Kushimaru Kuriarare was the first to lose patience. His figure abruptly blurred into a streak that almost blended into the mist. Only halfway through his charge did the piercing shriek of torn air erupt.
The longsword Nuibari darted like a striking snake, thrusting straight for Sakumo's throat faster than the eye could follow.
Yet Sakumo seemed to have anticipated it. Instead of blocking, he turned his body and tilted his head with a smaller, almost flawless movement.
The icy tip skimmed past his forehead protector, its wake stinging his cheek.
The instant they passed each other, the White Fang in Sakumo's hand moved. There was no dazzling flash of steel, only a clean, vicious arc as he slashed back toward the joint of Kushimaru's sword arm.
The angle was fiendishly precise, the timing impeccable. It struck exactly when Kushimaru's attack had spent its force and he had yet to muster any more.
Kushimaru twisted his wrist at an unnatural angle. The longsword's metal wire traced a bizarre curve through the air, and the ring at the end of its hilt overtook the blade despite moving later, just managing to strike the spine of the White Fang.
Clang!
A crisp, fleeting clash of metal rang out.
They broke apart as soon as they made contact, each retreating several steps to restore the distance between them.
Beneath his mask, Kushimaru's brow creased almost imperceptibly.
His opponent's reactions and timing far surpassed those of an ordinary ninja. The precision and power carried by that short blade left his sword arm faintly numb.
Sakumo's gaze swept over the nearly invisible metal wire at the end of Kushimaru's longsword. As the intelligence had warned, it was a bizarre weapon that demanded caution.
The next few minutes became a silent dance along the edge of death.