Kurogane Ida was direct and pragmatic. The mont he saw no chance of victory, he conceded. Gekkō Hoshiyomi watched the outco with so regret. The man had clearly underestimated Mifune's combat capability, wrongly assuming that his greatest strength lay in his high-speed movent technique. He had failed to realize that Mifune's Iaijutsu was even deadlier than his Instant Step.
If Kurogane had calculated better—if he had opened with a sustained barrage of Earth Release attacks to wear Mifune down—he might've stood a chance. But in betting everything on one decisive gambit, he had only succeeded in eliminating himself from the match.
With that battle concluded, the next match was already set—Hoshiyomi vs. Kitada Asuka.
After the staff quickly repaired the stage using Earth Release scrolls, the two combatants stepped slowly onto the arena platform.
Kitada Asuka's appearance wasn't striking—at best, she was above average in looks—but her presence was unmistakable. A unique aura radiated from her, a blend of quiet frailty and steely willpower. That paradox made her stand out more than beauty ever could.
As the only female among the tournant's top 50, Asuka had a larger fan following than even Hoshiyomi. Male spectators were drawn to her quiet strength masked in fragility. Female fans were moved by her resilience.
This match, more than any other, had beco the centerpiece of anticipation.
As she reached the center of the arena, Asuka quietly undid the clasp of the cloak wrapped around her body. The fact that she still needed such a cloak in mild weather made it obvious how weak her constitution truly was.
As she removed it, a gust of wind blew through, carrying with it leftover dust from the last match. Asuka inhaled it by accident and was imdiately overtaken by a fit of violent coughing.
Instinctively, she raised a handkerchief to her lips. When she pulled it away, a vivid sar of blood marked the cloth.
From the sidelines, the Land of Iron's leader visibly tensed, his teacup nearly shattering in his grip. Hoshiyomi's brows furrowed.
"Your body's already at its limit," he said. "You shouldn't be fighting. What you need now is good rest. Co back to fight when you've recovered."
But Asuka's response was cold and unwavering.
"I cannot simply hand victory to soone else. From the mont I stepped into this tournant, I've known my path—either fight to the end, or die here on the platform. There is no other option."
Seeing her stubbornness, Hoshiyomi's voice softened, though his conviction remained.
"Why push yourself like this? You're still young. Your path is long. With your talent, if you just rest and recover, you could beco the first female swordmaster in the history of the Land of Iron. Why rush to prove yourself now?"
He ant what he said. He had no intention of throwing the match, but neither did he wish to see such talent extinguished here. Asuka had the potential for a future far beyond this tournant. She wasn't ant to fall on this stage.
At the ntion of "first female swordmaster in history," her slender fra visibly trembled.
But after a long pause, she answered in a voice laced with steel:
"Spare the platitudes. Words can't shake my resolve. I have no future left to speak of.
My illness is congenital. I've searched every corner of the Land of Iron. No healer has been able to help. I have maybe two, three years left.
Rather than die in a bed—helpless—I'd rather fight until my last breath on this stage.
I may never be the first woman to earn the title of swordmaster…
But I'll show the people of the Land of Iron that a woman can stand at the peak of the Kenjutsu world.
If I can do that—I'll die without regret.
So don't console . Don't hold back.
If you see as your opponent, then fight with everything you've got."
Hoshiyomi was silent for a long mont. Then, slowly, he smiled—a quiet, unreadable smile.
He reached behind him, unsheathed Mikazuki Munechika, and pointed it directly at her.
Asuka, seeing the motion, followed suit. She unsheathed her blade—Shirasagi, the White Heron.
"Whether you understand or mock —it doesn't matter. Today, I'll prove myself on this platform with this blade."
The mont Kitada Asuka's words fell, both of them moved simultaneously..
With a flash of steel and the sharp sound of clashing tal, the two figures t at the center of the arena.
After just one exchange, both drew back, surprised.
Hoshiyomi was struck by her footwork—quick, fluid, sharp. Asuka, anwhile, was stunned by the sheer force behind his strike.
But what caught Hoshiyomi's attention most was the familiar motion in her step.
It was subtle—but unmistakable.
Shunpo (Instant Step)...
A normal opponent wouldn't have caught it. But Hoshiyomi had been studying Mifune's every step since the start of the tournant, carefully analyzing the master's movent.
He saw it imdiately—the shared lineage between their styles.
"You and Mifune—are you from the sa school?" he asked.
Asuka coughed silently into her throat, suppressing the blood building behind her lips. She steadied herself and replied with composure:
"Yes. He's my senior.
But we're nothing alike. If you try to fight as if I were him—you'll lose, and it won't be pretty."
With that, she scoffed and leapt back.
Her blade slashed outward—a precise, accelerating arc.
Retreating Splitting Slash. Nearly identical to Mifune's.
The strike ca fast. Relentless.
Hoshiyomi had no choice but to block—but it didn't end there.
Asuka pressed in, following with a flurry of attacks—each one sharper and faster than the last.
She fought like a storm.
Her blade was light, but swift. And each strike was wrapped in Wind Release chakra, giving her an edge in both speed and sharpness.
Now Hoshiyomi was truly feeling the pressure.
For all his "system" advantages, Asuka was the real thing.
She had abandoned the traditional Iaijutsu stance that her senior practiced. Instead, she forged her own path—one of relentless speed, enhanced by wind chakra, designed to overwhelm and dismantle.
But what made her truly terrifying was her precision.
Even in the middle of her storm of strikes, every single blow targeted the exact sa spot.
A technique designed to break blades.
Only Mikazuki Munechika, forged from rare tals and embedded fragnts of the Sage of Six Paths' armants, could survive such an onslaught without chakra reinforcent.
Any ordinary ninja blade would've splintered under that kind of relentless assault.
But Hoshiyomi had his own problem.
Still burdened by his weighted training gear, all he could do was defend. He couldn't counter. Not like this.
If he didn't shed the weights soon, defeat was certain.
With a sharp breath, Hoshiyomi made his move.
He caught her next strike with his forearm—weights still strapped—and pushed her blade aside with raw strength.
Then, rolling to the side, he broke away.
He didn't bother unbuckling the weights.
Instead, he took Mikazuki Munechika, and with one clean slash, cut through the tight-fitted suit beneath his uniform.
Clang. Thud. Bang.
One by one, heavy plates dropped onto the arena floor.
The audience gasped.
Even Asuka stood stunned.
Her eyes locked onto the heap of steel at his feet.
He was fighting like that—with all that weight?
This guy… is he even human?
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