"The tis have changed. This is no longer the age of samurai."
Hairo sneered at Kyojuro Rengoku as his gloved finger slowly pulled the trigger.
The mont the trigger clicked, the bullet scread through the air and shot toward Kyojuro almost instantly.
This was Kyojuro's first ti facing a firearm directly. Although he had been ntally prepared, the speed of the bullet was simply too fast. Even while maintaining Total Concentration Breathing, with his body pushed far beyond normal human limits, he still couldn't completely dodge it. He could only twist slightly to avoid a fatal hit.
The bullet tore into his shoulder. The terrifying force instantly interrupted his high-speed movent.
Lowering his head slightly, Kyojuro looked at his shoulder.
The wound itself was only a small hole left by the bullet, far smaller than the deep gashes caused by a Nichirin Sword. Yet this tiny piece of tal had pierced straight through his body, even shattering bone as it passed through.
He could clearly feel the spinning bullet's impact spreading violently throughout his body the instant it entered. Even though the wound was no larger than a thumb, the surrounding muscles and tissues had been stretched, torn, and crushed by the force.
Not only that, but even organs that hadn't been directly struck still felt the shockwave from the impact.
And this was only because the bullet had hit his shoulder—a relatively nonlethal location.
What if it had struck sowhere else?
As a human, Kyojuro understood all too well how fragile the body truly was. If that bullet had struck his chest or abdon, it could have collapsed a lung instantly, ruptured his liver or spleen, or torn through his intestines. Internal bleeding might not even be noticeable at first, but as it worsened, death would quickly follow.
And if it struck the heart or throat… death would co imdiately.
A chill ran through him as he gained a clearer understanding of how terrifying firearms truly were.
Seeing Hairo pull the trigger again, Kyojuro rolled to the side without a mont's hesitation.
Bang!
The bullet slamd into the spot where he had been standing monts before, dirt and debris exploding from the ground.
"Hahahaha!"
Watching Kyojuro dodge so awkwardly, Hairo burst into laughter.
"See that, Rengoku? That so-called Breathing Style you're so proud of, the Nichirin Sword you spent your entire life mastering—it can't even fight back against sothing as small as a firearm!"
Still laughing mockingly, Hairo suddenly produced a rifle. He worked the bolt with practiced ease and pulled the trigger again, bullets flying toward Kyojuro one after another while forcing him into desperate evasive maneuvers.
"A sword needs you to get close to kill. You need swings, strength, and your own flesh on the line. But firearms? All it takes is a pull of the trigger to completely destroy the swordsmanship you Hashira are so proud of."
"You devote your lives to training. You dedicate everything to improving your swordsmanship. But now… it's all aningless. No matter how hard you train, can you move faster than a bullet? The world has already abandoned people like you."
Hairo shouted his mockery wildly, mories surfacing in his mind.
Back when he was still human, he too had been a swordsman. He had trained in martial skill his entire life and had once believed no swordsman could ever lose to a gun.
But what happened in the end?
A soldier with no training at all had casually pulled a trigger and shattered all of his pride as a swordsman. Everything he had believed in was destroyed in an instant.
Only then had he realized—
No matter how refined one's swordsmanship beca, it could never defeat a gun.
Now, as he watched Kyojuro struggle beneath the storm of bullets, dodging in a way that looked almost pathetic, Hairo laughed louder and louder while continuously pulling the trigger.
Compared to the battered state of Kyojuro Rengoku—struck twice by bullets, breathing heavily as he endured both pain and the constant threat of death—Hairo appeared almost leisurely.
The demon calmly drew the two fully loaded pistols from his waist once more, their muzzles aid directly at the swordsman. Looking at the blood staining Rengoku's uniform and the disheveled state he had been reduced to, Hairo let out a mocking laugh.
"The era of the samurai was buried in the dirt long ago! Your swordsmanship, your convictions, that stupid talk of 'protecting others'—it's all a joke that shatters upon contact with lead."
His grin widened with savage delight.
"Now, it is the era of firearms. It is the era of Hairo!"
Before the final word had even faded, his fingers tightened on the triggers.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three shots rang out in rapid succession. The bullets ford a triangular pattern, sealing off every possible route of escape for Rengoku.
"Die!"
Kyojuro's pupils constricted sharply.
Three bullets: left, right, and center. A triangular cage that left no room for retreat, each moving too fast for the eye to track.
For Kyojuro, having survived countless life-and-death battles, his combat instincts were etched into his soul. He could easily sll the stench of death approaching.
The gunshot wound in his left shoulder was burning; the puncture in his right leg was bleeding; his lungs were screaming in silent protest from the strain of his Breathing Style.
His body was at its limit.
And yet—
He still had not closed his eyes.
The flas of Fla Breathing ignited once more within his chest, like hot oil poured over dying embers.
He could not retreat any further. If he kept falling back, eventually a bullet would strike a vital point and kill him.
Nor could he continue dodging forever. To keep evading was only to postpone death.
Kyojuro tightened his grip around the hilt of his Nichirin Sword and shifted the full weight of his body onto his rear leg. Fractured bones grated within his shoulder muscles, and agony shot through his spine like lightning, but he clenched his teeth and turned every ounce of pain into strength.
"Fla Breathing, Fourth Form—"
The flas coiling around the blade changed instantly. They no longer erupted violently outward, but instead twisted and flowed like living serpents of fire winding around the sword, every flicker perfectly controlled by the rhythm of his breathing.
"Blooming Fla Undulation!"
The blade flashed.
Steel collided with steel.
The flaming Nichirin sword struck the first bullet head-on, splitting the spinning projectile cleanly in two. The severed fragnts tore past Kyojuro's cheeks, leaving behind two thin trails of blood across his skin.
But that was only the first shot.
The second bullet was already upon him, aid directly at his chest.
After swinging his blade, there was no ti to recover his stance. Kyojuro twisted his waist violently, his body coiling like a tightened rope before exploding with force. The bullet scraped past his ribs, ripping open his uniform and scorching his flesh as it flew by.
But the third bullet—
He could not evade it.
It slamd into the left side of his abdon, just beneath the ribs.
For an instant, it felt as though a raging bull had crashed into him head-on. The impact shoved his entire body half a step backward as the spinning bullet tore through muscle and smashed against bone.
It was not a fatal wound.
But it was more than enough to drop an ordinary man.
Kyojuro Rengoku let out a muffled grunt as blood burst from the wound, instantly soaking the fabric at his waist.
Once the bullet entered his body, its force spread outward in violent waves, like ripples exploding across water after a stone had been hurled into it. His internal organs trembled from the shock, and nausea surged violently in his stomach.
But he remained standing.
Not even a single step backward.
The smile on Hairo's face froze completely.
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