The man rushed at the boy with killing intent, blade raised high, his movements sharp and lethal. He swung in a wide arc, aiming to slice the boy clean in half. But the boy was faster. He dropped low and rolled to the side, letting the blade whistle harmlessly past him.
"You move like a rat," the man snarled, frustration coloring his voice.
"Oh really?" the boy replied, voice calm, almost teasing.
The man lunged again, faster this time, trying to compensate for the first miss. The boy sidestepped once more, letting momentum carry him past the man, then suddenly extended his palm and slapped the man square across the face with a force that sent a jolt up the man's neck.
"Wow, what a slap!" the boss laughed, leaning on his staff. "A kid is beating you like this? Aren't you ashamed?"
"Think this seriously now, boss," the man groaned, dazed, rubbing his cheek.
The boy smirked, his eyes glinting with cold amusement. The man lunged again, swinging wildly. The boy ducked, stepping forward, and delivered a precise punch to the man's chin. The man staggered backward, knees buckling, struggling to stay upright. Before he could recover, the boy jumped and landed a brutal kick to the back of his neck. The man collapsed with a snap lifeless.
"I could say you have some skills," the boy said quietly, brushing dust from his sleeve, "but you should not have come out on your own."
The boy's smirk widened as he glanced at the others. Ten more men now surrounded him, all armed and clearly trained in basic combat. The first man's body was already cold on the ground. The boy's lips curled into a faint smile.
"Boys," he said casually, "let's see what you've got."
The gang charged.
The first swing came from a burly man wielding a crude pipe. The boy ducked low, letting the pipe whistle above him, then twisted his body and landed a spinning back-kick to the man's chest. He flew back several feet, slamming into a broken wall.
Another lunged with a dagger. The boy grabbed the man's wrist, flipped him over his shoulder, and slammed him into the dirt.
A third tried to catch him with a low sweep. The boy leapt over the attack and landed lightly on the balls of his feet, landing a swift palm strike to the man's stomach that doubled him over.
Punches, kicks, elbow strikes, and sweeps moved in a blur. The boy was fluid, precise, almost inhumanly fast. One after another, the ten men attacked in coordination, but he moved like water, dodging, deflecting, and striking with deadly efficiency.
"Hands only," the boy said aloud, almost to himself, as he parried a jab and then struck with an open-hand palm that cracked a man's jaw. "I don't use a weapon. I just use my hands."
By now, four men lay on the ground, unconscious or worse. The boy's movements were a storm of fists and feet. A spinning kick sent a man crashing into another, and a double palm strike to two opponents' faces left them staggering.
The remaining men hesitated for a fraction of a second. That was all the opening he needed.
He charged, low and fast, sweeping both legs out to trip two of them at once, then pivoted midair, landing a flying kick to the chest of another, sending him backward into a pile of debris.
Finally, only three remained. One tried to grab him from behind, another swung wildly, and the third circled, looking for an opening. In perfect rhythm, the boy ducked under the grab, elbowed the back attacker in the spine, side-stepped the wild swing, and with a spinning heel strike took out the third.
The street was silent except for ragged breathing and dust settling on broken stones. Ten trained men, defeated by one boy, and not a single weapon had been used.
The boy straightened, wiping his hands. He glanced at the boss, who had stepped forward during the fight, watching from a safe distance with cold amusement. The boss was larger, more imposing, and his movements betrayed years of combat experience. He carried a wicked curved sword, black as midnight, reflecting the sunlight in fleeting flashes.
"You've done well against my men," the boss said, voice calm, almost teasing, "but now… it's time you learned the real lesson."
The boss lunged. The boy barely had time to sidestep the initial slash. Steel whistled past his cheek. He countered with a quick jab, which the boss blocked easily with the flat of his blade.
"You fight like a beginner," the boss said, swinging again. "But you are fast. I will give you that."
The boy's smirk didn't falter. He leapt, rolling under a horizontal swing, then brought a rising elbow strike to the boss's chest. The boss absorbed it, though, stepping back and slashing diagonally, forcing the boy to backflip over a shattered barrel.
Clashing again, the boy's fists and the boss's blade met in a blur of strikes and blocks. The boy's hands were precise, his movements clean and deadly, while the boss's sword arcs cut through the air with power and experience.
The fight moved across the street, dodging debris, overturned carts, and broken crates. Sparks flew as steel met reinforced steel against the boy's reinforced fists. One kick broke a plank, sending it splintering underfoot, and another elbow strike sent the boss stumbling backward for a brief moment.
"You are fast… but speed alone won't save you!" the boss growled, spinning, slashing again and again, forcing the boy to duck and roll continuously.
The boy dodged, ducked, and slipped past the last sweeping strike, landing behind the boss. He feinted with a kick, then delivered a brutal open-hand strike to the boss's lower back, twisting the larger man off balance.
"Are you done?" the boy asked, voice calm but firm.
The boss spun to face him, rage flashing in his eyes. He lunged again, this time with a feint to the left followed by a sweeping strike aimed at the boy's head. The boy ducked and twisted behind him, driving an elbow into the boss's side.