Chapter 340: A Man of Absolute Power (Part I)
Late night after the storm. The streets of Tokyo were silent, bathed in a damp,
heavy chill.
At the corner of a dark alleyway.
Arisa, Ren Shiroki, Retsu Kaioh, Ohma Tokita, and Hikoichi Yagyo—the five of
them were stacked vertically, peeking around the brick corner of a building.
Five pairs of eyes darted back and forth, observing the scene unfolding within
the narrow passage.
They saw Yanagi Ryuko, backed into a corner.
But the man blocking his path was not the "Sea Emperor" Kaku Kaioh Retsu had
described.
This man was no hundred-year-old elder. He was a middle-aged powerhouse.
He wore a pitch-black karate gi. His aura was as immovable as a mountain, his
musculature dense and functional. His eyebrows were thick, his gaze as piercing
as a laser, and his eyes held the cold, razor edge of a blade. His hair and
beard were thick, merging at the sideburns in a rugged, unkempt mane that gave
him an air of primal, untamed ferocity.
He looked to be in his early fifties. Roughly 185cm tall, weighing well
over 100kg.
The observers—including Arisa—were all veterans of the martial arts world in
their own right. Even in the dim light of the alley, they could see the truth
clearly.
This man was slightly shorter than Ren and roughly the same weight as Retsu. In
terms of sheer "weight class," he was only slightly above average.
But the "pressure" he radiated made him look like a colossus.
He's strong!
No... he's terrifyingly strong!!
Every single one of the five witnesses reached the same conclusion
simultaneously.
Ohma Tokita's brow furrowed, his eyes locked on the stranger. "Retsu... do you
know that guy?"
Retsu Kaioh shook his head, his expression grim.
Yagyo, however, narrowed his eyes, a glimmer of recognition sparking. "My, my...
so it's him? This is a rare sight indeed."
Ren Shiroki's mind began to churn with the lore of this world.
Inside the alley, facing the bearded giant, Yanagi Ryuko shared the same
question.
He widened his remaining left eye, glancing nervously at the five spectators
behind him. He realized there was no escape. Resigned, he used a trembling hand
to light a cigarette, looking up at the man before him.
Yanagi exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Who the hell are you...?"
The bearded man answered in a voice like grinding stones. "I am... Kuroki
Gensai."
Yagyo's eyebrows shot up. "Hmph! It is him."
Seeing the confusion of the others, Yagyo whispered an explanation. "That man is
an assassin active in the deepest reaches of the underground world."
"But unlike the assassins of the Kure Clan, he does not move for money or
family. He moves solely in pursuit of martial perfection."
"Kuroki Gensai. The master of the [KAIWAN STYLE], an assassination art that
originated in the Ryukyu Islands."
"Its philosophy is a lethal fusion of Ryukyu Hand, Karate, and ancient Kenpo.
The Kaiwan Style's daily regimen consists of grueling resilience drills, kata,
and a level of partial-body conditioning that borders on self-mutilation."
"After decades of striking makiwara, sandbags, wood, and stone until the bones
shatter and reform... his limbs have been forged into lethal spears. They can
pierce the human body as easily as a blade. He is known as [THE DEVIL LANCE]."
The group watched with renewed intensity.
Ohma stared at Kuroki Gensai. "That guy is on a different level. He has the same
aura as Niko..."
Retsu was equally impressed. "A veteran of a thousand battles. His dignity is
unmatched!"
Ren, however, knew the full weight of the name.
Kuroki Gensai—the man who spent his life seeking the "Apex of Martial Arts." In
the original timeline of the Kengan Life-or-Death Tournament, Kuroki was the
ultimate wall. He had dismantled Rihito, crushed Setsuna Kiryu, outpaced the
"God of Lightning" Rei Mikazuchi, and finally dethroned the "Fang of Metsudo,"
Kanoh Agito.
He had walked away as the undisputed champion of the Kengan Association.
Now, in this "Street Brawl" era, Kuroki had finally made his move.
As a Death Row Convict, Yanagi had heard the name Kuroki Gensai.
"Oh? The assassination fist of the Kaiwan Style?"
Yanagi held his cigarette between his right fingers, exhaling a long, smoky
breath. "Hah! Hearing about you is one thing, but seeing you is—"
Before the sentence was finished, Yanagi's fingers snapped forward.
Zip!
The cigarette butt flew like a bullet, the lit end leading the way, aimed
directly for Kuroki Gensai's eye.
Facing the cowardly ambush, Kuroki didn't even flinch. His left hand snapped
upward, fingers extended in a spear-hand strike. His speed was far superior to
the projectile.
Snap!
His fingertips pierced the cigarette mid-air, pulverizing it into a spray of
tobacco and sparks.
Kuroki glanced at Yanagi, his voice low. "I am currently in the middle of my own
training. I accepted a request from a friend—and came to settle a debt for an
old comrade."
Seeing his ambush fail, Yanagi didn't panic. He gave a sniveling laugh. "The
great master of the Kaiwan Style... still doing the dirty work of an assassin, I
see!"
"Hmph."
Kuroki remained indifferent. "I, Kuroki, kill only two types of people: those
who have no right to live... and those who are worth killing."
"—The 'Evil Path' who has lost the right to breathe, and the 'Warrior' worth
betting one's life against."
"Heh... heh heh..."
Yanagi let out a low chuckle. The bloody tears leaking from his blinded right
eye made his face look even more demonic.
He began to shuffle forward, his aura turning cold. "I'm honored. So, which one
am I?"
Kuroki replied, "Years ago, you managed to walk both paths. Today? You are
nothing but 'Evil.' You no longer possess the value of a 'Warrior'."
Kuroki didn't even drop into a combat stance. He simply stood there, checking
his surroundings.
"The night is quiet, but the Metropolitan Police might interrupt. Let us finish
this quickly."
Yanagi's rage flared. He trembled with fury. "Quickly?! You think you have the
power for that?!"
Whoosh!
Yanagi lunged. He raised his right arm, swinging his bruised, purple-red [POISON
HAND] toward Kuroki's face.
But the moment he closed in—Fwoosh!
Yanagi's world turned upside down.
When he regained his senses, he was sitting on the cold asphalt, his tailbone
throbbing with pain. He had no idea what had happened.
I was... thrown?
"Eh...?" Yanagi looked up, bewildered.
Kuroki was standing right where he had been, radiating a crushing pressure.
"Yanagi. You, who relies solely on external 'tools,' can no longer be considered
a practitioner of 'Budo'."
"You... you bastard—!!"
Yanagi contorted his face in a mask of rage, spinning around to strike at
Kuroki's legs with his Poison Hand.
Snap!
Kuroki countered with a basic low kick. It was a move so fundamental that
white-belt children practiced it, yet his speed made it look like a blur.
Crack!
Yanagi was tripped instantly, his Poison Hand missing by a mile as he slammed
onto his side.
"I have killed you—for the second time."
Kuroki looked down at him. "Even with one eye blinded, a man of your former
skill should not be taken down by such a basic maneuver. It is because you are
so desperate to use your 'Poison Hand' and your 'Tricks' that you have forgotten
how to fight."
"A man who has forgotten how to fight is not only unworthy of victory—he is
unworthy of defeat."
Yanagi remained silent. He suddenly sprang from the ground, using his small
frame to lunge low, thrusting his Poison Hand toward Kuroki's gut.
Thwack!
Before the strike could land, Kuroki's massive palm met him mid-air. He slapped
Yanagi directly in the face, the force of the blow lifting the convict off the
ground and sending him tumbling backward.
Crash!
Yanagi hit the ground hard, a bright red handprint already blooming on his
cheek.
"The third time."
Kuroki took a slow, deliberate step forward.
Yanagi didn't give up. As Kuroki closed in, he swung his right hand across the
ground, aiming for Kuroki's ankle.
Zip!
Kuroki raised his leg to evade, then stomped down instantly. His wooden geta
(sandal) pinned Yanagi's Poison Hand to the pavement.
"WAAAAAGH!"
Yanagi shrieked in agony.
Kuroki pulled his fist back as if to strike, but held it. He was simply exerting
pressure, forcing Yanagi to stare death in the face.
"The fourth time. You have died four times."
Kuroki's voice was a cold judgment. "You mastered a dangerous technique and used
it to slaughter at will. Did you truly think there would be no price? If you
hadn't used his daughter as a shield, do you really think you would have stood a
chance against my old friend, Taizan Matsumoto?!"
"You are nothing but a pathetic, wretched piece of trash."
"As per the request of my friend... you shall experience the exact same agony
you inflicted upon the innocent souls you've murdered!"
It was unclear if Yanagi was even listening. With his right hand pinned under
Kuroki's wooden sandal, his face was a mask of pure, unadulterated pain. He
couldn't break free.
In a state of panic, Yanagi swung his left hand toward Kuroki's shin.
His left hand wasn't poisoned, but it was a master of the [VACUUM PALM]. By
creating a vacuum with his skin, he could adhere to objects or flesh. A sudden
pull would tear away chunks of muscle—a technique that could shatter brick or
bulletproof glass.
"DIE!"
Yanagi screamed, driving his left palm home.
But Kuroki didn't dodge. He thrust his own right hand forward to meet it—palm
against palm, finger against finger.
CLAP!
The two hands locked.
Yanagi blinked, confused, but the vacuum had already engaged. He prepared to
yank his hand back and shred the flesh from Kuroki's arm.
But Kuroki's fingers moved first. He exerted a terrifying amount of grip
strength, closing his hand into a fist.
CRACK-CRACK-SNAP—!!
With a series of wet, splintering pops, Yanagi's left hand was crushed. His
fingers were bent backward at impossible angles, his metacarpals pulverized as
Kuroki's grip twisted his hand into a mangled knot of bone and flesh.
"Under-trained. Foolish!"
Kuroki snorted in disdain.
"Threats, poison, ambushes, slaughter... your current state is not a result of
'bad luck.' It is the harvest of the seeds you sowed. You are simply consuming
your own 'Evil Karma'!"
☆☆☆
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