HISS. HISS.
A sound akin to a snake hissing filled the air, an unnatural noise generated by the blade cleaving through it.
The receptionist stood petrified, her expression bewildered, clearly not having processed what was happening.
She blinked, turning her head to try and get a better look, when a sharp pain from her neck shot swiftly to her brain.
Hazama Michio had drawn his sword, and the severed artery instantly gushed blood.
Bright red blood splattered on the walls and the reception desk.
The woman collapsed to the ground without a sound.
Hazama Michio gazed at the gleaming blade of his sword. Not a single drop of blood stained it; all the blood had slid off its surface.
This was a famed sword with a resonant name:
First Generation Onitsugu.
Hazama Michio turned and locked the entrance, then walked to the back door and locked it as well.
He placed the keys in his pocket, ensuring no one could escape.
