'I lost.' The swordsman puts away his blade, and lowers his head towards the man near the cliff edge. 'You're good.' The other man also puts his sword away, and nods to the swordsman in approval, 'You almost forced me to use that technique.' 'Technique? Which one?' The swordsman grows curious, and instead of waving goodbye, crosses his arms. The man shows no emotion, but his words stun: 'A move I save for the last moment between life and death. Over the years, everyone who has seen it has either begged for mercy or simply run away... No one has lasted more than three moves.' 'That powerful, huh? Which school did you learn it from?' The swordman's eyes widen. 'Nowhere, I learned it when I was still with my teacher.' 'And who is this teacher of yours...?' '...No one important. Just an ordinary cleric.' 'An ordinary cleric? Impossible. Your swordplay reminds me of an old friend. Aulus, he was called. He defeated me decades ago.' The swordsman laments, 'If he was your teacher, then I would understand.' '...No, not him.' 'Alright. You did display a diverse array of swordplay. I'm sure you must have had multiple teachers.' '...The one who taught me this didn't know swordplay at all. But even he would emerge the victor when my teacher confronted him.' The man shakes his head as he falls into memories of the past. 'Even <i>he</i> would lose to this man...? That's impossible! Who could it be?!' The swordsman's tone turns eager. 'He was hired by my teacher to take care of the students. He seemed a little gloomy and didn't like to socialize with others, so everyone was afraid of him. Start up any trouble, and he'd brandish the mop in his hand and give the offender a good beating.' Recalling his fierce appearance, the man trembles slightly. 'Just a mop? That's nothing to be afraid of.' 'No, the mop always had an unpleasant smell of disinfectant on it. Even the droplets splashing from the head were corrosive.' The man shows a strange expression of admiration of his face. 'I was inspired by him, and installed a tube connected to my longsword, linking to a disinfectant with an improved formula. It is far more corrosive and smells even worse.' 'Now you've gotten me curious. How bad can it get?' 'Are you sure you want a sniff?' '...Yes, I do.' The man sighs, unplugs the tube from his blade and approaches the swordsman. The swordsman takes a deep breath, then his face quickly flashes from white, to red, and then to purple, before finally he drops to the ground. The man swiftly plugs the tube back to his sword and crouches next to the swordsman. He sees a pair of eyes rolled backward, the swordsman unconscious. After a momentary silence, he finally utters a sentence— 'Phew... I've been holding my breath for so long... but I can still smell it...'