IN THIS CONGREGATION, every dojo housed two elite monks. In order to advance to the next dojo, both monks had to be defeated in battle. That meant six fighters had to be beaten before anyone could join the main dojo where A and B were in.
Arthur desired to fight all six of them at once, yet that particular request was not going to be met because the ring would be too small. At most, he could fight up to three monks at a time.
"Tarry here," B said to him, "whilst we call the others."
Ten minutes passed, and later the word about the match spread throughout. The peaceful drudgery of their labour was unlike yesterday. Dozens gathered fast around the main dojo to witness things. Some leaned against the pillars; others squatted near the edges. Hardly any spoke as they watched the upcoming event.
From the center of the ring, Arthur looked at his opponents. There were five male monks and one female monk. The first three stepped up: dark-skinned males with very lean muscle mass. Arthur could tell by their movements that they were barely Jōnin level.
B soon stepped into the center, raised one arm, and said, "Listen well, brothers! We hath but one rule: no ninshu is permitted."
Arthur gave a single nod before B walked away.
Each of Arthur's opponents held their gaze at him. Slowly, the first monk began to walk opposite of him as they circled one another. Neither broke eye contact. Then, without warning, the monk's leg shot up in a high kick.
Bang!
Arthur's forearm blocked it. But the monk wasn't finished; he twisted for a second kick. Arthur moved and caught the attack like it was nothing. When he let him go, the monk charged for a tackle. Yet Arthur raised his knee and drove it hard into the monk's midsection.
Bang!
The monk stumbled back. Now his brothers behind began to move, trying to flank him from the sides.
The second swung a sweeping strike, so Arthur twisted and struck the side of the monk's ribs. The third monk stepped in fast with three straight jabs. But Arthur moved his head with such speed that he left afterimages.
Without pause, he then thrust his palm forward right into the monk's face, drawing blood.
The first monk returned and launched an uppercut that barely missed Arthur's chin. He then quickly followed with a palm strike, but that missed too. Going for another palm strike, Arthur caught the monk's wrist and, in the same movement, chopped sharply to his belly. The monk spat out saliva before sinking slowly to one knee.
Behind Arthur, the second monk regained balance. He flipped twice through the air and tried to launch a strike from above. Arthur met the attack by blocking it. As the monk still hovered in the air, he began delivering several kicks in quick succession. Yet each of his blows failed to connect.
Arthur was simply too swift to hit.
The monk finally landed on the floor, allowing Arthur to move forward with two strikes. Both were blocked. But both were also feints. Before the monk knew it, he was kicked square in the face!
The other two monks took that moment to charge in again. The first swung for a high sweep, but Arthur stepped back with steady footing. The second aimed low with a kick, but Arthur caught the leg with his shin and pushed it aside.
The third monk managed to recover before coming at Arthur like a snake. Arthur himself dodged, slipping around two attacks, then drove a hard kick into that monk's chin. In the same fluid motion, he brought the same leg around to strike the second monk, who ducked just in time.
Whoosh!
A gust of wind caused A's braids to brush against the air. He had a skeptical look on his face as he watched.
Arthur sensed the third monk preparing to take advantage. So he jumped once, spun, and his foot connected with the monk's side, sending him sprawling to the ground.
The second monk rose quickly and launched a drop kick, but Arthur blocked the strike with both arms. Then he grabbed the monk's ankle and threw his body right at the other two monks. The monks crashed into one another before all three were knocked from the ring.
The spectators were left in awe. To think one man, a stranger no less, could best some of their greatest fighters. And he was doing it without chakra?
"Bring thy other monks," Arthur gestured.
Immediately after that demand, three monks entered the ring: a tall man with a broken nose and thick forearms, a lean fighter with sharp eyes and fast feet, and a woman with a staff and eyes like ice. These were by no means close to novices nor like the monks he had just fought. If anything, their skills were at least that of highly skilled Jōnin.
Because of that, Arthur bounced on the balls of his feet. Then he began striking the air so fast that each blow sent wind pressure rippling outward. The very walls seemed to shiver from the force, causing the spectators to gawk at his level of strength.
"What is the meaning of this?" the woman asked.
"He warmeth himself up," the leaner monk replied.
This made the woman's eyes widen. Because if Arthur was just now warming up, then it meant that his last opponents were but mere playthings to him!
No other words passed the three monks once he finished. They were going to give it their all.
"The same rules doth apply," B said from the stands.
Then it began.
The lean fighter rushed first. His style was speed. When he closed the distance, Arthur lunged forward and caught him with a short hook to the chest.
Bang!
It was not enough to break bones, but enough to send the man sliding across the floor.
The woman came next. Her staff twirled in a rising arc, then came down like a hammer. Arthur ducked low, spun, and struck her knee. She stumbled but did not fall. A second swing came from her staff, so he raised both arms and caught it between them.
The third moved in. Arthur could tell by his stance that he was a brawler. The monk quickly grappled Arthur's waist and tried to lift. Yet Arthur's foot struck down into his ankle, which caused a crunching sound. This allowed the monk's grip to loosen as Arthur rolled away.
All three regrouped. It was clear that they were going to attack at once now.
Staff from above, fists from the sides, and feet aiming low—Arthur met them all. He struck, he stepped, he twisted and blocked. The air was filled with sounds of bone and flesh and of wood grinding beneath moving feet.
"What manner of movements are these?!" a spectator wondered.
"Yay," his fellow replied, "for it is as if he danceth on clouds!"
One minute passed. Arthur landed a backfist on the lean fighter that caused the monk to crumple.
Two minutes. The woman swung hard, catching Arthur across the ribs. He stepped forward to deliver a palm to her jaw, making her stagger and drop her weapon.
Three minutes. The brawler, panting, slammed his shoulder into him, yet the strike did little to bring him down.
Four minutes. The lean monk returned and tried to circle him. But Arthur sidestepped and first struck the monk's belly with an elbow, then struck his neck with a knife-hand.
Five minutes. All three lay on the floor; they were bruised and surely defeated.
The dojo remained still as Arthur turned to both A and B to say, "I do believe that ought to have proven mine skills."
No answer came. Both men stood silent with their eyes fixed on the ring's edge behind Arthur. Rather than turn around, Arthur raised his arm. Out of nowhere, one of the monks who had fallen slipped right past him.
"Certainly, thou didst not think I would not take heed…"
What followed next was a sharp chop to the monk's neck that sent him crashing to the floor.
A roar of voices broke the air. From awe and respect to jubilee and excitement. A himself couldn't hold back his smirk. Not only had Arthur defeated some of their elite fighters, but he did so in just five minutes.
B ran forward to check his comrade's wounds. Not a single one of them had broken bones. So he turned to Arthur and said, "Well fought, John! By thy strength, thou hast earned thy place."
"I thank thee," he replied, "but I seek not praise, for thy brethren hath fought valiantly."
Those were quite the humbling words because Arthur wasn't even breathing heavily. Neither was there any sweat running down his skin. The monks knew right then and there that he could go toe-to-toe with their two heads.
"Verily, thou hast passed the test, John," A announced. "I would be pleased to spar with thee now."
The spectators most certainly did not wish to leave now. They sought more spectacle and more display of skill from Arthur.
Once A put his foot on the steps to enter the ring, B got right in front of him and locked eyes with Arthur.
"Forgiveth me, brother," he began, "but I shall be the one to challenge John first!" A's expression twisted into a comical surprise. Before he could protest, B rushed at Arthur like a storm. "Prepare thyself, John!"
Their forearms met with a thunderous clash, causing the wooden floor beneath them to crack.
"Oh…" Arthur muttered, feeling impressed.
He hadn't expected B to be so fervent in the challenge. What impressed him the most, however, was that pain was beginning to bloom down his arms. This was something rare. Often, it took the power of a Tailed Beast to make him feel such discomfort. Yet B had done it with a single blow. "Thou art strong…"
"Nay, John! By my troth, thou art the strong one!"
Once their clash broke, the two engaged in a rapid dance of blows. Their bodies moved with speed and precision, trading strikes, blocks, and counters in a deadly rhythm.
A stood to the side with his arms crossed as he watched them quietly. It was clear that he was not going to step in on account of the fact that he did not wish for a two-against-one bout.
"Excuse me, sir," a monk said, walking close, "but thy wife hath prepared luncheon."
"Bid her wait," A said in a voice filled with promise. His hair seemed to rise as black electricity crackled faintly about him. "I await mine turn..."
The monk took a small step back out of fear. Never had anyone stir such eagerness in their head before!
✟
The sky outside the dojo showed the first light of dawn. Cool air drifted through the open slats in the wall. The ring was quiet now with no echoes of strikes or shouts. Only the steady breathing of three men lying flat on the wooden floor. Their limbs were stretched, and they were soaked in sweat.
Arthur stared up at the ceiling. His body felt warm, not sore. He could have kept going. Still, he didn't need to give his true strength away.
Beside him, A groaned, "Wherefore art thou made of iron, John?"
B, sprawled out on Arthur's other side, chuckled. "My gracious, what creature begat thee? Surely not man. Speak true—art thou forged from stone?"
Arthur let a small breath of a laugh slip through his nose. "Nay… Ye both possess strength equal to mine own. I was merely trying to keep up."
That earned a genuine laugh from both A and B. It sounded rough and tired, but real.
"Too humble," A said, chuckling through the ache. "Yet thou speakest sweet."
B rolled to his side, wiped his forehead, and said, "Verily, John, I shall surely incorporate thy fighting manner into mine own."
When Arthur heard that, he began to understand something: the reason why the B from his time period fought the way he did was because of this event. Arthur had indirectly taught the Cloud shinobi's ancestors about breakdance fighting, which would in turn be passed down to later generations.
"But let us not train again so fiercely…" B continued. "At least not 'til supper."
Arthur smiled without looking over.
Then A yawned, "What reckon ye, John? Shall the morrow bring peace or battle?"
"Whate'er it bringeth," Arthur answered, "I shall meet it gladly."
At those words, they heard birds beginning to chirp outside. Throughout their sparring, not a single one of them knew that it was morning. That made them softly laugh.