They say that when two swordsmen lock eyes, a duel is inevitable. Or at least, that is what is written in the ancient scrolls of Goguryeo's martial arts.
However, normally, a world champion doesn't challenge a child in short pants to a match, do they?
Usually, the champion doesn't deign to fight you until you've crushed eight Gym Leaders and swept the Elite Four.
So why is this man—someone who should be treated as a phantom or a legend—trying to spar with me?
Did he take offense to all the nonsense I've been spouting lately?
Is he trying to establish the pecking order now that he's found out a child is on the way?
How did it even come to this?
By the time I regained my senses, Yoriichi and I were already standing off, wooden blades in hand. Surrounding us was a crowd including Uzui, Amano, and nearly every blacksmith in the village.
They say there's no better entertainment than watching a fire or a fight. But this isn't a fight—it's an execution.
Uzui, knowing full well how powerful Yoriichi is, looked deeply troubled. She was pacing restlessly, a stark departure from her usual composed self.
Amano, perhaps because she was unaware of the depths of Yoriichi's strength, had tried to stop him before we began.
Despite her concerns and my own desperate hopes, the duel commenced regardless.
I considered trying to stall for another five years—surely I'd take less of a beating then. But on second thought, the result would be the same whether I took the beating now or later.
Does a wolf think it can defeat Godzilla just because it grew into a lion?
Better to get the punishment over with quickly.
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I let out a soft breath and faced Yoriichi. Gripping the wooden sword lightly, I observed him.
…?!
Yoriichi's fighting spirit…! It has vanished…?
I could feel absolutely nothing from him. He felt so ordinary that it was impossible to believe he was the superhuman he truly is.
Be it the Upper Rank prototypes or the Hashira, powerful warriors usually radiate their own distinct fighting spirit.
Even the Echoing Hashira, Minase Hiyori—who is said to be devoid of human emotion—possesses a presence of her own.
But from this man, I felt no battle spirit, no aura, nothing.
He looked like a frail, ordinary man who couldn't harm a fly. Yet, his ability was that of a god, far transcending any Sword Saint.
If I let that appearance deceive me and charged in blindly, my head would be separated from my shoulders in an instant.
"Are you truly Tsugikuni Yoriichi?"
I need to simulate the fight first.
"If you are the real Tsugikuni Yoriichi, I am disappointed. Right now, I sense no fighting spirit from you at all."
Slipping into the mental trance…
Images began to manifest within my mind.
In my imagination, the specters of Yoriichi and myself clashed, exchanging dozens of blows in the span of a heartbeat.
No… could you even call that an exchange?
One move.
My phantom self was extinguished before it could even finish a single move.
If I aimed for the neck, my own neck fell. If I aimed for the shoulder, my waist was cut. If I aimed for the waist, my face was struck. If I used Seventh Form: Kyoka Suigetsu, he swung his blade exactly where I intended to strike as if predicting the future, forcing a retirement. Even if I unleashed a wide-range assault with Sixth Form: Perpetual Night Moon, Avici, he would shatter it from the front.
The idea of cutting him was something I couldn't even fathom.
Forget winning—I couldn't even visualize my blade making contact with his body.
Should I just close my eyes and take the hit? It's just a wooden sword; it won't kill me… right? Or will I end up in a vegetative state?
No. I can't let that happen. The consequences are too terrifying. I might become Yoriichi's permanent punching bag, and my bluffing would never work on anyone ever again. Even if I can't win, I have to force a draw somehow…
But how do I force a draw?
A draw… a draw?
Wait, there is a way.
I don't know if I can avoid getting hit, but I know a certain way to force a draw!
Yoriichi might be indestructible, but a wooden sword is not. I just need to destroy the weapon he's holding.
A strategy targeting the sword, not the swordsman.
The problem is that I have to actually clash with his wooden blade for it to work. If he evades or if his blade finds my body instead of my sword, it's game over.
It's the gamble of a lifetime…
All I had to do was pour every ounce of my strength into that wooden blade he held. It should have been a simple task, yet my body began to tremble minutely.
In all my years—both the 17 of my current life and the 20 of my past—I had never felt such reverence, such sheer terror toward a powerful being. His lack of fighting spirit only made the emotion more acute.
I am a modern man at heart. I don't enjoy fighting like the Wind Hashira, nor do I fight to preserve some sense of honor. I fight simply to survive. That survival instinct is what made me this strong, and in all my combined years, I had never faced a true rival.
My dormant senses were forcibly awakened and dragged out. All focused on that wooden blade.
I finally understood how a brush with death can sharpen a person's skill to its limit.
I poured all my senses—sight, touch, hearing—into that single piece of wood.
And then, I decided to do something insane.
Through Total Concentration Breathing, one can perceive and control every flow and function of the body. You can grasp the exact dimensions of your frame and the shape of every single muscle.
By intentionally spiking my heart rate and the pumping capacity of my heart, I could force my blood circulation into overdrive—triggering a forced 'Runner's High.'
I'm not a doctor, so this might sound like quack medical knowledge, but this was purely my instinct.
I might drop dead from the strain, but whether I die from a strike or die like this… it's a do-or-die situation regardless.
Make the blood pump. Pour every muscle and every sense into snapping that one wooden sword.
In that moment, my body began to burn.
It was hot. My entire body felt as if it were engulfed in flames, scorching from the inside out.
The heat concentrated especially on my face. I couldn't be certain, but I felt a strange connection forming with Yoriichi.
And then…
At a certain threshold, my body became light. As I expected, I had reached the Runner's High.
Voices were coming from the surroundings, but I couldn't hear them anymore.
The only thing occupying my focus was Yoriichi's face.
Though his expression remained blank, something miraculous happened—I could see the minute movements of his facial muscles.
Perturbation.
He was definitely caught off guard.
I didn't know why he was flustered… but for a swordsman, an opponent's hesitation is the ultimate chance.
*Hooooo…*
If I don't strike now, I never will.
Pour everything into that wooden sword.
First Form: Dark Moon, Evening Palace wouldn't cut it. Neither would Fourth Form: Total Eclipse, New Moon, or Sixth Form: Perpetual Night Moon, Avici. Even Seventh Form: Kyoka Suigetsu was insufficient.
I wasn't certain, but only *that* form would work.
Just as I had created Kyoka Suigetsu by referencing Mist Breathing and Sun Breathing's Fake Rainbow…
By studying Sun Breathing's Tenth Form: Beneficent Radiance, Flame Breathing's First Form: Unknowing Fire, and Wind Breathing's First Form: Dust Whirlwind Cutter, I had forged a technique. If we are speaking strictly of raw cutting power, it was the strongest form in my repertoire.
Here I come, Yoriichi's sword.
I will break you now.
Moon Breathing, Eighth Form
「Tensa Zangetsu · Getsuga Tensho」
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What staggering fighting spirit. Like the solitary, noble moon hanging in the night sky—a presence so vast it could not be hidden even if he tried.
The world revealed to me muscles tempered to the absolute limit.
I am happy.
This is my first time facing Brother with a blade in hand. Despite this duel starting from my own selfish request, Brother is treating it with the utmost sincerity.
Brother is truly magnificent.
The twitching and contraction of Brother's muscles, the faint sound of something cracking the moment he gripped the wooden sword—all of it felt like mere background noise to me.
The sensation of striking another person is still unpleasant, but to be able to witness Brother's true resolve directly… that was what mattered.
Though we had yet to exchange a single blow, I cherished this moment.
Then.
Brother's heart rate and pulse accelerated. The speed of his blood flow began to increase drastically.
His blood was circulating at a violent pace. With a heart beating that fast, it wouldn't be strange for him to drop dead at any moment.
Did a sudden illness strike him? I must stop the duel immediately—
It happened then.
Upon reaching a certain state, burn-like marks began to manifest vividly upon Brother's face, as if he were being consumed by heat.
They were…
The Marks. The same Marks I had been born with.
On his left forehead, just like mine, and spanning from his neck to his right cheek—flame-like Marks identical to my own appeared.
But that was not what shocked me. The manifestation of the Mark on Brother was a trivial matter compared to what I saw next.
'Brother's life span…! It has vanished…?'
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