Inside Maple Forest Pavilion, A Long Saber Dances

"Looking at you, like being drunk, eyes hazy and drifting. I and you, you and I are soulmates, let's open the liquor and drink to our hearts' content..."

Casually plucking a toothpick from the counter to dangle between his lips, Rasa hummed a vintage Hokkien song as he drew his blade and walked into the depths of the inn.

Keep your head tilted, keep the rhythm high!

Maple Forest Pavilion—the name of the inn stirred memories, reminding him of a classic Hong Kong film from his past life, A Better Tomorrow.

When Mark Gor fought his bloody battle at the Maple Forest Pavilion, the background music was this very song, Don't Lose Your Ambition.

If only there were a courtesan to hold, spinning in a magical dance of love all the way to the deepest room of the inn, that would be perfect—it would fit his low-profile persona.

Too bad there are no "ifs."

"Who goes there?"

Hearing the sound of heads hitting the floor at the counter, several ninjas rushed out from the outermost rooms to investigate.

A flash of steel, and heads rolled.

"That's why I say, choices are more important than effort. If you hadn't come out, you could have lived at least another minute, right?"

Rasa's face was cold as frost. He flicked the blood off his vibrating blade and parried a few shuriken; the rebounding projectiles claimed the lives of several more ninjas.

In this era where Hashirama Senju has passed and Madara Uchiha is clinging to life, he is the true king of bullying the weak.

Biwa Juzo and Suikazan Fuguki, having heard the commotion, led the ninjas from their rooms to charge out. Upon witnessing the scene before them, their hearts nearly leaped out of their throats.

How long had it been since they heard the noise? Five seconds?

And just like that, several chunin were gone?

Scanning Rasa's face and attire, the two were certain: this was the Himura Kenshin that Ringo Ameyuri had spoken of.

The man himself was even more terrifying than the rumors suggested.

With a single slash, he cleaved through an incoming Water Style technique, drove his blade into the abdomen of a chunin, and ended a life. Rasa took another step forward.

None could stop him.

Suikazan Fuguki involuntarily took a step back, bumping into a ninja behind him, only then realizing he shouldn't have flinched.

Even if the enemy looked like a demon carved out of hell.

Trying his best to calm his heart and steady his mind, Suikazan Fuguki probed, "Friend, we have no grudge or enmity with you.

Why then, without a word, do you slaughter our men?"

Though Suikazan Fuguki was a fat man, his mind was arguably the most agile among the Seven Ninja Swordsmen. If one were to fall for the stereotype that he was a brute, they would surely die a miserable death.

"Clang!"

Parrying a kunai that came for his back, Rasa backhanded his blade to hack down another chunin. He laughed, "There is indeed no enmity between us.

But what does that have to do with me wanting to kill you?"

Killing so many of his lackeys and then having the nerve to say there's no enmity? Those were the foundations he planned to use to leverage the ninja world and earn points!

What does it have to do with killing us?

Suikazan Fuguki and Biwa Juzo burned with rage, their eyes nearly spitting fire. This wasn't just arrogance; this was complete and utter contempt.

He treated them like weeds on the side of the road, trampling them at will, not even sparing a glance if the weeds withered and died.

Who would even care?

"Swish."

He cleaved through a flying Water Dragon Bullet. It was a decent enough Water Style technique, but it was utterly useless—it didn't even make Rasa curious enough to wonder who had cast it.

The long blade danced within the Maple Forest Pavilion, every strike stained with the blood of enemies.

As his wooden sandals clicked against the inn's floorboards, the air thick with the scent of blood, corpses lay scattered behind Rasa.

Every death was a single, fatal strike. This was the fate most ninjas faced when confronting Rasa: a chunin died in one blow, a jonin was a bit more troublesome, and an elite jonin might require a little more effort.

And this was only because Rasa was intentionally holding back; otherwise, the results would have been even more glorious and insane.

Biwa Juzo and Suikazan Fuguki were not the first to stand at the front, because they didn't want to fight Rasa. At this moment, they were under unprecedented pressure.

Chunin weren't cabbages on the side of the road, and even they couldn't kill chunin like slaughtering pigs.

No, it wasn't even like slaughtering pigs—pigs would at least struggle. It was more like chopping melons and vegetables.

Those chunin killed by Rasa seemed to be throwing themselves onto his blade, rushing to their deaths. His swordplay was unfathomable, defying logic—a dance of ghosts and gods, a reaper swinging his scythe.

Biwa Juzo had never seen how the White Fang of Konohagakure, Hatake Sakumo, killed, but today he had the misfortune of seeing how Rasa used a blade.

He would rather never have encountered such a powerful swordsman in his entire life.

Beside Suikazan Fuguki, Kisame Hoshigaki looked on with longing in his shark-like eyes. This was the swordplay he craved.

Concise, lethal, a style of swordplay that existed solely to kill.

"Thud!"

With a dull thud, Suikazan Fuguki slammed into the wall behind him, having nowhere left to retreat, while that red-haired devil was only two men away from reaching him.

Forcing a smile while under immense psychological pressure, Suikazan Fuguki squeezed out a grin and said, "Actually, we can still talk about this."

At the same time, he searched for a flaw in Rasa.

Slicing through an incoming shuriken and kicking a kunai from the ground to pierce the heart of a chunin, Rasa took another step forward, his heart cold and his hands relentless.

Ignoring the man ahead, he asked with a smile, "How do you want to talk?"

There was only one person left in front of him, yet he still couldn't spot a flaw in Rasa—or rather, it seemed as if Rasa was nothing but flaws.

Suikazan Fuguki cursed inwardly, glanced at Ringo Ameyuri beside him, and proposed, "You're here for this woman, aren't you?"

"Actually, we don't even know her. If we hand her over to you, how about you stop right here?"

"You should know, we are the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of Kirigakure. If we really fight, you might not be able to defeat us easily."

Then fight, you coward! Why are you shrinking back so far?

Ringo Ameyuri looked at Suikazan Fuguki in disbelief. Was she really being sold out just like that? Was this the integrity of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen?

Kisame Hoshigaki's gaze remained calm. This was what it meant to be a ninja: for the sake of greater interests and goals, one could sacrifice things of lesser importance.

As a direct subordinate of Suikazan Fuguki, he had already killed many of his own former teammates to date.

Cutting down the last man between him and Suikazan Fuguki, Rasa stepped forward with his blade and said flatly, "Sorry, she is someone I have taken an interest in."

"Her life is not yours to dispose of."

Killing intent, mixed with the stench of blood, surged toward Suikazan Fuguki. He had killed many people before, but this was the first time he had been in such a position—and perhaps it would be his last.

With a ferocious expression, baring his sharp teeth, Suikazan Fuguki grabbed the injured Ringo Ameyuri beside him and threw her at Rasa.

"Smack."

Swatting the flying girl aside with his blade, a much larger and thicker object suddenly appeared before Rasa's eyes.

The kind that kills.