"You!" The disciples of the Shinkishin Meichi School turned livid at his words, ready to teach this reckless fool a lesson for daring to mock their master's name.
"All right, all right." Isshin acted as though he hadn't noticed them getting ready to attack. "Your master sent you to show me the way, not to fight me. Don't waste time. Lead on."
His calm, faintly impatient manner left the disciples, who'd been straining to vent their anger, feeling as if they'd swallowed it whole.
The lead disciple glared at him viciously. His chest heaved a few times, but in the end, he remembered his master's clear instructions. With a heavy snort, he forced down his anger, turned around, and spat out a single curt word:
"Move!"
The group made their way along Red Armor City's broad streets. The atmosphere was silent and tense, and the disciple leading them strode ahead briskly, as if he hoped to leave the trouble behind through sheer speed.
Isshin followed at an unhurried pace, his gaze passing over the rows of smithies and sword shops along the street. He listened to the rhythmic clang of metal coming from inside, his expression calm, as if he were simply out sightseeing.
Before long, they arrived at a large estate with a solemn air, located within the city.
Black tiles and white walls surrounded it. Above its tall gate hung a plaque bearing the four characters "Shinkishin Meichi," written in bold, powerful strokes. After passing through the gate and crossing a meticulously maintained garden, they reached the main dojo.
The dojo was spacious. At that moment, more than a dozen people sat along either side of it—middle-aged men and elders, all with composed auras and dressed in different styles.
Some had their arms folded across their chests; others sat upright with perfect composure. Their gazes were sharp as lightning, all fixed on Isshin as he entered the dojo.
They were all prominent dojo masters or renowned instructors from Red Armor City. An invisible pressure filled the air, and the place was so solemn that one could have heard a pin drop.
At the front of the dojo sat a middle-aged man, exceptionally tall and burly, built like an iron tower. He wore a dark gray kendo uniform beneath a plain haori. His square face had rugged features, and his eyes were half closed beneath thick brows, as if he were dozing.
What drew the eye most was the round iron staff resting beside him. It was pitch-black, made of some unidentifiable material, and even lying still, it had a weighty presence that was impossible to ignore.
This man was none other than Soichiro Yagyu, founding patriarch of the Shinkishin Meichi School, president of the Red Armor City Swordsmanship Association, and Swordsaint.
The disciple who had led Isshin there hurried forward and respectfully addressed Soichiro Yagyu from beside him. "Master, I've brought him."
Soichiro Yagyu slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was not especially sharp or intimidating, but it was deep as an ancient well, imbued with the authority and insight accumulated over many years. He calmly looked at Isshin, who stood in the middle of the dojo.
The dojo fell utterly silent. All the watching dojo masters and instructors held their breath, waiting for the Swordsaint to speak as they scrutinized the young upstart who had dared to challenge his way here.
"You've challenged more than twenty dojos across eight cities, from south to north. Tell me, why have you done this?"
Soichiro Yagyu did not immediately make a move. He let his deep gaze rest on Isshin for a moment before speaking slowly.
"To temper the sword in my hand and test the path in my heart. Besides..." Isshin paused, his voice steady. "I intend to establish a dojo here in the name of Ashina Style and teach what I've learned."
"Oh?" Soichiro Yagyu narrowed his eyes slightly, a sharp glint flashing through their slits.
"Since you've come to Red Armor City, I imagine you have the same intentions as before."
He raised a broad hand and gestured toward both sides of the dojo. "Every dojo master in Red Armor City with a name and reputation, every one qualified to be called an instructor, is here today. If you want to test your skills, your opponents are right before you."
Soichiro Yagyu's gaze returned to Isshin as he continued, "As for your wish to establish a dojo here and take on students..."
The corner of his mouth seemed to lift in the faintest hint of a smile. "That's for later. If you can pass this test and prove yourself worthy, I'll grant you permission to open a dojo here, as president of the local Swordsmanship Association."
His tone was calm, but his words conveyed immense pressure. The atmosphere in the dojo grew heavier, almost tangible.
In the suffocating silence, Isshin suddenly smiled. His gaze swept over the displeased dojo masters on both sides, and he spoke in a bright voice, as if stating the obvious:
"Good! Since you're all here, that saves time. Are you coming at me one by one, or all at once?"
"Impudent!"
"Outrageous!"
"Arrogant fool!"
"You insolent brat!"
His words struck the dojo like a drop of cold water in boiling oil. Both sides erupted at once!
The dojo masters could no longer hold back and began shouting angrily.
Every one of them was a prominent figure in Red Armor City. When had any of them ever been treated with such contempt by an unknown upstart?
This was no longer a challenge. It was outright humiliation!
"Let me teach you some manners!" a shrill shout rang out.
A lean, monkey-like figure leapt up from the seats on the left, unable to restrain himself any longer, and landed lightly in front of Isshin.
He was about forty, with eyes as sharp as a hawk's. At his waist hung a long sword and a short sword. He was none other than Kyosuke Tori, master of the Flying Swallow Two-Sword Style, famed for its rapid dual-blade attacks.
His right hand was already on the hilt of his long sword. He stared fixedly at Isshin and said coldly, "Flying Swallow Two-Sword Style! Kyosuke Tori!"
Isshin's expression didn't change. He calmly gripped the hilt of the slightly larger katana at his waist and gave his name. "Ashina Style. Isshin."
The instant he finished speaking, Kyosuke Tori moved!
With a sharp clang, his long sword flashed from its sheath, gleaming like snow. He shot forward like a flying swallow skimming the water, the tip of his blade aimed straight at Isshin's throat—fast, precise, and ruthless!
At the same time, his left hand had already reached for his short sword, ready to unleash a deadly follow-up combo!
But Isshin was faster!
The instant Kyosuke Tori's long sword cleared its sheath, Isshin moved too. He didn't retreat. Instead, he stepped forward!
It was a small step, but perfectly timed to cut off Kyosuke Tori at the very limit of his attack's reach, before he could fully extend it.
Isshin's wrist flicked, and the scabbard shot forward like an iron staff, striking Kyosuke Tori's sword hand with pinpoint accuracy!
"Clang!"
The scabbard collided with the sword guard, ringing with the clear clash of metal!
Such strength!?
Kyosuke Tori's wrist went numb. The thrust was knocked off course, and his follow-up attack with the short sword was snuffed out before it could even begin. Shocked, he reacted quickly, changing his move to slice the scabbard with his blade.
But Isshin's movements flowed without pause. As the weapons collided, his blade flashed like a bolt of lightning!
Clang!
His long sword flew from its sheath—not in a traditional iaijutsu draw, but using the scabbard's recoil and a turn of his waist to sweep upward from an impossibly tricky angle, aiming for the opening beneath Kyosuke Tori's armpit as he lifted his arm to change attacks!
He was so fast that only a streak of light remained!
Kyosuke Tori's pupils contracted. At the last possible moment, he barely managed to bring his sword around to block.
"Clang!"
The blades struck, sparks flying!
The force of Isshin's strike far exceeded Kyosuke Tori's expectations. His arms went numb, and his guard was left wide open once more.
Isshin's blade followed through and dropped. Its back cracked like a whip against Kyosuke Tori's side.
"Ugh!"
Kyosuke Tori grunted. The tremendous force sent him flying sideways, and he stumbled more than ten meters before falling. His long sword slipped from his hand and clattered onto the polished stone floor. Clutching his stomach, he curled up, unable to get back to his feet for a while.
One exchange was all it took to decide the winner!
The angry shouts in the dojo cut off at once, replaced by a wave of muffled gasps.
Kyosuke Tori's dual-sword assault was well known in Red Armor City, yet he hadn't even made it through one exchange?
"That's not how you do it!"
At the side of the dojo, a lean-faced dojo master with a goatee sat in the back row and spoke to the disciple behind him. "Against an opponent like this, the key is... well, to predict his movements and break his rhythm."
The young disciple looked utterly bewildered and instinctively asked, "Master, how exactly do you predict his movements? And how do you break his rhythm?"
"Well... the subtleties can't be fully explained in words. You need to watch closely and come to your own understanding."
After speaking, the goateed dojo master sat up straight and said no more, putting on an air of unfathomable wisdom.
Before you continue