"You!" The disciples of the Jaishin Style turned pale with rage upon hearing this, looking as if they were about to strike and teach this arrogant fool—who dared to mock their master's name—a lesson.
"Now, now." Isshin acted as if he hadn't seen their movements. "Your master sent you to lead the way, not to fight me. Don't waste time; hurry up and lead the way."
That calm yet slightly impatient manner caused the disciples, who were all worked up, to feel a surge of frustration trapped in their chests.
The leading disciple glared at him fiercely, his chest heaving several times. Ultimately, remembering his master's explicit instructions, he could only let out a heavy snort, suppress his anger, and turn around to spit out a single, stiff word:
"Come!"
The group traversed the wide streets of Red Armor City. The atmosphere was silent and tense, and the leading disciple walked swiftly, as if trying to use speed to shake off the trouble behind him.
Isshin followed at a leisurely pace, his gaze sweeping over the rows of blacksmith workshops and sword shops lining the streets. Listening to the rhythmic clanging coming from within, his expression was calm, as if he were merely sightseeing.
Before long, they arrived at a vast, solemn residence within the city.
With black tiles and white walls, a plaque bearing the characters "Jaishin Style" hung over the tall lintel, the calligraphy powerful and profound. Stepping through the main gate and passing through a meticulously manicured garden, they reached the main dojo.
The dojo was extremely spacious. At this moment, the sides of the dojo were not empty; instead, over a dozen middle-aged or elderly men with steady auras and varied attire sat there.
Some had their arms crossed, while others sat upright. Their gazes were like lightning, all falling simultaneously upon Isshin as he stepped into the dojo.
These people were all prominent dojo masters or well-known instructors within Red Armor City. An invisible pressure permeated the air, so solemn that one could hear a pin drop.
In the main seat at the front of the dojo sat an exceptionally tall and burly middle-aged man, built like an iron tower. He wore a dark grey kendo uniform with a simple haori over it. His square face had hard lines, and beneath his thick eyebrows, his eyes were slightly closed as if he were dozing.
What stood out most was a perfectly rounded, pitch-black iron staff of unknown material placed beside him. Just lying there, it gave off a heavy, undeniable presence.
This person was none other than the founder of the Jaishin Style, the president of the Red Armor City Swordsmanship Association, and a swordmaster—Yagyū Sōichirō.
The disciple who led the way stepped forward quickly and said respectfully to Yagyū Sōichirō's side, "Master, the person has been brought."
Yagyū Sōichirō slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was not particularly sharp or piercing, but it was as deep as an well, carrying the majesty and insight accumulated over many years as it calmly fell upon Isshin standing in the center of the dojo.
The entire dojo was silent. All the observing dojo masters and instructors held their breath, waiting for the swordmaster to speak and scrutinizing this young madman who dared to challenge his way here.
"From south to north, you have challenged over twenty dojos across eight cities. I ask you, what do you seek by acting in such a manner?"
Yagyū Sōichirō did not immediately make a move. His deep gaze lingered on Isshin for a moment before he finally spoke slowly.
"To temper the sword in my hand and validate the path in my heart. Furthermore..." Isshin paused, his voice steady. "I wish to establish a dojo here in the name of the Ashina Style and pass on what I have learned."
"Oh?" Yagyū Sōichirō narrowed his eyes slightly, a sharp light flashing within the narrow slits.
"Since you have come to Red Armor City, you must have the same intentions as before."
He raised a broad hand and pointed to the sides of the dojo. "Those in Red Armor City with names and reputations worthy of being called instructors are all here today. If you wish to validate yourself, they are right before you."
Yagyū Sōichirō's gaze fell back onto Isshin as he continued, "As for your wish to open a dojo and take disciples here..."
The corner of his mouth seemed to curl into a faint, almost non-existent arc. "That is a matter for later! Once you can pass the trial before you and prove you have the qualifications, I, in the name of the president of the local swordsmanship association, will grant you the right to open a dojo."
His words were calm, but they clearly transmitted immense pressure. The atmosphere in the dojo grew increasingly heavy, almost solidifying.
In that suffocating silence, Isshin suddenly laughed. His gaze swept over the displeased dojo masters on both sides, and his voice rang out clearly, speaking with a sense of naturalness.
"Good! Since everyone is here, it saves trouble. Will you come one by one, or all at once?"
"Impudent!"
"Presumptuous!"
"Arrogant fool!"
"You brat who doesn't know his place!"
As soon as these words were spoken, it was like cold water hitting boiling oil; the sides of the dojo erupted instantly!
The dojo masters could no longer contain themselves and began to shout in anger.
They were all prominent figures in Red Armor City. When had they ever been so disregarded by an unknown junior?
This was no longer a challenge; it was blatant humiliation!
"Let this old man teach you some manners!" a sharp, harsh cry rang out.
From the seats on the left, a figure as thin as a monkey was the first to lose patience. With a leap, he landed lightly on the floor, standing opposite Isshin.
This man was about forty years old, with a gaze as sharp as a hawk's. At his waist hung two real blades, one long and one short. He was the master of the " Dual-Sword Style," known for its rapid dual-sword attacks—Asuka Kyōsuke.
His right hand was already pressed against the hilt of his long sword as he stared intently at Isshin, saying coldly, " Dual-Sword Style! Asuka Kyōsuke!"
Isshin's expression remained unchanged. He simply placed his right hand steadily onto the hilt of the slightly larger katana at his waist and announced his name: "Ashina Style, Isshin."
The moment the words fell, Asuka Kyōsuke moved!
With a clang, the long sword was unsheathed, bringing a flash of snowy light. His form was truly like a bird skimming over water, the tip of the blade thrusting straight for Isshin's throat—fast, accurate, and ruthless!
Simultaneously, his left hand had already quietly moved toward his short sword, with subsequent continuous killing moves ready to be unleashed!
However, Isshin was even faster!
Almost at the instant Asuka Kyōsuke's long sword left its scabbard, Isshin also moved. He did not retreat but instead took a step forward!
This step wasn't large, but it precisely jammed the opponent's sword momentum at the limit where it was about to unfold but hadn't yet.
The wrist holding the sword shook, and the scabbard suddenly shot forward, accurately striking Asuka Kyōsuke's sword-wielding wrist like an iron pestle!
"Clang!"
The scabbard collided with the sword guard, producing a crisp sound of clashing metal!
'Such power!?'
Asuka Kyōsuke felt his wrist go numb, his rapid thrusting trajectory forcibly interrupted. His subsequent short-sword follow-up was smothered in its infancy. He was horrified, but his reaction was swift; he immediately changed his move, intending to slash the scabbard with his blade.
But Isshin's movements were fluid and without pause. At the same time as the impact, his true blade light appeared like a sudden thunderclap!
Ching!
The long sword was unsheathed. It was not an iaijutsu draw, but rather used the reaction force from the scabbard's impact, combined with the rotation of his torso. The blade slashed upward at an incredibly tricky angle, targeting the opening under Asuka Kyōsuke's armpit, which had been slightly raised due to his change in move!
It was so fast that only an afterimage remained!
Asuka Kyōsuke's pupils constricted. At the critical moment, he barely managed to bring his sword back to parry.
Clang!
The blades clashed, sparks flying!
The power transmitted from Isshin's blade far exceeded Asuka Kyōsuke's estimation, shaking his arm until it was sore and numb, leaving his center wide open once again.
Isshin's blade momentum sank with the flow, the back of the blade acting like a whip as it struck Asuka Kyōsuke's side heavily.
"Ugh!"
Asuka Kyōsuke let out a muffled groan. He was sent flying sideways by the immense force, stumbling and falling over a dozen meters away. His long sword slipped from his hand, landing on the polished stone floor with a clatter. He curled up, clutching his abdomen, unable to stand for a moment.
In a single round, the victory was decided!
The angry shouts in the dojo came to an abrupt halt, replaced by a wave of suppressed gasps.
Asuka Kyōsuke's dual-sword rapid attack was quite famous in Red Armor City, yet he couldn't even last a single round?
---
"That's not how you fight!"
At the edge of the arena, a thin dojo master with a goatee sitting in the back row spoke to the disciple behind him. "When facing such an opponent, the key lies in... well, in predicting their power movements and breaking their rhythm."
The young disciple listened with a dazed expression and subconsciously asked, "Master, how exactly should one predict? And how does one break their rhythm?"
"Well... the subtleties of this cannot be fully conveyed in words. You must observe more and realize more."
The goateed dojo master sat upright after speaking and said no more, maintaining an air of profound mystery.