"No need, no need." Rakshasa smiled calmly, "You stay here. After all... this battle will soon be over."
Rakshasa inserted the Chōyō Masamune held in his left hand back into the belt on his left waist, then tucked both hands into the wide sleeves of his kimono. His hands reached out from the neckline of his chest, forcefully flipping his kimono backward, and he took off the clothing on his upper body.
As the kimono covering his upper body hung down, the tattoo on Rakshasa's back also appeared—the pitch-black armor fused with flesh, skin showing a grotesque bluish-white hue, and a mouth full of fangs grinning fiercely.
Devouring flesh, flying through the skies or charging on the ground, a terrifyingly swift evil ghost: Rakshasa!
"Come on, Scythe Weasel." Rakshasa beckoned to Scythe Weasel with his finger, "Let me see how much your strength has improved since we last met."
Scythe Weasel did not respond to Rakshasa.
