Chapter Ninety-Four: Take This!

“Is that so? What a pity.”

Blackwood Genzai, who had just sprung back like a startled cat, did not seem relieved at White Hall Mirror’s words.

On the contrary, he spoke with unmistakable regret.

It was, on the face of it, rather unreasonable.

Who would wish for their own opponent to be strong?

And yet, for a martial artist like Blackwood Genzai, who had devoted himself wholly to the way of combat, such a feeling was perfectly natural.

For anyone who still harbored even the faintest hope for the fist, no matter whether they had made martial arts the calling of their life, the sight of a human punch that had reached the realm of sound speed was enough to overwhelm the heart.

What was regrettable, perhaps, was that the man who had thrown that punch could not yet protect his fist from being shattered by recoil, nor could he transcend sound itself.

If, in the future, that strike could accomplish both, then all who beheld it would likely feel as though they had seen a Buddha.

No matter how grueling the training that lay ahead, so long as such a fist stood as a landmark, they would never lose their way.

As for Blackwood Genzai, though he was a monster capable of blocking a black shot fired from a rifle with a sake barrel at point-blank range, to throw a sound-speed punch with his own flesh and blood...

“White Hall Mirror, I apologize for my earlier contempt.”

The bear-like man brought two fingers together like a blade, and with a grave expression assumed a sumo stance.

“Whether it was striking first, or spending great effort in my battle with Gan Agano,”

“those reckless acts came from the fact that I had only ever been fixated on the mysterious thing within you, never on you yourself.”

“That punch has shown me my mistake. You are a worthy opponent.”

Blackwood Genzai fixed his gaze forward. The aura that had already been fierce now rose like an erupting volcano.

The supreme master of the martial path upon the archipelago of Hinomoto had his fighting spirit in full blaze.

“So I will crush you without mercy.”

His eyes glared wide.

Demonic Spear!

The roughened fingers fused together, becoming like a lance of steel.

Blackwood Genzai stamped the sandy ground, scattering fine grains into the air, and in the next instant appeared before White Hall Mirror as though by a flash.

That hand, already reaching the limit of empty-hand karate, weaponized into a blade-like palm, reappeared in the boy’s vision at less than an inch from his eye.

The secret footwork of Fox Shadow Style, said to be nearly impossible to detect, was for Blackwood nothing more than something he could perform in the course of an ordinary dash.

At the very moment the Demonic Spear was about to pierce his brain, White Hall Mirror instead slid in at an angle.

The tip of the Demonic Spear brushed past the corner of his eye, drawing a thin trail of blood.

By closing the distance in advance and sinking his body low, he slipped past the blow; at the same time, both of the boy’s arms latched onto Blackwood’s thick limb.

Though Blackwood Genzai’s build was so massive as to be oppressive, much of that impression came from the sheer force of his presence.

In terms of raw physicality, he could not possibly possess the superhuman muscle structure of Julius or Wakatsuki, nor an absurdly flexible body like Bando Yohei.

He was only an “ordinary person” who had honed himself to the absolute extreme.

And what would happen if such an “ordinary person” were seized by White Hall Mirror, whose strength, enhanced by dragon-blood inner power, could even surpass Julius’s?

Crunch.

The pressure of flesh against flesh produced a sound like toughened leather grinding together.

Just as in the previous match with Ohma, Blackwood’s muscle-swollen arm was on the verge of being crushed into a bloody burst beneath that savage grip.

Yet while White Hall Mirror was still exerting force with both hands, his ears caught a faint whistle through the air.

Whoosh.

His pupils constricted as he twisted his whole body aside, narrowly avoiding Blackwood’s second Demonic Spear, which had been driven toward his armpit.

And with that movement, the force in his muscles also scattered.

With a calm expression, Blackwood used the blood flowing from the skin he had ground raw on his arm to slip free from White Hall Mirror’s hands.

What a shame.

The boy, having evaded the strike, lamented inwardly.

If his grappling techniques were a little more mature, he should have been able to lock Blackwood’s arm just now.

Then, even if he had been forced back, he ought to have crippled one of the other man’s arms.

Instead, all he could do now was rely on brute force to inflict damage.

On the other side, Blackwood Genzai had not missed the chance created by his opponent’s evasive movement and broken posture.

Demonic Spear again.

As though the two bloody impressions gouged into his hand by sheer grip strength were nothing but an illusion, Blackwood’s attack aimed at the boy’s neck was still as precise and refined as a monster’s.

It was as though no pain in the world could make his martial art waver in the slightest.

Smack.

But White Hall Mirror’s arm flashed out in a blur, and a crisp, distinct sound of flesh being struck rang out.

“Ngah!”

A sudden, violent pain shot from the supposedly indestructible thrusting hand straight into his brain.

Looking closely, he saw that the outer edge of the palm, along with the little finger and ring finger, had been twisted by a spiraling force.

To launch a strike from such an unstable position would normally allow only the elbow and wrist to contribute to the rotational power, but could a mere two-joint twisting palm really wound the thoroughly forged hand of Blackwood Genzai?

How utterly—

thrilling.

His tiger eyes flew wide.

The pain from the shattered fingers could not bring him down; instead, it drove his fighting spirit to still greater heights.

Demonic Spear: Leg.

The specialized limb training of the monstrous-armed style had not only forged his hands into two Demonic Spears; his legs, too, were part of that weaponization.

With his footing unsteady and one hand just having used Rakshasa Palm, before the new force could even be born, White Hall Mirror was struck in the torso by Blackwood’s kick.

The burst of flesh echoed out, and the violent force even passed through the body, detonating a ring of shockwaves behind him.

But how could that be?

Among the fighters watching from the sidelines, several who had dealt with Blackwood before sensed that something was wrong.

Blackwood Genzai’s thrust was an attack of pure concentration, a point strike through and through; even if it had simply pierced the body, that would have been more reasonable than producing the kind of explosive impact associated with a heavy blow.

Then the only reasonable explanation was...

“I’ve got you!”

Blackwood opened his eyes slightly and looked at the boy before him.

A ring of turbulent air rippled out between Blackwood’s spear-like foot and the boy’s palm, which had been raised to guard his chest.

Flow Control Form: Willow.

The technique used by Ohma in the previous match to deflect an enemy’s attack was now reproduced directly by White Hall Mirror, dispersing that terrifyingly concentrated point strike through spiraling force reduction.

And then he seized it in his hand.

But just as the boy was about to destroy the legs that writhed with sinew against his chest, there was—

Whoosh.

Having been caught again, Blackwood showed no panic at all. Instead, he drew a fierce arc across White Hall Mirror’s face with his injured hand.

At this distance, the arm should not have been able to reach.

And Blackwood Genzai was certainly not the sort to fumble in combat.

Why do that?

Before the question could even cross the boy’s mind, his vision suddenly flooded red.

Blood from that wounded arm?

Using blood to blind the eyes.