Enshou stood over the fallen Zack, his expression a mixture of grim determination and a touch of melancholy. Zack struggled to push himself back onto his feet, his body screaming in protest, yet his face remained a mask of emotionless resolve. Enshou watched him for a long moment before he began to speak, his voice carrying clearly across the hushed arena.
"I truly didn't want to do this," Enshou confessed, his gaze sweeping over the audience. "But the realization struck me while I was eating in the medical center after my last fight. It wasn't certain you would agree with me, Zack. In fact, there was a higher chance you'd outright refuse. So what then? What would happen if you said no?" He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The answer became clear: I wouldn't abandon my plan just because you refused. I have to win this tournament, become the Sword Master, and then destroy the Green Katana to save Dextin. I must prove to all of you that he isn't the monster you think he is!"
A chorus of boos erupted from the crowd, their voices filled with outrage. "Dextin is evil!" someone screamed. "How can you even think of saving him?!" another cried. "You must be a monster too!" But Enshou's resolve remained unshaken, his gaze fixed, unwavering.
From his chamber, Azreal quietly spoke to King Neon, his voice tinged with understanding. "They wouldn't understand, Your Majesty. Enshou dedicated years of his life to training Dextin. He simply cannot believe that Dextin is truly responsible for so many lives lost. He wants to save him, still believes Dextin is his precious little boy." King Neon remained silent, his gaze fixed on the unfolding drama in the arena, a deep understanding reflected in his eyes.
Back in the tournament ring, Zack finally got back to his feet, a low groan escaping him as he stretched slightly, trying to loosen his strained muscles. He met Enshou's gaze, his voice nonchalant despite his injuries. "So you think Dextin isn't at fault? That the Green Katana poisoned him?" Zack scoffed. "From what I've learned, the katana doesn't wield the wielder; the wielder wields the katana. That means it was his choice to be a dick."
Enshou's eyes narrowed, a deep frown settling on his face. "You know what, I'm beginning to truly hate you."
Zack's lips curved into a rare, almost imperceptible smile. "Good. I didn't come here to find love." With that, Zack lunged forward, his sword a clean, air-cutting slice aimed directly at Enshou. Enshou dodged by a hair's breadth, the blade still grazing his body, a fresh cut appearing, but he remained in the fight.
Without another word, Enshou broke away, creating distance between them. He stopped, then hurled his katana at Zack. Zack's eyes tracked the incoming weapon and, with a swift movement, he deflected it with his own blade. But in that same instant, Enshou was already closing the distance, reappearing as if by magic. He landed a massive punch to Zack's abs, sending him staggering backward, the wind knocked out of him. Enshou retrieved his sword, a look of triumph on his face.
Then, Enshou did it again. He threw his sword mid-air, sending it hurtling towards Zack. Zack prepared to deflect it, but this time, Enshou was faster. In a blinding flash, he reappeared in front of Zack, gripping his sword mid-air, and with a fluid arc, landed another deep slice at Zack's initial wound. Zack stumbled, dropping to one knee, the combined toll of Tusk's earlier beating and Enshou's repeated strikes finally making him waver.
Enshou stepped back, breathing heavily, a triumphant smirk on his face. "See? I told you, boy. You can't beat me." Yet, despite the devastating wounds, Zack showed no visible sign of pain. He slowly, deliberately, pushed himself back to his feet.
"Oh, I see now," Zack said, his voice quiet, almost thoughtful, "That's how you do it. Shall we try that again?"
Enshou's eyes widened, fixated on the massive, bleeding wounds on Zack's chest. (He shouldn't be standing right now. What the hell is wrong with him? What more can he take? He should be finished, but he doesn't even show a flicker of pain. This guy… he isn't human.)
From the sidelines, Bianca, having finally grasped Enshou's technique, whispered, "It's over." Tanker, standing beside her, looked at her with a confused side-eye, wondering why she would declare the match finished.
In the ring, Enshou's face twisted in frustration and anger. "You still don't get it, you…!" He suddenly spun, his gaze sweeping over the entire crowd. "All of you are fighting the wrong person! Can't you see?!" His eyes locked onto Rider in the pavilion. Rider, startled, saw Enshou staring directly at him but didn't understand why.
Enshou's voice rose to a desperate shout. "Your father didn't do anything! The Green Katana is still out there! Okay, let's say you do kill Dextin! You haven't saved anyone yet, because just like the Red Katana, the Green Katana will pick another wielder, and it will continue its torture! Don't you get it? You're all wrong!!!!!!!!!" Enshou's chest heaved, his words echoing through the now silent arena.
Zack, despite his injuries, managed a faint, almost chilling smile. "You know what? When I first saw you, I thought you were just a drunk, pathetic old man. But I was wrong." His smile widened, devoid of warmth. "You're a stupid, drunk, pathetic old man."
Enshou's anger surged, his face contorting in rage. "I'll kill you!" he roared, throwing his sword at Zack with lethal intent. The blade flew through the air, aimed directly at Zack's chest.
This time, Zack didn't react defensively. He simply smiled. In a flash, he snatched Enshou's sword mid-air, his movements precise and impossibly fast. Predicting Enshou's next teleportation, Zack spun, using both his own blade and Enshou's sword, to land a clean, simultaneous slice to Enshou's vitals.
Enshou's vision blurred, a wave of dizziness washing over him as he stumbled, falling to the ground. His last conscious image was the impassive face of Zack. He passed out.
Zack stood over him for a moment, then dropped his sword to the ground. To everyone's shock, Enshou, impossibly, pushed himself back up, his body trembling, and retrieved his sword. His eyes, though unfocused, held a desperate conviction. "I can't keep fighting for those who see the world wrong," he whispered, his voice weak but clear. Then, with a chilling resolve, he pointed the blade of his sword at his own stomach and, without hesitation, plunged it through, ending his life. The arena watched in horrified silence.