Chapter 102: JOKER!
Obanai and Kyojuro lunged back into the fray, their blades weaving a cage of
steel around the demon. But Hairo had clearly hit a psychological trigger point.
Despite being carved into a bloody mess by the duo, he ignored them entirely,
charging Natsuya with a manic, suicidal intensity.
"DAMN YOU! Does a man with a gun even count as a swordsman?!"
Hairo roared as he tanked a slash from Obanai, using his own weight to shove the
snake-boy aside. He let Kyojuro burn away a massive chunk of his shadow-armor
just to gain another inch of ground.
His arms blurred as he summoned dozens of shadow-spikes, launching them at
Natsuya.
"I'm going to tear you apart and humiliate your corpse!!"
Natsuya, meanwhile, was calmly backpedaling while reloading his magazine.
"If it kills demons," Natsuya said flatly, "it counts as a Slayer weapon."
Seizing the window during the reload animation, the demon accelerated, closing
the gap instantly. He was right in Natsuya's face.
As long as I shield my vitals with shadows, I can shred him before he chambers
the next round!
"American Breathing, Third Form—" Natsuya murmured.
HAH! Another pathetic pop-gun! Hairo thought.
Then he saw Natsuya's right fist rise. The Wind-Breaker gauntlet, forged from
the same solar steel as a Nichirin blade, began to glow with a searing,
concentrated heat.
It's not the gun. Wait... is his fist on fire?!
[Flame Breathing] [Style: EIGHT EXTREMITIES CRUSH!]
In the world of literature, Tai Chi brings peace; in the world of combat, Baji
Quan rules the earth.
An inconceivable force dived from the ground up through Natsuya's heels, using
his frame as a kinetic conductor to deliver a world-shattering impact directly
into the demon's torso.
It was a punch of pure, unadulterated violence. Simple. Fast. Hard.
The air detonated. The much larger Hairo looked like he had just been hit by a
freight train. He was launched backward like a discarded rag, his ribcage
collapsing into a massive crater from the force of the iron fist.
But Natsuya wasn't done "farming."
The next second, his hand dropped to the hilt of Jinmai-Giri.
[Thunder Breathing] [First Form: Thunderclap and Flash!]
Lightning split the night. A straight line of static and blue light traced a
path across the bridge. Hairo desperately funneled every scrap of his shadow
energy to protect his neck, barely avoiding decapitation.
But he couldn't protect his body. He was sliced cleanly in two at the waist, his
upper and lower halves hitting the pavement with a wet slap.
"COWARD! DISHONORABLE RAT! Using Western guns and peasant boxing?! You don't
deserve the title of Samurai!"
Even in two pieces, Hairo's hatred for Natsuya was stronger than his fear of
death. He kept screaming, his face a mask of pure spite.
Natsuya actually laughed. He wasn't even annoyed; to him, this wasn't trash
talk—it was just high-quality NPC dialogue.
"What? You think eating humans for power and hiding in the shadows to take
potshots makes you a 'Noble Samurai'?"
"Eating humans? I'm a Demon! Demons eat people! It's the cycle of nature!"
"Then you're a monster," Natsuya said, pinning the demon's chest with his blade.
"A deviant biological anomaly."
"But a human?" Natsuya looked at the demon, his voice becoming clinical. "No
matter how scarred their face is, no matter how low-born or poor... as long as
they have a soul that seeks the light and they fight as a mortal? They remain
human."
Obanai froze, looking at Natsuya with a look of stunned realization. Natsuya
glanced at the snake-boy sideways before turning back to the demon.
"The kid's mouth is a bit ugly, sure. But he's still a human. You? You're just a
glitch in the hardware."
Obanai: "..." (Wait, did he just call me ugly in the middle of a heroic speech?!
GIVE ME MY HEARTFELT MOMENT BACK!)
"AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"
Hairo snapped. Realizing he couldn't win against the three of them—especially
Natsuya—he triggered his "Escape Phase." A pool of thick, viscous shadow erupted
beneath his severed torso. In a blink, his body sank into the darkness, his
presence rapidly receding into the distance.
I'll remember you, Slayer! Once I consume more blood and loot some heavier
firelocks, I'm coming for your head!!
"He's kiting us!" Kyojuro shouted, preparing to give chase.
Natsuya didn't move. He leisurely holstered his pistol and dusted off his
sleeve.
He looked at Obanai. "You applied it, right?"
The snake-boy turned his head away awkwardly. "Yeah."
Kyojuro: "?" (What kind of secret gamer-code are they speaking?)
A few seconds passed. Then, from the shadows of an alley twenty meters away, a
blood-curdling shriek erupted!
Hairo was literally squeezed out of the shadows, falling onto the road in a
heap. He was clawing at his waist, where a shallow, insignificant-looking cut
was now glowing with a sickly purple-black light.
It was the wound from Obanai's earlier thrust. The flesh around the cut was
liquifying, and the necrotic blackness was spreading through his veins at a
terrifying speed.
"POISON?! YOUR BLADE...?!" Hairo gasped, looking at Obanai in horror.
Obanai's blade was a standard Nichirin Sword. But after Natsuya's "Meta-Lecture"
about opening new damage buckets, Obanai had coated his steel in a custom
paralytic toxin developed by Shinobu.
It wasn't lethal on its own, but it acted as a massive debuff to demonic
regeneration and Blood Demon Art processing. After a long fight, the "DoT"
(Damage over Time) had finally stacked to a critical mass.
Hairo: "..." (How can these Slayers be so DISHONORABLE?! One uses a gun, another
uses fists, and now this one is a poison-build?! Where is your swordsman's
spirit?! Where is your Bushido soul?!!)
"Shadow-Stealth drains a lot of MP, doesn't it?"
Natsuya walked slowly toward the paralyzed demon, drawing Jinmai-Giri once more.
His silhouette lengthened under the moon, looming over the fallen monster.
"Does that poison running through your veins feel 'refreshing'?"
Hairo lay in the dirt, looking up at Natsuya. In his final moments, a strange
clarity hit him. He asked the question that had plagued his human and demonic
lives.
"Slayer... tell me. The Katana of the East... or the Gun of the West... which
one is actually the meta?"
Natsuya raised his blade, looking genuinely thoughtful for a second.
"Honestly? It depends on the current patch notes and how much the player has
whaled."
Hairo: "?" (What the hell does that mean?)
In a state of total confusion and bitter resentment, Hairo's vision was cut
short by a flash of silver light.
[Proficiency +329] [Thunder Breathing] LV.4 (3516/4000) [Flame Breathing] LV.3
(117/2000)
The battle was over. The midnight street returned to a heavy silence.
Kyojuro relaxed his guard, but Obanai remained turned away, his head bowed. He
was shaking slightly, his hands frantically reaching for the bandages around his
neck. But they were gone—shredded by the crossfire. No matter how he pulled at
the scraps, he couldn't cover the scars on his cheeks.
"Obanai... I—"
Kyojuro's voice was full of guilt. He realized his earlier shout of surprise had
wounded his friend more than any demon claw. "I am... truly sorry about
earlier!"
"It's ugly, isn't it?" Obanai's voice was raspy, the cold air rushing through
the split in his face making his speech sound even more alien. "This... this
cursed mark. I look just like one of those monsters."
Natsuya walked over. He didn't offer a hug or a comforting "It's okay." Instead,
he reached out and slapped Obanai on the shoulder so hard the boy nearly fell
over.
"Stop yapping. So what if it's ugly?"
Obanai: "???" (ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!)
Natsuya's voice turned slightly serious. "Do you have any idea how many people
in Gotham would kill for a smile like that?"
"With that face? Just dye your hair green, put on a purple suit, and I guarantee
your 'Rizz' in Morioh-cho would be higher than Kyojuro's."
Kyojuro: "Wait, why am I the benchmark for comparison?"
Obanai felt a vein throb on his temple. This Senior... is he actually trying to
be annoying, or is he just naturally gifted at it? Can't he see I'm having a
moment?
"Look, kid. Just treat the scars as combat medals. Look at the current Hashira.
Aside from Shinjuro, half of them have faces that look like a puzzle. Scars are
part of the 'Veteran' skin-pack."
Obanai paused. Is that true? He'd only seen Lord Shinjuro. He hadn't met the
others. But Natsuya said it with such authority that it had to be a fact.
Natsuya inspected the split in Obanai's jaw, rubbing his chin. "Tell you what.
Once my Medicine skill is higher, or I unlock the [Plastic Surgery] tree, I'll
try to stitch you up for real. For now? The bandages look cooler anyway."
"It gives you that 'Edgy Rebel' aesthetic. And you're already used to wearing
them."
Obanai: "..."
The suffocating gloom, the self-loathing, and the shame were all blown away by
Natsuya's bizarre, toxic, yet oddly reassuring "Gamer Pep-talk."
The snake-boy went quiet, feeling Kaburamaru nuzzle against his neck in support.
Rip!
Kyojuro silently tore a large square of fabric from his own white robe and
handed it to Obanai. Obanai took it, his fingers steadier now, and wove it
together with his remaining bandages to re-mask his face.
Once the world felt safe again, Obanai turned to the duo. In a voice so quiet it
was almost a whisper, he said, "...Thank you."
Natsuya then reached into his bag and pulled out a roll of pristine, high-grade
medical bandages.
"Oh. I forgot I had these in my inventory."
Obanai: "..."
"YOU COULDN'T HAVE SAID THAT EARLIER?!"
Did Kyojuro ruin his clothes for nothing?!
The "Owl Cub" just let out a booming, hearty laugh. "DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT! IT'S
FLASHY!"
The moon shone down on their path home. The ice in Obanai's heart had finally
developed a crack.
These two are such an annoying, 'bright' pair of idiots, Obanai thought. But...
I guess it doesn't feel that bad.
☆☆☆
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