"This day finally came."
Night Blade's voice rang through the empty iron cage, carrying a hint of hoarse amusement. It echoed along the thick bars, mingling with the smell of rust on the wind.
He stood at the other end of the cage, his fingers resting on the dagger hilt at his waist. Dust clung to his fitted black clothes, and two buttons lay undone at his collar, exposing his hard, sharply defined jaw.
His eyes were startlingly bright. They held none of the tension of an impending battle, only overflowing, almost fanatical anticipation.
He looked like a swordsmith who had spent three years honing a blade and finally reached the day he could test its edge.
Moon stood where he was, his deep, dark-blue eyes resting calmly on him, without a response or a ripple of emotion.
He simply lowered his center of gravity a fraction, rested his right hand on the dagger hilt at his waist, and held his left loosely before his abdomen. His feet settled into an angled stance, his body as steady as if nailed to the basalt.
It was a textbook opening stance, without a single wasted movement.
His silence was his answer.
Night Blade took no offense.
If anything, the other boy's deathly stillness, untouched by anything he said, pleased him all the more.
He had never intended to use words to throw his opponent off—that was a trick reserved for the weak.
He simply felt there were things that needed saying before he drew his blade.
After all, once today was over, whoever won or lost, whoever lived or died, there would be no more chances to speak or listen.
"Actually, I imagined this moment the very first time I saw you at the base entrance."
Night Blade slowly took two steps