Chapter 123
The crowd roared as the announcer's voice echoed across the grand coliseum. The tournament had reached its final rounds, and this was a match that had everyone on edge. Two warriors, both lethal in their own right, stepped into the circular arena. The stone floor was marked with scars of previous battles, and the scent of steel and sweat lingered in the air.
On one side stood Kamisato Ayato, Dressed in his refined yet battle-ready attire, his hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sheathed sword. His expression remained composed, his pale blue eyes locked onto his opponent with the patience of a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. His stance was balanced, almost casual, but his reputation spoke otherwise—fluid, deadly, and always in control.
Opposite him stood Sampo Koski, a trickster and rogue known for his unpredictable fighting style. His smirk carried the weight of mischief, his loose-fitting coat flaring slightly as he adjusted his grip on the daggers concealed within his sleeves. He was a wildcard, someone who never fought fair but always fought smart.
The announcer raised a hand. "Let the battle begin!"
Sampo moved first, vanishing in a blur. His speed was undeniable, and in an instant, a barrage of knives sailed toward Ayato. The Yashiro Commissioner barely tilted his head, his sword flashing in a precise arc. Each knife was deflected, their momentum nullified as they clattered to the ground harmlessly.
"So serious, huh?" Sampo chuckled, already behind Ayato, his dagger lunging for the noble's back.
Ayato sidestepped just in time, his blade flicking upward in a controlled slash. Sampo twisted midair, narrowly avoiding a lethal cut. His foot landed on Ayato's shoulder for leverage, propelling himself backward to regain distance. The moment his feet touched the ground, smoke bombs erupted around him, shrouding the battlefield in thick mist.
Ayato's expression didn't waver. He closed his eyes for a brief second before vanishing into a blur himself, weaving through the smoke with swift, deliberate movements. His blade sliced through the mist, seeking its target with unerring precision.
A clash of steel rang out as Sampo intercepted a strike with one of his daggers, but Ayato was relentless. His sword was like water, flowing seamlessly from one attack to the next, each stroke aimed to push Sampo further into a corner. The rogue dodged and deflected as best as he could, but Ayato's strikes carried an elegance that was hard to counter.