Chapter 103: A Master of Swordsmanship?

“Recently, the swordsmanship dojo is closed to outsiders. Please do not approach casually!”
“Who goes there? Do you have an invitation?”

As Kyle approached the grand entrance of the swordsmanship dojo, his black combat attire stood out conspicuously. Two young men dressed in white kimonos, each armed with wooden long swords, stepped forward cautiously to block his way.

“Tell your master,” Kyle smiled faintly, continuing up the steps without hesitation. Calmly, he said, “Tell him: Kyle from the American Empire has come to challenge.”

Kyle from the American Empire?

The two youths inhaled sharply, exchanging glances filled with shock and disbelief.

After all, this was the man who, in just one night, had shaken all of Tokyo as if a magnitude ten earthquake had struck, plunging the entire nation into panic and fear. He was the man rumored to be a “demon.”

The Emperor of Japan had publicly condemned his crimes at the imperial residence last night. Countless armed soldiers were scouring the city of Tokyo for him. And yet, this uninvited guest had come straight to their swordsmanship dojo?

Kyle maintained an unhurried pace. With each step forward, the two gatekeepers retreated several paces. When he reached the main entrance, the gatekeepers, now panic-stricken, rushed inside the dojo, shouting alarmingly:

“It’s Kyle from the American Empire! He’s here!”
“The demon who destroyed the air force base and threatened the Emperor last night has come to us!”
“Someone, help!”

Within moments, dozens of young men dressed as sword disciples, wielding genuinely sharp blades, clomped forward on their wooden clogs in a surge.

However, as they approached within three meters of Kyle, they abruptly halted, their expressions grave and wary, holding their swords defensively at a safe distance.

Kyle didn’t so much as glance at them. Cold and detached, he walked calmly inside, moving through the encirclement of armed youths until he stepped into the main hall of the dojo.

The number of sword disciples gathering around swelled from dozens to over a hundred, surrounding Kyle from all sides—but none dared to strike.

Fortunately, the main hall was spacious enough to accommodate hundreds of swordsmanship practitioners simultaneously. The wooden floor gleamed like polished glass. Along the inner walls were racks for practice wooden swords, and in the center hung a large plaque inscribed in ink:

“Shinto Munen School”

As one of the foundational pillars of Bushido, the Shinto Munen School, renowned for its advanced swordsmanship, ranked among the top ten traditional sword schools preserved in Japan. Although not the strongest, it was the most authoritative school with the largest number of disciples in Japan.

In these times of war, the dojo housed over a hundred inner disciples alone.

“Clear the way. Let the challenger enter,” a voice ordered.

Amid the crowd’s movement, Kyle stepped deeper into the main hall. Before he could take in the full scene, a deep, resonant voice spoke with the strength of age and authority.

At the sound, the over a hundred sword disciples clad uniformly in white kimonos respectfully parted, creating ample space.

Finally, Kyle saw the interior clearly: an elderly man in swordsmanship attire sat cross-legged in the center of the hall, while a beautiful woman in a kimono knelt quietly at his side.

“You are the current headmaster of the Shinto Munen School?” Kyle looked down at the old man, his face betraying clear disappointment—an expression that sparked anger among the sword disciples around him.

This intruder was outrageously arrogant! Everyone in Tokyo knew the “Sword Old Master,” a venerable yet vigorous swordsmanship grandmaster who could easily dispatch ten grown youths with a single wooden sword.

“Is it true, sir, that you’ve come all this way just to challenge us?” the old master asked softly, with none of the anger one might expect, carrying the calm dignity of a seasoned master.

“It’s simple. Today, I will erase the name of your Shinto Munen School. Of course, you are only the first. There are over forty other Bushido sword schools in Tokyo I intend to eliminate as well,” Kyle shrugged, as if undertaking a trivial task.

“The challenger’s killing intent is heavy, and his words are bold,” the old master said, waving his hand slightly. The woman beside him understood and gracefully rose, retrieving a sheathed tachi from a rack beneath the plaque and presenting it to him.

Kyle did not object; he was eager to witness the swordsmanship revered and handed down in Japan.

The old master stood leisurely, drawing the gleaming tachi. He pointed its sharp blade forward at Kyle.

“You are an invader of our land, a challenger to our dojo. First, you threatened His Majesty the Emperor, and now you seek to destroy a sword school with centuries of tradition. Since you have come, do not expect to leave.”

Kyle ignored the implicit threat and scanned the gathered disciples before proposing, “Why not all of you join me at once?”

The old master’s eyes narrowed sharply, hands gripping the tachi’s hilt tightly.

“You underestimate me?!”

Kyle shook his head calmly.

“I’m not just underestimating you—I’m underestimating everyone here.”

At these words, the hundreds of disciples nearly charged forward, swords ready. But they held back because the old master could not contain himself any longer—he launched into action!

With swift clomping steps, he surged forward. His speed matched or even surpassed that of a healthy young man. When he closed to within three meters of Kyle, he leapt powerfully into the air.

In mid-flight, he drew both hands back and raised the tachi high, then swung it down in a fierce arc aimed to cleave Kyle in two from above!

The master’s speed was breathtaking, his sword stroke smooth and decisive, eliciting cheers of excitement from the disciples and a faint smile from the kimono-clad woman.

Indeed, Kyle stood unmoving, seemingly stunned by the master’s sudden, explosive attack—and made no effort to dodge the downward slash.

The sword disciples watched, their minds conjuring a gruesome scene of a body cleaved in half, blood and entrails spilling to the floor.

At the moment the blade was about to strike, Kyle’s right hand shot up like lightning, his thumb and forefinger pinching the sword’s tip with perfect calm.

The tachi blade landed silently on Kyle’s right palm, protected by vibranium bracers and venom-leather armor. The fierce slash, so lethal a moment ago, inexplicably halted in place.

Barehanded catch of a drawn blade? No—it was a feat beyond countless techniques, a display of supernatural strength.

The sword disciples were stunned into silence; one could hear a pin drop in the dojo hall.

More shocking was the old master’s reaction. He stared in disbelief at the right hand that had caught his tachi. Shame and fear twisted his face as he gripped the hilt with all his might, yet could not budge the sword even an inch from Kyle’s grasp.

“How… how did you do that?” the old master gasped, releasing the sword. For decades, his swift strikes could fell even mighty trees, yet now he could not move the sword from this man’s hand.

“Frog in the well,” Kyle said coldly in Japanese, having already discerned the truth. The so-called old master possessed only a rare green ability card marked “True Shinto Munen Swordsmanship Mastery.”

In those three seconds, Kyle had already extracted the card from the old man’s possession.

“Now it’s my turn,” Kyle whispered, striking forward with his right fist. The blow carried a fierce gust of wind, crashing violently into the old master’s slender frame.

A punch twelve times stronger than a human’s!

*Bang!*

Like a speeding car collision, the old master was sent flying like a kite with a broken string, arching through the hall and crashing heavily into the school’s plaque some ten meters away.