The Sacred Canon arrived as scheduled.
The grand hall was colder than ever—and more extravagant than ever before.
At the very center of the hall, upon a lotus throne, Doma lounged lazily with his chin propped on one hand, gazing down at the hundreds of believers kneeling below.
Among them were not only common folk, but also wealthy merchants and tycoons—and even several wandering samurai with swords at their waists.
All of them had come drawn by reputation.
"Everyone,"
Doma's uniquely divine voice echoed throughout the hall.
"Today is the Sacred Canon of the Eternal Paradise Faith. I hear the pain and confusion filling your hearts.
"Whether it be poverty, illness, or fear of death—once you enter my embrace, all of it will vanish like smoke."
The believers immediately began kowtowing frantically, shouting praises of the Cult Leader's mercy.
However, amid this feverish atmosphere, an ill-timed voice suddenly rang out.
"I've long heard that the Cult Leader of Eternal Paradise possesses divine powers that can revive the dead. But seeing things today… aside from this hall being absurdly cold, I don't see anything particularly impressive."
The speaker was an obese merchant. He had an oiran tucked in his arms, and behind him stood a tall, broad-shouldered bodyguard with a sword at his waist and a face full of brutish muscle.
This merchant's name was Tanaka, a notorious local tyrant. With a group of hired ronin under his command, he had always acted with impunity.
He hadn't come today to worship—
He'd come to cause trouble and establish dominance.
The air in the hall froze instantly.
The believers stared at Tanaka in horror, as if looking at a dead man.
Doma's smile didn't fade in the slightest—in fact, it grew even brighter.
"Oh my, it seems this benefactor doubts my divine power," he said gently.
"How pitiful. Is it because your heart is too empty, so you can only seek attention in such ways?"
"Cut the crap!"
Tanaka waved his hand and pointed at the guard behind him.
"This is Swordmaster Sasaki, whom I hired at great expense. I hear your cult has some kind of 'Divine Child'—supposedly very impressive?
"Why don't you bring him out and let him show us a thing or two? If he can beat my guard, I'll donate half my family fortune to your cult. But if he can't…"
Tanaka sneered.
"Then don't blame me for tearing down this fraud-filled dump of yours!"
Doma blinked and turned his head toward the lower seat beside him on the dais.
There, on a small ice chair, sat a seven-year-old boy.
Inosuke had been idly playing with the serrated Nichirin Blade in his hands. Hearing his name mentioned, he slowly lifted his head.
In those emerald-green eyes, there was no anger at being challenged—only irritation at having his daydream interrupted.
"Dad,"
he said flatly,
"this fat pig is really noisy."
Inosuke stood up, rolled his neck, and a series of crack crack sounds rang out.
"Can I make him quiet?"
Doma clapped his hands happily.
"Of course you can. Since our guest wishes to witness a miracle, as the Young Master, it's only right that you grant his wish.
"Just be careful, though—don't dirty the floor. It's very hard to clean.
"Especially livestock blood.
It's smelly and filthy."
Holding the saw-like blade, Inosuke slowly walked down from the high platform.
Ronin swordsman Sasaki looked at the child who barely reached his waist and let out a scornful laugh.
"Kid, are you weaned yet?
Holding a broken piece of scrap iron and you think you can duel?
"Grow a few more years—at least up to my collarbone—before you talk!"
Sasaki slowly drew the katana at his waist. It was well maintained, the blade snow-bright—passed down from his father.
He assumed a standard iaijutsu stance, his eyes full of disdain.
"Don't blame your uncle for bullying you. I'll be quick—so you won't even feel the pain before—"
Before he could finish—
Inosuke's figure vanished.
And reappeared directly in front of him.
Sasaki's pupils shrank violently. A swordsman's instinct screamed danger.
He reflexively swung his blade, trying to force the child back.
But Inosuke didn't retreat a single step.
Hyper-sensitive touch—fully activated.
The airflow stirred by Sasaki's swing brushed against Inosuke's skin as clearly as a mother's fingers.
The blade's angle.
Speed.
Landing point.
All of it was riddled with openings.
This man… is weak.
"Too slow! Too light! Too soft!"
Inosuke roared. With his enhanced lung capacity, the shout boomed like a beast's howl, stunning Sasaki's eardrums and freezing his movement for a split second.
In that instant, Inosuke gripped the serrated blade with both hands and slashed upward from below—straight at Sasaki's gleaming katana.
Ice Breathing · Third Form · Avalanche Saw Fangs!
CLANG!
A piercing clash of metal rang out.
The jagged teeth on Inosuke's blade bit down on Sasaki's sword, locking the two weapons together.
"W–What?!"
Sasaki's face drained of color. It felt as though he'd struck not a blade—but a mountain.
The monstrous force transmitted through the hilt instantly split his palm open.
"BREAK!!!"
Inosuke grinned, exposing his sharp little tiger teeth.
He twisted his waist and wrenched hard.
CRACK!
A crisp snapping sound echoed.
Sasaki's katana shattered—half the blade snapping clean off!
The broken fragment spun through the air, grazing past Tanaka's scalp and shaving off a large patch of his already sparse hair.
"AAAAAH!"
Tanaka collapsed onto the floor in terror, a warm stream spreading beneath him—he'd pissed himself on the spot.
But it wasn't over.
After breaking his opponent's weapon, Inosuke's assault didn't stop.
Using the rotational force, he drove the serrated blade forward, slamming the flat of the blade hard into Sasaki's chest.
BAM!
The burly ronin flew backward like a rag doll, smashing into a pillar of the hall. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he lost consciousness on the spot.
Dead silence.
Everyone stared wide-eyed at the seven-year-old standing at the center of the hall, holding a battered serrated blade.
Inosuke shook his tingling wrist, slung the blade over his shoulder, and looked down at the broken katana on the ground with disdain.
"Can't even stand up to my scrap iron, and you call yourself a swordsman?
"What a waste of resources."
He turned to the merchant who had completely collapsed in fear and flashed a pure, innocent smile.
"Hey, Fat Pig Uncle. That half-your-fortune donation you mentioned earlier—still valid?
"If you dare go back on your word, I'll use this blade to saw your neck off too."
"It counts! It counts! I'll donate everything! I'll donate my entire fortune!"
Tanaka kowtowed like mad, terrified that even a moment's delay would get him sawn apart by this little fiend.
Up on the dais, Doma laughed so hard he nearly doubled over, fanning himself vigorously.
"Magnificent! Inosuke!"
He stood and spread his arms toward the believers below, who were all too stunned to speak.
"Did you see that? This is the Young Master of our cult—the guardian deity bestowed upon us by the heavens!"
"Long live the Young Master! Praise the Cult Leader's mercy!"
Deafening cheers once again filled the grand hall.
Standing at the center of it all, basking in countless gazes of awe and reverence, Inosuke was thinking about something else entirely.
Half a family fortune…
I've struck it rich.
I'll have Sato from accounting handle the transfer later.
He glanced up at Doma, seated high above.
This idiot dad of his really had carried him to heights no ordinary person could ever reach.