At this moment, Kazuma's mind was in a peculiar state—his emotions were surging, yet his thoughts remained icy calm.
When Ōta Jūzō suddenly burst onto the scene, tearing at his shirt and announcing his name, Kazuma instinctively stepped back into a defensive stance. His gaze shot to the top of Ōta's head.
—Strange. No skill tag?
Kazuma had already grown fully accustomed to this world's "power system."
Those with special skill tags or the ability to "power up" were on an entirely different tier from those without. If you could "power up," fighting enemies five levels above you was child's play.
Though Ōta Jūzō charged in with fierce momentum, in Kazuma's eyes—honed to this system of combat assessment—he was just a slightly more skilled grunt.
And right now, Kazuma was fully "powered up," his buffs maxed out.
So he spoke bluntly, voicing exactly what he thought:
"A corpse... talking?"
"My apologies for still being able to talk," Ōta Jūzō replied coolly, without the slightest hint of arrogance or humility.
Before the words had even fully left his mouth, Kazuma was already attacking.
The hallway was too cramped to properly execute Gatotsu, but there was just enough room to swing a wooden sword—so Kazuma unleashed a Kesa-giri!
In this confined space, such a horizontal slash was nearly impossible to dodge.
But Ōta Jūzō didn't even try.
He bent his arm, biceps bulging, and chose to take the strike head-on—
If Kazuma had been using a real blade, Ōta Jūzō would likely have been dead already.
Even with a wooden sword, the force of the blow was enough to shatter his left arm.
After all, Kazuma was operating at far beyond his usual strength—empowered by the spirit of the "Demon King of the Sixth Heaven," Oda Nobunaga, and by a willingness to fight to the death. That slash might well have been at 200% output.
Indeed, Kazuma felt something give way beneath his strike.
And yet, Ōta Jūzō's expression remained unchanged. He even drove his likely broken left arm forward, seizing Kazuma's wooden sword.
Forcing a broken limb to move would cause excruciating pain.
But apart from the sweat pouring from his face, there wasn't a single sign of agony on Ōta Jūzō's face.
Having seized Kazuma's weapon, he launched an immediate counterattack—a punch square to Kazuma's stomach.
Though Kazuma had let go of his sword and retreated the instant the punch came, it still felt as though his stomach was about to come out of his mouth.
A thick wad of phlegm mixed with blood spurted from his lips and splattered across the wall.
"I know you martial arts types are always going on about unity of mind, technique, and body. I don't understand any of that crap!" Ōta Jūzō advanced with steady steps, raining punches down with his still-usable right hand. "I've beaten countless martial artists! And I did it with the yakuza way of fighting—grit and willpower!"
Kazuma took several blows before spotting a fleeting opening—
He spat directly into Ōta Jūzō's eyes, then thrust his hand toward them.
Forced back half a step, Ōta Jūzō gave Kazuma just enough room to draw a new wooden sword and swing it down on the injured left arm.
Finally, the ironclad giant let out a shout of pain.
Down below, one of the wakashu crammed at the base of the stairs shouted, "That bastard's playing dirty! Let's get him!"
"Oh!" The wakashu, who had just been intimidated into submission, suddenly erupted into a thunderous roar.
But Ōta Jūzō barked, "No one move! In a space this small, you'll only get in the way!"
The would-be attackers froze at the stairwell, not daring to take another step.
Kazuma gripped his wooden sword tightly and resumed a proper stance.
Though Ōta Jūzō had claimed ignorance of martial arts earlier, Kazuma could now see the man was "powered up"—a fierce tag now burned above his head:
Way of Survival.
As expected... those who fight to live are stronger.
"My apologies for earlier," Kazuma said solemnly. "Rishin-ryū—Kiryu Kazuma—coming in!"
He launched a Gatotsu, striking Ōta Jūzō clean in the right chest. However, the short range of this strike limited its power—Gatotsu's full force depended on advancing footwork, and here he could only manage 20-30% of its potential.
Still, the blow was no light tap. A lesser shatei or wakashu would already be out cold.
Ōta Jūzō braced through it and, taking advantage of the opening, grabbed Kazuma's sword hand.
This time, Kazuma couldn't simply drop the weapon to retreat.
Ōta Jūzō slammed forward with a headbutt!
As it happened, Kazuma had the same idea—and their foreheads collided with a sickening crack. Both men felt as though their skulls had split open.
But neither backed down. At point-blank range, they locked gazes, eyes blazing with fury, and roared in unison:
"You bastard!"
"Kisama!"
Kazuma was about to launch another move when a new figure suddenly struck from the side.
To avoid the sweeping low kick aimed at his waist, Kazuma released Ōta Jūzō and brought up his sword to parry!
Only then did he clearly see the new arrival.
It was the third Tsuda-gumi expert he'd seen that morning!
Ōta Jūzō steadied himself and shouted furiously at the newcomer, "Damn it! Didn't I tell you—"
"Fetching reinforcements isn't something I need to handle personally. I've already sent the shatei to take care of it," the newcomer said coolly, straightening his disheveled suit. "And don't give me that 'one-on-one duel' talk. It's the '80s now—our oyabun's entire strategy is to show old-school folks like you, Ōta-san, that times have changed."
Kazuma quickly reset his stance and immediately launched an attack at this fresh opponent!
Who the hell has time to listen to your monologue and let you stack buffs?!
The newcomer let out a roar of his own, dodged Kazuma's twin slashes, and drew a small kodachi from his waist.
"Third-generation Kanto Union, Tsuda-gumi, Wakagashira Assistant—
Anno Shin'nosuke—
Present!"
(End of Chapter)