Crack!
The bulletproof glass in front of Tsurugane Genzō—tough enough to withstand the largest-caliber sniper rounds—instantly webbed with cracks, and at the center was only an ordinary coin.
Charles was sick to death of Tsurugane's incessant yapping.
Understandable, though. On Charles's way in, Tsurugane had already placed several bets with the other Black Club members, wagering on the outcome of Charles and Stella versus the Three Ogre Squad.
The others had more faith in the better-known trio, but Sakyo went all-in on Charles to win, taking a tidy sum off Tsurugane.
As in the original, even with the Three Ogre Squad defeated, Tsurugane believed the Toguro Brothers were stronger.
After all, the chimeric beast he kept—one that fed on lions—had been killed barehanded by Toguro. He couldn't imagine anyone more fearsome than a monster like that.
So he was determined to win back everything he'd lost.
To Charles, a gambler's bluster was just noise, so he shut him up this way.
Dropping his hand, Charles looked at the Toguro Brothers before him.
The younger, Toguro, was actually the taller one—head and shoulders above Charles—with a long coat bulging over a body of granite-hard muscle.
Just how big was Toguro? His elder brother could crouch on his shoulder. Their auras, however, were worlds apart.
Compared to the beast-like younger brother, Elder Toguro was more like a viper, venom glinting in his eyes.
"Brother."
The younger's voice was flat, but from his angle on the younger's shoulder, Elder Toguro could see those eyes behind the shades.
They said it all—Toguro was excited to the extreme. He wasn't calling for help; he was telling his brother not to get in the way.
Elder Toguro didn't understand why a man who merely "looked capable" could stir that kind of fighting spirit in his brother, but he wouldn't go against his wishes.
He sprang down from the younger's shoulder and retreated far back.
Seeing this, Tsurugane jumped up to bark, "Hey! What are you idiots doing? Get in there together and take them—"
He swallowed the rest when Elder Toguro shot him a venomous look.
Neither Charles nor Toguro spared the clown a glance.
Toguro shrugged off his coat, and the tight tank top beneath made his muscle definition even starker.
Charles, in turn, showed a little respect for his opponent—rolling up his shirt sleeves and flicking the dragonscale scarf back over his shoulder.
Ignoring Elder Toguro's provocative stare, Stella herself withdrew to the rear, leaving the field to the two men.
Facing Charles, Toguro chose caution, raising a defensive guard.
He was a martial artist who had once taken the Dark Tournament crown alongside Genkai; his stance was comprehensive.
"Not going to make the first move? Then I will."
Charles smiled, then stepped in with a driving straight.
Toguro's eyes widened beneath his shades, because in his sight Charles had taken only a single step, yet in an instant he was in his face and that fist was blasting forward.
As a martial artist, Toguro knew exactly how that happened: explosive power that turned one stride into a lunge—what shocked him even more was the power riding that punch.
A dull boom; Toguro's feet scraped trenches as he was shoved straight back, his waist bending under the force.
He could tell Charles hadn't used any spiritual or demonic power—that punch was pure physique.
He even doubted whether Charles was human at all. How could a human body be this terrifying?
Right—Charles wasn't using mana. Otherwise, where would the fun be?
White steam curled off Charles's knuckles. Without changing his posture, he opened his hand and beckoned Toguro forward.
"Don't tell me that's all you've got. I'd be disappointed."
Toguro straightened and rolled a shoulder. "You won't be."
As soon as he said it, the already-bulging muscles across his frame swelled further, splitting the tight tank with a rip.
Cords of veins danced over the muscles, raising clear ridges beneath the skin.
Especially around the clavicles—knotty muscle formed a distinct ring.
Among the many figures in this world, Toguro left a deep impression; his power to "release" his muscles was a big reason why.
His ability was pure strength born of total control over his musculature. Now he'd released roughly forty percent.
To Charles, that level was an insult.
So when Toguro switched from defense to offense, Charles met him head-on without yielding.
A side kick—Charles's shin smashed into Toguro's wrist and knocked the punch off line.
Veins jumped along Toguro's forearm; like a spring, he recoiled and fired again.
Charles's response was a knife-hand chop.
The edge of his palm struck Toguro's forearm—and there was a sound like taut ropes snapping.
Shenlong Temple Secret—Cicada's Cry. Originally meant for disarming weapon-wielding foes, its vibrations make the opponent drop what they hold.
At Charles's level, he could use that vibratory force to damage an opponent from within.
That's what he did now: the muscle fibers in Toguro's forearm were shredded. Charles had intended to take the bone with it, but Toguro's body was tougher than he'd expected—this was as far as it went.
Without using mana, this was already his most destructive strike.
The pain of torn muscle was nothing to Toguro, but it robbed his punch of its original force.
Charles rolled his palm, guiding the blow past him, and stepped in with a straight to the body.
He poured on more power with this one, aiming to wreck Toguro's organs.
It landed—but not as effectively as he'd predicted. Toguro's muscles swelled again, layering into a hard cuirass that soaked up most of the force.
And a man who could master every fiber could also command them to knit—Toguro swung with an arm that was already back to normal.
Boom!
The floor shattered into a giant crater, and Charles slid back.
Toguro: muscle release, sixty percent.
Eyeing the brutal beast in human form, Charles tugged loose his collar.
"Now that's… got me fired up."
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