The dojo masters on the right side erupted in fury. A burly, red-faced man with a massive build stepped forward, gripping a strange weapon—a long-handled sickle-chain with a razor-sharp sickle blade on one end and a heavy iron ball on the other.
"Flying Swallow Sickle-Chain Style—Shimazu Shigekuni!"
He planted himself opposite Isshin, stance wide, chain rattling faintly as the sickle and iron ball positioned themselves to seal off any side-step or dodge.
Isshin's expression didn't change. He answered simply:
"Ashina Style, Isshin."
The moment the words left his mouth, Shimazu Shigekuni moved.
With a flick of his wrist, the heavy iron ball whistled out first, carving a wide arc toward the ground beside Isshin to cut off his footing and create chaos. At the same time, he lunged forward, and the real killing move—the sickle—shot out like a striking viper, silent and razor-sharp, aiming straight for Isshin's ankle.
Mid-to-long range control paired with a sudden lethal strike. This was the essence of the sickle-chain style.
Isshin's eyes narrowed. In the split second the iron ball slammed into the floor and the sickle came slashing in, his feet danced in a rapid, flowing pattern. His body swayed like a willow in the wind, dodging the sickle's tricky arc by the narrowest margin. He then took half a step back, perfectly slipping outside the iron ball's rebound range.
Shimazu Shigekuni saw the first strike miss and immediately changed tactics. He yanked the chain back with a metallic rattle. Sickle and iron ball criss-crossed in mid-air like living things—one slashing at the head, the other sweeping at the legs—in a relentless wave of attacks.
But Isshin had already seen through the deceptive rhythm.
He stopped retreating. In the razor-thin gap between the chain's old force fading and the new force rising, he suddenly stepped forward. This time, his katana left its sheath completely.
Shing!
The blade flashed like a snow-white waterfall. It wasn't aimed at the chain or sickle. Instead, it took an even faster, straighter path—thrusting directly at Shimazu Shigekuni's centerline, the one spot he had to leave exposed while controlling the chain.
Attack as defense. Straight to the vitals!
Shimazu Shigekuni's face twisted in shock. He frantically pulled the chain back to block while twisting his body sideways.
Clang!
The katana's tip stabbed into the middle of the hastily returning chain, sending sparks flying everywhere.
Isshin's wrist shook. The overwhelming force transmitted straight through the chain. Shimazu Shigekuni felt his palms burn, the chain nearly slipping from his grip.
Isshin's blade didn't stop. The instant the thrust was blocked, he pressed downward. The flat of the sword slid along the chain and slammed heavily into the exposed spot beneath Shimazu Shigekuni's ribs.
Bam!
"Ugh!" Shimazu Shigekuni let out a pained grunt. His massive body shuddered violently. He staggered backward, the sickle-chain technique collapsing completely, leaving him wide open.
Isshin closed in like a shadow and delivered a clean, explosive kick straight into his chest and abdomen.
Thud!
Shimazu Shigekuni was sent flying. His back slammed into the dojo wall with a heavy crash. He slid down slowly, the sickle-chain clattering from his hands. For a moment, he couldn't stand back up.
Another fight, over in a single exchange. Clean and decisive.
These guys really do use all kinds of weird weapons… Are they even swordsmen?
Isshin thought to himself with a mental sigh.
The dojo had fallen into complete silence. The remaining dojo masters now wore deep wariness and solemn expressions.
Yagyu Souichirou remained seated at the head position, his face as calm as still water, as if the outcome in the center of the floor hadn't stirred even the slightest ripple in his heart.
His gaze swept across the silent dojo masters on both sides. His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried an invisible pressure:
"Does anyone else wish to step forward and instruct this young swordsman who has come from afar?"
The dojo masters exchanged glances. Some subconsciously looked away. Others lowered their heads and fiddled with already-neat collars. A few coughed lightly and stroked their beards with feigned profundity, pretending to ponder deeply.
For a moment, the only sounds in the dojo were the faint rustle of clothing and an awkward, heavy silence.
The earlier bold outrage had completely vanished.
"Hmph!"
A deep, muffled snort suddenly shattered the stillness. Yagyu Souichirou's towering figure rose from his seat. The wide hem of his haori fluttered without wind.
He didn't look at anyone. His right foot simply tapped, almost casually, against the end of the pitch-black iron staff lying beside him.
Whoosh!
The unbelievably heavy iron staff flew up as if weightless, spinning into a blur of black shadow that screamed toward the center of the dojo!
At almost the exact same instant, Yagyu Souichirou moved.
His massive body exploded with speed that completely defied his size. He shot forward, overtaking the staff mid-air. His huge right hand reached out and seized the spinning weapon with absolute precision.
No declaration. No greeting. Not even a glance exchanged.
Yagyu Souichirou was already in the air. Borrowing the momentum of his charge and descent, he gripped the iron staff with both hands and brought it crashing down toward Isshin in the center of the floor with the force to split mountains and shatter rocks!
Wooooom!
The iron staff tore through the air with a heavy, mournful howl, as if even the atmosphere itself was being crushed and pushed aside!
The staff hadn't even arrived, but the pure, savage, suffocating wind pressure was already slamming forward, violently whipping Isshin's bangs backward.
Facing this thunderous strike, Isshin's eyes didn't show the slightest fear. Instead, they burned with blazing battle intent.
His muscles swelled. He didn't dodge or retreat. With a low shout, he gripped his katana with both hands and swung upward in a simple, unadorned reverse slash, pouring every ounce of his strength into the blow.
"Come!"
CLANG!!!!!!!
Blade and staff collided, producing a terrifying metallic explosion far louder than any previous clash—loud enough to nearly shatter eardrums! Blinding sparks detonated like fireworks!
A monstrous, savage force surged down the blade. Isshin's specially made hard-soled boots scraped violently against the stone floor with an ear-piercing screech. He was forced backward more than three feet, carving two clear grooves into the ground.
His arms tingled, blood and Cakra roiling inside him, but his heart only grew sharper—and more excited.
What terrifying strength!
But the one even more shocked was Yagyu Souichirou himself. He had put everything into this downward strike, striking first from above, yet this youth had actually blocked it head-on!?
Worse, the counter-shock coming from the other end of the staff was heavy, brutal, and savage enough to make his massive arms tremble for a split second, nearly losing his grip!
How is this possible?!
Born with divine strength and decades of bitter training, a single swing from him could shatter boulders and steel. Ordinary warriors crumbled on contact. Yet not only had this youth blocked it—he had even sent a counter-force back at him?
"Excellent strength!" Yagyu Souichirou couldn't help roaring. His shock instantly transformed into blazing battle spirit.
His arms bulged like steel cables. He pulled the staff back and thrust it forward like a venomous dragon bursting from its cave, aiming straight for Isshin's chest and abdomen!
Faster. More condensed. More lethal!
"Come on!" Isshin laughed loudly, as if his primal ferocity had finally been ignited.
He advanced instead of retreating, twisting his waist and hips. He turned the blade sideways, using the wide guard and spine as a shield, and met the thrust head-on once more!
BANG!!!
A muffled crash like two giant bells colliding rang out. Isshin's body shook violently. The stone slabs beneath his feet cracked and spread outward. Yagyu Souichirou was also forced back a step by the recoil.
Their eyes met. There was no longer any probing or hesitation—only the purest, most primal clash of raw power and savage will!
Bam! Bam! Bam! Clang! Clang! Clang!
The center of the dojo had turned into the eye of a storm!
Isshin completely abandoned finesse and technique. His swordplay became wide and ferocious, every strike carrying overwhelming power and the shriek of torn air—slashing, chopping, sweeping—crashing against the spinning black iron staff with no tricks whatsoever!
Yagyu Souichirou's staff technique was even more wild and tyrannical, raining down blows like a mountain avalanche, displaying the aesthetics of pure, overwhelming force to their absolute limit.
Shattered stone flew everywhere. Dust and smoke filled the air.
Every collision made the entire dojo tremble. The spectators were forced to keep retreating, their faces filled with pure horror.
This was no longer the refined, technical sword duel they knew. This was two humanoid beasts locked in the most savage, brutal contest of strength!
Yet, in the middle of this suffocating exchange, the waves of shock inside Yagyu Souichirou grew more and more violent.
The youth before him wasn't just matching his power—he was contesting it head-on, blow for blow, with equal ferocity.