Chapter 436: The Stance as a Strike
"...Wait, what?!"
From his vantage point on the perimeter, Himuro Ryo stared through the drifting
dust, refusing to let his eyes blink.
He had watched Ren Shiroki close the distance in a flash and press an open right
palm against the tattooed brawler's abdomen. Yet every alarm bell in Himuro's
brain had screamed that Ren had just driven a monstrous, high-caliber punch
straight through the man's guts!
—It looked exactly like a punch!
Beside him, Fusui Kure and Marco were staring with wide eyes, struggling to
process the scene.
With her [REMOVAL] active, Fusui's vision was sharper than any high-speed camera
on earth. She knew with absolute certainty that Ren had not thrown a closed
fist. It had been an unassuming, short-range open palm. Yet the biological
feedback from the target was undeniably that of a sledgehammer!
Ren's posture, his footwork, his spirit, his bloodlust—when fused together, the
sheer presence of his form projected the full kinetic reality of the strike!
The stance itself had become the attack!
The moment Ren stepped into the pocket, an invisible shockwave seemed to pierce
the brawler's core, forcing the man's nervous system to hallucinate his internal
organs turning into paste!
Himuro swallowed hard, cold sweat tracing his temple. "He forced an opponent to
physically experience the impact created purely in his own mind...?"
"What level of striking is that...?"
In that shock, a moment of profound clarity washed over Himuro.
At its core, combat is laughably simple.
It answers one question: Who is stronger?
In the ring or on the battlefield... against an athlete, a super-soldier, or a
wild tiger... the fundamental task of a combatant never changes.
Just like Ren Shiroki was doing right now.
Ren's appetite for strength was bottomless. Facing a hundred men or a solitary
rival was identical to him; he didn't need to overcomplicate the equation. He
stripped away the clutter of tactics, terrain, and psychological baggage,
reducing the frame to a raw comparison of power!
The heavyweights of the Three Wolves sector were strong.
So Ren simply became stronger than their strength!
"Phew!"
Ren exhaled a plume of hot steam.
The tattooed brawler lay groaning in the dirt, dragged away by his comrades.
Another veteran immediately stepped into the breach, closing the perimeter.
Leading the charge was a bare-chested underground wrestler.
Screee—!
The wrestler lunged, feinting a high jab before whipping his thick right arm
around the back of Ren's neck, intending to drag him into a crushing front
headlock!
Ren didn't resist the momentum. He tilted his head, clamping the wrestler's
wrist tight against his shoulder with his own jaw!
He pivoted on the ball of his foot, his shoulder acting as the fulcrum, the
wrestler's extended limb serving as the lever—
[RYU: SHOULDER THROW]!
SWOOSH!
The massive wrestler was hoisted into the air. His body completed a violent
three-quarter rotation before his spine slammed into the sand with an
earth-shaking thud!
BOOM!!
"Agh... damn it...!"
The wrestler bared his teeth through the agony. He scrambled to push himself
back up, only to open his eyes and find Ren's open palm descending straight
toward his face!
[RYU: HASHOGEKI]!
WHISH—!
The palm-strike was light, lightning-fast, and halted an inch from the
wrestler's nose.
Yet to the wrestler, the air pressure felt as though a twenty-pound sledgehammer
had detonated against his skull! His brain signaled that his nose had been
flattened, his teeth knocked down his throat, and his left eyeball ruptured!
"—?!"
The wrestler's eyes bulged, red veins bursting in terror. Without hesitating for
a single microsecond, his hand slapped the dirt frantically in surrender!
Tap-tap-tap!
Ren straightened his posture, pivoting smoothly to face the remaining circle of
fighters.
A faint crimson light flickered in his eye—the signature trace of [SATSUI
CHOICE], etching two thin, glowing lines across the dust.
Striking... pure striking...
It's still incomplete. There is definitely something higher, but right now, my
limits end at the strike...
Ren murmured to himself.
His breakthrough on the concept of the [FRAME] was the catalyst. It had elevated
his stance, allowing him to throw strikes that bypassed the physical need for
wind-up.
And this was merely the beginning of the road.
Crrr—
A Taekwondo specialist vaulted into the air, driving a mid-air switch-kick
toward Ren's head. Ren slipped beneath the arc by a hair's breadth, then
detonated forward with a burst of speed so violent it seemed to bend space!
Zip!
The two silhouettes crossed.
The airborne kicker felt a phantom shockwave tear through his lower abdomen. An
overwhelming illusion gripped his nervous system—he felt as though Ren had
driven an iron fist straight into his groin!
"GUH—?!"
The kicker choked on his own breath, his balance shattering mid-air. He crashed
into the sand, clutching his groin and writhing in cold sweats from phantom
agony!
Ren remained serene, his focus locked on the next target.
From the sidelines, Himuro Ryo was completely spellbound.
He could feel the Combat Aura swirling around Ren, heavy with the bloodlust of
the Satsui no Hado.
Yet Ren wasn't losing himself to the slaughter. He commanded the killing intent
with effortless control, weaving it into the very fibers of his guard. His
stance was so saturated with martial intent that merely dropping into position
convinced the opponent's biology that they had already been hit!
The Way of Combat...
Himuro remembered Ren mentioning his personal philosophy.
Does that 'Way' really lead to a realm of striking like this? What lies beyond
this door...?!
Before Himuro could finish his thought, the sudden shift in the battle caught
the eye of an elite predator among the crowd.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
With measured, rhythmic strides, a swordsman stepped through the circle. He wore
a traditional katana slung horizontally across his waist, cutting edge facing
upward—the classic posture of an Iaijutsu master.
Recognizing the draw-speed of that blade, the surrounding outlaws hurriedly
backed away. One thug wearing a baseball cap failed to clear the range fast
enough.
The swordsman's gaze flickered.
SHICK!
A blinding silver crescent flashed upward. The brim of the thug's cap was
severed cleanly, fluttering to the dirt.
The cap itself remained balanced on the thug's head, undisturbed by the cut!
So sharp! So fast—!
The surrounding fighters took another frantic step back, terrified of being
caught in the crossfire.
"I... I couldn't see the draw!" "His quick-draw evolved again?!" "You don't even
see the flash until after the cut is finished!!"
Hearing the hushed terror around him, the swordsman smiled thinly. He slid the
steel an inch back toward the scabbard, leaving it cracked open in a live,
pre-engagement posture.
He looked at Ren.
"How was that, outsider? You didn't even see my blade until the brim hit the
floor, did you?"
The swordsman stepped forward smoothly, his left thumb resting on the guard.
"The art of the quick-draw exists for the sole purpose of remaining invisible."
"Paired with the weight and sharpness of a master-crafted blade, it achieves an
absolute lethality that forces any man to yield."
"Including you, kid!"
The swordsman closed the distance, his eyes locking onto Ren's centerline.
"Before my speed, whatever sci-fi tricks you're pulling with your bare hands are
useless..."
Step. Step. Step.
The swordsman's left hand gripped the saya; his right fingers curved over the
hilt. Every neuron in his body was dialed into the draw.
"Outsider... taking a direct hit from an Iai strike isn't something you walk
away from..."
Ren stood side-on. Lead left hand low and open, left shoulder guarding his chin,
right fist tucked tight against his ribs. His breathing flattened into absolute
rhythm.
"Bring it."
The word hung in the air.
SHICK!
The swordsman measured the spacing and drew his blade, a horizontal slash
screaming toward Ren's waist!
The instant the steel began to clear the scabbard—
[DRIVE RUSH]!
VOOM!
Ren exploded forward!
He started his movement before the draw could accelerate, closing the gap until
his nose was an inch from the swordsman's face! Their breath mingled in the cold
air.
The swordsman's pupils shrank to pinpricks.
Too... fast—!!
At this range, the sword couldn't even clear the scabbard! The draw was dead on
arrival!
The swordsman scrambled to back-step, but the frame was already sealed.
Whish—!
Ren's open palm-heel tapped lightly against the swordsman's chin, sliding
smoothly down the side of his neck.
Ren clicked his tongue, whispering a playful sound effect: "KABOOM."
In that microsecond, the swordsman's brain fired an absolute signal of
catastrophe. He felt as though his jaw had been obliterated by an artillery
shell, his teeth scattered, his skull fractured into pieces!
His nervous system accepted the trauma as absolute truth.
The swordsman's face distorted, his limbs turned to water, and his eyes rolled
back as he crumpled into the dirt.
Thud...
He twitched on the sand, trying desperately to push himself up, but cold sweat
poured from his skin and his jaw chattered uncontrollably. The phantom terror
had paralyzed him completely.
He knew he hadn't been hit by a magic spell.
Yet he was certain: if Ren had actually driven that fist through, his head would
have been torn clean off his shoulders!
Ren didn't pause to admire his work. He spun on his heel, wrapping his arms into
a heavy frame as a massive brute charged him from behind!
BAM!
Ren's boots ground into the asphalt, carving two deep furrows as he absorbed the
charge, sliding back half a meter before anchoring his weight. Veins corded
across his forearms.
"Nice. That's perfect!"
Ren bared his teeth in a savage grin, staring into the brute's furious eyes.
"Testing my speed was fun... but testing my strength? Man, I love this life..."
☆☆☆
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