"Congratulations, you've won this match."
Yanagi smiled at Sol, offering her praise as beads of sweat slid from her hair down to her chest.
After such an intense rally, her body was drenched, not to the point of transparency, but enough to accentuate her curves even more.
Though most of the heavy lifting had been handled by Sol, Yanagi hadn't had it easy either. Blocking Hoshimi Miyabi's shots was no small challenge for her.
"It wasn't easy." Sol wiped away the sweat on his forehead. "I never thought, since coming to New Eridu, the toughest challenge I'd face so far would be a tennis match."
He had won, but it had not been an easy victory. Playing this game of tennis was far harder than killing a newborn Dullahan.
And this was only against Miyabi in her normal state, without Ether reinforcement. Sol himself hadn't even relied on his more broken abilities.
"Then did you at least enjoy yourself?"
Yanagi asked with a smile.
After the game, she could feel that her bond with Sol had grown stronger.
Indeed, team sports really were the fastest way to build relationships.
"Winning with the beautiful Yanagi against a Void Hunter was like a hero and his comrade defeating the Demon King." Sol joked lightly. "Challenging, but also very enjoyable."
It was an apt metaphor. The pressure Miyabi gave him really had felt like facing a Demon King.
He could win in the end, yes, but the process was grueling, and the victory deeply satisfying.
The only shame was… that in such stories, the heroine usually threw herself into the hero's arms afterward, using the healing magic of her chest to soothe his wounds.
Yanagi, Yanagi… this was where she didn't quite understand the script.
"You're too funny." Yanagi laughed despite herself.
No one had ever compared Miyabi to a Demon King before. That alone made Sol's words unique.
Just then, Hoshimi Miyabi approached with Soukaku at her side.
"Sol, you've won. You are a worthy opponent."
"I look forward to seeing what you can do next."
Miyabi spoke seriously, her cheeks flushed from exertion, looking strikingly different than usual.
Through the tennis match, she had gained a clearer understanding of Sol's abilities.
In short—he was a swordsman with overwhelming strength.
Looking deeper, however, she realized his style wasn't tied to one school. His techniques seemed like the refined culmination of many masters.
It was a peculiar state—he hadn't yet ascended to a higher realm of swordsmanship, but he was no ordinary sword master either.
"I feel the same." Sol smiled. "But I'd prefer if you called me friend."
"Friend? We're already friends."
Miyabi's reply was earnest.
Ever since Sol had treated her and her companions to dinner, she had considered him a friend.
A wine-and-meat friend, perhaps—but a friend nonetheless.
"Then, why don't we all sit down for some tea and rest before the next round?" Yanagi interjected with a bright smile, pulling the two of them toward the lounge.
Neither resisted. After such strenuous exertion, a short break was indeed needed.
Ten minutes later, they stood once more on the training field, facing each other across the space.
On the sidelines, Tsukishiro Yanagi, Asaba Harumasa, and Soukaku watched intently, unwilling to miss a single detail.
This time, there were no wooden practice blades.
The strength between these two would shatter wood in an instant.
It would be live steel—though without lethal techniques.
"Hoshimi household, Hoshimi Miyabi. Blade name: Mikazuki Munechika."
Miyabi rested her hand on the scabbard of her short katana. Her entire aura sharpened like a drawn blade.
Her treasured blade, passed down from the old age, was a famed sword of legend.
Of course, Mikazuki Munechika lacked the spectral enhancements her usual weapon carried.
"The Cunning Hares, Sol Mercer. Blade name: Raiga."
Sol gripped his hilt and flicked his arm.
The sheath embedded itself into the stone floor with a thunk, vibrating like a rattlesnake's tail.
Raiga dragged across the ground at an angle, its edge gleaming with chilling light.
[Raiga], with its meter-and-a-half-long blade, was hardly suited for quick-draw slashes. Who knew where Anby had picked it up? Likely from some brute leader of the Mountain Lion Gang.
The air grew heavy between them as they studied one another, seeking out any opening.
This was to be a true pinnacle duel of swordsmanship.
On one side—a prodigious genius of a martial lineage, who had defeated countless predecessors.
On the other—Sol, holder of a Gold Card, a man who had mastered a multitude of styles.
Miyabi scrutinized him carefully.
His aura was calm and seamless, revealing no gaps.
There was no point in waiting longer—no weakness would appear.
So, Miyabi made the first move.
In swordsmanship, seizing the initiative was a tremendous advantage.
She closed her eyes briefly, sinking her spirit into her blade.
Her stance shifted: legs bent, shoulders lowered, right hand clamped tight on the hilt.
Then her eyes snapped open—
And she sprang forward like a ghost, vanishing with a flicker of speed.
"Seizing the initiative? But if you go first… I can already see all of your moves."
Sol's voice was calm, unshaken by the incoming phantom.
To him, first strike was not always advantage. With his All-Weapon Mastery, he understood differently:
Attack later, arrive sooner. Lengthen strengths, shorten weaknesses. Invincible in a hundred battles.
This was not merely technical superiority—it was tactical dominance.
"One-Sword Style—Iaijutsu!"
In a heartbeat, Miyabi appeared before him. Her draw was lightning itself.
The blade flashed from its sheath, a streak of silver splitting the air, driving straight for Sol's face.
Mikazuki Munechika was a blade of exquisite beauty, its faint crescent patterns gleaming, its edge shimmering like autumn waters.
In her hands, it was deadlier still—beauty carrying lethal intent.
"I see every part of your attack." Sol's mouth curled upward. "Cut!"
The long blade, dragging moments before, suddenly rose to meet hers, standing tall in front of him.
Steel struck steel in a shower of sparks.
Their gazes locked across the clash, Miyabi catching the curve of Sol's grin.
His right hand reversed on the hilt, his left pressing the spine two-thirds down.
He lifted Raiga upward with force, its edge threatening to split Miyabi in half.
Her eyes widened at the unexpected shift. Forced back, she retreated quickly.
But Sol pressed forward, reversing his grip mid-motion, his upward slash transforming seamlessly into a horizontal cut.
"He saw through my attack, pulling me into his rhythm… a true master of the sword."
Miyabi frowned slightly, still retreating.
She regretted striking first.
It had given Sol the chance to read her and turn the flow against her.
Now, she was caught on the defensive.
Her mind raced—she would need to find a way to break this rhythm.