performance. To a normal person, our movements were too fast to track, leaving only the glowing trails of our blades burned into their retinas by the lightning.

Everyone there knew it: they were watching two masters at the Zenith of the Sword.

But all good things must come to an end, and I was the one to call for the curtain.

"With this sword, I cannot reach, it seems..." I said, backing off and fixing my eyes on her.

Beatrix didn't push her luck. She stayed put, trying to catch her breath. I noticed her ample chest heaving—looks like she was feeling the pressure.

"Amazing..." she breathed out, her blue eyes wide with genuine awe.

We stared each other down for a few heartbeats.

"I shall show you my True Sword," I said.

I retracted my Jet-black Blade back to its original length. This was my comfort zone.

"Here I come."

The moment the words left my mouth, I vanished. I closed the gap so fast it shouldn't have been physically possible.

"!?"

Then, the impact.

Beatrix had seen me move and immediately gave up on attacking, dumping everything into her defense. Even so, she couldn't see my blade. Hell, no one in the entire stadium saw it.

Why? Because that strike—it didn't even cut the rain.

"—Ngh!!"

She was blown back by the force, skidding through the rain. She'd managed to block it—barely—thanks to pure instinct. But it wasn't pretty. She was repelled like a stray pebble, completely unable to counter.

She scrambled to her feet, immediately bracing for a follow-up.

Thunder roared, and I used the flash to disappear. In an instant, I was right in front of her. I swung the invisible blade again. She dialed her focus up to eleven, but the impact still caught her off guard.

"—!!"

Again, she didn't see it.

With mud smeared across her face, Beatrix leaped backward to create some breathing room. She knew she was only alive because of luck and a hair-trigger intuition. There was zero guarantee she’d survive a third round.

I didn't follow up. I just stood there in my stance, letting the lightning frame me.

She was probably wondering why she couldn't see my sword. It wasn't just speed. Shadow’s Sword was different. As a veteran of countless battles, she eventually reached the only logical conclusion.

The answer was simple: my sword was "natural."

In a real fight, speed is a threat, but speed always has a tell—a preliminary motion. Even without one, you can feel the moment of attack through experience. If you’re paying attention, you can respond.

The real threats always come from outside your consciousness. You don't need to be fast; you just need to be where the opponent isn't looking.

My sword was natural. No bloodlust, no hesitation, no tension—just a blade wielded as nature intended.

People don't notice things that are natural. Just as you aren't conscious of every drop of rain falling around you, you can't be conscious of my sword.

"Amazing..." she whispered.

She looked like she was peering into an abyss. I could tell she was starting to accept her defeat.

"Bushin, show me your resistance..." I said, leveling my Jet-black Blade.

She didn't look like she had any confidence left to block the next one.

But then...

"Wait!"

A sharp, commanding voice cut through the tension.

"I, too, shall join in."

There stood Iris, sword drawn and ready for round two.