Kazuma's first instinct was to glance at this newcomer's head—
No status bar.
Young, probably can't use ki bursts either...
In that case, Kazuma decided it was best to take him out quickly.
But just as he was preparing to strike, the guy lunged first, dagger aimed straight for Kazuma's throat—a clear kill move.
Predictable.
Such a linear attack path? There was no way Kazuma would let that land.
With a simple sidestep and a fast strike from the right, he didn't even bother using any sword technique—just a standard kendo move.
His blade hit the attacker's knife hand squarely.
"You fell for it!" the young man—Shin'nosuke—grinned, suddenly revealing his other hand, which had been hidden behind him.
A can of pepper spray.
Without a moment's hesitation, Kazuma rammed forward, headbutting Shin'nosuke right in the nose.
By the time the pepper spray fired, Kazuma was long gone from its path—nothing but empty air was misted.
And in the battle of skull vs. nose, the skull always won.
Shin'nosuke stumbled back, clutching his face.
Kazuma snatched the pepper spray from his hand and gave him a full blast to the face in return.
The thug collapsed, rolling on the floor in agony.
Pepper spray was no joke—getting hit with it meant a whole day of misery.
Seeing how effective it was, Kazuma grinned.
After one more sharp whack with his wooden sword to stop Shin'nosuke from flopping around like a dying caterpillar, he turned toward Ōta Jūzō and unleashed another full spray.
But Ōta Jūzō roared and charged straight through it, sheer willpower pushing him forward!
The can was knocked from Kazuma's grip, clattered off the stairwell wall, and tumbled down into the crowd of wakashu below.
"It fell!" one of them shouted.
"Careful! Don't step on it!"
Too late—someone did.
The can burst, spraying a thick mist everywhere.
Suddenly the second floor was filled with screams and coughing.
But Kazuma couldn't worry about that now.
Ōta Jūzō had forced him into a corner.
Kazuma could tell the big man was at his limit—just a little more and he'd go down for good.
But that "little more" still seemed just out of reach.
Gritting his teeth, Kazuma jabbed his nails into the wound on Ōta Jūzō's nose, digging in hard.
Ōta Jūzō roared, as if trying to draw strength from the sound.
That gave Kazuma an idea—he shifted tactics and grabbed the man's throat instead.
Since Ōta was using both hands to grapple, Kazuma had a free one.
Ōta Jūzō's knees slowly buckled, inch by inch, until he was kneeling.
Kazuma finally wrenched free from the grapple, stepped back, raised his wooden sword, and delivered a clean overhead strike to Ōta's forehead.
With a heavy thud, the giant collapsed.
Kazuma bent down and picked up the bundle of wooden swords that had fallen during the fight.
There were still six left.
He slung them back over his shoulder, gripped the seventh sword in his hand, and prepared to climb the final flight of stairs.
But just as he stepped forward, something latched onto his right leg.
Kazuma looked down—
It was Shin'nosuke.
Without a word, Kazuma flipped his sword to a reverse grip and jabbed downward.
That was enough to shake the thug off.
"You're nowhere near your wakagashira's level," Kazuma remarked.
Then, without another glance, he stepped onto the stairs that Ōta Jūzō had fought so hard to defend.
He heard movement behind him—
Ōta Jūzō was stirring.
But Kazuma didn't turn back.
He was certain—Ōta Jūzō was finished.
Ōta Jūzō propped himself up, reaching toward Kazuma's retreating figure.
Thanks to the pepper spray, he could barely see, but he still raised his trembling hand toward the blurry silhouette and called out with a hoarse voice:
"KI—"
The first syllable of Kiryu.
But his strength gave out.
As his arm dropped, he whispered the rest in a voice only he could hear:
"...RYU."
The Dragon That Breaks Formations strode upward, head held high, treading over the unwillingness of the defeated.
Tsuda Masaaki sat calmly behind his desk, watching as Kiryu Kazuma ascended the final flight of stairs and strode confidently into the room.
Planting his feet shoulder-width apart, Kazuma stood tall before him.
Tsuda rose and slowly began to clap.
"Splendid, splendid. I thought scenes like this—one man cutting through an entire formation—only happened in period dramas."
Kazuma met his gaze, expression blank.
"Whether you're about to strip down or announce your name, hurry up. I'm on a schedule."
Right on cue, lightning flashed outside.
The room lights flickered violently with the thunder.
Kazuma couldn't help thinking of the busted-looking circuit box he'd seen on the way in.
Once the lights stabilized, Tsuda had moved to the sword rack against the wall.
He reached up and drew a long blade.
Now Kazuma could clearly see the dark, green-tinged aura rising from Tsuda's body—not the kind of aura a "good person" would have.
What was strange was that the aura seemed to curve around the blade, as if repelled.
Tsuda's grip looked oddly strained, like the sword itself was forcing the black aura out of his hand.
What is that?
Kazuma narrowed his eyes, trying to identify the blade.
As someone who practiced kendo, he knew a bit about real swords too.
Judging by the style of the hilt and guard, this looked like a Bizen-style blade.
Tsuda noticed his gaze and smiled.
"You have a good eye, for someone who practices kendo. This is a genuine ancient sword—Bizen Nagafune Ichimonji Masamune."
Kazuma clicked his tongue.
Of course it was real. The way Tsuda's aura was recoiling from it—any fool could tell this was no ordinary blade.
But the name was odd.
Normally a sword name wouldn't include "Ichimonji" to indicate blade pattern—that was obvious from looking at it.
By conventional naming, this would be Bizen Nagafune Masamune—Bizen for the sword-making tradition, Nagafune for the forging village, and Masamune for the smith.
Japanese sword names typically emphasized decorative techniques, since the actual blade shapes were quite similar.
Swords with "Ichimonji" in the name usually featured that pattern in their temper line—like the famous Kiku Ichimonji Norimune, where "Kiku" referred to the chrysanthemum motif on the hilt, and "Ichimonji" to the horizontal pattern beneath it.
In other words, this Bizen Nagafune Ichimonji Masamune had deliberately included "Ichimonji" in its name, suggesting there was something special about it.
Kazuma thought hard.
From what he remembered, Bizen Nagafune blades didn't normally feature Ichimonji patterns.
Could this particular pattern have some deeper meaning?
Was it connected to how the sword seemed to repel Tsuda's ominous aura?
While Kazuma was pondering this, Tsuda seemed to misinterpret his serious expression.
"What a pity," Tsuda said, voice dripping with mock regret. "You fought so hard to get here, only to face defeat. But... if you're willing to join the Tsuda-gumi, become one of my top men, I might just spare you."
Kazuma snapped out of his thoughts and looked him in the eye.
"You misunderstand. I'm just mourning for that fine blade of yours. Such a masterpiece—reduced to weeping in the hands of the unworthy."
Tsuda burst out laughing.
"You Read Too many samurai novels, boy! They've fried your brain!"
He raised the gleaming sword.
"Well then, just like in those novels, where wicked ronin test their blades on hapless victims—I'll use your blood and flesh to test this Bizen Nagafune Ichimonji Masamune!"
Kazuma raised his wooden sword.
Then he asked, "Aren't you going to strip and show off your tattoos first?"
"Hmph. They call me the Tanuki—you know why? Because when a tanuki's true form is exposed, it's already lost."
Kazuma nodded.
"You're right. And now—I've seen you."
Lightning illuminated the stormy night outside. Thunder shook the room.
As the lights flickered off and back on again—Kazuma was already in motion.
(End of Chapter)