Bianca, muscles screaming under the unexpected weight of Valen's broadsword, propelled herself forward. The sheer mass of the weapon made her movements less fluid, more of a determined lunge. With a guttural grunt, she swung a wide, telegraphed arc, aiming to cleave Valen in two.
Valen, however, moved with a disconcerting ease that belied his size. He took a single, effortless step to his left, the massive blade whistling past his chest. Bianca's momentum, amplified by the unwieldy weight, carried her forward. The heavy sword continued its downward trajectory, biting deep into the hardened concrete of the arena floor with a jarring thud. Dust and small pebbles erupted around the point of impact.
Panic flared in Bianca's chest. The sword was stuck fast, embedded deep within the unyielding surface. She strained, her arms trembling, attempting to wrench it free. Her feet scrabbled for purchase on the dusty ground, but the blade remained stubbornly lodged. A frustrated curse escaped her lips. "Fuck!" she grunted, every muscle fiber screaming in protest as she pulled with all her might, yet the sword remained immovably fixed.
Valen stood a few feet away, observing her struggle with a slightly raised eyebrow and a sigh that spoke volumes of disbelief and a hint of disappointment. The initial awe of the unexpected turn had begun to dissipate for the crowd, replaced by a sense of anticlimax. Some stifled laughter, finding the sight of the struggling warrior wielding a weapon too large for her somewhat comical. Others murmured amongst themselves, questioning the point of the entire spectacle.
Rider, his earlier hope flickering, ran a hand through his hair, his anxiety returning in full force. He looked around at the mistake expressions of the spectators, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach. "Calm down, Rider," he muttered under his breath, trying to project an optimism he didn't entirely feel. "She's got this. Look at the bright side… Valen isn't fighting back, right? She just needs to… find a way. Somehow." His internal monologue offered little comfort.
Back in the arena, Bianca continued her futile efforts, a string of increasingly colorful curses punctuating her exertion. "Damn it, stupid sword!" she exclaimed, her face flushed with effort and frustration. Not even the slightest wiggle betrayed any progress.
Valen, shifting his weight uncomfortably, finally broke the silence. "Ummm…" He scratched the back of his head, a gesture that seemed almost sheepish. "Do you… like… need help?"
Bianca's head snapped up, her eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and disbelief. "What? No! We're supposed to be fighting! Don't offer me help! I've got this!" she insisted, though her straining muscles clearly indicated otherwise. She redoubled her efforts, pulling with every ounce of her remaining strength, but the sword remained stubbornly planted.
Valen face-palmed, a gesture of exasperated resignation. "Don't just pull," he advised, his tone surprisingly patient. "You're just increasing the pressure. Try wiggling and rotating it. Then pull, but this time from a downward position."
Bianca, her pride momentarily overridden by practicality, followed his instructions. She gripped the hilt firmly, wiggled it back and forth, rotated it slightly, and then, adopting a lower stance, pulled downwards with a renewed surge of adrenaline. With a grating sound, the massive blade slid free from the concrete.
"Oh… umm… thanks," Bianca mumbled, a wave of confusion washing over her. The crowd, who had been hoping for a more dramatic display, collectively deflated, their disappointment palpable.
Bianca ignored their reaction. She staggered slightly, the weight of the sword still considerable, and took a few deep breaths, trying to regain her composure and the stamina that had been rapidly draining. Then, with a renewed determination etched on her face, she charged at Valen again.
This time, her movements were more controlled, the power behind her swings tempered by a need for precision. She aimed a series of slicing attacks towards Valen's sides, utilizing the length of the blade to keep him at bay. Valen, true to his word, made no offensive moves. He effortlessly deflected each blow with his bare hands, the heavy metal ringing against his calloused skin.
"So," Valen began, his voice calm amidst the flurry of steel. "I know this is an obvious question, but… why do you want to win this tournament?"
Bianca stumbled back, momentarily stunned by the unexpected conversational gambit. She stared at him, her brow furrowed in angry confusion. "You're asking me that now? You're not taking me seriously, are you?" she pointed out, her voice sharp with indignation.
Valen rested his hands on his waist, his posture relaxed. "I just wanted to pass the time. Who knows how long it would take before you come to your senses?"
A smirk, tight with determination, played on Bianca's lips. "Good. Keep it that way. It's just going to make my victory even sweeter." Despite her defiant words, beads of sweat plastered strands of hair to her forehead, and her breathing grew ragged. She moved around the ring, her exhaustion becoming increasingly evident.
She threw a slow, deliberate strike towards Valen's torso. (This swing was slow, and she's sweating like hell. That means she's tiring soon. Good), Valen thought, stepping easily aside to avoid the blow. Bianca immediately followed with another swing, this time aiming for his face. Valen simply shifted his head back, knowing her attempts were likely futile.
But Bianca's intention wasn't to connect with the sword. The feigned attack towards his face was a calculated distraction, designed to momentarily block his line of sight. As the heavy blade passed before Valen's eyes, Bianca's free hand darted into a small pocket concealed within her fighting cloth. Her fingers closed around the jagged, shattered pieces of her own broken blade.
As Valen's vision cleared, Bianca swiftly flung the sharp fragments towards his face. A strangled yell of pain erupted from Valen as the shards found their mark, tearing into the flesh around his eyes. He instinctively clapped his hands to his bleeding face and dropped to his knees. A collective gasp of shock rippled through the crowd. Some spectators shot to their feet, while others murmured in disbelief and confusion at the sudden, brutal turn of events. Rider, a faint blush creeping up his neck, couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. She still got it.
Bianca, her chest heaving, allowed herself a small, grim smile as she addressed the writhing beast hunter. "Every single one of my attacks, you either blocked with your hand or dodged with contemptuous ease. Even the slowest strikes showed that you weren't taking any chances, which made me realize you weren't Invincible Like Tanker who could simply absorb damage. I needed a way to land an attack without you seeing it. And what better way to stop you from seeing me than to stop you from seeing altogether?"
She continued, her voice still laced with exertion but firm with conviction. "The shattering of my sword gave me the perfect opportunity. While you were focused on my disarmament, I picked up the pieces, feigning a stumble to conceal them in my pocket. I was ready to use them before you even offered me your… chivalrous handicap. And now," she concluded, her gaze unwavering, "I can freely attack you without you seeing me."
Even Zack and Tanker, who had been observing the match with their usual detached disinterest, exchanged surprised glances. Bianca's explanation revealed a level of tactical thinking they hadn't anticipated.
Valen, however, refused to yield. He slowly pushed himself back to his feet, his hands still pressed against his bleeding eyes. A new, dangerous seriousness emanated from him, despite his obvious injury. "This doesn't mean anything," he growled, his voice strained with pain. "I'm a beast hunter. Do you really think I need to see you to attack?"
Bianca's smirk widened. "No, I figured that out during the clockwise circling I used on you. You were able to track my movements even without seeing me. That means you're relying on your other senses. That's why I took precautions. For example, I intentionally stuck the sword deep into the concrete floor, not just out of frustration, but to give the impression of utter exhaustion while subtly spreading my sweat across the ring. I already knew how to dislodge the sword easily; I just needed to prolong the act to saturate the ground with my scent, hoping to overwhelm your sense of smell."
She paused, taking another deep breath. "And then there's your hearing. Well, I'm known for sneaking up on people." She glanced towards the crowd where Rider nodded emphatically at Aingo, who simply raised an eyebrow in grudging acknowledgment.
Bianca turned her attention back to the injured giant. "So, I doubt you'll be able to see, smell, or hear me effectively now. Do you take me seriously?" she asked, hefting Valen's massive sword, her stance poised for another attack.
A flicker of genuine worry crossed Valen's bloodied face. He had underestimated her, a mistake that might prove to be his undoing. He had focused on her lack of brute strength, completely overlooking the sharp intellect and cunning that lay beneath her seemingly desperate actions. The silence in the arena was thick with anticipation, the crowd now fully invested in this unexpected and brutal turn of events.