Mexico, Tijuana border.
A figure suddenly appeared on this scorched earth.
The man wore a slightly faded dark blue linen robe, with a thick hemp rope casually tied around his waist, from which hung an old gourd-shaped wine jug.
The longsword tucked at his waist seemed out of place in this world filled with AK47s and RPGs.
If a tour bus were to pass by at this moment, the tourists would most likely pull out their phones and start snapping photos, thinking that some hardcore cosplayer had walked from San Diego Comic-Con to a drug lord's lair.
Yasuo stopped, took off his wine jug, and tilted his head back to gulp down a mouthful.
The spicy liquid burned down my throat, leaving no sweet aftertaste, only a strange taste from a mixture of cheap alcohol and industrial saccharin.
"Tsk, horse pee."
The wines of this world only give headaches; they don't offer solace to the soul.
Just like the people in this world, they're all in such a hurry, as if they're trying to cut in line on the road to reincarnation. They'd even sell their own fathers for a few green slips of paper with Deadman heads printed on them.
He raised his head, his gaze passing through the stray hairs on his forehead.
A few hundred meters away, a building pieced together from discarded shipping containers and sheet metal lay on the wasteland, with a sign hanging on it—" Red Rattlesnake."
That was the only supply point within a fifty-mile radius, and also a den for nearby gangs to sell stolen goods.
"Hopefully we can find something that isn't diluted."
Yasuo hung the flask back on his waist, his thumb unconsciously rubbing the worn area on the hilt of his sword.
Inside the " Red Rattlesnake " bar.
The deafening heavy metal rock music pounded wildly in everyone's ears.
A group of burly men with menacing faces were sitting around a table that had been pushed together.
Most of them were shirtless, revealing scorpion tattoos all over their bodies, and some even had their arms crudely modified into prosthetics, gesturing with the modified guns in their hands.
In the corner, inside an iron cage, several ragged girls with vacant eyes huddled together.
"Is this all the 'goods' for this week?"
The man sitting in the center was a bald, burly man with a thick gold chain around his neck.
He rested his large foot, clad in a studded boot, on the table, twirling a large-caliber silver revolver in his hand, the muzzle pointed intentionally or unintentionally at the iron cage.
"It looks like it just woke up; the quality isn't good."
The bald, burly man spat.
A henchman quickly stepped forward to light a cigarette, forcing a smile as he said, "Boss, things are really tight lately. Those Cloak freaks from Vought International are flying around everywhere, and the border patrol is cracking down like mad dogs. But these guys are top-notch, brought in from Eastern Europe, and supposedly they have some... special genes."
"Special genes?"
The bald, burly man raised an eyebrow, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.
"Ha! Aren't they just those Superman freaks? What, can these guys breathe fire or generate electricity?"
"Hehe, I heard it's just that they're physically fit and can withstand a lot of playing."
Hahaha! It's so fun and addictive!
The bald, burly man burst into the Batman Who Laughs, causing the wine bottles on the table to shake violently.
"Squeak--"
The metal sliding door was pushed open.
Yasuo ignored the stares and walked straight to the bar.
He sat down on a tattered high stool and tapped the wooden tabletop.
"Liquor."
Simple and direct.
The bartender, an old Mexico with a scar across his face, was wiping a not-so-clean glass.
"Dude, this isn't Disneyland, and we don't cater to beggars here."
Yasuo sighed.
Judging people by their appearance is a deeply ingrained human flaw, no matter the world.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a US dollar bill, and placed it on the bar.
That was the "operational funds" given to him by Motoko Kusanagi.
The bartender's eyes lit up, and his previously murderous expression transformed into a smile that was even warmer than when he saw his own father.
He deftly poured a glass of the most expensive aged tequila here, and even thoughtfully rubbed salt around the rim of the glass and inserted a slice of lemon.
"Your wine, sir."
Yasuo picked up his glass, the amber liquid shimmering under the light.
It was just brought to my lips.
"Smack!"
A large hand covered in barbed knuckle dusters pressed heavily onto Yasuo's wrist.
Yasuo's hand was steady; the wine didn't even ripple.
The bald, burly man stood next to Yasuo.
"This knife looks good."
He stared greedily at the sword at Yasuo's waist. "It looks like an antique. How about I borrow it and play with it for a couple of days?"
"Ha ha ha ha!"
The surrounding henchmen burst into laughter and whistles.
"Boss, I think this beggar is still breastfeeding!"
"Strip him naked and see if he's wearing a superhero bodysuit underneath!"
Several thugs even had their hands on their gun holsters.
Yasuo continued to stare at the wine in his glass, his eyes revealing a deep-seated weariness and helplessness.
The tree may wish to be still, but the wind will not cease.
I just wanted a drink, why are there always these idiots who think they'll live forever?
"I just want a drink."
Yasuo's voice was low, hoarse yet possessing a magnetic quality born of experience, like the mournful sound of wind blowing across the Gobi Desert.
"Huh? What did you say?"
The bald, burly man exaggeratedly brought his ear close, his greasy face almost touching Yasuo's.
"Speak louder! You old fogey! I can't hear you!"
Yasuo's fingers twitched slightly as he held the wine glass.
I didn't see him use much force; he just flicked his wrist slightly.
"Buzz!"
A burst of skillful force.
The giant hand holding him down with brass knuckles was forcefully shaken off, and the bald man even felt a numbness in his hand, staggering back half a step.
The bald, burly man was taken aback. He had been a tyrant in this area for over a decade, and no one had ever dared to speak to him like that.
Being publicly humiliated by a beggar was worse than being killed.
"Court death!!"
The fist adorned with brass knuckles slammed down towards Yasuo's head!
The bartender behind the counter instinctively closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to watch the red and white liquid splatter, and he was still feeling sorry for the fine glass that might be broken.
"Choke--!"
The bald, burly man's fist remained suspended in mid-air, still in the throwing posture.
Yasuo raised his glass, tilted his head back, and his Adam's apple bobbed.
"Gulp."
A glass of strong liquor down the drain.
He smacked his lips, frowned slightly, and put down the cup with some dissatisfaction.
It's still too bland.
After saying that, he stood up from the bar stool, turned around, and walked towards the door.
The bald, burly man wanted to turn around, to curse angrily, and to pull out his gun and riddle this pretentious jerk with bullets.
But he found his gaze to be somewhat strange.
Why is the floor tilting?
Why... am I still standing there even though I can see my lower body?
A thin line of blood, barely visible as a hair, suddenly appeared in the center of his forehead, running down his nose, lips, and chin, all the way to his groin.
"Puff--!!"
The neat cut suddenly shattered.
Blood erupted like a high-pressure fountain, shooting straight to the ceiling and raining down a crimson shower in mid-air.
Those thugs who were just laughing and jeering were now gaping, their mouths agape, some even dropping their cigarettes and burning their pants before they realized what was happening.
What's this?
magic?
Hallucination?
No one saw when he drew his sword.
No one saw clearly how he swung the sword.
I only saw a beam of light, and then the boss cracked open.
A literal split.
"Ah!!!"
"Kill him! He's a devil!!"
"Fire! Fire now!!"
All kinds of weapons were raised at the same time, their muzzles spitting out angry tongues of fire.
Yasuo stopped and tilted his head slightly. "Let's go with the wind..."
The previously stagnant air suddenly surged.
An invisible Wind Wall rose out of nowhere, standing between him and the hail of bullets.
"Jingle bells--"
Countless shredded pieces of the Negasonic Teenage Warhead fell to the ground like hailstones, piling up into a small mountain.
Yasuo vanished.
Only a blurry afterimage remained, slowly fading away in the same spot.
" Steel Tempest."
He weaved through the crowd, and no one could catch his movements.
"Puff!"
"Puff!"
"Puff!"
Blood blossoms bloomed one after another in the crowd.
"Let's just follow the trend."
A low shout.
Yasuo froze, the air currents gathered at the tip of his sword, and the surrounding tables and chairs were swept up.
"Sawyer--!!"
A fierce wind suddenly arose from the flat ground!
The thugs lost weight in mid-air and were then sliced apart by countless invisible wind blades.
"Splash--"
Severed limbs, mixed with blood and gun parts, covered the ground like rain.
The girls locked in the iron cage huddled in a corner, trembling as they watched this scene.
Although the iron cage had been cut open, in their eyes this strange man was more like a devil than the previous abusers.
Yasuo sheathed his sword.
He pulled out a few crumpled US dollars from his pocket and tossed them aside.
The banknotes floated a few meters away and landed in front of the bartender, who was terrified and trembling under the bar.
That's compensation for your flooring.
After saying that, he glanced at a bottle of unopened tequila on the table next to him.
"This bottle is mine."
Yasuo picked up the bottle, bit off the cap with his teeth, tilted his head back and took a swig, then turned and walked out the door.
Only the scorching sunlight outside remained unchanged, as if nothing had happened.
"The road ahead is long, and only my sword will accompany me."