Kito Toshitaka watched the three samurai step into the battlefield with a cold, predatory gaze.
With his experience, he could tell immediately that Taito and the others weren't weak—far from it. In fact, they were skilled enough to be considered elite.
But so what?
Bang!
Crash!
The sound of metal colliding erupted behind Taito. He reacted instantly, flashing forward with a swift movement technique. The moment he vacated his position, a massive blade slammed into the ground where he had been standing—splitting the earth open in a half-meter-long crack.
"What kind of weapon is that…?" Taito's pupils shrank. "That thing's enormous!"
"Heh… you dodged, huh?" Kito sneered.
"Looks like you've got a little skill after all."
He stared coldly at the three men before him. His subordinates instinctively retreated, forming a tight encirclement around them. A frontal breakthrough would be impossible—they would have to fight their way out.
"State your names," Kito said icily. "I don't kill the nameless."
"Oh, give it a rest," Taito scoffed, chin raised arrogantly. "You sound awfully confident. Who knows who'll die today? You? Or us? Or is your confidence coming from those useless thugs behind you?"
He stood proudly, like a rooster ready to fight.
"Heh."
Yoshitoki licked the blood from his blade, his eyes gleaming with battle lust. "How about a contest? Whoever kills more wins. Loser treats the winner to the pleasure district."
"Hey, kid," he added, glancing at Hirota. "You in? Let's bet your sword."
Hirota snorted. "Idiot."
But he still took stance, blade angled low, eyes sharp as a hawk's—ready to strike at any moment.
Kito lifted the heavy chain in his hands.
At both ends hung enormous, crescent-shaped blades—each over a meter long. Their shape resembled the Mist Village's twin swords Hiramekarei, but these were jet black, as if forged from ink itself.
"Twin-Headed Dragon Ogre…"
Yoshitoki's face tightened as he recognized the weapon.
"So you're the Two-Headed Hound of the Road—Kito Toshitaka."
The name alone carried weight.
Yoshitoki's composure shattered, cold sweat sliding down his temple.
"And who's that?" Hirota asked, glancing sideways.
"A bandit who preys exclusively on merchant caravans," Yoshitoki replied grimly. "Half the trading companies in the Land of Iron have been hit by him. He uses twin blades, hence the name 'Two-Headed.'"
He sneered.
"But he never touches nobles. That's why they call him a hound—a loyal dog that only bites the weak."
"So in the end…" Taito muttered, "just a bully who picks on those weaker than him."
Kito's lips twisted into a grotesque grin. The scars at the corners of his mouth stretched unnaturally wide—marks left by torture at the hands of Iron Country samurai.
"You know me well," he said hoarsely.
Those scars had been carved into him when he was captured years ago. His mouth had been torn apart by a blade.
He had escaped later.
And when he did, he butchered the samurai who tortured him—using their flesh to fill the wounds in his face.
"This bastard's dangerous," Yoshitoki muttered. "Even Mifune-sama would need time to bring him down. We'll need to work together."
He turned sharply—
"Hey! What are you doing?!"
Before he could finish, Hirota had already launched himself forward, his blade flashing.
'Wind Style: Soaring Kite Slash!'
His body sliced through the air like a diving bird of prey.
Kito smirked.
He dropped low, swung the chained blades upward—
Clang!
The impact sent a shockwave through the clearing. Hirota's eyes widened as overwhelming force surged through his arms.
Boom!
He was blasted backward, slamming into the ground and rolling several times before stopping.
Strong.
That was the only thought in his mind.
His hands trembled violently. If he'd been a moment slower, his arms would've been shattered.
"Damn it!" Yoshitoki cursed. "Now our chances just dropped even more."
"Run?" Taito scoffed lightly. "I never planned on running."
He lifted his blade.
"People of the Mifune household either die standing… or not at all. Even if god were standing here, I wouldn't retreat."
"That stubbornness of yours is disgusting," Yoshitoki snapped. "You and your teacher are the same."
But his fists clenched.
He didn't want to die.
He was barely in his twenties. Beneath that cold, villainous exterior was someone desperate for warmth—like so many in this broken country.
His father used to say:
"A man should live boldly! Eat well! Drink well! Go to the pleasure district when he wants! A woman's warmth is a man's greatest reward!"
Yoshitoki had taken those words to heart.
'Damn it… I really shouldn't have rested that day…'
The two moved at once.
Their bodies vanished.
"Mifune Style: Peerless Slash!"
"Mist Blade!"
They attacked from opposite sides, blades flashing in perfect coordination. Any ordinary warrior would have been torn apart.
But Kito wasn't ordinary.
"Ogre Hunt!"
A monstrous aura erupted around him. It was as if a demon had manifested—red eyes blazing as massive arms seized both blades mid-swing.
"What—?!"
Taito's weapon was caught.
The twin blades of Twin-Headed Dragon Ogre locked his sword in place with serrated edges. No ordinary weapon could escape once trapped.
Kito yanked hard.
Taito and Yoshitoki were nearly flung off their feet.
Only by desperately repositioning did they manage to stay upright.
"Wind Style: Passing Swallow!"
A sudden strike slammed into Kito's chest, forcing him back two steps.
It was Hirota—expression unchanged, blade already withdrawn.
"You were right," he said coldly. "We need teamwork."
Then he flicked his hair back arrogantly.
"But the one who takes his head… will be me."
"Heh." Kito laughed darkly. "Good spirit. Fast blade too. But too light."
He spun the chains again.
The massive blades whirled like sharks circling prey, eager for blood.
"Omisako! Stay inside the carriage!" Taito shouted.
"It'll be over soon—"
"Eh? Eh?!"
Omisako froze as she saw a small figure step out from the carriage.
Yoriichi.
Holding the massive flame-patterned sword almost as tall as himself, he walked calmly toward Kito.
Yoriichi smiled gently.
"Big sister… it'll be over soon. You wont get hurt."
He drew his blade.
A golden light gleamed like a rising sun.
Sun Breathing – Third Form: Raging Sun.