Editing Tales of Leo Attiel:Volume4 Chapter1 (section)

===Part 3===


Raga was the first to move at the signal. Just like the mask that concealed his face, he sprang at Kuon with movements like a beast leaping at its prey's throat.

He was fast.

Sarah almost screamed. There was still that difference in build between them: it was to the point where if Kuon took a single blow, the match would probably be decided.

As Raga's long sword hummed, Kuon leaped back. Sarah had no time to sigh in relief: for a while, both sides started moving hectically within the narrow ravine, their feet never stopping.

Whenever Raga tried to close in on him, Kuon put distance between them. Yet Raga wasn't just going to let him escape however he pleased. Would it be to the right, or to the left? Just when it looked like his pursuit was slowing down, he would swing his sword. And his footwork never faltered.

If Camus, Sarah's combat-loving brother, had been there, would he have made comments along the line of: '''His hips and waist are steady, and his centre is unwavering. He must have trained diligently'?'' Sarah was a layman in terms of fighting, and his movements had a strength and ferocity that made her gasp.

Against an ordinary opponent, Raga would not have swung his sword five times before either the other's head fell, or his chest was pierced through.  And in fact –

“It's over, huh?”

The warriors standing near Sarah gave the impression of having already seen how the contest would end.

“Once the physically inferior one gets run ragged, there's no more chance of victory for him.”

“Kuon should have charged from the start. I don't think he'd have been able to land a blow on Raga even then, but at least he'd have a shown a little pride as a man of the tribe.”

“We're talking about unwanted spawn – even if he was once recognised as a warrior of Tei Tahra, there's no point having sympathy.”

And certainly, Raga was the only one attacking, while Kuon simply ran away. It was no wonder that everyone considered the match already settled.

Yet Raga had already swung his sword more than ten times since Suo had given the signal. But he still hadn't caught Kuon. Gradually, the crowd's aside comments and mocking jeers started to fade away.

Kuon was dodging skilfully. He side-stepped left or right even as he faced Raga head-on. Even when the blade was closing in on him, he wasn't the least perturbed and just nimbly bent his head to avoid a swipe aimed at an angle, or jumped lightly back and let the blow pass by him, just a step away. Every time it happened, the circle of men following the contest all let out “ooh”s and “ah”s  that might have been expressions either of disappointment or of admiration.

Although Sarah, who held her breath as she watched the fight, didn't make a sound, a corner of her mind was remembering the first time she met Kuon.

At Conscon Temple, he had gotten into a fight with men who were probably mountain bandits. He had faced about five or six opponents, but he smoothly and continuously passed by the fists they swung and the legs they kicked at him, sometimes even looking as though he was about to cling to their large frames. If the sword that Raga swung held all the ferocity of a wild beast, then Kuon's limbs were like supple plants entangling the predator.

The experienced tribesmen could not help but recognise that fact. Still, once it had continued on for nearly five minutes, the crowd who was watching tensely could no longer hide its irritation.

“Just how long are you planning to run away for!” Unable to bear it any longer, a man on the opposite side of the ravine from Sarah shouted out.

“Don't you dare defile the arena that the mountain god is watching over!” By Sarah's side, one of the young men who had being carrying Mist's palanquin cried out angrily.

One after another, more and more of the men started hurling abuse at Kuon.

''That's just telling Kuon to die!'' Sarah wanted to furiously shout back at them.

However, at that point in time, there was a faint, almost imperceptible glimmer of emotion within Kuon's eyes as he continued to carefully observe his opponent. It wasn't anger at being scorned and mocked. Rather, it was the light that came from having found a chance at victory.

Kuon had been waiting for 'this'.

From the very first, he had not believed he had any chance of winning through a direct confrontation. If he had lunged at Raga, who had been ready for everything, his blows would simply have been repelled, and the only thing that would have awaited Kuon at that point was 'death'.

And so, his only hope had been to systematically evade every strike. Yet even so, Raga was the man who had emerged victorious after defeating who knew how many seasoned fighters. When their movements had intersected, Kuon never once saw a single opening in his opponent.

However, now, a change appeared in Raga's way of moving.

Even if he had been crowned with the name of the legendary warrior spoken of in myth, Raga – or rather, Diu Wei, the one beneath the mask – was still young.

And because he was young, he was under heavy mental pressure. That of being Warrior Raga: in other words, that of being stronger than anyone else in the tribe. And, as Raga, he had to continuously prove that strength.

Moreover, his opponent was Kuon: someone who was smaller than him, who was a traitor who had broken the laws of the village, and whose dominant arm was blocked. It was completely obvious that Warrior Raga would win against that kind of opponent. There was no way it could be a difficult fight. He needed to settle it effortlessly, in one, single strike.

Up until then, Kuon had not been able to sense whether the current Raga felt 'the heavy pressure of being Raga' weighing on his shoulders, but when the crowd began to voice their irritation, the change he had been eagerly waiting for had finally appeared.

Seen from the outside, it only looked like Raga had become even fiercer, as his speed and strength had increased. But Kuon saw the impatience beneath it. The leeway, based on instinct, that Raga had previously had, and which had allowed him to steadily drive his prey into a corner, had now vanished from his movements. In other words, now that he was intent on raining blows down on Kuon, the flexibility had disappeared from the way he moved.

When Kuon realised that, he brought his feet – which had been moving incessantly – to a halt, and started to crouch. The muscles of his tempered calves bulged. In the next moment, he broke into a run towards Raga.

In the same instant, the men who had been howling angrily started shouting with excitement. Sarah covered her eyes. As far as she and the crowd could see, Kuon had been unable to endure the booing, and was just charging recklessly.
[[Image: Leo_Attiel_Den_v04_039.png|thumb]]
Yet even as Kuon seemed to be offering his own neck to Raga's sturdy sword, he suddenly vanished.

Or at least, that was how it looked to most of those watching, including Raga himself.

While sprinting forward, Kuon had bent down until he was almost skimming the ground. He felt a gust of wind above his head. Raga had swung his sword. The very next second, Kuon's strong knees and thighs exerted a strength twice as great as his own weight, and he sprang upwards.

For the first time, the blade clasped in his hand traced a semi-circle in the air as he attacked. The tip struck Raga's mask.
Raga staggered backwards, and Kuon deliberately rolled to the side, almost as though he was falling over.

The crowd raised a noise that was close to a scream.

Kuon immediately stood up as he was rolling. Raga's steps were unsteady.

Which meant that he was still alive.

The next one to attack was Raga, but having to brace himself meant that his strike wasn't so vigorous, and Kuon's blow seemed to have half negated his strength. The mask cracked, and the top half started to crumble.

If Raga's mask had not been there, and if Kuon's right hand had been free... then the contest would already have been decided. However, this was a fight in which speculation had been meaningless from the start: Tei Tahra would grant victory to the one who was in the right.

Kuon drew up from behind towards the opponent he had failed to kill. Raga started to look behind him, but his movements were terribly slow, probably because his consciousness was still hazy.

“Raga!”

A huge number of the men all shouted simultaneously, but it was to no avail, and Kuon's sword swung in attack. It seemed as though the fight would be settled this time for sure, but Kuon was aiming for Raga's sword.

The blade dropped from Raga's limp arm, and Raga himself pitched forward from the impact. The tip of Kuon's blade instantly pressed against his throat.

''Ah!'' – who could even tell whose voice had just escaped them?

The two fighters, who had been moving without pause up until then, now stood still, both panting heavily. The cloud of dust they had kicked up during their fight was still swirling slightly at their feet.

''It's Kuon's win'' – thought Sarah, but, next to her, Mist muttered quietly:

“How foolish.”

In order to win, a contestant had to either kill his opponent, or else get them to concede defeat. Kuon silently urged Raga to choose the first option, but there was no way that the strongest warrior in the tribe could accept that kind of outcome.

If Raga lost, it could only be through his death.

In that moment, Kuon saw pale flames flash in the eyes that glared at him from behind the cracked and crumbling mask. Just as Raga's burly arms seemed about to stretch out towards him, he instead caught the blade at his throat in his bare hands. That unexpected move caused Kuon's posture to falter, and in that same instant, Raga sprang up, kicking Kuon in the stomach as he did so.

Kuon staggered, and Raga wrenched the sword from his hand. Within a split second, Kuon had rolled to the ground and swept away the sword that Raga had dropped earlier.

The two steel swords collided. Sparks scattered a second, then a third time.

The contest had returned to the start – or so it might seem, but Raga's way of moving had clearly suffered. Yet even if that was the after-effect of the blow he had taken to the head, from the other side of the mask, he was now concentrating on raining down powerful strikes. Which meant that Kuon had also lost his advantage, which had been in the flexibility of his movements.

More than anything, this meant that unlike earlier, the two of them were in close range from one another. Kuon could no longer rely on his footwork to escape from Raga, and was forced to use the sword to defend himself. Now that things had come to that point, the difference in their build was crucial; forced into a contest of brute strength, Kuon was at an overwhelming disadvantage. Every time he stopped a blow, his centre of gravity shook. His waist bent, his shoulders heaved, and his steps were becoming unsteady.

The tip of the blade grazed the top of Kuon's shoulders, and blood flew. If Raga had been just half a step closer, that blow would have taken Kuon's head.

“Oooh!”

“Get him, Raga!”

“Cut down that evil spirit.”

The men once again started striking their swords and spears against the ground.

Sarah felt a sort of vertigo, as though her brains were being shaken to the core. In the light of the pine torches, the shadows of the two warriors were so close that they overlapped with one another. Steel gleamed in the space between them. Was there even that space? The men roared as their sweat flew. Their weapons beating against the ground played a murderous and oppressive rhythm.

For someone from the civilised world, it was like a scene from a world of twilight. It resembled a painting daubed in primary colours, one that could release you from the shackles of reason with just a single look.

Even though the feeling of warm blood had receded from her entire body, leaving only coldness, there was a single thin line, drawn from the top of her head down to her crotch, which was so hot that it seemed her blood was actually boiling. Unable to endure the cold and heat, Sarah wanted to crouch down where she was. She wanted to turn her eyes away from Kuon, who seemed about to be bisected by Raga's sword at any moment now.

But Sarah suddenly opened her eyes wide. Shaking off the chilling cold, she was conscious only of the heat of her blood and, as though that heat was urging her on, she raised a cry that was completely unbecoming of a nun.

“''Damn it'', Kuon! Are you just going to die here for nothing? Kuon! If you win, I'll give myself to you. Sarah Pushelko would never sell her body, even if the lord of a country said he wanted it and offered me my weight in gold, and then the same again in jewels. I've given my body to God, and it doesn't come that cheap. But Kuon, I set the value of your victory higher. My body was supposed to ascend to Heaven as untainted as my soul, but I'll let you hold me if your arms are covered in the blood of your defeated enemy!”

Did he hear that shout? Kuon desperately kept away from Raga, who was hurling blows straight at him. Each one of them was heavy and sharp. Even if he had been able to use his dominant hand, it was by no means sure that he would have been able to win.

Raga was still cutting down the distance between them. He was not about to make the same mistake twice. He struck at Kuon's shoulders, aimed to entangle his feet and destroy his stance, determined not to allow him a single chance to counter-attack.

It was terrifying. Kuon felt as though his entrails were frozen with fear, knowing that he was on the brink of having his head cut off or one of his limbs severed.

But that was only for now. He had felt the same kind of fear when he had decided to fight Raga. But he had a will of iron: his determination was unshakable, and he would survive and win at all cost, to personally save Lord Leo from danger... – saying that would be a lie.

If Kuon had left the mountain without fighting Raga – perhaps thanks to a deal with Suo brought about by Sarah's self-proclaimed 'superb negotiation skills' – he would certainly have been tormented by the same nightmare for the rest of eternity.

Day and night, by his pillow, at his feet, on either side of him, the spirit of the fisherman he had pierced with a sword at his coming-of-age ceremony would appear before him, thrusting blades into Kuon's body from all directions, then searing him in hellfire hotter than flames, even though they wouldn't leave a single burn mark on him.

That was the stagnant ''sludge'' that was binding Kuon. The days he had spent in the mountains where he had been born and raised, the beliefs, the customs, the people, the voices chanting incantations, the blood that had been spilled – all of them were fetters that bound his limbs and heart.

He needed to sever them.

That didn't mean discarding his past, but he had to settle things with his own hands, so that the past would stay in the past, and would not cast its shadow over the future.

Kuon gazed at Raga, whose face was now close to his. More than half the mask had already peeled off and fallen away. Diu's eyes blazed with light.

Raga's sword crashed head-on and hard against the blade Kuon held. The shock of the impact ran like lightning from Kuon's left wrist to his shoulder, and he dropped his sword.

The crowd's excitement swelled to its peak. The fierce surge of heat that blew up from the ground seemed like it could knock down the stars hanging in the night sky.

Yet that terrifying rush of heat vanished in an instant.

It happened just after Raga had taken the half-a-step needed to land the finishing blow.

Kuon once more vanished from his sight.

It was a tactic that overturned the difference in physique. By making it look like he was throwing everything into defending himself with his sword, Kuon had drawn Raga's eyes to the upper part of his body. And then, timing the loss of his sword for a point where escape was no longer possible, he had instantly slipped between Raga's legs. Kuon grabbed on to Raga's ankle as he rolled, and ended up behind him. And he didn't give him the chance to even look back.

Kuon flung a rock the size of a fist, which he had picked up as he rolled, into the back of Raga's head.

It was a terribly primitive end to a duel between swordsmen of outstanding skill.

Raga toppled forward without making a sound.

The men who had been leaning forward on all sides of the ravine, their fists raised and their mouths wide open, all suddenly froze.

Afterwards, only silence remained.