"You're the one who brought two hundred men to collect rice," Tsurugi replied, and then he stabbed him. It wasn't a fancy move. It was just a simple, direct thrust through the man's mouth, the point bursting out the back of his neck with a wet crunch. Matsuda gurgled, his eyes rolling back in his head, and slid off the blade.
The entire confrontation, if you could even call it that, lasted forty-three seconds. The extended duration was mostly because he paused halfway through to finish his yawn and scratch an itch on his back.
When it was over, the remaining soldiers were on their knees, their weapons discarded, having decided that kneeling was statistically safer than standing. The students were covered in blood and viscera, their faces pale with shock.
"Is there anyone else who has an opinion on my landscaping choices?" Tsurugi asked the silent, terrified men, shaking Matsuda's blood from his sword.
Silence.
"Excellent. Leave."
