Isla's quick action caught both Bartolomeo and Isao off guard. The strike from the small wooden bat connected solidly with Bartolomeo's face, causing him to stumble backward and clutch his face in pain.
"Who the hell are you?" Bartolomeo spat, glaring at the brown-haired girl who had dared to interrupt his approach and accuse him of "Groping" when he wasn't even able to touch Isao. "And what business do you have meddling in affairs that don't concern you?"
Isla held her ground, meeting Bartolomeo's hostility with an unflinching gaze. "I'm done tolerating your kind." she stated bluntly, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. "Girls deserve respect, not harassment." Isao, watching the scene unfold, felt a surge of admiration for the bold stranger who had stood up for her. Her brothers, alerted by the commotion, were worried as they assess the situation, ready to defend their sibling if needed. Undaunted by Bartolomeo's noble lineage or the youth's formidable skill with a blade, Isla launched herself forward with reckless abandon, her slender frame animating a slashing stance honed from countless hours of practice. The worn wooden sword in her grasp was menacingly swift as she closed the distance, her fearless assault catching Bartolomeo off guard.
Gasps and murmurs of disbelief rippled through the gathered crowd of people specially boys around Isla's age, some of whom towered over her slim build. They watched in awe and trepidation as this diminutive 9-year-old girl dared to challenge a renowned swordsman from a respected noble house. The sheer audacity of her actions sparked both admiration and unease within the onlookers, each wondering how this small, fierce human could possibly hope to emerge victorious against such odds.
Isla's daring assault continue, and it caught Bartolomeo off balance, her wooden sword slicing through the air with surprising speed and accuracy. The noble youth barely managed to parry her strike, the clash of wood on steel ringing out amidst the shocked murmurs of the onlookers. Bartolomeo snarled; his pride wounded as much as his face. "You insolent brat! Think you can best me with that pathetic toy?" He took a sword stance, the metal gleaming in the sunlight as he advanced on Isla with a fierce glare. The other boys, sensing an opportunity to witness the downfall of a presumptuous commoner, edged closer, eager to witness how Isla will lose. Only Isao's brothers maintained a watchful distance, their expressions unreadable as they observed the developing confrontation.
Undeterred by Bartolomeo's taunts, Isla stood firm, her grip tightening on the wooden hilt. "Mediocre." she muttered under her breath, her eyes steely with determination. Bartolomeo's rage ignited further at Isla's disdainful taunt, his anger temporarily clouding his battle sense. In that brief moment of distraction, Isla seized her opportunity to unleash one of her skills in her previous life, her fingers guiding the worn wooden hilt in a desperate attempt to execute a skill. "Sky Splitter" Isla muttered.
The resulting downward slash packed a ferocious might. The shockwave from Isla's modified Sky Splitter shattered her humble wooden sword, splinters flying everywhere from the sheer force of the strike. Isla's hands stung from the debris, bleeding profusely as a result of the intense blow. However, the greater surprise lay in Bartolomeo, who had seemingly absorbed the brunt of the attack. The force of the downward slash knocked him off balance, his armor denting and his muscles tensing to withstand the assault. When the attack finished, Bartolomeo found himself on one knee, Isla's wooden sword fragment embedded deep within his pauldron.
A mixture of awe and trepidation rippled through the onlooking crowd as they realized the gravity of the situation. Bartolomeo, renowned for his skill and arrogant demeanor, had been dealt a staggering blow by a mere commoner wielding a wooden sword.
Amidst the wreckage of broken wood and torn flesh, Isla stood defiant, her slender form unyielding despite the crimson trails painting her hands. She remained stoic, concealing any signs of pain or distress, her expression a mask of icy composure. However, the force of her fateful strike had exacted a toll, immobilizing her wounded hands, leaving her vulnerable and helpless.
Just as Bartolomeo began to rise, his steel sword at the ready, a sudden intervention altered the tide of battle. Isao, her usual vivacity replaced by an aura of deadly seriousness, appeared seemingly out of nowhere, deflecting Bartolomeo's vicious charge with precision and ease using her wooden wakizashi. The clash of weapon echoed through the stunned silence. In that pivotal instant, recognition dawned on Isao's features, a spark of memory igniting in her eyes.
