Chapter 140: It's You, Chang Koehan!
In every lineage of Breathing Styles, no matter how many thousands of variations
the forms take, the underlying logic is always built to handle specific combat
scenarios. Because of this, almost all styles share functional "Base Moves."
There's always an [Opener] for a rapid gap-close or initiative. There's always a
[Burst Form] for maximum instantaneous DPS and decapitation. And there's always
a [Footwork Form] for repositioning and hitbox manipulation.
Take the simplest gap-closers: Water has Water Surface Slash, Thunder has
Thunderclap and Flash. For Flame Breathing, the go-to opener is First Form:
Unknowing Fire.
Flame erupted as Shinjuro transformed into a crimson meteor, trailing a searing
wake as he slammed toward Gyomei.
The Blind Monk didn't use any technique to deflect the force. He simply swung
his heavy spiked flail—already a blurred "propeller"—and relied on absolute
kinetic energy and inertia to meet the fire head-on.
DONG—!!!
The impact was deafening. Shinjuro caught the morning star on the flat of his
blade, but the stone ground beneath his boots shattered into a web of cracks.
It was exactly as Natsuya had calculated. Even if Shinjuro's total Power Level
was higher, he couldn't win a direct contest of strength against the Stone
Hashira. The "Attack Helicopter's" [Body] stat was nearly a hundred points
higher than Shinjuro's.
Kyojuro's father tested the defense several times, but every strike was
neutralized by the "unreasonable" power of the flail and axe. The weapon looked
heavy and slow, but Gyomei moved it with the speed of a lighter weapon, covering
a massive AOE (Area of Effect).
However, you don't become the longest-serving Pillar by just swinging hard.
Shinjuro flipped his tactics in a single heartbeat.
He stopped trying to trade. He stopped using the "Raging Inferno" style of wide,
sweeping slashes. He became nimble. He began kiting and weaving through the gaps
in Gyomei's defense.
He moved through the storm of whistling iron like a fire-hawk navigating a
hurricane. He only parried when a hit was unavoidable, using the minimum amount
of energy to slide the force away.
Same Flame Breathing, Natsuya noted, but it has a layer of 'Old Guard'
refinement. It's flexible, deceptive, and patient.
Soon, Natsuya saw the change. Once Shinjuro closed the distance, the frequency
of Gyomei's massive horizontal flail sweeps dropped. He was forced to shift his
focus to the smaller hand-axe in his left hand.
Gyomei was a monster, a man with the stats of a demon and the soul of a monk—but
he was still young. His power was immense, but his "Combat Tempo" lacked the
erratic, jagged unpredictability of a veteran like Shinjuro.
Shinjuro had been a Pillar since his teens. Twenty years of high-tier raids
wasn't for show.
Gyomei remained calm, but after a thousand "Input-Read" dodges, a microscopic
opening appeared. To generate more power, Gyomei had over-extended his swing
with the flail. For a fraction of a second, the chain went taut, and his center
of gravity drifted a millimeter too far.
Shinjuro struck.
He didn't aim for Gyomei. He didn't aim for the axe. He aimed for the "Seven
Inches"—the exact middle of the chain where the kinetic energy was highest but
the control was weakest.
The Flame Hashira didn't even use Total Concentration. His base "Hashira-tier"
physique was enough. He delivered a surgical strike to the chain, knocking the
morning star off its trajectory. Gyomei's guard glitched for a split second.
That was all Shinjuro needed.
The back of his Nichirin Sword rested gently against the side of Gyomei's neck.
The animation stopped.
Gyomei didn't look upset. He clasped his hands together. "I thank you for the
lesson. This monk's technique and vision are indeed inferior to Lord
Shinjuro's."
Shinjuro sheathed his blade, exhaling a long, hot breath. He rubbed his aching
shoulder. Damn, that kid hits hard. If I were any less experienced, I would have
been a pancake.
He looked over at Kagaya on the porch and gave a short nod. A new resolution
formed in his heart.
I really need to quit the sake, Shinjuro realized. First Gyomei, now Natsuya...
if I don't start grinding again, these children are going to leave me in the
dust.
"Shinjuro Rengoku, winner!" Takizuki announced.
After a brief break, the third match began: Igarashi Uzen vs. Shinjuro Rengoku.
It was an elite display of skill. It was also a very fast loss for Igarashi.
Despite his Sen-no-Sen (Future Sight), Igarashi was simply out-statted. Shinjuro
had higher Power Levels, higher Breathing mastery, and more combat data. In a
high-speed engagement, the Storm Hashira could only act as a "minor nuisance"
before the Big Owl secured the win.
"As expected of my Senior," Igarashi sighed, accepting his second loss.
Takizuki gave him a slightly judgmental look from the referee's spot.
Fourth Match: Natsuya vs. Gyomei.
Standing opposite Himejima Gyomei was a completely different experience than
watching him from the sidelines.
Natsuya had hit a growth spurt and was now over 170cm, making him tall for a
teenager in this era. But Gyomei was 2.2 meters tall—over seven feet of raw
muscle. He towered over Natsuya by nearly three heads.
The man wasn't just "built"; he was a human fortress. The "Attack Helicopter"
flail let out a terrifying whoosh as he started his pre-game spin. It sounded
like an industrial turbine.
Natsuya felt a long-lost surge of adrenaline. Sparring with a "Flail-user" was a
rare match-up. The last time he'd fought a build like this was in an old
fighting game against a half-naked giant with a wrecking ball named Chang
Koehan.
But Chang didn't have 300 points in his 'Body' stat, Natsuya thought.
"Sir Kokonoe. Guide me," Gyomei said. Despite his frightening appearance, he was
incredibly polite.
Natsuya blinked, replying with equal solemnity: "High Priest, the pleasure is
mine."
He's a Stat-Beast. I can't play the 'Trade' game.
Natsuya went all-in immediately. Luminary Breathing revved to its peak. No
probing. He opened with his highest-frequency combo.
"Third Form: Flame Tuesday — WILDFIRE RADIANCE!"
Gyomei was blind, but his other senses were far more acute than a sighted
person's. He looked like he was full of openings, yet Natsuya found he couldn't
land a single clean hit.
The flail moved faster than a pair of nunchucks. Using that bizarre hybrid of
chain-ball and axe, Gyomei intercepted every one of Natsuya's thrusts at
mid-range, batting them aside with crushing force.
Natsuya felt the shockwaves traveling up his arms. Every successful parry left
his fingers vibrating with pain.
Shinjuro's stats were close to this guy's, Natsuya realized. But mine? I'm still
a tier below him in raw bulk.
Natsuya cycled through three different offensive patterns, but he was repeatedly
forced back by the "Rhythmic Destruction" of the iron ball. This was Gyomei's
philosophy: The Mountain.
"Stone Breathing, Third Form: IGNEOUS REFLECTION!"
"I beg of you... do not hold back against this monk," Gyomei said, the flail
whistling like a cannonball as tears streamed down his face.
Natsuya: "..." Which part of this looks like I'm holding back, you overgrown
bulldozer?!
☆☆☆
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