Samurai ↔ Nishimura Riki

nine

Immediately, Riki unsheathes his sword, the metal glinting sharply. He points it at the intruder, snarling. "Fat chance, old man. Scram while you can," he threatens.

The man's lips curl up into a sinister smile. "That's no way to speak, prince, I thought your parents taught you better than that. And as for fighting me? Cute. But you're no match for me, princeling."

It was the same man at the restaurant with no doubt. He had a cruel, beady eye of a thief and a body built like a thug. One eye was covered with an black eye patch. A sword was at his side, but he seemed to have no interest in using it... as of now.

"Who are you? How did you know I was the prince?" Riki demands, circling the man warily.

He snorts. "You think your pitiful glamour could fool me? Maybe to a normal person, but I've been especially trained to detect illusions," he bares his teeth, "Now if we could get to the matter at hand? Either you come willingly or I can chop your head off. No hard feelings. Prince Renjin would pay handsomely for your head."

Prince Cha Renjin. The Crown Prince of the West.

"Money," he seethes, "You're doing this for money?"

The mercenary shrugs. "Of course. I have to make a living somehow. Besides," he draws his blade, "my allegiance is to the West. Enough talking, it's time for you to say bye-bye."

Suddenly, he leaps into the air, his sword flashing in the air as it sliced downwards through the air, almost splitting Riki's skull if he had not dodged. The man growls before locking into an intense fight with the prince.

Slash. Dodge. Parry. It took almost all of Riki's concentration to try to land a blow on him while counterattacking. He intercepted a strike and countered it with one of his own. He feinted to the right before swiftly slashing at his left arm, leaving a small cut on his opponent's arm, but not as deep as intended.

He cursed. His cloak was restricting his movements. Hastily, he shook it off, just in time to block another attack.

"Not bad." The mercenary muses, grinning widely. They were so close that Riki could see his yellow teeth. "But not good enough to beat me!"

His attacks got stronger and wilder, one rapidly coming after another, merely a blur of movement. All the prince could do now was dodge and block to avoid being hit. But even then, he was quickly losing his strength. Soon enough, Riki's back hit the wall with a thump. He struggled to muster his strength. Beads of sweat started to form on his forehead.

Fire, he thought to himself, I need to summon fire.

He concentrates on a flicker of a flame as the weight of the mercenary's sword presses against his. Darkness. Nothing. Oddly enough, his power seemed to be restrained. Subdued.

Riki couldn't count on magic to help him.

With great effort, he drops to the ground and rolls out of the way before getting up, staggering. His only satisfaction was that his adversary's sword had exerted too much force to make him yield, causing it to drive through the wooden wall. He roars before jerking his weapon out of the wall violently, whirling around to face the prince.

The gash on his arm still spilled out blood. He spats on the ground. "A good trick. But even magic has failed you. It is merely luck that you are alive now."

He raises his arms to the sky, where a slit of sunlight shone through the alley. Riki furrows his eyebrows into confusion before it hit him.

Shadows of abandoned crates strewn around them seemed to peel off the ground. And to his horror, they were. Literally.