Uchiha Kin sheathed his sword, his hand hovering loosely above the hilt as his body sank into a low stance.
The charging Ichirō recognized the technique instantly.
Iaido Slash.
The strongest swordsmanship of the Land of Iron—how dare this brat!
Teaching a fish to swim.
The two were about to collide.
"First Form: Dark Moon—Palace of the Night!"
Kin's blade flashed from its sheath in a blinding arc, countless crescent-shaped slashes materializing along its trajectory.
"Sword Art: Gale Slash!"
Ichirō's sword gathered a tempest, cleaving downward with a storm of razor-sharp wind blades.
What seemed like a single strike was, in truth, countless.
Ichirō was certain his opponent couldn't block this.
Even if the kid's technique looked more dazzling.
The next moment—
The crescent slashes shredded the tempest.
The Kusanagi Sword shattered Ichirō's blade.
"Impossible!?" Ichirō's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. His form was sloppy! How did my sword break?!
But Kin's strike wasn't finished.
Just as Ichirō was about to be bisected—
Time seemed to freeze.
"Clang!!"
A deafening metallic clash erupted, followed by a shockwave that blasted dust off the arena.
The collision of two master swordsmen.
A figure had appeared between them in the blink of an eye.
A man clad in samurai armor, his own blade half-drawn, had intercepted Kin's strike at the last moment.
"General Mifune!!" Ichirō gasped in relief, recognizing the savior.
Had Mifune not intervened, he'd be dead.
The crowd erupted into cheers.
"General Mifune!!"
The strongest warrior of the Land of Iron.
General Mifune.
Ignoring the crowd, Mifune fixed Kin with a stern gaze.
"Your ruthlessness is excessive, stranger."
Kin stepped back, sheathing his sword, but his eyes darted warily to the spectators.
Are you people about to summon the Sage of Six Paths?
How did no one notice this guy walking in?!
"Where did you come from?"
"I was informed of your... displeasure with our land and came from the Daimyō's palace," Mifune replied.
He'd rushed here after hearing of a prodigious swordsman provoking the Land of Iron.
To his surprise, the boy looked visibly relieved.
Kin patted his chest. As long as he didn't teleport from the stands.
The last thing he needed was the Sage popping out next.
Still, he studied the middle-aged man. So this is Mifune—the man who cut through the Divine Tree in the Fourth War?
Mifune waited for an answer.
Had he been a second slower, the Land of Iron would've lost a master swordsman—equivalent to a high-tier shinobi.
An unacceptable loss.
Kin countered, "Wasn't this what you wanted? The first duel was a spar—I held back. But these two tried to kill me. Was I not allowed to retaliate?"
Mifune paused. "You provoked the Land of Iron first."
"So I deserve to die? I shouldn't even defend myself?"
In the shinobi world, words could be lethal.
And the Land of Iron prized honor above life itself.
Killing those who insulted it was inevitable.
Kin's argument was flimsy—but he had no morals, so no one could morally condemn him.
"Retract your words, and this ends here," Mifune said firmly.
With the war raging, the Land of Iron had declared neutrality under his counsel. He couldn't afford conflict with foreign shinobi.
Otherwise, they might suffer like the Land of Rain.
Hanzo... the man who nearly killed me, hailed as a demigod.
Once, his name alone sent samurai fleeing.
Now, the Land of Rain was ruins.
"General!!"
"Why!?"
"How can you let him go!?"
The crowd's outrage was palpable, but Mifune had no choice.
War was worse.
"What if I refuse?"
Kin pressed further, itching for a fight. Open battles like this were rare—shinobi, especially jonin, fought dirty.
With samurai, even those of jonin-level strength often lost to chunin. Not because they were weak, but because they lacked a shinobi's deceit.
"And your people don't seem satisfied either."
Kin's hand rested on his hilt again.
Mifune exhaled. "You won't relent unless we duel, will you?"
He didn't understand Kin's motives, but at this point, refusal was impossible.
"Then I accept."
Mifune lowered his stance, hand hovering near his hilt.
Iaido's opening posture.
Kin mirrored him.
The two stood motionless, eyes locked.
A swordsman's battle was decided in an instant.
Then—
They moved.
Blurring past each other, they reappeared in swapped positions.
Mifune's blade slid back into its sheath.
"Sword Art: Iaido Slash."
A technique he'd honed for thirty years.
Aside from his defeat by Hanzo, he'd never lost.
"Snick."
The blade clicked home.
Kin's shirt split open, revealing his chest—Mifune's strike had only grazed the fabric.
Kin sheathed his sword too.
"The Land of Iron's blades are impressive."
"Crack."
Mifune's chest armor shattered, a thin red line appearing on his skin—superficial.
Kin had held back, though his control was imperfect.
"I lost," Mifune admitted without bitterness.
"You won," Kin corrected, tying his tattered shirt like a beggar.
Mifune shook his head. The boy was a shinobi—he hadn't used ninjutsu.
In their clash, he'd sensed it: Kin's swordsmanship was unrefined, his movements crude.
Raw speed and strength carried him.
In skill, Mifune had won.
In power, they were even.
Had Kin used ninjutsu—
The outcome might've differed.
"If you've no objections," Mifune offered after a pause, "would you join me for tea?"
...
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(End of Chapter)