The great arena of Ragnarok roared with anticipation once more as the spectators—both gods and humans—gathered to witness the third match. Humanity had tasted victory in the previous battle, and the atmosphere was electric with hope and excitement. It was now time for the next warrior to face a god in the battle for humanity's survival.
The gate to the gods' side of the arena opened first, and out stepped the mighty Poseidon, God of the Seas, brother of Zeus. Tall, regal, and radiating an aura of absolute authority, Poseidon seemed to float rather than walk. His trident rested casually on his shoulder, and his eyes, cold as the deepest ocean, looked around the arena as if everything before him was beneath his notice.
Poseidon's disdain was palpable. To him, there was no greater insult than having to prove his superiority over a mere mortal. He had always been the most aloof among the Olympians, feared by all and respected by those who knew of his indomitable power. Today, he was determined to make an example of the mortal champion.
The gate to the human side opened, and from its depths stepped a man whose legend had grown over the centuries: Sasaki Kojiro, the greatest swordsman who had never won a single fight in his life.
Sasaki Kojiro walked with an almost lazy, carefree swagger, his katana resting casually in his hand. He smiled, eyes glinting with the mischievousness of a man who had lived—and died—on the thrill of battle. His presence was the antithesis of Poseidon's imposing demeanor; he seemed relaxed, even as the tension in the arena mounted.
He looked out into the audience, bowing deeply in the traditional Japanese manner. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am honored to represent you," he said, his voice carrying with warmth and humility. "And I shall give my utmost to make this battle worthy of remembrance." He straightened, a grin on his lips. "After all, it's not every day you get to face a god, is it?"
Poseidon narrowed his eyes, unimpressed. He spun his trident, the weapon cutting through the air with a sharp whistle, before pointing it at Kojiro.
"You, a mere human, think you can stand before me? The sea is endless, boundless, and I am its master. You will find nothing but oblivion here," Poseidon declared, his voice carrying the weight of ocean tides, a declaration of power and pride.
Kojiro chuckled, unsheathing his katana with a practiced flick of his wrist. The blade gleamed in the sunlight, its edge so fine it seemed to almost vanish when viewed directly. "Then let's see if I can navigate these waters, shall we?"
The gong rang, and Poseidon moved like a storm. He lunged forward, his trident thrusting with the speed of a lightning strike. The air cracked with the force of his attack, and for a moment, it seemed as though Kojiro would be impaled right there.
But Kojiro was not a man of lost battles. He had trained his entire life in the art of observation, in understanding and adapting to his opponent's movements. His body twisted at the last possible moment, the trident passing mere inches from his skin. He grinned, pivoting, and brought his sword around in a swift slash aimed at Poseidon's neck.
Poseidon parried the strike with effortless grace, but Kojiro's eyes were already moving, studying the god's every shift, every muscle twitch. He danced back, light on his feet, his blade moving with elegance.
This was the essence of Sasaki Kojiro—he was not the strongest, nor the fastest. But he was the greatest at learning. His life had been a series of defeats, but from each loss, he had grown. He had never been disheartened, never faltered in his pursuit of perfection. He was the embodiment of the human spirit's drive to improve, to strive, to become better.
Poseidon was born into power, born into the divine. He had never known weakness, never experienced the bitter taste of defeat. He had only ever been feared—by mortals, by gods, even by his own kin. For Poseidon, strength was absolute. It was the one constant in the universe, and he was determined to show that this so-called swordsman was nothing in the face of true power.
As the battle raged on, Poseidon's attacks grew more ferocious, each strike a tidal wave crashing down upon Kojiro. Yet Kojiro adapted, his movements growing more fluid, his counters sharper. He began to predict Poseidon's attacks, the edges of his eyes reflecting the god's moves, each one more clearly than the last.
Flashbacks of Kojiro's life began to play for the audience—his endless training, the defeats he had faced, and the serene smile that had never left his face, even in the direst of moments. He had lost to every swordsman he ever faced, but each loss had been a lesson. He had faced death countless times, and from each brush with it, he had learned something new.
Kojiro had spent his life perfecting the way of the sword, not for glory or honor, but for the joy of the fight itself. He loved the thrill of battle, the dance of blades, the beauty of skill against skill. This love had brought him here, to Ragnarok, where he could finally test himself against a god.
Poseidon's frustration began to mount. No matter how fast or how powerfully he struck, Kojiro was always one step ahead, always adapting. It was as if the human was reading his thoughts, seeing his every move before it happened.
Poseidon's eyes blazed with fury. "You insolent worm! You dare to defy the will of a god?!" He gathered his divine power, the trident glowing with an intense, oceanic blue light. The water in the air began to condense, swirling around him like a typhoon, and with a mighty roar, he lunged forward, determined to end the battle with a single, decisive blow.
But Kojiro was ready. His eyes flashed with understanding—a complete, perfect comprehension of Poseidon's technique. He moved with grace, his body flowing like water itself, and in one fluid motion, he sidestepped Poseidon's strike and brought his katana down in a perfect arc.
The sound of the blade cutting through Poseidon's body was almost gentle, like the whisper of a breeze. For a moment, there was silence, and then Poseidon fell, split cleanly in two.
The audience was stunned, their eyes wide, mouths agape. A god—one of the mightiest among them—had fallen to a human.
Kojiro exhaled, sheathing his katana with a flourish. He looked up at the divine audience, then at the mortals, and gave them a wry smile. "Looks like I finally caught the big fish, huh?" he said, his voice carrying across the arena. A ripple of laughter spread through the mortal crowd, breaking the tension, and even some of the gods couldn't help but crack a smile.
Kojiro then bowed deeply to Poseidon's fallen form, a gesture of respect. "Thank you for the fight, Lord Poseidon. You truly were as mighty as the ocean itself."
Kojiro turned and walked toward the human side of the arena, his steps light and easy, as though he had just finished a pleasant stroll rather than a battle to the death. He paused at the gate, looking back at the audience, raising a hand in farewell.
"Remember, my friends," he called out, "the path of the sword is endless. There is always something new to learn, always a way to grow stronger." He winked, his grin as carefree as ever. "And if a mere mortal like me can split a god in two, then there's nothing humanity can't accomplish."
With that, he stepped through the gate, disappearing from sight, leaving behind an audience that erupted in cheers—both gods and mortals alike. Humanity had won its second battle, and in doing so, had shown that the spirit of continuous improvement, of adaptation and resilience, could overcome even the most absolute of powers.
Brunhilde, watching from the sidelines, allowed herself another smile. Humanity was proving itself, one battle at a time. Sasaki Kojiro, the swordsman who had never won, had finally claimed the ultimate victory—defeating a god in combat. And he had done it with grace, humor, and an unbreakable spirit.