Chapter 168 – The Rhythm of the Blade

The scroll arrived without urgency, but with the weight of expectation. A had long since learned the subtleties of reading such things—not just the words, but the intent behind the hand that wrote them. As he broke the seal with one thick thumb, his eyes skimmed the formal summary provided by C.

Princess Hinata Gin had proposed a shift in the format of the ranking preliminaries. Rather than simple demonstration bouts, she requested a friendly competition: one-on-one duels between her personal samurai and Kumogakure's next generation. The reasons were clear—honor, cultural exchange, an opportunity to teach and be taught—but A's jaw tightened all the same.

"She came with gifts... and now she wants to test our steel," he muttered under his breath.

No request was ever truly without motive.

Still, he had given her audience. He had sensed no lies in her tone, and despite her calm demeanor, he remembered the slight ripple of her chakra when he had shown her a fragment of his killing intent. She hadn't flinched. Neither had the snake beneath her robes.

A rolled his shoulders. He would observe.

He left his office without a word, stepping into the corridor that wound through the upper peaks of the central tower. From a high passage concealed by carved rock, he had clear sight to the elevated dueling arena where the matches were now underway.

His gaze sharpened.

The samurai were holding their own.

First the girl—Ayaka, he believed. Quick on her feet. Her breath pattern wasn't just for show; he recognized the signs of trained internal flow. Chakra Enhancement? No. Something else. Something older. Rumors of ancient samurai using methods to mold chakra and infuse it into their bodies using only their breath surfaced in his mind.

Then came the tall one—Souta. No armor, but skin like stone. He moved like the mountains his homeland revered. A watched him absorb blows like rain against cliffside, until one girl, clever and cruel, baited his rage. A didn't look away when Souta fell. He only nodded.

And finally, the one they called Emi. Graceful. Disorienting. Fluid like a mirrored lake struck by wind. A had seen shinobi with better weapon technique—but few with his economy of motion. He read tempo like a musician. His tenth match ended in defeat, but it took more than technique to bring him down. It took resolve.

A folded his arms across his chest, breath steady.

This wasn't just a show.

This was a message.

And he was listening.

Then he saw it.

His brother, B, descending toward the arena.

Not alone.

At his side walked the Iron Princess herself—Hinata Gin—in flowing blue and white robes embroidered with silver lotuses, her posture regal and composed.

A's brows lifted. No one had mentioned this.

"What the hell are you up to, little brother..." he murmured, watching B's confident stride and the calm resolve in Hinata's steps. There was a tension in the way they moved—like dancers approaching the edge of the stage. Not hostility, but anticipation.

Was this to be another performance? Or something more?

Either way, he wouldn't miss it.

<<<< o >>>>

Now I stood face-to-face with Killer B—arguably the most unorthodox swordsman I had ever read about, even among the strange scrolls preserved in the sealed chamber of the Crystal Tower. Asking for a duel with him was selfish, possibly reckless. But it was also necessary. I needed to test my skill against his, to refine my Mirage Breath.

The referee, the same one who had officiated the tournament, looked visibly uneasy. I sensed his worry wasn't about B—it was about me. He could feel how serious B had become. The man didn't draw all seven blades for just anyone.

When the signal was given, my eyes shut.

The World of Intent unfolded around me.

My lungs filled with air, and Mirage Breath activated. My hand gripped the hilt of Shinsei, and the fire within me—guided by water—exploded forward.

The Fourth Form wasn't merely about moving fast—it was about reaching my absolute top speed from the very first step. By igniting the fire within and guiding it with water's fluidity, I compressed all hesitation into a single explosive surge. In that instant, my body reached its peak velocity, distorting perception and momentum alike. The arena seemed to rush toward me rather than the other way around, as if space itself yielded to my advance.

Mirage Breath – Fourth Form: One Hundred Steps in One.

In a blink, I was upon him.

Seven potential slashes from B danced toward me, blurring like arcs of lightning. Without space to cast mirages, I was forced to adapt. But I had an advantage—my momentum from the Fourth Form had yet to dissipate. I shifted into an iai stance, crouched low, and channeled all that speed and stored energy into a single motion. My sword flashed out in a sweeping arc aimed at four of his incoming strikes, blending both attack and defense. The sheer velocity of the draw enhanced the force behind it beyond what my body could normally produce, turning the unsheathing into a strike as devastating as it was precise.

Mirage Breath – First Form: New Moon.

Steel clashed against steel. Three of B's blades met my strike. A fourth grazed my shoulder—I couldn't deflect them all. Blood welled up, but my counter landed true. B was hurled backward, twisting mid-air to land cleanly on his feet atop the ring. His chestplate cracked from the force, a jagged line split across it.

He remained upright, undeterred but impressed.

"This girl's got strength, for real, no jest— Gentle hands but fierce with zest. No edge on that blade, and still I groan— Pretty sure one rib just got overthrown!"

Once more, the clash began. I stepped into the World of Intent, this time letting it flow through me with the Mirage Breath—not in bursts, but as a steady stream. Fast and slow, push and pull, breath by breath.

B's attacks came like an avalanche—unrelenting, heavy, linked together in a rhythm that was both beautiful and brutal. Every spin set up the next strike; every blade strike rebounded with greater force. I knew my physical strength surpassed his, but his circular motions turned even my power against me, feeding the flow of his next attack.

Each time I moved my sword, it was with purpose: to block and strike in one motion. But the strain accumulated. His swords didn't just attack—they danced. Each spin, each rhythm shift, altered his stance like wind shifting direction.

I lunged to disrupt his rhythm, only to be caught off guard by a sudden kick. His leg swept toward me—unexpected and precise.

Mirage Breath – Flow of Water.

I let the strike come, shifting my weight and redirecting it with the liquid fluidity of the Water Form. My foot surged forward in a counter-kick, striking B directly in the chest—exactly where my earlier slash had landed.

Once again, we parted.

The force of my blow sent him skidding backward to the edge of the arena. This time, he had to stab his swords into the ground to hold himself steady.

Fragments of his chest armor clattered to the floor.

And a single drop of blood rolled down from my foot.

The arena fell silent.

Not a word was spoken.

None was needed.

Once more, we stepped toward each other in the center of the arena.

His attacks shifted rhythm every two exchanges—sometimes within a single breath. But something had changed. At last, the flow between us began to settle. My Mirage Breath flowed alongside the World of Intent, not in conflict but in harmony—slow and fast, fire and water. Yin guiding fire, yang guiding water, and water igniting the explosion of fire. The cycle turned, over and over.

Action and reaction merged.

For several long minutes, the world narrowed into motion alone—a cyclone of blade and breath. He moved like a song in battle, while I became something intangible: slow and fast at once, everywhere and nowhere, striking and deflecting in a single motion.

And then, I saw it.

His heart burned with music.

Behind him, I caught the presence of the beast within, lending strength he hadn't called upon. His eyes carried the weight of resolve, the desire to win—not out of pride, but of respect.

And he wasn't alone.

Everyone in the arena looked at him with reverence—a blade no one believed could be broken.

For a moment… I chose to become tangible.

A strike that should not have landed grazed my right arm.

I felt it.

And in that instant, I stepped back, sliding into Mirage Breath – Fourth Form: One Hundred Steps in One. once more. My blade slid back into its sheath with a calm finality.

"It seems victory is yours, Lord B," I said softly, bowing. "I've learned much from you today."