The training hall buzzed with anticipation, packed with recruits and seniors alike. Every eye was fixed on the center, where two figures faced each other—one a hardened veteran, the other a determined youth.
"Yo, Master," I said, stepping forward with my blade in hand, a grin tugging at my lips. "Remember me?"
He chuckled. "Why wouldn't I? I've been waiting all this time… just for this moment."
"I thought so," I said. "A man of your caliber wouldn't still be here unless you were waiting for someone worth your time."
"You're right," he said with a smirk. "From the moment I trained you in the basics, I saw it—you've got real talent. That's why today, I'm going to crush that talent with my own hands."
I smirked back. "Oh yeah? Let's see you try."
We charged. Our blades met in a burst of sparks and metal song.
I struck first, aiming at a weak point in his defense. He blocked, but just for a second, he left an opening. I went for it—fast, decisive—but he parried cleanly, his movements sharp as ever.
"You're good, Judas," he said, his voice steady, "but not good enough."
I didn't wait. I closed the gap, blade raised. The clash echoed through the room as we traded blow after blow. I slashed at his left abdomen, pouring my strength into the swing. He blocked, but I broke through his guard and followed up with a swift kick to his midsection. He staggered, flying back several feet.
The crowd erupted. Cheers filled the air—my name shouted in awe.
"Judas! Judas! Judas!"
The senior wiped blood from the corner of his lip, eyes gleaming with excitement. "That was a good blow," he admitted. "But don't get cocky. The real fight begins now."
Then he vanished.
No—he moved so fast, it was as if he had disappeared. In a blink, he stood in front of me.
"Galleon Strike!" he roared.
A storm of steel descended.
Nineteen strikes from nineteen angles—blades flashing, humming through the air. I barely held my defense, arms numb, legs shifting frantically to avoid fatal blows. The twentieth strike came like a hammer, slamming into my guard and throwing me backward.
But he wasn't finished.
Before I could recover, he appeared behind me. "Absolute Cut!"
His blade swung in a massive 180° arc, the air itself splitting with the force. I raised my weapon just in time, steel colliding with steel. The clash rocked the hall, but I left myself wide open.
He kicked me hard in the gut. My body lifted off the ground, thrown like a rag doll.
Laughter echoed from the crowd. Some cheered. Others gasped.
He stepped forward, triumphant. "Now that's what I call a perfect payback. Am I right, Judas?"
I wiped my mouth, staggered to my feet, blade shaking in my hand.
"Let's begin the real fight," I said through gritted teeth.
We charged again.
The hall thundered with the sound of our blades. Neither of us held back. He unleashed Galleon Strike again, but this time—I didn't defend. I attacked.
"Best offense," I muttered, "is sometimes the best defense."
I met his storm with my own. Every slash, every swing—our blades became blurs. The crowd couldn't even follow the battle. It was beyond their eyes.
The twentieth blow came, and this time, both of us were thrown back.
"Azure Slash!" he roared.
He leapt into the air, spinning like a hurricane of steel. Faster and faster, he rotated, the energy around him spiraling into a lethal crescendo.
I stood still.
"He knows I can dodge it," I thought. "He's giving me a challenge. A test."
But I wasn't going to dodge.
I stared up at him as he descended, blade shining like a comet.
"Bring it on."
I raised my weapon, calm and centered.
"This," I whispered, "is a technique I created on my own—not from your basics… but from everything I've endured."
"Calm Blade."
At the last second, I moved.
Not with force—but with precision.
We passed each other mid-air. No sound. No sparks. Just silence.
Then—crack.
Both blades shattered. The hilts fell to the floor.
The senior—my master—stood frozen for a heartbeat, then collapsed.
The room was dead silent.
Then came the roar.
"Judas! Judas! Judas!"
I looked at my broken blade. Then at my fallen teacher.
He was breathing, unconscious—but smiling.
I stepped forward, my chest heaving.
"So this is it," I whispered. "My final victory."
I turned to face the others.
"I'm free."