Roughly a hundred sword artists, still mostly made up of nobles in silver robes, gathered loosely within the circular field of grass marked by glowing blue light. A weak breeze cooled the sweat dripping down the sides of my face, but the small comfort did little to settle the turmoil within. I licked the salty residue off my upper lip as my eyes bounced back and forth between the blue words floating before me and the swords artists around me.

A harsh, thick aura of true battle, desperate, lethal, and untamed filled the air. The nature of the exam had changed once more. To think, I had complained about the first question. If only I had more of those instead.

I had already settled upon my course of action, intellectually. Committing to it in full, though, was a different matter. I waited on the off chance that some unexpected change or interruption would show up, but none did. The seconds counted down relentlessly, each bearing a heavy, yet fleeting weight.

Killing, the simplest objective, was out of the question. We Koroi didn't kill so lightly, not when another path might present itself. And while I didn't hold much love for the nobles, that was hardly a reason to murder one.

Yet I couldn't dismiss the Swordgeists and give up on the whole affair because of this, either. Some of the greatest sword artists had been vicious, blood-thirsty creatures. The sword was a killing instrument, and sword artists were, in the end, killers. Yes, protectors, artists, philosophers and all that sometimes, but soldiers, warriors, hunters, too. I wasn't so sheltered as to deny that basic truth of what I was.

The opposite goal of emerging as the sole victor wasn't a realistic option. It would only take two, perhaps three, competent fighters acting in coordination to defeat me. While I had faith in my own abilities, no sword artist could outlast a group of similarly ranked opponents. I wouldn't idly gamble my clan's future on such hubris.

That eliminated the two extremes, leaving two not-so-pleasant options. The thumbs or the ears. Thumbs were easier, both from the number required, as well as the likelihood of slicing a thumb off during combat with a sword.

But a lost thumb was death to a sword artist. The alchemists had healing elixirs and medical secrets that bordered on the miraculous, but most of that was cosmetic or purely functional. They could heal a nasty cut, help a stabbed liver heal, or maybe grow back a nose. Possibly an ear.

Restoring a thumb with full strength and dexterity was unlikely, and if it was even possible, the elixirs involved would be so expensive that no one but perhaps the emperor himself would be able to afford such treatment. Cutting a sword artist's thumb was a punishment meant to dishonor and shame.

The ears were the far more difficult option in terms of skill. Removing an ear implied access to the head, and no opponent would lower his defense against such headstrikes. Not to mention the need for ten ears.

Still, the loss of an ear, while dishonorable, didn't compare to the loss of a thumb. Healing a lost ear was more accessible and affordable, and, if not, it only took a lock of hair to hide it. That choice also left open one other tactic...

As the final seconds counted down, I made my choice. Final answer, B.

The buzz sounded soon afterward, accompanied by that single blue word again.

Begin.

I immediately attacked a nearby short boy with trim brown hair, wagering that the longer reach of my arms would give me a decisive advantage. The boy's stony face showed no fear as he whirled his two swords together in a defensive maneuver. The blades spun in a blur, some kind of qi-based technique.

I frowned. If the boy insisted on turtling behind his twin shields of spinning blades, I would only waste precious time against him. The boy would fail his task, but so would I. I dashed away, regretting my initial choice.

A flash of purple and silver caught my eye. The wealthy noble who had cheated with his hired hands was now alone, as none of his paid companions had advanced to the final round. A large, stocky boy with messy black hair flourished his greatsword as he approached from the opposite side. The bewildered noble was caught in the middle between me and the newcomer.

Finally, a hint of justice. I nodded to the thick-limbed boy on the other side. "The ears for me."

The other boy dipped the tip of his greatsword in acknowledgement. "Thumbs, here. Shall we?"

I replied by rushing the noble, who was now howling in fear and anger. He stumbled to the side, and the tip of my sword ripped through the flowing fabric of his embroidered robe. I stepped towards him, slashing four times in rapid succession. The hissing noble barely repelled them, and the last block caught my blade at an oblique angle, sending a scatter of sparks along with a harsh screech.

The noble twisted to check the other direction. He yelled as the stocky boy thrust his greatsword forward, golden qi dancing about his arms. I darted closer and jabbed with both swords. The noble paused for an instant as if making a decision, then blocked my two strikes.

A full foot of the greatsword bursted out of the noble's chest. I leaped backwards, half in surprise, half to avoid the flecks of gore and blood pouring forth from the gaping wound. The stocky boy kicked the dying body off his blade, then turned and walked away without even bothering to sever the thumbs.

I stared at the retreating figure. He had lied. His victory condition was death, not thumbs. As if sensing my ire, the stocky boy looked over his shoulder and winked.

I bit back my anger and moved to the fallen noble's body. This was battle, a real one. Deceit and death wouldn't be strangers here, and I couldn't afford to dwell on what had just happened.

I was quick. It took two swings of my sword. I collected my grisly trophies from the dead noble, holding my heart in an iron grip to keep from showing any sign of weakness.

My cheer with my exam score was long gone. There was no joy in this. This was...duty. To my clan, to humanity if the threat of the Void Beasts was real. I shook my head. They knew how to prod us along, didn't they, the Swordgeists? They had offered hope with one hand, then destruction with the other.

I rose to move away from the corpse but paused. The Swordgeists couldn't resurrect the dead, could they? Even the legends didn't mention such a feat. If the noble was dead...I still hesitated. If I didn't do something, though, others would.

My blade flashed two more times. Even if the noble had been a spoiled brat, what I had just done left a bitter taste. It was foolish to waste an advantage in battle, but where was the line between honor and folly?

I left the mutilated corpse behind, searching for another target. Tied into the corners of my tunic were two ears and two thumbs. The blood leaking from the thumbs stained the side of my gray clothes with a dark, wet patch. I tried to ignore the iron scent as I scanned the field for my next target.

The others were in duels, mostly, with a few scattered individuals by themselves. In the distance, a group of two worked together to attack a third. Forming an alliance made strategic sense, but only to a certain degree. Partnering with a thumb collector, as I had tried to do, would be better than trying to collect twenty ears with a fellow ear-collector.

I grit my teeth. What had I gotten into? Harvesting human body parts. This wasn't what a sword artist did. Except that the Swordgeists were supposed to be the founder of all sword artists. If this is what they wanted, could I deny them? I couldn't deny my duty to the clan, though.

I stopped scanning the field when I recognized a familiar face. The stocky boy from just now was lingering by himself. Apparently, garnering a victory condition didn't excuse you from the rest of the exam, which meant anyone who won was still an open target.

I didn't quite blame him for his earlier actions. I couldn't fault him for winning at any cost, or could I? All I knew was that if I was going to cut off someone's ears, I wouldn't regret doing it to him.

I walked slowly towards my new target, trying to approach in a non-threatening manner. I quieted my aura, purging any resentment from my mind as well. I come in peace.

The stocky boy was leaning on his wide-bladed greatsword with the point stabbing the grassy ground. He swung the heavy weapon up into a ready position when he saw my approach.

"Ho, there! Let me guess. You after my ears?"

I stopped ten yards away from him. "I do what I have to."

I crouched into a low, sideways stance, one blade held low, the other high.

"Wait." The other boy shook his greatsword at me like a parent scolding a child. "I'm rather fond of my ears. I can help you ambush another instead."

I snorted. "Fool me once, fool me twice?"

He laughed. "Was worth a try."

I edged towards the stocky boy until I was just outside of his greatsword's longer range. I'd have to close the remaining distance quickly and break inside his guard to negate his advantage. I tensed in preparation, then shot forward, but at that instant, the boy slashed the ground at his feet, sending clods of dirt and grass towards my head. He stomped in a bizarre display of footwork before sending two more balls of dirt at me.

I checked my momentum, batting away the earthen distractions with my right sword. I caught an incoming lunge with my left sword, using the guard to angle the strike away from my body.

The boy kicked the ground, sending another clump of dirt flying toward me. I would have ignored the harmless nuisance, except it was on a perfect trajectory towards my left eye. I shifted my head to avoid the distraction while I pushed forward, my left sword still grating against the greatsword, to break inside his guard. I lunged, my free sword aiming for the other boy's head.

My footing gave out underneath me on a patch of soft earth. I was fast enough to compensate and recover, but the stocky boy had retreated safely out of my attack's range. I frowned as I flicked my eyes downward then back up to him. My slipping had been no accident. He had dug pits of soft earth, hidden beneath the grass.

"Trick, and more tricks." I sighed. "Do you even fight?"

"Don't need to." He shrugged. "I've already won. I just need to hold on to my lovely ears." He wiggled them to demonstrate.

At this rate, I was going to run out of time before collecting all ten ears. I had no choice but to go all out, using any and all of my clan's techniques. No sword artist wanted to reveal the limits of his skill, but there was a time for being conservative and a time for winning.

I rushed forward, slashing furiously with both swords to drive the greatsword to the side. I spun again past his guard, aiming for a headstrike, but this time my feet danced over the surface of the trapped ground, held aloft by a thin measure of hardened qi.

I couldn't walk on walls like the thief. Few could. Qi walking of this sort was rare enough to surprise the boy, though. He cursed as I skipped across the ground to close the distance.

I was inside the other's guard, where the unwieldy greatsword would be too slow and cumbersome to block my attack. I lunged, fully expecting to strike flesh. To my surprise, my sword clanged loudly against metal, sending vibrations running up my forearm. I grunted, more from surprise than the shock of the blow.

The stocky boy had switched to a staff-grip along the blade of the greatsword itself, using its hilt to block me. He used both ends of the impromptu staff to counter in immediate succession, matching my dual swords. As a staff, the greatsword should have been unbalanced, but the boy fought with it adroitly, as if he had done this before.

I half-sighed. Still more tricks. Well, I had tricks of my own. I blocked the stocky boy's attacks, matching his blows for a while, not trying to force an advantage. I waited for the opening I wanted...

There. The greatsword-turned-staff was a little too high in the air, leaving the stocky boy's lower body unprotected. I was too far away to land a hit, or so he would have thought.

In one smooth motion, masked within a feint, I launched my left short sword like a throwing dart. The blade struck and pierced his lower leg. The stocky boy cried out, and the moment's hesitation was enough for me to slash one of his hands and kick the greatsword out of his grip, disarming him. I snatched the thrown sword out of his leg, then bore down on the limping, defenseless opponent before me.

"Hold, hold!" The stocky boy held up his hands. Blood dripped from one of them, running down the grooves of his palm.

I swung lazily at the boy's hands, and he snatched them back to his sides. "I'll take your ears. Or both your hands and ears. Your choice."

"But--"

My sword sliced through the air. The boy held still, sensing my willingness to cut down anything that got in the way. One ear, then another dropped to the ground. A few tufts of black hair drifted onto the grass as well.

He didn't flinch or show any sign of pain. He simply sighed. "Sword throwing, huh?"

I ignored him and collected the two ears, adding them to the collection in the corner of my tunic.

"We good now?" The stocky boy touched his ears, but the cuts had been clean, and there was only a small line of blood running down either side of his face.

I eyed the other's injured leg, trying to decide what else I needed to do. I pointed to his leg with a sword.

"Someone might kill you," I said.

The injury was a death sentence if anyone else had the same victory condition as the stocky boy. His face took on a paler shade as he came to the same conclusion.

I nodded. "You can't be the only one who chose that path."

I frowned, weighing my next actions. He was doomed, likely. While I hated the idea of killing within the exam, I wouldn't throw away an advantage needlessly. I tightened my grip on the two swords, focusing my resolve.

When I looked back at the boy, a pair of piercing, bright eyes stared back. He was no fool. I raised my blades, and the stocky boy's eyes tightened in alarm.

"I won't kill you," I whispered.

His face flooded with relief. "If you stay here and guard me, I'll--" The words died away, his mouth still open, as he sensed my intent.

I couldn't babysit the boy who had chosen, in a way, his own fate. Karma had come calling, as it would for all us of who lived by the sword. I would take what I needed...

The boy hadn't made a sound. He hadn't pleaded or raged when I had walked away. As I approached a cluster of participants near the middle of the field, I paused, to check the bundle in my tunic.

Four ears. Four thumbs. If I played this right, my task would soon be done. I reached for the familiar comfort of qi coursing through my core to numb the roiling emotions within.

It happened faster than I had expected. Behind me, someone screamed exactly once. Then, there was silence.