Chapter Thirty-Five—Final Hindrance

As they pressed forward, Shiro and Ali were met by very little resistance—which surprised Shiro.

“Maybe most of their men were out in the vanguard attacking us,” Ali said.

Shiro nodded. “I am just surprised it was so few.”

The Uratai warriors’ animals were tied up on some spindly trees without leaves. That they grew in these rocky areas was another surprise.

“What about Debaku?” Ali asked.

Shiro glanced back. The sounds of battle cries and swords had died and was completely still, or possibly it was that Ali and Shiro were too far to hear them. “He is a top-tier adventurer,” Shiro said. “He will be fine.”

A snarling of Urutai dialect came from the direction of the animals. “Shiro,” Ali said. “It looks like we have one more corpse.”

Shiro stepped forward.

This man was a little different, that much he could see immediately. This lone warrior was tall, his sword a good half a pace longer than any of the other Urutai warrior’s weapons and the look on his face was one of sharp acuity.

“Be careful with this one,” Shiro said.

“What?” Ali asked. He gestured toward he warrior who stalked forward to meet them. “He is just the same as all the others.”

“No.”

Shiro skirted toward the right side while Ali, looking over-confident, stood his ground. He beckoned the warrior forward. “Come at me,” he said, nodding emphatically. “Come on!”

Shiro sighed inwardly.

Suddenly the big warrior lunged forward, his sword lashing out at Ali. Shiro’s gut wrenched as he moved forward to help his friend. The Abassir raised his sword to defend, and the Urutai warrior‘s blade hit hard, glanced off, but the force of the blow sent Ali to the ground.

Shiro screamed to get his attention and brought his sword down in an overhead strike that would end him if it landed.

But the warrior side stepped Shiro and slashed at the back of his neck. Shiro dove for the ground, rolling across the hard surface and bumped his back on a rock. Wincing, the pain was excruciating.

Then the warrior struck with a series of blows that would have ended him. Shiro met him blow for blow, parrying, blocking, side stepping.

“You son of a whore!” Ali called out, and struck from the side. The warrior met his blade, parried and kicked him in the belt.

Ali nearly fell on his rump.

Shiro skirted around to the right. “I said be careful!”

“All right!”

Together they moved in, attacking almost simultaneously, but the warrior was too wise to their strategy. He backed away from Shiro and concentrated his efforts on Ali.

The Abassir was a good swordsman, but it was obvious to Shiro that he was outmatched. Even Shiro might have been somewhat outmatched despite his quick sword skills assisted by Jessamine’s magic.

Ali backed away, his eyes wide and his sword moving furiously as he defended himself from a deathly blade strike with ever parry.

Shiro lunged forward. He had to take this man down quick, or Ali was going to get killed. He was the weaker of the two, and this Urutai swordsman knew that.

Lunging in close like he was fighting with a katana, Shiro made to slash the warrior in the back, but he turned and blocked Shiro’s blade.

That didn’t stopped the samurai as he attacked with two more successive blade strikes too fast for normal eyes and ran passed his enemy, his Urutai sword held out.

He turned and looked the warrior in the eyes.

That long blade…

He can’t defend as well when I get close.

With a nod to himself, Shiro decided that this was how he would defeat this blade master. In an honorable duel of blades.

“Ali,” he said.

“Yes?” he asked, breathing heavily.

“Step away.”

“What?”

“This warrior is mine.”

“But… but he’ll cut you down, Shiro!”

Shiro shook his head and grinned like a swashbuckling adventurer. “No he won’t.”

Just like his duel with Waraba Hito before he had been isekaied into these lands—either he would fall, or this warrior would.

And it would not be Shiro.

“Agh!” Ali noised. “Fine!” He backed away several paces. “But if it looks like he’s going to cut you in half, Shiro—I’m going to intervene.”

Raising the hilt of his sword above his eye-line, his blade tilted back, he stepped forward slowly, as did the warrior—the look on his face one of utter calm and concentration. He wanted this duel as much as Shiro.

Strafing slowly with excellent footwork, the two men moved about one another, getting a feel for each other’s steps and blade stance. The warrior before him kept a low guard, his hilt level with his waist, the tip angled forward toward Shiro.

In a duel, Shiro was an aggressive fighter, and so he would attack first. He screamed, his eyes and mouth open in a battle cry.

The Urutai warrior did the same and both men lunged forward.