Chapter 74: The Swordsmanship of a Killer
Close-range slashes were Ryuzen's specialty. When he caught the breath of his target, even steel would part before his blade.
Sword energy—the flying slash—was also powerful. A direct hit meant certain severe injury or death.
But sword energy was easy to dodge. Particularly in a world of ninja skilled in instantaneous movement techniques. Ryuzen rarely used it as anything more than a tool—clearing obstacles, forcing reactions, controlling space.
Now, as his sword energy shredded the incoming senbon storm, Ryuzen's form vanished behind the crimson wave.
His Kenbunshoku Haki tracked Sasori perfectly. He sensed the puppeteer dodging sideways, avoiding the brunt of the attack—
SHUN—
He appeared at Sasori's flank, blade already swinging toward Hiruko's back. If the strike landed, both puppet and puppeteer would be bisected.
Sasori's puppet eyes widened. Hiruko's remaining scorpion tail stabbed into the ground, using the leverage to pivot the whole construct sideways—
BAM—CRACK!
But Ryuzen had read the move before it began. He twisted one hundred eighty degrees mid-swing, his left leg—coated in Armament Haki—snapping out in a kick that caught Hiruko square in the torso.
The puppet exploded.
Shards of wood and metal rained across the cave floor.
From the debris, a figure emerged—a young man with crimson hair, slender and handsome, wearing the black and red Akatsuki cloak. His features were startlingly young, his bearing that of an artist rather than a killer.
"Sasori!"
Chiyo's aged voice cracked. Her composure finally shattered at the sight of the young man overlaying her memory.
The Red Sand Scorpion glanced at her with a smile—no longer the deep voice of Hiruko, but something almost playful.
"Long time no see, Grandmother Chiyo."
He spread his arms slightly. "What's the matter? You look surprised. I suppose that's natural—it's been twenty years."
Chiyo's voice trembled. "Your body..."
"I made myself into eternal art."
SHING—
Silver light.
Sasori launched himself sideways as Ryuzen's blade carved through the space he'd occupied. He rolled, already producing a scroll from his cloak, one knee pressed to the ground.
He opened the scroll with practiced speed, crimson amber eyes fixed on Ryuzen.
"I've felt your swordsmanship now." His voice carried grudging respect. "Every move you make intends to kill. Your sword was born for murder."
He smiled—a thin, cold expression.
"As thanks for humiliating me so thoroughly, I'll show you my favorite collection."
POOF!
White smoke erupted.
When it cleared, a new puppet floated beside Sasori—clearly human once, its features frozen in a mask of eternal stillness.
Chiyo's eyes went impossibly wider. "That face... could it be..."
"Yes. This is the Third Kazekage—who went missing." Sasori raised his hands, fingers curling as if gripping invisible strings, his smile broadening. "I made him into eternal artistic beauty."
"Sasori, you—"
"Armament Draw!"
Ryuzen's voice cut through their reunion like a blade.
He had sheathed his sword. He had captured Sasori's moment of greatest vulnerability—the instant between revealing his masterpiece and fully bringing it to bear.
Sasori's entire form was exposed. Open. His breathing so heavy Ryuzen could trace it through every pore. One cut. One perfect cut at the breath point, and the puppeteer would split in two.
Because Sasori had already transformed himself into a puppet. No flesh to protect him. No regeneration to save him.
Ryuzen's feet struck the ground—ten times, more, in a single instant. Shave propelled him forward.
His form became a meteor trailing silver light.
Sasori's face twisted with genuine alarm. The sense of crisis was unprecedented. He had no time to command the Third Kazekage puppet. He could only throw himself sideways again—
But as he leaped, Ryuzen's figure froze mid-stride. His hand swept from his sword hilt in a wide arc.
SHING—BOOM!
Crescent sword energy, six or seven meters long, caught Sasori mid-air.
CRACK!
The puppet body shattered under the assault. The force of impact crushed Sasori's torso.
And through the dispersing sword energy, Ryuzen's pursuing form emerged—black blade extended, aimed unerringly at the heart of the Red Sand Scorpion.
THUNK.
The sword pierced through puppet flesh and stopped.
Just as Sasori had said.
Ryuzen's swordsmanship was the sword of a killer. The blade of a demon.
He had spared Neji once—because of Hinata, because of family, because that victory had already been decided without steel. Every other enemy, every other opponent, every other life that stood before his blade—he swung to kill.
He did not consider whether they were characters from the plot. He did not consider whether their deaths would alter events. He did not hesitate because allies stood nearby or because enemies spoke of family.
When the opportunity came, he took it. Without mercy. Without pause.
This was the foundation he laid for his swordsmanship. This was the path he would walk to its end.
One day, when his killing intent reached numbers beyond counting, when the murderous aura around him became a force of nature—he would not fear losing himself.
Because in the state of slaughter, and out of it, his swordsmanship remained the same.
A blade born to kill.
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