A man with long hair and a vintage appearance stood in the path, blocking the way. Mifune's brows furrowed as he scrutinized the stranger.
"Who... are you?" Mifune's tone was cautious, probing, a sharp contrast to his usual confidence. His trusted lieutenant, Shunjiro, glanced at him in surprise.
To Shunjiro, Mifune was the strongest warrior in the Land of Iron. Even the Five Kage would treat him as an equal. Why would the great general show such apprehension?
But Mifune ignored his subordinate's confusion. His hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his sword, his expression grave. Years of honing his instincts on the battlefield screamed at him: this man was no ordinary foe.
The oppressive aura radiating from the stranger was suffocating. Even Hanzo of the Salamander, who once brought terror to the Land of Rain, didn't make him feel like this.
This man was dangerous.
"Who I am doesn't matter," the man said with a chuckle. He stood still, maintaining a distance of roughly ten meters from the group. "What matters is this—you have two choices. Kill me, or be killed by me."
Though his words were accompanied by a smile, the sheer arrogance and killing intent in them made Mifune's frown deepen.
"Do you have any idea who you're speaking to, boy?" Shunjiro growled, stepping forward with his hand on his sword.
But Mifune raised a hand, stopping him.
"You're from Konohagakure, aren't you?" Mifune stepped to the front, meeting the stranger's gaze.
The man nodded slightly, acknowledging the assumption.
"If you're here, then it must mean you intend to stop us from aiding the Land of Hot Water..." Mifune took a step forward. "Given your strength, I ask that you overlook any disrespect from my comrades."
"I have one request. Will you grant me the honor of a duel?"
Mifune advanced until they were mere meters apart. His voice was steady, but his eyes burned with resolve. Despite his age, the fire in Mifune's heart had not dimmed.
In his youth, he had stood before Hanzo, unyielding, to plead for his comrades' lives. Today, he would face this man, alone.
Mifune's instincts told him that if the stranger struck, he wouldn't be able to protect his men. A duel was their best chance.
"Your gaze... I like it," the man said, nodding in approval. "Very well. I accept."
"Thank you." Mifune bowed deeply, drawing his sword with a steady hand. "Would you like a weapon, sir?"
"To fight the strongest samurai? Using a sword seems appropriate..."
The man reached out into the air, and with a burst of power, a nearby samurai's sword flew into his hand.
"My sacred blade!" the samurai exclaimed, ready to reclaim it, but Mifune shook his head, and the warrior reluctantly stood down.
"Shall we begin?" Mifune asked, his stance shifting into readiness.
The man nodded, unsheathing the blade he had acquired.
"Please," Mifune said, sheathing his sword once more. "This technique is called Iaido. I've spent decades perfecting it. Its speed is so great that even a shinobi cannot weave signs before being struck."
(T/N: The term Iaidō refers to a specific style of kenjutsu that is concerned with the smooth, controlled movements of drawing the sword from its scabbard, striking or cutting an opponent, removing blood from the blade, and then replacing the sword in the scabbard.)
As a sign of respect—or perhaps to cement his legacy—Mifune explained the technique before striking.
The man remained calm, his expression unchanged.
"I see. Proceed."
Mifune's blade flashed in an instant, the strike so fast it seemed to split the air itself. Even with the Sharingan, such speed was almost impossible to counter.
Almost.
With a single, fluid motion, the man swung his sword.
Clang!
The sharp clash of metal rang out. Both men stood motionless as their audience held their breath.
The man glanced at his sword, now severed in two.
"I lost," he said, his tone unbothered.
Swordsmanship wasn't his forte. The skills that made him a legend during the Warring States period were his unyielding taijutsu, unparalleled ninjutsu, and the bloodline of the Uchiha.
Swordplay? Adequate, but not exceptional.
"You're faster than Tobirama's Flying Thunder God Slash," the man said, nodding in acknowledgment.
Mifune didn't relax. Instead, his grip on his sword tightened. His best technique had only managed to break a weapon. The man himself remained unharmed.
"I have no choice," Mifune murmured, steadying himself for another strike.
This time, the man took the initiative. Summoning another blade, his Sharingan gleamed with malevolent crimson light.
Their clash intensified. Blades danced, filling the battlefield with dazzling arcs of steel and the sharp clang of swords.
The other samurai retreated, unable to withstand the sheer force of the stray slashes. To them, the combatants were nothing but blurs of light and shadow.
"Hahaha! This is fun!" The man laughed, his strikes growing sharper, faster.
Mifune, however, was faltering. At first, he had the upper hand. But as the battle progressed, he realized with horror that his opponent was adapting.
Each swing became more precise, each parry more fluid.
Within minutes, the man's skill had reached Mifune's level.
Then, disaster struck.
A single misstep—a moment of distraction—allowed a slash to land.
Boom!
Mifune's body crashed into the ground, a gash stretching across his chest. Blood flowed freely as his comrades rushed to his side.
"Mifune-dono!"
Shunjiro knelt beside him, tears streaming down his face.
"I... lost," Mifune whispered, blood dribbling from his lips.
The man approached, his expression calm.
"Your swordsmanship is indeed the best of this era," he said.
Mifune chuckled bitterly. "To hear that... from you... I have no regrets."
He coughed violently, his life slipping away. But even in his final moments, he had one last request.
"Spare them... my men..."
The man paused before nodding. "Granted."
"Thank you..." With that, Mifune exhaled his final breath.
"Take his body," the man said coldly, addressing the surviving samurai. "But if I see you again, there will be no mercy."
The warriors, trembling, carried their fallen leader and retreated.
As the man watched them leave, he inspected the sword at his waist.
"A fine weapon," he mused before vanishing in a flicker of movement.
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Pls Drop some Power Stones
Fanfic finished on Patreon (Last chap 162.)
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