Musashi’s sandals kiss the earth with a dancer’s grace — his pace quickens, weaving left and right, blades twirling in ghostlike arcs. Each step is unreadable, a rhythm broken by intent, not hesitation. Feints flare and vanish in the blink of an eye.

Leonidas, unshaken, begins to mirror him. He picks up speed, boots pressing into the dirt with thunderous resolve — a living siege tower gaining momentum.

Without warning, Leonidas plants his lead foot, the ground cracking beneath his weight. His dory (spear) shoots forward like lightning — aimed with perfect distance and devastating precision.

Musashi twists just beyond the thrust, only to find the real threat incoming: a horizontal shield swing, wide and heavy. Both of Musashi’s blades rise instinctively — parrying with crossed steel as the Spartan shield grinds against the edge.

Leonidas steps in naturally — fluid despite the bulk — slipping into Musashi’s blind spot. A sharp breath, and the king leaps, arcing overhead. The dory plunges down like a javelin from the sky.

Musashi spins to meet it, catching the force of the strike with an overhead cross-parry, both swords straining beneath the weight. But he doesn’t wait — he follows through with a low slash at Leonidas’ midsection, quick and reactive.

Leonidas tucks backward mid-air, narrowly avoiding the cut — momentarily off-balance, his spear still overhead.

But the king isn’t retreating — he’s baiting.

With veteran instinct, the spear drops behind his shoulders, resting across his back as a pivot point. In one motion, he snaps it forward, performing a behind-the-back thrust aimed for Musashi’s heart.

Musashi slides past it — just barely — and retaliates with a flurry of dual strikes, his famed Niten Ichi-ryū exploding into motion. Blade arcs rain down in unpredictable rhythms.

Leonidas tightens formation, bronze shield pivoting like a wall on instinct, matching every odd-angle slash with precise blocks. He walks backward, never losing his footing, reading Musashi’s style in real-time.

Then — a break in the rhythm.

Musashi drops low — impossibly low — to Leonidas’ exposed left. A lunging thrust streaks forward like a bolt. Leonidas drops his shield, angling it just in time to block the strike downward.

Musashi reacts instantly, spinning out of the shield clash, and his second blade whips around toward Leonidas’ back in a scything arc.

But Leonidas rolls forward into a low crouch, armor scraping dirt, turtling into a defensive coil, using the momentum to regain spacing.

They both rise — breath calm, eyes locked.

Steel gleams under the fractured sky.

The dance resets.