Chương 41: Vol 1. The Duel: Part 3

Korra stared at him blankly. She recognized the strategy he was employing.

"You are insane."

"Heh, been called worse over the years."

"Did you seriously injure yourself so you could stop staring at me?"

"Well, when ya' put it like that, it does sound kinda stupid."

"It is extremely stupid, and you cut far too deeply for that trick. Did you not think of the potential haziness that comes with pain and blood loss?"

"Nah, but hey, I think it's workin'!" Korra laughed as she shook her head.

"Like I said earlier, you really do have the mind of a Kharani woman." She raised her sword again, and this time Morton met her without hesitation. She slashed. Morton stepped forward, and their blades collided near the guards. He twisted with uncharacteristic gracefulness, slid his sword down hers, and struck her wrist with the hilt. Korra's paw jerked back. Morton drove his shoulder into her chest with as much weight as he could muster.

His head was still hazy, likely from the blow to his forehead, the strike to his liver, and the pain burning through his arm. It felt a little like being drunk. Not that he hadn't fought through something like that before. He was not suddenly faster or stronger, and Korra remained the better swordswoman by a distance similar to that between New York and Tokyo. But he now had something he had not possessed previously: focus. Intense focus.

Every time his mind began to wander—to focus on something else, such as his worries, the future, Tahir, or Korra's body—it was redirected and filtered through the searing pain in his arm. It acted, in a way, like an anchor to the present moment. The wound came with its own drawbacks. Blood ran along his forearm and dampened his palm, making the hilt increasingly slippery. His fingers trembled whenever he tightened his grip, and every forceful extension of his arm made the cut flare with renewed agony.

Korra struck high, only for Morton to duck and slash towards her thigh. She twisted aside, but not nearly fast enough. The flat of Morton's blade struck the outside of her left leg. Korra bared her fangs and hissed as her knee buckled. Morton looked down at her calf and saw how much it was quaking, as well as the faded yet thick scar running alongside it. He had not imagined the hitch in her step. He attacked the same side again. Korra parried his attack, but the force of his weight made her left leg wobble.

Morton smiled. He had found a weakness. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Korra seemed to notice that he had discovered the weakness in her leg—one of her biggest insecurities. Her ears lowered, and her playful smile disappeared. She adjusted her grip, squeezing both paws firmly around the hilt. She lowered her centre of gravity. With a heavy heave and a snarl, she surged forward.

Her attacks started to become faster, more brazen, but never wild—always calculated. Each of the blows forced Morton to protect another part of his body—shoulder, neck, ribs, knee—and his reflexes couldn't keep up. He blocked as many as he could. One struck his forearm with the flat, and another clipped his thigh. The hilt whacked the underside of his chin. He swung back wildly, forcing Korra to retreat. Then she moved forward again, and their blades locked. Morton stared into her remaining amber eye.

Korra bared her fangs, not playfully whatsoever, but with predatory intensity. He pushed all his weight forward, their swords trembling between them. Push, push, fucking push! Morton put all he had into driving her backwards. Korra's ears twitched, and her muzzle scrunched as her left leg quivered beneath her. Her paws shifted. Her grip on the blade was weakening rapidly. For a brief second, Morton thought he had her. Then he felt something warm and fluffy slide around his ankle.

He looked down as though moving in cartoonish slow motion. Korra's tail was coiled around his leg like a python.

"Oh, to fuckin' hell," he muttered. The rules allowed every part of the body during the blade trial. Unfortunately, Morton had forgotten that her body came equipped with an extra part. Korra pulled. Morton lost his balance and fell backwards with a heavy thump. The impact forced the air from his lungs. His sword slipped from his grasp and skidded across the carpet. Morton let out a strained little oof. She stood above him, breathing hard now, her mane hanging loosely around her face.

Her thick abdomen hung over him, and her left leg still trembled, though only slightly, despite her best efforts to conceal it. Korra planted one paw firmly against his sternum, pinning him to the carpet, then lowered the point of her sword towards the centre of Morton's forehead. She let the cold point touch his skin—not hard enough to pierce him, but enough that Morton could feel the edge and knew that, if she wanted, she could end him there.

"You fought well," Korra said between heavy breaths.

"Far better than I expected." Morton struggled to breathe beneath her paw.

"But," she continued, "we can stop now if you like. There is no dishonour in accepting that you are outmatched." Morton was still dry-heaving from the pain of his self-inflicted wound and the punch to his liver. Warm blood still ran down his arm and dripped onto the ruddy carpet beneath him.

"There might not be," Morton grunted, "but there ain't a carriage and horses in it, either." Korra stared down at him for a moment, her head slightly cocked. Her chest rose and fell heavily, her tongue lolling, saliva dripping from its tip, and every muscle beneath her tawny fur twitching from the exertion. She gave a fanged grin and flicked her ears respectfully.

"Very well," she said. She stepped off him. Morton sucked in the air around him as though he would never get another chance to breathe for the rest of his life, then forced himself upright. Korra tossed her sword aside. It struck the stone wall—clang! —then fell to the ground.

"Alright, the trial of blades has concluded," she said. Being disarmed had ended only the first portion of the Tukuro; the duel itself would continue until one of them yielded.

"Per the rules, you will begin the grappling portion seated, and I will begin standing." Morton sat on the carpet and wiped blood from his hand onto the ruddy fabric.

"Reminds me of practising jujitsu with Ogura," Morton said reminiscently.

"Though I always thought startin' on your ass was kinda unfair."

"That's the point," Korra said evenly. She rolled her shoulders, then lowered herself into a crouch.

"You ready?" she asked, a determined glint in her amber eye.

"Ready when you are, ma'am." Korra's tail snapped against the carpet for good luck. Then she lunged.