Twenty-Sixth Minister Meeka the Whispered, tasked with adjudicating the Sixways Exhibition, would be categorized as having a large build for a woman. Even with the beast dwarfing the two of them, her large stature still made him look noticeably small.
"Combatants, are there any objections to the true duel arrangements?"
"NO."
"Nope."
After reaching the same agreement that was laid out in the first match, Meeka left the area.
The spacious garden theater. If the opposing participants had both wished for it, they could have started from midrange instead. However, Ozonezma chose to start in sword range on purpose. Soujirou went along with the decision.
"Well, look at you… That's quite the form you've got there…," Soujirou mumbled in a low voice.
"IT SEEMS THIS IS YOUR FIRST TIME WITNESSING A CHIMERA, VISITOR."
An explosive sound echoed in the air. The cannon shot from the brass band to announce the start of the match.
Nevertheless, both parties remained still.
Regardless of Ozonezma being in range of his sword, the blade master hadn't tried to cut him down.
"…Heh-heh-heh. How many lives you got there, huh…?" Soujirou's eyes narrowed. There weren't any vulnerable areas.
Even without his opponent moving a muscle, Soujirou had a deviant fighting instinct that could recognize the quality of his enemy's fighting skills with a single glance. Far beyond a mere sixth sense, it was an infallible intuition, on par with true precognition.
Ozonezma's abnormally colossal body was constructed entirely out of champion-level muscles and bones. Every fiber was intricately woven around each bone to achieve peak performance. Far beyond just Soujirou, the chimera's physical abilities likely outstripped those of the arachnid tank he had fought against in Lithia.
This wasn't all. Fatal weak points, present in all living creatures, were missing from this chimera.
"YOU HAVE A SWORDSMAN'S BODY, I SEE. NO OTHER WEAPON WILL WORK FOR YOU."
Ozonezma, too, had finished his observations of Soujirou upon first glance.
However, in his case, this was not a natural gift but insight into a body's construction that he had accumulated through experience. Though he was a chimera, he was also a doctor. Whether it was above or beneath the skin, he was the creature who had observed the most champions out of anyone else across the land.
"AND YOU HAVE YOUR GUARD UP."
In fact, Soujirou was actually putting distance between himself and Ozonezma. Two sword lengths away. He surely had techniques to slash at Ozonezma even from this distance. However…
"..."
"ARE YOU THINKING I HAVE SOME METHOD OF COUNTERING YOUR ATTACK? DO NOT WORRY. IT IS NOT THE TYPE OF METHOD YOU ARE IMAGINING."
He held a secret trick he could employ within sword range.
For Ozonezma, keeping it hidden until the location of their match was decided on had been an insurance for him. He could match Soujirou's slash, and precisely match the method of attack, to defeat him in a single blow of his own.
Still, the hand he kept as his final trump card, once the match had started and
they faced each other at this distance, would chip away at the opponent, completely irrelevant of whether they figured out its lethality, qualities, or even its true nature.
"THAT REMINDS ME: I HAVE ONLY HEARD THIS AS A RUMOR, BUT…IT SEEMS THERE IS A GIRL NAMED YUNO THE DISTANT TALON."
"…Huh?"
"DO YOU KNOW HER? SHE IS—"
The air trembled with a hum, and silver streaks of light swooped in on Soujirou. The ground exploded.
The streaks of light were actually six scalpels thrown simultaneously.
Perfectly simultaneous precision bombing, utilizing six of the numerous arms that appeared out of the gaping hole in Ozonezma's back.
"…Geez!"
The cloud of dust blew away. Soujirou survived the nightmarishly destructive rush. Ozonezma's arms weren't the only things that had caused tremors in the air.
How was Soujirou the Willow-Sword able to dodge the six perfectly synchronized projectiles?
As he pulled back his right leg, targeted by one of the scalpels, he repelled the one heading for his shoulder with the heel of his left palm. Following through with a slash from the enchanted sword in his right hand, the flash of steel brought down the two scalpels that were aimed at his torso simultaneously. An efficient slash, rubbing the side of the scalpel blade to kill its momentum. His body, twisted down diagonally over the course of his movements, dodged the remaining two.
Within the normal principles and laws of the universe, it would have been interpreted as miraculous good fortune.
That Soujirou, coincidently, was in a position that made it possible to dodge them all.
This wasn't the case.
VISITORS. THEIR EXISTENCE IS THE MOST TERRIFYING OF ALL.
Ozonezma's eyes had clearly observed Soujirou's muscles' entire kinetic mechanisms.
No matter how superb someone's physical abilities were…even if they were indeed a powerful champion, they possessed bones and muscles, moving in accordance with this logic.
Visitors were different. The dodge just now occurred as if it was inevitable.
Even his skills of visual observation, capable of perceiving everything down to a singular muscle fiber, couldn't perceive the mechanisms of this movement.
He felt an unknown uneasiness, and by the time he realized it, Soujirou was moving with physical strength and speed impossible of a minia. A category of terror that was difficult to resist, shaking the foundation of all the laws of nature. IT IS IRRATIONAL—THE VISITOR'S VERY EXISTENCE…AS WELL AS
ALL THE PHENOMENA THEY CAUSE.
Ozonezma's myriad arms readied new scalpels in succession. His body was formed entirely of the muscle fibers of champions, of nerves that had achieved illustrious status.
As a medic, he was a chimera capable of remodeling himself, thus forming only the greatest, carefully selected, materials. This was Ozonezma.
The arms sprouting from Ozonezma's body were visibly prepared to throw their scalpels. Soujirou responded with signs he would evade them.
As the beast threw his projectiles, his eight legs switched directions. He charged. To Ozonezma, it was ultra-close range. He reached it in a bound.
"…!"
Soujirou sent out a flash of his sword. "TOO SLOW."
Ozonezma's acceleration, that seemed ready to knock down and trample over Soujirou, stopped still right as his snout was lightly cut. Inconceivable muscular strength and body control capable of halting the momentum of his colossal body. "A BLUNDER UNBECOMING OF A SWORDSMAN. MENTAL
DISCORD, PERHAPS?"
"Yo… What did you do?"
"VERY WELL, SOUJIROU THE WILLOW-SWORD. I WILL REVEAL MY SECRET—"
Together with a crack, he fired off silver lines of light. Direct fire from super- close range.
Sent flying by Soujirou's slash upward were forceps thrown in a spiral toward him.
"Ya know something… You—"
An initial movement, unlike all the throws Ozonezma had made up to that point, laughing with just a back-and-forth motion. A surprise attack that anyone who was on their guard against the previous simultaneous throws would be incapable of evading—was deflected by Soujirou. Even from this close range.
"Definitely gotta have a nasty personality."
"IF YOU FEEL VIRTUE IS NECESSARY IN A BATTLE TO THE DEATH, THEN YOU CAN BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THAT YOURSELF."
Ozonezma was already shifting his movements for his next throws.
Soujirou lowered his sword slightly and ran to cut off the line of fire. He anticipated the trajectory of the destructive meteor. Right arm and liver. Left eye and chest. Throat. His right shin at super-high speed. Right palm, right elbow, right upper arm, and left flank.
"Yo…! Can't you! Do anything else! But throw stuff?!"
Each individual projectile had the force to kill instantly. On top of it, Ozonezma showed no signs of fatigue, opening up space where he had the advantage and pelting Soujirou nonstop with his weapons.
"WHAT'S WRONG, SOUJIROU?"
The tempest continued to rush at him. While it resembled the bombardment from a military siege, the power was on a completely different level from mere bullets or arrows. Soujirou held his own, constantly moving the tip of his sword with impossible speed, leaving behind not just a single line but a whole surface of slashes in the air.
"DON'T YOU WANT TO FIGHT IN SWORD RANGE?"
"Give it a rest!"
"YOU COULD SLASH AT ME. WITH YOUR PHYSICAL ABILITIES, YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO BREAK THROUGH AN ONSLAUGHT LIKE THIS."
A majority of the audience watching the match couldn't know just how abnormal it was. However, an extremely mysterious situation had developed.
Soujirou the Willow-Sword was backed against the wall of the garden theater and rotating into a defense stance.
The difference in range between his sword and the projectiles. The difference in build and physical ability. It was as if the visitor was giving in to ordinary logic.
"Gaaah… Dammit. Why's it always gotta be like this…?" He took a deep breath and let it out.
The silver streaks of light passed by him. He was dodging them. Kicking the wall behind him, Soujirou jumped up at an angle.
The arms, like gunfire, fixed their aim on Soujirou in midair. Scalpels. Second slash. Third slash. Soujirou raised his blade and deflected them. Though he was pressing the attack, Ozonezma's eight beast legs were free. While
Soujirou was still in midair, he was able to open up space between them again.
But…
"...!"
A blade was buried deep inside one of the eight. It wasn't Soujirou's. "THE SCALPELS."
One after another, in the knee, at the base of the thigh, scalpels dug into flesh.
Soujirou flew into the air and enticed the continuing projectile attack. He had aimed to send the repelled scalpels back down over Ozonezma's head.
Even if he didn't hold it in his hand, the technical logic of swords themselves remained under his control. A blade master too aberrant for this world.
"Your life's…"
The instant the repelled scalpels had halted Ozonezma's movements Soujirou was right up inside the chimera's reach.
Within the projectile range. Stance ready to launch his sword from his sheath, bearing down on his neck.
"…mine no—"
A charge from short range grazed him. He was sent flying. He should have been able to unleash his finishing slash.
During what was an unbelievably golden opportunity, Soujirou didn't do anything.
Soujirou ricocheted off the garden theater's ground and clumsily fell flat.
"Koff, hngh…!"
He got hit by a colossally terrifying attack. A charge he should have been able to dodge.
Yet more than that, he felt a threat that convinced him getting hit by the attack had been the best option.
Soujirou had dodged something he didn't really understand himself.
…A threat.
That ain't it. Something's not right. Even since I first missed my swing, something's been off.
As he tried to stand up, Soujirou looked at his own arm.
There was a scalpel stabbed in it. In an area that hadn't been hit by any of Ozonezma's attack.
What the—? Soujirou was injured. Who stabbed me?
Someone's hand was trying to sever Soujirou's artery. Whose?
It's me.
That someone's hand was Soujirou's own off hand.
"…What the—? What's going…? Hey. What's happening…?" Something terrifying was there.
Out in front. Soujirou looked at what he had tried to dodge.
Without him realizing it, there was now only one arm stretching out from Ozonezma's back.
That singular arm slid back into the darkness of his body.
The numerous arms that grew inside Ozonezma's back were corpse white, modified, and reinforced with tendon and gold wire, the several varieties of muscle brilliantly joined together.
That one arm was the only exception.
Soujirou had only glimpsed it for a brief moment, but he thought it was an incredibly beautiful arm.
Soujirou the Willow-Sword felt it. The terror.
Why was the master swordsman, capable of instant death, unable to cut off the head of his opponent with his very first slash?
Why did he wait for a chance to counterattack and switch to a defense stance so he could keep defending against his opponent's attacks?
How was it even possible that Soujirou the Willow-Sword could harm himself and be unable to make his move?
"…What the hell is that thing?"
Ozonezma the Capricious was a chimera whose entire body was constructed out of the best organic material.
It could be said that one arm was the strongest, and the most terrible, organic material. A trump card that rendered even the likes of Soujirou the Willow- Sword unable to fight, without even touching him.
He had a special privilege. One that none of the other hero candidates had. "THE DEMON KING'S ARM."
The special privilege of the True Demon King.
He no longer remembered how many years ago it had happened.
He did, however, remember the shadow of the collapsing transmission tower. The scenes of the Beyond had remained in Soujirou's memory.
A tower burning up in flames and melting, on the other side of the piled building rubble. Thinking it was a very strange way for a tower to fall, Soujirou watched it crumble.
"Hey! God dammit; I told you: Quit going on ahead, Soujirou!"
A man in his forties was calling Soujirou's name. It was Tsukayoshi. Soujirou had finished cutting down all the infantry soldiers a long time ago, yet Tsukayoshi, just walking along, came three minutes behind him.
This man was dressed in a casual kimono with no hakama, which looked like a joke smack-dab in the middle of the urban battle.
Tsukayoshi Yagyuu. He claimed to be the last true successor to the Yagyuu Shinkage-ryu school of swordsmanship, but was he really?
"It's 'cause your outfit's hard to walk around in, dumbass."
"Y-you little… Listen, you keep making fun of your master like that, and I'll cut you down before you can blink. A quick moonshadow, and it's off with your bratty head."
"Master, my ass."
Bodies were strewn about the area, cut up in round slices, level IV body armor and all.
Soujirou was rolling a severed infantry soldier's arm with the tip of his foot.
The soldier's assault rifle still gripped tight in their hand.
In the world of the Beyond, Soujirou's sword was undoubtedly peculiar. "Who's ever heard of a master who's weaker than their apprentice? When the
hell are you even going to draw that sword, huh?"
"Don't you forget who I am… See, me, I'm beyond the stage where swinging my sword around like a little kid's enough for me. Oneness, yeah, that's what this all is, didn't I say that? Becoming one with the universe and yourself, matching your breathing with your opponents, and they'll back off by themselves without firing a single shot. Basically, see, the peaceful path, free of fear's the real—"
"Didn't that guerilla attack earlier have you pissing yourself?" "No, that was, uh, just another form of strategy, yeah…"
"Weren't you swinging your sword around like an idiot when you ran away, too?"
"..."
Fed up with the man, Soujirou returned his sword to its sheath.
Not a single drop of blood from the veins he severed could catch up to the speed of his lightning-fast strikes. And with this single sword alone, he had cut down far more lives than he could hope to remember.
He wondered how much time had gone by since he first met Tsukayoshi. Soujirou was accompanying him under a sense of duty, simply for being given
his very first sword.
He tried to remember any memories of being beholden for some other reason, but there wasn't much of anything.
"Ain't another M1 gonna show up or what?"
"…Listen, tanks are only gonna show up when things really go south. This ain't like when the seventh atomic bomb dropped, okay? Next time they come, we're seriously all going to die."
"Nothin' but infantry and armored cars; it's boring."
"…Dammit, why the hell can you slash through tanks anyway…? You're not even human. There's no way."
As far as Soujirou was concerned, a tank frame was just begging to be slashed through, so what else was he supposed to do?
It was indeed true that Soujirou wasn't all-powerful, and somewhere out there in the world there was definitely something he couldn't slice through. That and tanks were much harder to cut through than other things. He wasn't going to deny that.
Nevertheless, there was still a large discrepancy between his senses of perception and those of other humans.
"Be weirder if I couldn't, right? They didn't spring outta the ground as fully formed tanks or anything."
No matter how encased in armor, as long as something was built by someone's hands, there had to be somewhere along the process they bent or melted down the armor. They couldn't shape it how they wanted if they didn't. On top of that, given that it was assembled together, there was no possible way to make it flawlessly without any gaps or warps. There wasn't any logical reason why someone wouldn't be able to destroy it. Soujirou was simply doing all this with his katana.
He was always making this case in response to Tsukayoshi's comments. "Listen… Do you even get how they process metals…? No, guess you
wouldn't, huh? Your generation has no idea at this point, do they? Hell, there aren't any schools to teach it anymore, either."
"Yup. School. Was it fun for you, Tsukayoshi? More fun than cutting down tanks?"
"…How the hell can I even compare the two? Let's talk about Yagyuu instead."
Tsukayoshi scratched his head. Whenever Soujirou would bring up these topics, Tsukayoshi would never fail to try to change the subject.
Claiming to be the Yagyuu Shinkage-ryu successor, now impossible to verify, he spouted dubious swordsmanship knowledge, dressing in a casual kimono, and wore a sword at his waist.
If anything, he seemed to loathe his life back when there was peace.
But instead of the talks of useless principles, Soujirou preferred the conversations about back then.
Just what sort of life did they live, without any war or soldiers coming in to bring them goods and resources?
What had the world been like before Shiki Aihara appeared? From the time he was born, it had been a mystery.
"…So really, you ain't a Yagyuu or anything like it, right?"
"Excuse me?! I-I'm the real deal, you know! You little… This is exactly what I'm talking about! You're just a corpse-eating kasha at this point. Don't be sorry when someone comes and chops you down."
"Oh, hey, that's a bomber, ain't it?"
"Eek?!"
He was an appallingly weak master.
He couldn't do anything, not only being unable to deflect bullets with his sword or thrust his blade into a moving armored car, but even simply enjoying battle itself was impossible for him. Grand only in his words and demeanor, he hadn't once done anything useful.
It was mysterious that regardless of just how weak he was, he still believed he could fight with his katana.
Surviving for less than two years from that day, Tsukayoshi Yagyuu met his inevitable death.
That might have been why Soujirou had arrived in this alternate world.
"IT IS A CORPSE," Ozonezma declared. The unique voice of a chimera, like several different voices combined into one.
"NOTHING MORE THAN A MASS OF PROTEINS. IT HOLDS NO MEANING."
Soujirou was unable to properly swing his blade as he had moments prior.
However, things were already different.
"Stop."
Soujirou mumbled. He was trying to stop his other hand from cutting open his own artery. Of his own volition. With his own body.
It was decidedly different. It wasn't the same as moments before, when he had been able to fight fearlessly.
Ozonezma knew. There wasn't the slightest bit of the True Demon King's past influence left over in the Demon King's arm.
It was just a simple dead body—and even when connecting it to his own body, Ozonezma had been able to grow accustomed to it after nothing more than several big months of nightmarish insanity where he killed himself over and over again.
It was now just a dead girl's arm, without any abnormalities at all.
All of it had just been the terror of when she had been alive. The current Ozonezma understood that, too.
…However. For those who laid eyes on this trump card of his for the first time?
"…Haaah! Haaah…!"
Viscous sweat endlessly trickled off Soujirou's entire body.
He had sliced through everything that could be cut down across the entire Beyond. That was why he understood all too well.
Right now he couldn't even be certain of the fingers gripping his sword.
Can I… Can I not…
He saw a young girl's arm.
That was the extent of it. His enemy remained the same; both of their skills and powers hadn't changed at all, either.
…cut this thing down anymore?
While it had only been a glancing blow, he had been hit with Ozonezma's body slam. Were there cracks in some of his bones?
He stared at the blood gushing out from his own left arm. The scalpel he extracted was on the ground. He had to use it to slit his throat—no, doing it with the sword in his hands would be faster.
He was compelled to do so. It was terrifying. Too terrifying, driving all of his thoughts into insanity.
It was something everyone in the land had avoided facing, incomprehensible and impossible to defeat.
"I-I'll, cut you, dead."
He felt the sensation of cutting through flesh. He was trying to slice through his own abdomen.
"Haah! Haaah!"
"EMOTIONAL PERSPIRATION. YOUR HANDS ARE SWEATING."
Ozonezma didn't attack. If anything, he was speaking slowly, as if to tease his opponent.
"I SUGGEST YOU FOCUS ON WHETHER YOU CAN GRIP YOUR SWORD PROPERLY. CONTROL YOUR BREATHING AND CONCENTRATE ON YOUR HANDS. THIS IS A LIFE-OR-DEATH AFFAIR. YOU CAN'T LET IT DROP… NO MATTER WHAT."
The earth burst open like an explosion from a powder keg. Ozonezma charged forward again.
"Aaaaaaaaaaah!"
Soujirou shouted, readied his sword, and clearly saw Ozonezma charging for him from the front.
He could hold up his sword. The enchanted hollow sword, absolutely indestructible. He'd cut him down before he got to him.
He could kill him. Within Soujirou's dulled senses of perception, he knew it was possible.
He could cut him. Three more paces left. Terror. Cut him down. Two steps left.
Terror. He couldn't kill him. He was scared.
"...!"
A cloud of dust kicked up. Soujirou slid forward, passing Ozonezma by in a low, froglike stance.
A meager space around his feet that was only made a mere millisecond right before he reached him. He had crept under his belly, where the Demon King Army couldn't physically reach him.
From this position… "Hii…yah!"
A streaking flash of steel. Ozonezma's torso, above Soujirou's head, was severed.
As it separated, a mumble came out from the front end of Ozonezma's torso. "SLOW."
Soujirou had understood it himself. His technique was too slow. Far too slow. The terror was ruining his swordsmanship. He hadn't been able to cut him at all.
This was Ozonezma's self-amputation. "YOU'RE SLOW, SOUJIROU."
Ozonezma's front half alone moved independently.
Soujirou turned around and kept Ozonezma's front half in his sights. Ozonezma had opened out his arms in a wheel, before there was the flash of countless scalpels. Simultaneous projectiles.
Defend—no. He had a gut feeling. What he needed to be wary of was the chimera's back half behind him.
"Hwoooooooh?!"
Soujirou shouted. He kicked the arm that closed in from a blind spot at his feet and jumped.
There was another one.
The chimera's headless back half was writhing eerily, with many arms and back legs growing out of it. It was executing the simple order from its nerve ganglion to grab and capture its enemy.
"I TOLD YOU."
The intelligent front half was already lying in wait at the end point of Soujirou's dodge.
Another charge. Accelerating while simultaneously using his innumerable arms. Soujirou raised his katana.
"NO MATTER WHAT, YOU CAN'T LET YOURSELF DROP IT."
The blade of his sword was caught in Ozonezma's teeth. Before the fierce impact could break off his wrists, Soujirou let go of his hands. The charge grazed him, digging into the flesh on his side.
The master swordsman had his sword stolen from his hands.
The attack wasn't over. As he passed by Soujirou, the enormous mass of arms assailed him. They weren't throwing their scalpels, but slashing at him with them.
Within the extremely condensed moment in time, Soujirou looked at the blades rushing toward him.
Each individual arm. Their range of movement. Their speed.
The silver blades stabbed, one after another. He would be dissected. Together in the flurry, three arms flew into the air. Three arms.
They were the arms of the dead. "Muto…dori!"
Soujirou finished his slash with the scalpel he stole from one of the arms.
He had managed to do so without brushing up against the Demon King's
arm, sent out simultaneously. "…St…op…it!"
With the momentum of the scalpel follow-through, Soujirou tried to pierce his own windpipe.
He was scared.
It was definitely just a young girl's arm.
However, he was convinced that if it truly did touch him, there would be no going back.
The horrible second had come and gone. The second of terror that would have taken the life of a normal person many, many, many times over.
Ozonezma's front half passed by his recently severed back half and, with a single leap, finished reattaching his body together. Without leaving even a seam behind.
They both readjusted their stances—
But far faster than that, the air shuddered with another roar. Soujirou wasn't even given a single second to breathe.
The chimera's grotesque body was capable of immediately switching to the offensive from any situation.
"Gwah!"
The Otherworld master swordsman turned away and repelled seven scalpels that flew his way. That much was clear.
Even at the limits of tremendous exhaustion, it had been possible for Soujirou the Willow-Sword.
However, as for his mental, not physical, exhaustion?
"…JUST NOW. DID YOU THINK MY ATTACK WAS OVER?"
Soujirou let out a muffled voice.
"Gngh… G-gwaugh!"
They were agonizing groans.
The True Demon King's terror. Driven far past its limits under such pressure, his mental state…
"RIGHT AFTER THE TERROR'S GONE—"
Soujirou lost his right leg. It hadn't been due to a direct hit from one of the scalpels.
Simultaneous with the slash that had defended against Ozonezma's whirlwind of projectiles.
"THAT INSTANT IS WHAT CREATES THE BIGGEST HOLE IN ONE'S
MENTAL STATE."
Soujirou had sliced off his own right thigh. He did something he shouldn't have.
No matter how powerful one may have been, they would lose control over their own body, their own will, absolutely everything.
That was terror.
The loss of his right leg. "Geh-heh… Heh." Everything was over.
In Soujirou's hand was a single scalpel blade.
Blood gushed from his severed leg. It would likely be impossible for him to perfectly unleash his techniques as a swordsman forever.
Nevertheless, Soujirou sneered.
…Right then, he saw it all.
He could see how things would unfold from now. There was nothing more he could do. He understood that.
From here, Ozonezma would charge and extend the Demon King's arm.
An absolutely perfect opportunity—his enemy stepping within his range of their own accord—would come.
Soujirou couldn't slash at him.
The arm would arrive, and from then on… Even Soujirou's intuition couldn't tell him. That was the end.
Soujirou had no possibilities available to him. But he figured it out.
"I saw it. I saw your life."