CHAPTER 322: THE DARK HORSE

 

The preliminary round of the Shurasaki Festival was being fought on the Battlefield of Scattered Blossoms.

Roughly an hour had passed since the opening bell rang.

Shouts resounded in every direction as warriors fiercely crossed blades. Yet there was one area alone where silence was gradually returning.

「Hozuki Retsuma… If I defeat you, my fame as a warrior will—G-Gah!!」

Another warrior fell.

Cut down without so much as a dramatic sound, he pitched forward and collapsed onto the ground.

The man silently picked up the Oni Tag that had spilled from his chest and tucked it away at his waist.

The only one left standing amid the bodies strewn across the ground was Hozuki Retsuma.

A former Shurasaki Festival champion, a survivor of the Naraka Dungeon, and the undisputed favorite to win this year’s tournament.

「That makes five.」

He flicked the blood from the katana in his hand and slid it back into its sheath.

His breathing remained perfectly steady, and even the amount of blood spattered across him was minimal. His kimono had acquired a few more cuts, but the fighting spirit burning in his eyes had not changed in the slightest since the battle began.

The strongest of the new generation.

Some even called him that.

That was the caliber of warrior Hozuki Retsuma was.

「A-Are you some kind of monster…?」

One of the warriors crawling across the ground muttered through a pained grimace.

Retsuma cast him a brief glance and gave a small nod.

「That wasn’t a bad fight.」

With only those words, he turned on his heel.

He had gathered the five Oni Tags he needed.

Only one task remained.

Return to Amane-kyo’s eastern gate and secure his place in the main tournament.

Several others had likely qualified already, but it was still early enough to make it through with plenty of time to spare.

Even so, Retsuma did not let down his guard. At the same time, a faint smile played across his lips. It was an expression of his excitement at the prospect of encountering powerful opponents he had yet to meet in the main tournament.

This year really is shaping up to be interesting. I hear even the grandson of that War God is competing.

The man who bore the Doumeki name had apparently honed his skills in another country before traveling to Bukyo.

Powerful warriors were beginning to rise to prominence not only in Bukyo, but in other nations as well.

That is precisely why I must win—to claim the title of strongest…

With that thought in mind, Retsuma continued walking through the white mist—until his feet suddenly stopped.

A lone man was sitting beside the road leading to the eastern gate.

「…」

Shoulder-length black hair tied back in a rough, uneven knot.

An unkempt beard that had been allowed to grow wild.

A threadbare indigo kimono.

A single katana at his waist and a sake-filled gourd in his left hand.

With a kiseru between his lips, the man remained seated atop a small rock and exhaled smoke as though he were merely admiring the scenery.

It was as if he had gone out for a leisurely stroll.

His appearance was a tranquil scene from everyday life, utterly at odds with this battlefield where warriors were fighting for their lives.

Who is he?

Retsuma furrowed his brow.

He had never seen the man before.

And yet, he could not take his eyes off him.

I can’t sense… anything?

Fighting spirit.

Bloodlust.

Intimidation.

The desire to fight.

Retsuma could sense none of them from the man before him.

Here on the Battlefield of Scattered Blossoms, in the middle of the Shurasaki Festival, every warrior possessed a certain distinctive presence.

Yet it was completely absent from this man.

The sheer incongruity of it was profoundly unsettling. There was no other way to describe it.

All the same, Retsuma continued walking.

The road ahead led to the eastern gate, and from there to the main tournament.

He had no reason to avoid it.

「Excuse me.」

He spoke as he attempted to pass the man.

That was when—

「Sorry.」

The man spoke in a low voice without removing the kiseru from his lips.

「Leave them there for me.」

Retsuma turned his gaze toward him.

「…Leave what?」

「Your Oni Tags.」

That was all.

He said it as casually as though asking Retsuma to pick up a stone lying on the ground.

Retsuma could not help laughing as he answered.

「I refuse.」

「And you’re sure about that?」

The man did not grow angry.

Nor did he appear impatient.

He merely took a swig of sake and let out a weary sigh.

「Guess it can’t be helped, then.」

His tall frame slowly rose from the rock.

The body visible beneath his kimono had clearly undergone a respectable amount of training.

Nevertheless, at first glance, he looked like an ordinary wandering swordsman one might find anywhere.

And yet—

Why?

A chill ran down Retsuma’s spine as they faced each other.

Only the instincts he had honed throughout his life as a warrior screamed that the man before him was dangerous.

「Tell me your name.」

「Genma.」

A terse answer.

He offered no family name.

He was likely a wanderer.

「Hozuki Retsuma.」

Retsuma introduced himself in return as a matter of courtesy.

「I know.」

Genma murmured while idly twirling his kiseru around one finger.

「A former champion and a contender for the title of Bukyo’s strongest, right?」

He paused there before continuing with a faint smile.

「…I’m expecting just a little from you.」

To a warrior of Bukyo, those were the ultimate fighting words.

After all, Genma had all but declared Retsuma to be beneath him.

For the first time in ages, heat stirred within Retsuma’s heart, and the corners of his mouth unconsciously curled upward.

「Then I shall live up to your expectations.」

The next instant, Retsuma disappeared.

It was the fastest and most powerful opening move in the Hozuki Style.

With a single instantaneous step, he erased the distance between them and simultaneously drew the two swords at his waist.

Two white arcs tore through the mist as the blades closed in on Genma.

It was perfect.

There was no possible way to evade them.

Retsuma was certain of it.

—And yet…

「…!?」

The resistance that should have come a heartbeat later never arrived.

Genma was no longer standing where he should have been.

He had merely shifted his body half a step to the side.

He saw through it on the first try!?

Though astonishment rang through his mind, Retsuma’s expression never wavered as he immediately launched another attack.

A second strike.

A third.

A fourth.

A fifth.

The swords of the Hozuki Style howled as they repeatedly tore through the mist.

Yet not one of those mighty blows reached Genma.

Genma merely swayed, lazily shifting his weight.

Half a step.

A slight tilt of his body.

That alone sent every slash carving through empty air.

To anyone watching, it might have looked as though he were simply strolling through a storm of sword strikes.

Even more astonishingly, the attacker was the one being forced backward.

It was a sight that defied all reason.

And the man wielding those blades was none other than Hozuki Retsuma.

What is this man!?

This was a first.

Never before had he faced an opponent against whom his sword was so utterly useless.

But at that moment, Retsuma’s natural genius allowed him to make a split-second decision.

He stacked three layers of physical reinforcement over his body and released his mana all at once.

The ground groaned, and the air trembled.

He was truly putting everything he had into this.

Abandoning all restraint and giving no thought to what came afterward, Retsuma prepared the most powerful strike he could unleash at that moment.

「Hozuki Style Secret Art—」

It happened then.

For the first time, Genma removed the kiseru from his lips and spun it once between his fingertips—

Then casually tossed it into the air.

「…!?」

The kiseru slowly spun above them.

Everything seemed to slow, as though that moment had been cut free from time itself.

Genma placed his hand upon the katana at his waist.

Then, just as he took a single step—

—Ching.

Only the quiet chime of a blade being sheathed reached Retsuma’s ears.

「…Huh?」

Retsuma’s vision lurched, and his knees buckled beneath him.

Several heartbeats later, his chest split open and fresh blood began to seep from the wound.

He had not seen it.

Not the draw.

Not the slash.

Not even the blade returning to its sheath.

「Guh…!」

His breath caught in his throat.

The wound was deep, but not fatal.

But Retsuma understood.

If he’d wanted me dead, I’d be dead.

Without looking back, Genma caught the falling kiseru in one hand.

He placed it back between his lips as though nothing had happened and took a long draw.

The smoke he slowly exhaled dissolved into the white mist.

He then picked up the Oni Tags that had rolled to Retsuma’s feet, one after another.

Five.

After confirming the count, Genma adjusted the kiseru between his lips and started walking toward the eastern gate.

As he passed Retsuma, he left him with a single remark.

「Thanks for all the hard work.」

He showed no sign of triumph.

Nor did he appear disappointed.

As though he had never possessed the slightest interest in his opponent from the beginning, he simply continued walking toward the eastern gate.

「…Wait.」

Retsuma somehow forced the hoarse word from his throat.

He tried to rise on trembling legs, but his body refused to obey.

「What… are you…?」

Genma did not even look back.

Only the white smoke escaping his lips dissolved into the morning mist.

The wandering swordsman’s back slowly disappeared beyond the veil of white.