Obanai and Kyojuro teamed up once more to launch an attack.
However, a nerve seemed to have been struck within that demon. Even as he was left riddled with wounds by their blades, he gritted his teeth and endured the assault, desperately charging toward Natsunishi!
"Bastard! Does someone who uses a gun even count as a swordsman?!"
Hairo roared, tanking a slash from Obanai and using his body to violently ram him aside, while allowing Kyojuro to cleave away a large portion of his protective shadows. He flailed his arms wildly, summoning even more shadow spikes to strike at Natsunishi.
"I'm going to tear you to pieces and then humiliate you!" Hairo bellowed.
Natsunishi, meanwhile, slowly retreated while reloading his weapon. "Anyone who can kill a demon is a swordsman of the Demon Slayer Corps," he remarked.
Taking advantage of the momentary gap while Natsunishi reloaded, the demon suddenly accelerated, lunging directly in front of him!
As long as I protect my head with shadows... at this distance, even if I get shot, I can tear you apart first!
"American Breathing, Third Form—" Natsunishi murmured.
Hmph, it's that weak little iron pop-gun again! Hairo thought.
But then he saw Natsunishi raise his right fist. The gauntlet, crafted from the same material as a Nichirin Sword, shimmered with a faint, scorching halo under the moonlight.
It wasn't a gun—
Wait, his fist is on fire?!
Flame Breathing
Self-Style: Funi-uchi (The Peerless Strike)
Civility has Tai Chi to stabilize the world; martial arts has Bajiquan to settle the universe.
A terrifying power surged up from the earth, using Natsunishi's body as a bridge to slam violently into the demon's shell! It was a simple, concise, and swift fist of absolute ferocity.
In the next instant, a thunderous crack echoed through the air. The demon, significantly larger than Natsunishi, looked as if he had been struck by a runaway train. He was sent flying like a tattered rag, his chest caved in by a massive indentation from the iron fist.
But it wasn't over yet.
A second later, Natsunishi's hand lightly touched the hilt of his sword, Red Braised Beef Cutter, at his waist.
Thunder Breathing
First Form: Thunderclap and Flash
Lightning tore through the night. A straight trajectory of light and electricity was carved across the street.
The demon desperately mobilized all his shadow power, narrowly avoiding decapitation. However, his body was still sliced diagonally into upper and lower halves, crashing heavily onto the ground.
"Despicable coward! Using Western guns, and now fists and feet! Someone like you is not fit to be a samurai!"
The demon seemed to hate Natsunishi more than he feared death itself. Even cut in two, he continued to howl and curse.
Natsunishi, on the other hand, found it amusing. He wasn't annoyed; the demon's "friendly" remarks didn't even qualify as trash talk.
"What? Does someone who gains power by eating people and fires hidden shots from the shadows have the right to be a samurai?"
Hairo snarled, "Eating people? I am a demon! It is only natural for demons to eat humans!"
"And that's why you're a monster. A deviant, alien race." Natsunishi thrust his Nichirin Sword into the demon's chest, drawing a pained cry. "But a human—no matter if their appearance is marred, no matter if their birth was noble or lowly—as long as their heart turns toward the light and they fight as a human... they will forever be human."
Beside them, Obanai stiffened, looking at Natsunishi with a complex expression. Natsunishi seemed to glance at him sideways before continuing to address Hairo.
He said flatly, "His mouth is a bit ugly, sure, but he's nothing like you man-eating monsters."
Obanai: ?
Wait, you're just calling me ugly now, aren't you?! Give me back my moment of being moved!
"Aaaaah!!"
Hairo was utterly enraged, yet he knew he was no match for the three of them combined, especially since he feared Natsunishi, who was far stronger than him. Thick shadows welled up from beneath his severed torso. In the next second, his body instantly vanished into the deepest shadow beneath him, his presence rapidly fading away.
I'll remember you, you cursed swordsman! Just wait... after I get more blood and gather even more powerful firearms! I will definitely tear you into ten thousand pieces!
"He's escaping!" Kyojuro cried urgently, preparing to give chase.
Natsunishi, however, didn't seem hurried at all. He took his time stowing his pistol and even brushed off non-existent dust from his sleeve. He turned to Obanai and asked, "Did you apply it?"
The snake-boy turned his face away somewhat unnaturally. "Mhm."
Kyojuro was confused. What secret code are Big Brother and Obanai speaking in?
Only a few breaths after Natsunishi spoke, a shrill, wretched scream echoed from the shadows of an alley a dozen meters away! Hairo was violently squeezed out of the darkness, stumbling as he collapsed onto the road. He clutched his waist desperately.
There was a wound there—not deep, yet stained with an eerie purple-black hue. It was the result of Obanai's crafty thrust from earlier. Now, the flesh around the wound was rapidly disintegrating, the purple-black color spreading fast.
"Poison... your blade?!" Hairo stared at Obanai in horror.
Obanai's sword was a standard Nichirin blade. However, inspired by Natsunishi, he had attempted to coat his blade with a special paralytic toxin provided by Shinobu Kocho, specifically designed for demon cells. The dosage wasn't high enough to be lethal, but it could severely interfere with a demon's regeneration and Blood Demon Arts. After such a long, intense battle, it had finally spread through his entire body.
Hairo was stunned. How are these swordsmen so despicable?! Not only is there one with a gun, but there's another deviant who poisons his blade?! Where is your swordsman's spirit?! Where is your samurai soul?!
"Mister, shadow-sneaking... consumes a lot of stamina, doesn't it?" Natsunishi leisurely drew his blade, Jinmai-Kiri, and walked toward Hairo, who could no longer transform into shadow to escape due to the toxin. "Doesn't the feeling of poison rushing through your blood feel quite refreshing?"
Hairo slumped on the ground, watching Natsunishi approach. The figure's shadow stretched longer and longer under the moonlight until it finally looked down upon him. The demon fell into deeper despair.
I'm going to die...
For some reason, in the final moments of his life, Hairo seemed to gain a moment of clarity and asked the question that had troubled him for so long. "Swordsman, tell me! Our Far Eastern katana and the Western gun... which one is truly stronger?"
Natsunishi raised his blade, a look of confusion on his face. I'm not even from the Far East—
He thought about it. With the development of technology, guns and cannons were obviously stronger. But as for whether the Samurai or Gunslinger class was stronger in a game? Considering the demon was about to provide him with a fair amount of experience, Natsunishi gave a somewhat serious answer.
"If you really have to compare... it depends on the game version and who spent more money on microtransactions."
Hairo: ?
What does that even mean?
In a state of extreme confusion and resentment, Hairo's vision was completely severed by an arc of light.
[Proficiency +329]
[Thunder Breathing] LV.4 (3516/4000)
[Flame Breathing] LV.3 (117/2000)
The battle ended, and the late-night street returned to silence. Kyojuro had already relaxed, but Obanai remained with his head bowed, his back to the two of them. He was trembling slightly, his hands fumbling futilely with the bandages at his neck. However, the bandages had been completely destroyed during the battle; no matter how he pulled at them, they could no longer hide his face.
"Obanai, I—" Kyojuro's voice was filled with apology and uncertainty. He clearly realized that the words he had blurted out earlier had hurt his friend. "About earlier... I'm very sorry!"
"It's ugly, isn't it," Obanai's voice was low and raspy. The cold air rushed into the slits of his mouth, making his voice sound even stranger. "This scar... like a curse, just like those demons."
He couldn't finish his sentence. Natsunishi had walked over, offering no comfort. He simply raised his hand and clapped it hard on Obanai's shoulder, the force making the boy stumble.
"What are you muttering about? If you're ugly, you're ugly. So what?"
Obanai stared at him. Do you even know how to talk to people?!
Natsunishi's voice became a bit more serious. "Do you know how many people in Gotham would kill for a smile like yours? With a face like that, just dye your hair green and put on a purple suit. I guarantee your 'turn-around rate' in Morioh Town would be higher than Kyojuro's."
Kyojuro blinked. How did I get dragged into this?
Obanai felt a vein throb in his forehead. This senior was saying nonsensical, aggravating things again. Didn't he see he was suffering?
"Anyway, just treat scars on a man's face as combat medals. Look at the current Nine Hashira—aside from Shinjuro, whose face is actually intact?"
Obanai thought about it. Is that so? He had only met Mr. Shinjuro and hadn't seen the other Hashira. But since his senior said so, it was likely true.
Natsunishi looked at the exposed slits in Obanai's cheeks and suddenly rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "But then again, once my medical skills improve or I master some 'Medical Aesthetics' or 'Plastic Surgery' skills, I can try to help you stitch and restore it. For now, the bandages are fine. You look pretty rebellious, and you're used to wearing them anyway."
Obanai was speechless. His surging gloom, self-loathing, and shame were scattered to the winds by Natsunishi's mix of sharp-tongued remarks and wild promises. The snake-boy fell silent, while only Kaburamaru rubbed gently against his neck.
It was then that—
Rip.
Kyojuro silently tore a corner of his clothing and handed the fabric to Obanai. Obanai took it silently, his fingers much steadier as he used it along with the remaining bandages to re-wrap his face. Through the fabric, the world seemed to become safe again.
He turned toward the two of them and spoke in a voice that was almost inaudible. "...Thank you."
Immediately after, he saw Natsunishi pull a fresh roll of bandages from his pack.
Natsunishi: "Oh, I forgot I had these."
Obanai: "Why didn't you say so earlier?!"
Did Kyojuro tear his clothes for nothing?!
The owl-like youth seemed to sense Obanai's frustration and spoke loudly and generously, "Don't mention it!"
The moonlight was cold, illuminating the way back. And the ice that had been frozen in Obanai's heart for so long seemed to have been cracked by something clumsy yet warm.
Two truly troublesome and 'dazzling' guys.
But... the feeling wasn't bad.
-----------------------------------------------
I handpick only the finest and most captivating novels for you. Don't forget to check out my other novels!
p@treon HongMengZi