Now, it no longer needed to steal someone else's glory to prove itself."
Shimotsuki Ushimaru listened in silence.
The wind swept between them, stirring up fine flecks of snow.
"But you were right about one thing."
Rossi raised his eyes, looking past Shimotsuki Ushimaru toward the distant outline of mountains shrouded in dark clouds. "In a sense, we are indeed Kaido's enemies.
But-"
He abruptly turned and started walking back the way he had come.
"There are many kinds of enemies, too.
Some want to take his place. Others only want to watch that tower collapse on its own.
As for which kind I am... you'll find out soon enough."
His footsteps gradually receded, finally fading at the edge of the snowfield.
Shimotsuki Ushimaru stood where he was until the lingering pressure of that black lightning had completely dissipated. Only then did he slowly exhale a white breath.
He lowered his head to look at his palm.
There was a tiny split in the web of his hand, torn open by the impact when he had blocked earlier.
Beads of blood seeped from the cut, rapidly freezing into dark red ice crystals in the cold.
Dogs barked in the distant village, once, twice, intermittently.
Shimotsuki Ushimaru's fingers tightened and loosened around his sword hilt again and again.
During their brief exchange, every one of his slashes had felt as though it had plunged into the deep sea, silently neutralized by his opponent.
The young man in the pitch-black haori had not even moved his feet.
The sharp whistle of blades cutting through the air still lingered, along with the dull pounding of his own pulse against his eardrums.
"Using someone else's blade to **?"
He finally spoke, his voice very low.
The young man-Rossi-pulled one corner of his mouth sideways.