As the saying goes, killing is just a nod of the head.
But reality is slightly more complicated.
After all, life, just before death, violently tears out all the blood and strength from the body through howling, making the scene slightly unsightly.
This was what was happening at Stone Ridge Mountain at night. Akechi Mitsuhide was fighting, or rather, he was carrying out a massacre of one person against a group of people.
Blades danced among the enemies. Every swing carried a dazzling reflected white light. The roaring gunfire and flashes all around were useless, unable to stop the figure who was slaughtering the Wraiths. They merely added celebratory fireworks and provided Mitsuhide with coordinates for killing.
Illuminated by the intermittent gunfire, Mitsuhide, moving through the darkness, appeared and disappeared until every terrified Wraith was eliminated.
"Shit, where did this guy come from!?"
"Get in the car, run!"
The Wraiths were utterly terrified by Mitsuhide, who rushed into their midst and slaughtered them as easily as cutting melons and vegetables.
This was especially true since all their bullets hitting him were like stones sinking into the sea, failing to cause him the slightest obstruction.
At this moment, the primal desire for survival dominated their minds.
They now only had one thought: flee.
But Akechi Mitsuhide looked at those terrified faces and declared.
Hmph, trying to escape?
He pushed off the ground and charged forward again.
Kicking off a utility pole mid-leap, Mitsuhide cut diagonally between two Wraiths. His arms swung, attacking left and right. The sharp blade sliced through the two men who had their backs to him as effortlessly as a hot knife through butter, cutting them into several pieces without resistance.
The viscous blood was illuminated by the streetlights, casting a crimson glow as it splashed onto the ground, providing the thin layer of dust on the road with long-awaited moisture, causing it to curl up in clumps.
Only at this moment, illuminated by the streetlights, did the Wraiths clearly see what the person who rushed into their midst and started the massacre looked like.
The newcomer wore cold, crimson armor that made his frame appear extremely imposing. His dense black hair was tied into a high ponytail. Coupled with his icy gaze and the still-dripping blade, everything sent shivers down the spines of the remaining Wraiths.
It was this guy who had dealt with nearly half of their men in less than a minute.
"Run!"
A terrified voice, shouted by who knows who, immediately made all the Wraiths feel like they had found their backbone. Without hesitation, they turned and ran toward their vehicles.
These bandits roaming the badlands were inherently cruel. Countless travelers had died tragically at their hands, but facing Mitsuhide, who moved as if in an uninhabited realm, they were no better off than the innocent people they had killed, fleeing in panic.
"I'd like to see who the hell dares to run!"
A furious female voice rang out, followed by a burst of bullets hitting the road in front of the fleeing Wraiths, kicking up a cloud of dust.
It was the Wraith Mohawk Female Leader. She held an assault rifle, blocking the path of the crowd, her dark muzzle pointed directly at her subordinates.
As the saying goes, there are masters in every trade. To become a small leader of a dozen or so men in the scum-filled Wraiths, one must at least be ruthless and cold-blooded.
Therefore, seeing their vicious leader blocking them from behind, a few fleeing Wraiths, after quick consideration, allowed the leader's established authority to barely overcome their fear. They reluctantly turned around to face Mitsuhide, who was slowly walking toward them.
Seeing this, Mitsuhide nodded.
Hmm, they're somewhat smart.
If these idiots had truly turned and run, Akechi Mitsuhide's Chassis speed would have allowed him to kill every single one of them before they reached their cars.
Only by turning around to face him like this could they survive a few more minutes.
That's right, just a few more minutes of life.
Because the powerful Mitsuhide Chassis was invincible against these badlands bandits.
Their chances of defeating Mitsuhide approached zero infinitely.
Unless Berry choked on a sip of little coca-cola and passed out, their fate was sealed the moment they encountered Mitsuhide.
In this era where combat power is roughly equivalent to spending money, being able to fight one against a hundred is entirely possible.
Moreover, facing him were only a dozen Wraiths who made a living robbing convoys. The parts making up Mitsuhide's body could buy their lives ten times over.
"Fire!"
"Kill him!"
The Wraiths used their vehicles as cover and pulled their triggers, unleashing a torrential downpour of bullets toward Mitsuhide. But at the same time, Mitsuhide moved.
In ancient legends, swords could cut thunder and lightning, which is why there was the famous sword "Thunderclap Cutter." But Berry would say that was just a lucky person who got struck by lightning and didn't die. Now, though his Mitsuhide couldn't cut lightning, he could perform another feat.
That was, cutting bullets.
Mitsuhide stamped his foot on the ground and swung his blades, causing his armor to rattle loudly.
His arms moved so fast they were a blur, the blades forming a cage of flashing white light.
The incoming bullets violently struck the blades, but failed to even chip the edge. Instead, the bullets shattered into pieces upon collision, scattering onto the ground and emitting residual smoke.
"Shit, is this even human!?"
"Holy hell, holy hell!"
Seeing Mitsuhide's bullet-slicing maneuver, the Wraiths' eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
However, their astonishment ended there, because Mitsuhide moved.
With several fierce horizontal sweeps, clearing the hail of bullets in front of him, Mitsuhide crouched low and charged again.
Along the way, all incoming bullets were deflected by his swinging blades. One hand held "Jue," the other the "scalpel." Both were top-tier creations among modern blades. Especially "Jue," after replacing the original 19th-century blade core, the newly installed unknown alloy was nearly indestructible. It just goes to show that large corporations have the best things.
All the bullets were skillfully sliced open by Mitsuhide's blades. *Ping-pang-pong*, every chop caused a loud burst, but to the Wraiths, this was nothing less than the tolling of their death knell.
Even the stray bullets they hoped would slip through the blade net were deflected upon contact with Mitsuhide's armor, leaving not even a scratch where they hit.
The Wraiths started thinking about fleeing again, but this time, they didn't even have a chance to turn around, because Mitsuhide was already upon them.
Blades swung, unleashing a storm of blood and gore. The screams quickly ceased, as some people had their heads split into two halves.
The remaining Wraiths were wiped out. In less than ten seconds, only scattered limbs and torsos remained on the ground, and the nearby vehicles were splashed with grotesque blood.
"Shit..."
Panam Palmer, watching everything unfold on the road below from the top of the water tower, murmured in disbelief.
Mitsuhide's strength far exceeded her expectations.
Could a human reach this level? Wiping out a Wraith squad with just two blades.
Of course, Mitsuhide was unaware of Panam Palmer's astonishment.
Otherwise, he would definitely say, how could blades be so inconvenient?
The purity is still too low.
"Hey, Mitsuhide, hurry up! That last guy is trying to run!"
Despite her surprise, Panam Palmer didn't forget to observe the situation on the ground. She clearly saw that the Mohawk leader who had forced her subordinates to face Mitsuhide was now planning to escape in a vehicle—and it was her Nomads version "thunderclap."
Seeing that guy trying to escape in her car, how could Panam Palmer not be anxious? She immediately alerted him via phone.
"Don't worry, she can't run."
Mitsuhide realized he had overthought things earlier.
Forget about masters in every trade; that Mohawk Female Leader was clearly just fooling her subordinates into dying so she could escape.
Hmm, truly worthy of someone in the bandit circle; the moral baseline is low enough.
Looking at the pathetic way she was running toward the vehicle, Mitsuhide momentarily thought he was seeing a fleeing garbage blade. He nodded in profound agreement.
However, seeing that she was about to open the car door, Mitsuhide felt he needed to act quickly. If the driver's seat got dirty, that pauper Panam Palmer would have to spend money to clean it.
That place, as long as she escaped to that place.
The Mohawk leader looked at the vehicle right in front of her, her eyes unconsciously widening, distorting the tattooed cyberware on her face.
Seeing that inhuman figure slaughter her subordinates like cutting melons and vegetables, she knew she absolutely could not oppose such a person, so she turned and ran decisively.
As for her subordinates, they were dead anyway. Dying for her, their captain, was not a loss for them.
Now, as long as she escaped to that place, got into the car, she could start the engine and leave within three seconds. After all, this acquired vehicle had excellent performance, and once started, she was confident she could escape far away.
It didn't matter. As long as she survived, everything was still possible.
The Mohawk leader was still indulging in this fantasy, believing she would survive.
But suddenly, she couldn't move.
First, she felt her body seize up, her legs losing strength, almost causing her to collapse from exhaustion. Then, she felt a numbness in her abdomen. This time was very short, because what followed was a rapid surge of pain.
The pain came so quickly that the Mohawk leader felt all her strength instantly drain away. Even now, every breath made her tremble in agony.
She looked down, only to see a clean, smooth blade suddenly protruding from her abdomen. Her precious blood was trickling out, flowing along the blade's edge before dripping onto the ground. She could even see the steam rising from her blood.
The Mohawk leader opened her mouth, but didn't have time to deliver a summary of her life as a badlands bandit, or anything else.
But that was no longer possible, because in the next second, with a clang, Mitsuhide, holding the "scalpel" in his other hand, chopped down fiercely from behind, and a large head tumbled to the ground.
"Isn't this Panam Palmer? It's been a while. Look what I got for you."
Mitsuhide leaned against the tall door of the off-road vehicle, patting the hard metal body.
Panam Palmer, walking over, looked at the mess on the ground and then at Mitsuhide with a complicated expression.
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