10 Chapter 10: Imperial Swordsmanship Competition Qualifiers

Isaac walked through the streets of Poseidonia with Joel at his side. Any time before, Joel would have kicked a big fuss asking Isaac to take a carriage and a line-up of guards along, but now, that same old man was cackling like a wicked person who had just left a banana peel on a person's doorstep.

"You took things too far," Isaac said, adjusting the black and white opera mask to fit better on his nose. No matter how much he tried, though, the nose bridge was three millimeters too wide to be comfortable.

"Not at all, young lord. Just imagine, the face that Kristine et Kaiser would make when you defeat her and take off your mask!"

'She'd be devastated!'

'She'd swoon!'

Joel's smooth tongue speaking the language of misunderstandings worked strangely well for Isaac. Not much was different about his attire, other than the opera mask. He even wore his usual black suit when Joel told him how cool it would be, naturally, Joel thought of defeating someone with unfit clothing, while Isaac had the figure of a gentleman in his mind.

Before long, the two of them found themselves outside of the building hosting the qualifiers for block C of the registrants.

A bearded man lazily let people in after checking their names as they formed a file to the entrance.

"Doggyman Dogdog?"

"Woof!"

"Alright, go in. Next is… fish-head. Do you have a fucking fish for your head—Yup, you do."

"Problems blub?"

"Go in."

Just the usual.

The file shortened in no time at all, and finally, Isaac's name was called out.

"Opera Mask Magician Swordsman?" the man asked.

Opera Mask Magician Swordsman? That was quite the splendid name, as expected of his attendant. "That's me," Isaac said.

"Name's long as hell."

"That's the charm."

"Ok smartass, just go in."

The foul-tongued man cared not for the one going in, nor for Joel who went in as well. The security in this block was horrid, but whatever. Isaac adjusted his suit and mask and inside.

Wooden floorings stretched out in all directions with many benches and seats placed on the sides. There were a dozen different rooms made for the next fighters to prepare in, while two rings were made in the center of the wide place for the battles to be held in.

One of the fighting rings was already being used by two warriors who looked to be seven and seventy years old respectively. It was a miracle how their heights were almost the same.

"They let in kids?" Isaac asked.

"That's Jhongo, he's seventy-two, sir."

Isaac decided that speculation was useless when it came to warriors in the end. Much like wizards, these beings could tap into the energy held in the world around and inside them and use it to supplement their strength. Keeping one's body fit and young was easy as pie with Mana and Ki alike.

Jhongo was one who knew how to, while the other old man was probably here either out of desperation or to give it a shot before croaking over. It didn't take even a moment for the match to be settled with Jhongo not even swinging his sword properly.

The old man tried to swing down, but Jhongo dodged by a narrow inch. Over and over, he handled every swing of the surprisingly agile old man by dodging just the right amount.

When the old man tried to pull a flashy trick, Jhongo raised his knee and smacked the bottom of the old man's sword, sending his hands shaking. From there, he swept the old man off the ground and kicked the blade away before leaving his feet positioned for a quick smash in the old man's face.

"Hmm, impressive. Not as impressive as you though, my lord."

Joel lied through his teeth. There was no way Isaac could do even a tenth of that.

'This is why guinea—I mean, Victor was against me participating.'

Isaac simply leaned against the wall, the sword strapped to his waist, as he observed the people around. Some rumors started floating about the masked weirdo and his butler in mere moments.

It didn't take long for the qualifiers to proceed in full swing. And soon enough, the name they were waiting for was called out.

"Uh, next up. Opera Mask Magician Swordsman, and Fish head!"

"What a coincidence," Isaac muttered as he stood upright and took a heavy step on the glossy wooden floor that reflected his mask. "I was just in the mood for some sushi."

***

Fish head. Name Fish, surname head. Fish head was a man with a fish for his head. Abandoned at the edge of a lake when he was just a wee child, Fish head had been alone for as long as he remembered.

He would live near the lake, and get water from it. As for food, a little walk would get him enough. Every night during his childhood, a strange person named the 'fisherman' would come over to the lake. The fisherman scared Fish head.

To fight off against the fear of that fisherman and his strange weapon, the fishing rod, fish head learned the art of the sword. Training day and night till blisters formed in his hands and water stuck in his gills, fish head tried his best to become stronger.

And at last, when he had become an adult, he found himself strong enough.

"Fisherman! I am here to face you!" he had said.

It was an intense battle that lasted two days and two nights, but in the end, Fish head had managed to win. With his dying nemesis in his hands, fish head felt a strange sense of emptiness. It was at that moment, that his life changed.

"Fish head… thing…" the fisherman's weak groan rang in Fish Head's ears, as he were in front of him. "I… am your father!"

Father.

What a strange comedy the Moirai had played with him. Why was he the butt of their joke? Why did he have to live in fear of his parent, and kill him with his own hands? Fish Head knew not.

So, Fish Head cursed fate.

This was just another stepping stone in Fish Head's path.

"BEGIN!"

The referee's voice resounded. At once, Fish Head's feet launched off the ground and it jumped toward the man ahead.

"God-slaying school! Mackerel Strike!"

Like helpless mackerel flopping about after being pulled out from the water, Fish Head swerved his sword through the air and changed its trajectory over and over, making it impossible to see where it would come from.

"Goodbye!" Fish Head screamed.

His sword descended on the masked man. The sword carrying the death of his parent, the sword that would fall upon the gods of fate!

"Thundering School…uh… Thunder?"

"GYA!"

A stream of lightning flowed out of the masked man's sword before Fish Head could land his blow and struck him through the chest before spreading to his legs and gills.

With froth forming at the tip of its mouth, Fish Head flopped to the ground.

"Uh, the Fish has been fried!"

The first win to Kristine's heart was secured.