The first minute was enough to destroy any illusion that Vergil was facing Scáthach under even remotely balanced conditions.
Not because he was slow.
Quite the opposite.
His feet moved precisely over the grass, Yamato always remained close to the center line, and every slash had a clear purpose: threaten, close an escape route, provoke a defense, or prepare the next strike.
There were no wasted movements.
Vergil had spent far too much time fighting creatures faster, stronger, and more dangerous than any ordinary human to make crude mistakes in stance or distance.
Even so, Scáthach looked like she was taking a walk.
Vergil stepped forward with his right foot and sent a descending diagonal slash toward her shoulder.
Scáthach did not block directly.
She simply brought the small branch close to the side of Yamato and touched the blade at the exact moment Vergil's weight began shifting onto his front leg.
Tap.
Yamato deviated a few centimeters.
That was all Scáthach needed.
