Land of Iron, outskirts of Sekikōjō.
A sky full of wind and snow swept across the wilderness. Visibility was less than ten meters; heaven and earth were a chaotic gray-white.
The gale howled, sweeping up the thick snow from the ground and twisting it into brief, serpentine whirlwinds that dissolved almost as soon as they formed.
Yet within this violent curtain of nature, an incongruous clash of metal rang stubbornly through the storm!
Clang! Dang! Bang!
The fierce collision of weapons rang out—at times crisp, at times muffled, at times explosive—tearing through the wailing wind and snow with a rhythm heavy with force.
Suddenly—
Boom!!!!
An especially heavy blast exploded forth, as if a sledgehammer had struck a solid iron anvil!
A tall and burly figure staggered backward from the center of the melee, his feet plowing two deep furrows through the snow before he was swallowed by the surging curtain of white, his form vanishing from sight.
However, Yagyū Sōichirō, who had just driven his opponent back with a single strike of his staff, showed not the slightest trace of relief. Instead, his expression grew even more grave.
The dark iron rod in his hand drooped slightly, and the shaft itself transmitted a clear, high-frequency tremor.
That head-on clash just now—the opponent's strength seemed even more solid and weighty than during their previous exchange!
Before he could dwell on it, amid the swirling wind and snow, a full-bellied shout—carrying even a note of excitement—boomed forth like a war drum: "Hah!"
"My blood's boiling! I'm going in!"
The instant the voice fell, the wind and snow ahead seemed to be violently forced aside by an invisible power.
A tall and powerfully built figure burst through the snow. The weapon in his hand had already changed—it was no longer a common tachi, but a black battle halberd of ancient and ferocious design, exceptionally thick and broad.
The enormous blade reflected a cold gleam in the snowy light. With unmatched momentum, he raised it high in his right hand and, like swinging a mountain-splitting great axe, smashed it down toward Sōichirō in the most brutal and direct trajectory.
Before the halberd even arrived, the terrifying wind pressure it carried—borne of its falling force and the power of his entire body—had already pressed down and driven aside a vast stretch of snow below.
Sōichirō's pupils contracted slightly. Daring not to be the least bit careless, he exhaled sharply and gave a shout. The muscles in both arms bulged; beneath his feet, the snow pit shattered. From low to high, the dark iron rod swung upward as he met the attack head-on.
"Come!"
Clang!!!
This collision was far louder than any before. It was no longer the crisp clash of metal, but more like two iron-clad, solid siege hammers smashing into each other at full force!
Boom!
A visibly ring-shaped shockwave—mixed with surging chakra and ripples of pure force—burst outward from the two of them, instantly clearing and shredding the wind and snow within dozens of meters. Even the frozen earth beneath was laid bare, fine cracks spreading across it like a spiderweb!
In the next instant, Sōichirō let out a muffled grunt. Blood rushed to his face; a distinct sour-numbing tremor ran through the bones of both arms holding the rod. His feet could no longer stay planted—he was driven back again and again by the vast power of that halberd's downward smash!
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Heavy footsteps stamped a string of deep pits into the snow. He retreated more than ten meters before he barely managed to steady himself.
He jerked his head up, looking toward the tall figure that had become clear again within the wind and snow, uncertainty and alarm churning in his heart.
This guy—after not seeing him for just a few months, his sheer strength had increased by this much?!
The one trading blows with Sōichirō was naturally Isshin.
Ever since that day when he obtained the official recognition of the Sekikōjō Swordsmanship Association and became an shihan, his behavior at first had been strange—he didn't open a school, didn't take disciples, and instead wandered around the city all day like a male lion patrolling its territory, practicing swordsmanship in public.
But at least he had settled down and stopped stirring up any major trouble.
However, Sōichirō's days of peace did not last long.
Before long, this guy began visiting the various dojo—large and small—within Sekikōjō one by one. Using "to take the strengths of a hundred schools, gather the techniques of a thousand gates, and perfect my Ashina-style swordsmanship" as his reason, he actively requested sparring exchanges.
His methods were decisive and clean; often, the outcome was decided in just two or three moves. Though he never injured anyone, he caused many dojo heads to lose face badly.
For a time, grievances spread throughout the city. All kinds of complaints and bitter appeals flew like snowflakes onto the desk of Sōichirō, the association president, leaving him thoroughly exasperated.
He had no choice but to seek Isshin out personally for a talk, warning him that since he was an instructor recognized by the association, he needed to mind his influence, uphold the unity of Sekikōjō's swordsmanship circles, and could not act so wantonly.
Perhaps he was persuaded a little—but the more likely reason was that most of Sekikōjō's dojos had already been "sparred" through by him, and there were no fresh opponents left.
Thus, this guy's range of activity rapidly expanded, using Sekikōjō as a starting point and radiating outward to other nearby towns.
In just a few short months, nearly every dojo and renowned swordsman of even slight reputation in the areas surrounding Sekikōjō in the Land of Iron had been visited by this tall youth—who carried a blade in hand, bore a halberd across his shoulder, and upon arriving would bluntly request instruction.
The surrounding swordsmanship circles were thrown into turmoil by him—waves rising, chickens scattering and dogs leaping. Letters of grievance and protest flew even more thickly like snowflakes toward the Sekikōjō Swordsmanship Association, their accusations directed squarely at Sōichirō—he's your man from the Sekikōjō Swordsmanship Association; you have to deal with him!
Finally, after yet another batch of sharply worded joint letters arrived, Sōichirō could no longer endure it. He went directly to find Isshin, his face dark as he said, "Are you really that fond of fighting? Can't sit still for even a moment? If you're so eager to fight, instead of stirring up trouble everywhere, you might as well come directly to this old man!"
And so there came to be this fierce scene before them—outside Sekikōjō, amid wind and snow.
In the distance, on a hillside covered in thick snow—
A travel-worn youth, clad in a tattered cold-weather cloak, lay prone in the snow watching the scene unfold.
He held his breath, not even daring to blink though frost had formed on his eyelashes. His eyes were wide, fixed unflinchingly on the two inhuman figures in the wilderness below and their clash.
It was Yamagami Motoya.
After traveling north alone from the Land of Hot Water, crossing the Land of Rice Fields, and stepping into the Land of Iron—known for its severe cold and steel—he had been anxiously gathering information all along the way, searching for any possible path to gain strength.
Very soon, a single name repeatedly entered his ears—Ashina-style Isshin.
According to rumor, this young swordsmanship instructor had been challenging others throughout the southeastern region, stirring up storms, possessing formidable strength, and acting without restraint.
Upon learning of his connection to Sekikōjō, Motoya had pressed on in this direction without regard for his fatigue.
He crossed the last snow mountain, and the outline of Sekikōjō had already come into view. Yet he had not expected that, before even entering the city, he would encounter such a heart-shaking scene in this desolate wilderness.
The two locked in combat shattered snow and split earth with every movement. The crash of their weapons boomed like thunder. Merely watching, the residual waves of force that spilled outward and the almost tangible pressure of their presence made his heart pound wildly, leaving him nearly unable to breathe.
He clenched his teeth hard, his fingernails digging into the icy snow, his heart surging with an indescribable shock.
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