His first strike having missed, Muramasa wasn't annoyed or frustrated. In fact, he was strangely relieved, muttering to himself:
Damn, I let my anger get the better of me. If I'd actually finished him in one shot, it would've been a pain to hunt down all the ronin who would have scattered…
"Who are you?"
Onishark didn't spare a glance for the subordinate who had collapsed in front of him. He stared warily at Muramasa, who stood motionless in the distance. Sweat had already soaked the cloth under his armor, making it feel heavy.
The pressure wasn't just coming from the enemy whose strength he couldn't gauge; it was also coming from his own men.
If he showed even a hint of weakness, these fair-weather thugs he'd gathered through intimidation would abandon him and flee in an instant.
Therefore, he had to maintain as calm a tone as possible, praying that his idiotic underlings wouldn't see through his wavering confidence.
I have to use them as meat shields to wear him down! It's my only chance to survive!
Though they stood as enemies, for a brief moment, the two men were united by a strangely similar goal.
"Senji Muramasa. Just a passing bladesmith."
A bladesmith?
Hearing this answer, the ignorant subordinates burst into roaring laughter, as if they had forgotten that the men who had been laughing with them moments ago were now corpses.
"A bladesmith! He's just a blacksmith! Hahahahaha—"
"You scared me! I thought it was someone from the Tenryou Commission!"
"Hey, look closer! You don't even have a Vision, do you?"
"What good is brute force? If you hadn't been hiding, one swing from each of us would've turned you into mincemeat!"
The loudest of the bunch were the first to jeer. Others snickered at his proclaimed profession but remained slightly more cautious.
But without exception, none of them chose to run.
This was, of course, thanks to Onishark's flawless acting, which was no different from his usual demeanor, and the authority he had built up over years of leading men at sea.
"Eleven against one. Don't you dare lose again."
Before the fools could think things through, Onishark gave the order, putting his cannon fodder to good use.
"You got it!" one of the hotheads immediately replied, forcing the others who were still hesitating to charge forward.
In an instant, the air was filled with battle cries as the oblivious mob rushed Muramasa from all directions.
"Got him!"
One ronin had already snuck behind Muramasa when Onishark arrived. Seeing the commotion at the front, he thought it was the perfect time to strike. He raised his weapon high, aiming for Muramasa's back.
This head is mine! They'll all be so jealous!
"So noisy. Who yells this loud during a sneak attack?"
Muramasa twisted the scabbard at his waist, aiming the opening behind him. Just as the blade was about to fall, he powerfully flicked his wrist. The tachi shot backward out of the scabbard, striking the attacker in the stomach.
"Gah—!"
The ambusher felt a sharp, searing pain in his abdomen. The weapon held high above his head froze in place.
Before the weapon could even fall, the scabbard was already swinging toward his face.
WHACK!
Even with Muramasa deliberately holding back, the man was sent flying by the blow. He spun several times in the air before crashing into a pile of straw by the road, unconscious.
But as a result, the scabbard broke in two.
"He's unarmed!" someone shouted, and the hesitant steps of the others finally became firm.
You have no weapon! How can you possibly fight us now?
The man at the front of the charge aimed his blade at Muramasa, who was still holding the broken half of his scabbard, and thrust forward. Seeing his target's body just inches away, a triumphant sneer spread across his face.
Swoosh.
Muramasa leaned his body to the side, letting the blade pass. As the man's momentum carried him forward, Muramasa crossed his arms and locked onto the man's elbow joint.
A sickening crunch echoed as Muramasa twisted the entire arm into four distinct sections.
"Arrrggghhh—"
Muramasa released his grip, and the vanguard collapsed to the ground, overcome by pain, momentarily stunning the men behind him.
"I had to put on quite a show to lure you all in."
Muramasa shifted his weight forward, exhaling a long breath, as if announcing the start of his attack.
He channeled all his strength into the balls of his feet, his toes gripping the ground, and launched himself like an arrow at the hesitating group.
Before they could even slow down, Muramasa had already kicked one man in the face, causing the two behind him to become human cushions before they could dodge.
A man to the side watched in stunned silence as his comrades fell, his long axe trembling in his hands, unsure what to do.
"Where are you looking?"
Muramasa's question snapped him back to reality. He turned his gaze just in time to see his own end approaching—
A fist like forged steel buried itself in his face, causing his once-puffy features to cave in like a bowl.
"Yah!"
Seeing more than half their comrades dead or wounded, a spear-wielding bandit, nearly scared out of his wits, thrust his weapon forward.
"Damn you!"
Another man quickly pulled a firebomb from his belt, lit it, and hurled it at Muramasa.
Muramasa remained unnervingly calm. With one hand, he caught the incoming spear shaft. With the other, he precisely snatched the still-flying firebomb out of the air.
He then brought his knee up, snapping the wooden spear shaft. Twisting at the waist, he spun once on his supporting leg and used the centrifugal force to hurl both captured weapons back.
The spearhead embedded itself in the body of the bandit who had thrown the firebomb. The man still holding the broken half of the spear felt a glass bottle shatter against his forehead and was instantly engulfed in flames.
...
From a distance, Onishark watched with growing horror. He was a seasoned pirate; he had seen his fair share of powerful warriors capable of taking on ten men.
But this man had no Vision. He wasn't using any elemental power. He wasn't even really using a weapon!
His original plan had been to use his men to buy time while he gathered enough Electro energy to strike his opponent down in a single blow.
However, he hadn't even finished gathering the energy, and his men were already on the verge of being completely wiped out.
Even if he wanted to run, considering the man's skill with a thrown blade, Onishark was certain that fleeing would just be choosing a different way to die.
"Hmm? Why the long face? You seemed so full of spirit a moment ago."
While Onishark's mind was racing, Muramasa had already finished off the last moving bandit. He then turned his gaze to Onishark, his eyes making it clear that his words were not a question. He didn't need an answer.
All Onishark had to do was quietly accept his fate.
That look, one that barely registered him as a threat, struck the deepest wound in the man's heart. It reminded him of why he had made a deal with "them" for this "Vision" in the first place.
It was all so that the people who looked down on him would finally see him as an equal!
"Don't you look down on me—"
Purple lightning erupted from his entire body. He stimulated every cell with elemental power, drawing out a force that threatened to completely exhaust his body's potential.
His skin began to peel away from the coursing electricity, blackened to a crisp by the arcing lightning. His eyes glowed with a violet light, and even the blade in his hands was wreathed in the purple flames of Electro energy.
"Hey, hey… at this rate, you'll die from overload even if I don't lift a finger."
As if his work was already done, Muramasa casually observed the man's condition. It was obvious that what stood before him was a cornered, dying beast.
"Heh heh, you're finally taking me seriously, aren't you? Even if I beat you now, I won't live for more than a few days, but—right now, I'm going to kill you!"
He brazenly raised his weapon. Unlike his men who left themselves wide open, he was fully committed to trading blow for blow, wound for wound.
"DIIIIE—!"
The tachi, carrying the weight of a thousand thunderbolts, swung down.
...
...
The expected clap of thunder and explosion never came.
"Huh?"
My all-out attack? The single strike I bet my entire life on? Why?
Onishark stared in bewilderment at his sword, only to find it had fallen to the ground at some point.
He looked at his hands. They were on the ground, too.
"There. It's over."
The red-haired man before him stated the jarring, objective fact in an abnormally calm tone. At that moment, all the strength left Onishark's legs, and his body slumped to the ground.
In that instant, something inside the pirate's heart shattered.
"W-wait—"
He hastily raised his severed arms, shouting, trying to delay the inevitable end.
"I get it, I get it! You're strong! I'm not going to live much longer anyway, so how about—!"
Muramasa looked at the sword in his hand, unmoved.
"Wait, wait… there's more! Don't you want to be stronger?"
Onishark watched as the blade in Muramasa's hand began to dissolve into particles, but all thoughts of resistance had vanished.
"You can't use elemental power yet, can you? I have a way—"
He saw Muramasa bend down and pick up his fallen weapon.
As he did, Onishark's voice grew louder, more desperate.
"The Fatui! I know the Fatui! As long as you—"
SHING—
With a single slice, the world fell silent.
Onishark's mouth continued to open and close, desperately trying to form words, but no sound came out. His perspective began to pan downwards: Muramasa, the ground, his own body.
"So noisy…" Muramasa said. "I swear, you're more of a nagging old geezer than I am."
-------
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