Drago didn't hesitate in his sprint. The moment Kenta settled into place, he surged forward, boots tearing into the dirt as he closed the gap in a burst of raw speed. His blade came up in the same motion, cutting down in a brutal arc meant to split Kenta where he stood.
Kenta shifted a single step to the side. The blade carved through empty air.
Drago didn't stop. His wrist turned sharply, the missed strike flowing into another. A horizontal slash came immediately after, faster, tighter, and aimed for Kenta's ribs.
Kenta leaned back just enough for it to pass. Steel flashed again. Another strike. Then another.
Drago pressed forward relentlessly, each swing chaining into the next with practiced precision. His footwork was solid, his balance controlled, his timing far sharper than the men Kenta had just cut through.
Kenta's eyes followed each movement, his body responding in small, efficient motions. A step here. A slight turn there. A shift of his shoulders. He wasn't struggling, but he wasn't dismissing it either.
A thrust came straight for his chest. Kenta slipped to the side, letting it pass as he took a small hop back, creating a bit of distance between them.
"Huh," Kenta muttered, almost to himself.
Drago didn't give him time to finish the thought, lunging forward again, blade cutting low this time. Kenta stepped back again, the edge grazing past his robes.
"You've actually got some training," Kenta said, his tone calm even as he moved.
Drago's expression twisted, but he kept attacking. Kenta leaned away from another strike, then pushed off the ground, hopping back just out of range as a thrust shot toward him.
"And you let your men run in and die first?" he added, landing lightly.
His gaze settled on Drago, a faint edge creeping into it.
"That's pretty pathetic."
Drago's face snapped.
"Shut up!" he barked.
He planted his foot hard into the ground, the force sending a faint ripple through the dirt as his stance widened. His grip tightened around the hilt, and for a brief moment, the air around him seemed to shift. Then he swung.
But this time, the blade didn't just cut air; it manipulated air. A sharp crescent of winds tore free from the edge, racing forward with a piercing whistle.
Kenta's eyes flicked to it. He dropped low instantly, rolling to the side as the attack tore past him.
A second followed. Then a third.
Each one carved through the space he'd just occupied, slamming into the structures behind him with violent force. Wood splintered. Walls tore apart. A section of a nearby building collapsed inward as the slashes ripped through it like paper.
Dust and debris burst into the air.
Kenta came out of the roll into a crouch, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the damage.
"The wind blade technique," he said.
He straightened slowly, brushing a bit of dust off his sleeve.
"That's only the second time I've seen that."
His gaze returned to Drago, who was already stepping forward again, energy still faintly coiling around him. Kenta tilted his head slightly.
"Gotta say," he added, "compared to the first time I saw such power, I'm not that impressed."
Drago's expression darkened instantly.
"Then don't blink!" he snapped, charging again.
He closed the distance fast, the blade cutting down in another heavy strike. Kenta stepped to the side, the attack missing cleanly as his hand came up.
His palm drove forward. It struck Drago square in the chest.
The impact landed with a solid, concussive force. Drago's body jerked as the air left him in a sharp burst, his feet lifting from the ground as he was sent flying backward. He crashed into a nearby haystack, disappearing into it in an explosion of straw.
For a moment, everything stilled. Kenta lowered his hand, flexing his fingers once before letting his arm fall back to his side. His gaze drifted past the wreckage.
The remaining men stood frozen, staring at what had just happened. The fear that had been building finally broke through completely.
One of them took a step back. Then another.
"We can't win this," someone muttered.
That was all it took. They turned and ran. Boots pounded against the dirt as the remaining riders scattered, fleeing the village as fast as they could manage, weapons forgotten, formation completely broken.
Kenta watched them go, his expression unchanged.
Then he raised his voice slightly.
"Hey," he called out, glancing toward the haystack. "Your men are running. Not your finest hour as a leader, I'd guess."
There was a rustle. Drago pushed himself upright, straw falling from his shoulders as he staggered out of the pile. His face was tight with fury, chest rising and falling as he forced air back into his lungs.
"Get back here!" he roared, turning toward the fleeing men. "You useless pieces of shit!"
But they didn't stop. Within seconds, they were already gone, disappearing beyond the edge of the village. Drago stood there, breathing hard, watching the empty road where they'd vanished.
Then he clicked his tongue and shook his head.
"Screw it," he muttered. "I can handle this myself."
Kenta sighed softly.
"You could still leave," he said. "Follow them."
Drago didn't respond.
"If you actually want to keep living," Kenta added, "that'd be the smarter choice."
Drago's grip tightened around his blade again.
"I'll have your head," he said, voice low and steady, "if it's the last thing I do."
Kenta studied him for a moment. Drago had turned slightly, his attention no longer fully on him. Instead, his eyes moved toward the villagers. Still bound. Still kneeling. Watching everything with wide, terrified eyes.
A slow smile crept across Drago's face.
"You seem like the caring type," he said.
Kenta didn't answer.
"So I doubt you'd let anything happen to them."
The air shifted again. Drago swung. A wind blade tore free from his sword, not aimed at Kenta this time but at the villagers. Panic erupted instantly. Some screamed. Others tried to scramble back despite their bindings.
The attack closed fast. Kenta moved as his hand slammed into the ground.
A sharp crack echoed outward as frost spread from the point of impact, racing across the dirt in an instant. The air dropped in temperature as a jagged wall of ice surged upward between the villagers and the incoming strike.
The wind blade hit it.
The impact exploded against the surface, carving into the ice but failing to break through completely. The force scattered outward, leaving deep gouges before dissipating.
Silence followed. A thin mist hung in the air where cold met heat. Kenta slowly stood, his hand lifting from the ground as the frost settled.
He didn't look at the villagers. His eyes were on Drago.
"I don't have any ties to this place," Kenta said calmly. "No loyalty. No reason to get involved."
His voice was steady.
"But I don't like seeing innocent people dragged into conflicts they're not participating in. So here's some friendly advice."
His gaze sharpened just slightly.
"Keep this between us if you know what's good for you."