The deafening roar of automatic rifle fire echoed madly over a remote, desolate tribal wilderness somewhere in Africa.
"Monster! Die, you damned monster!"
A group of heavily armed, rough-looking international mercenaries were wielding heavy weapons, frantically pouring fire into a twisted black shadow.
Bullets struck the shadow like a torrential rain, yet they only managed to kick up faint sparks, failing to even scratch the surface of its skin.
"ROAARRRR—!!!"
The black shadow let out a piercing, terrifying roar that seemed to tear directly at the soul.
Its body expanded and contorted rapidly like play-dough, eventually transforming into a bizarre cursed spirit three stories tall, covered in bone spikes and compound eyes!
"CRACK!"
The cursed spirit violently swung a massive claw that resembled a battering ram.
With just a casual sweep, it instantly flattened two armored off-road vehicles along with the mercenaries hiding behind them into a gruesome mess of bloody pulp!
"My God..."
The mercenary captain watched his men—who were usually cold-blooded killers but were now being crushed as easily as paper—his eyes filling with unmistakable despair and terror.
Their mission was only to seize a mysterious woven fabric from this primitive tribe that was said to sell for an astronomical price.
But the intelligence hadn't mentioned that a monster like this, one that completely defied the laws of physics, was hidden here!
"Fire! Blast it with the RPG!"
The captain roared at the top of his lungs, attempting a final struggle.
However, the cursed spirit's speed was staggering.
Its massive frame folded in mid-air, instantly crossing dozens of meters to appear directly above the captain's head!
A blood-red maw filled with fangs, reeking of a nauseating stench, snapped down toward the captain's head!
"It's over..."
The captain closed his eyes in despair, waiting for death to arrive.
Right at that critical moment.
"Zhenn—!"
A crisp, soul-piercing ring of a blade suddenly erupted over the wilderness!
Immediately following it.
A dark-red, crescent-shaped blade light, like the dawn breaking through darkness, sliced through the sky from the distant horizon with incredible speed and trajectory!
"Splat—!!!"
The bizarre cursed spirit, whose defenses heavy weapons couldn't even dent and which had been incredibly arrogant.
It didn't even have time to let out a scream.
Its mountain-like body was sliced smoothly in half by that dark-red blade light, like a hot knife through butter!
"Rumble..."
The remains of the cursed spirit, severed in two, crashed to the ground and instantly dissolved into a sky full of black ash, vanishing without a trace in the wind.
"This... what kind of power is this?"
The mercenary captain and his few remaining men stared blankly at the dancing ash, their brains completely short-circuiting.
They looked toward the direction the blade light had come from.
There, standing atop a massive rock dozens of meters away.
An Asian youth with messy black hair and an almost eerily handsome face stood silently, dressed in black training clothes.
At his waist, a small, pitch-black cursed spirit shaped like a long scarf was wrapped obediently, emitting occasional low gurgles.
In Yoru's hand was an ordinary cursed tool steel katana.
At this moment, the blade was covered in a spiderweb of cracks, unable to withstand the terrifying heat of the Sun Breathing he had just unleashed.
It emitted a final, faint glow of dark-red residual heat.
The youth's eyes were deep and calm, as if he had just casually crushed an insignificant ant.
"Clink."
With a casual flick of Yoru's hand, the completely ruined cursed tool katana shattered into countless iron fragments, scattering into the dust of the wilderness.
The space cursed spirit at his waist nimbly opened its mouth, spitting out another identical, brand-new steel katana that landed firmly in Yoru's hand.
Yoru slowly sheathed the new blade. A trace of disappointment flashed through his deep red pupils.
"Was that just a mutated cursed spirit that barely met the threshold of Grade 1?"
"It seems that in these ten years, the level of cursed spirits in other parts of the world hasn't undergone a qualitative leap despite Kenjaku's secret activities."
Yoru muttered to himself as he leaped down from the rock, landing lightly in front of the group of terrified mercenaries.
His appearance remained that of the youth from ten years ago.
Not a single trace of time had been left on his face.
This was the perfect proof that he had crossed the ten-year river of time and forcibly anchored himself in this era.
After resolving the landing crisis in the Shibuya alleyway and 'borrowing' this storage cursed spirit along with hundreds of ordinary cursed tool katanas from a black market dealer.
Yoru had not chosen to return to Japan immediately.
After all, his long-time companion, Shiranui, was currently lying quietly in the restricted area of Jujutsu High as the only memento he had left for Satoru Gojo.
For now, he had to make do with these disposable items.
He knew very well.
In this year of 2016, which was about to welcome the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons and eventually face the Culling Game and the resurrection of Sukuna.
Relying solely on his synchronization rate, which had dropped to 39% due to the forced Binding Vow, and the two best friends—Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto—who were currently in a delicate state of opposition.
The trump cards were still far from enough if he wanted to completely crush the schemes of that thousand-year-old fox, Kenjaku, and crush the fully realized King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna, with absolute dominance!
"Hey, you lot."
Yoru walked up to the sweating mercenary captain, his tone as gentle as a neighborhood boy asking for directions.
But the pressure inadvertently leaking from those red pupils made the captain's blood feel as though it were freezing solid.
"The mysterious woven item you mentioned... is it a type of black rope that can disturb or even nullify jujutsu?"
"Y-yes!"
The captain stammered in response, not even daring to lift his head.
"The intel said that deep in this tribal region, there's a special village with a legacy spanning generations. They master an ancient weaving technique that uses special materials to create those priceless Black Ropes..."
"Very good."
Yoru nodded with satisfaction, a wild smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Lead the way."
"I've taken a liking to those things."
Black Rope.
In the original story, this was a rare Special Grade Cursed Tool that could forcibly interfere with and nullify Satoru Gojo's supposedly absolute defense, the Limitless!
Although in the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, it was used by a Black sorcerer named Miguel to stall Gojo for a while and was eventually destroyed.
In the future Shibuya Incident, or even the final battle against Sukuna.
Mastering this magic-breaking attribute that could ignore any rule would undoubtedly become a super trump card capable of turning the tide!
Furthermore, if Satoru Gojo really ended up sealed in the Prison Realm again due to some uncontrollable butterfly effect, or was controlled by some other troublesome means.
This Black Rope would be Yoru's spare key to forcibly unseal that strongest idiot!
Under the trembling guidance of the mercenary captain.
Yoru soon went deep into the primitive jungle, so dense it almost blocked out the sun, reaching the entrance of a mysterious village hidden in the depths of a canyon.
The architectural style here was ancient and desolate, and the air was thick with the scent of a unique, almost pungent spice.
And at the entrance of the village.
A burly man wearing a small white circular cap, with a striking string of thick black rope hanging around his neck.
He stood there like an immovable iron tower with his arms crossed, blocking the path.
It was the strongest sorcerer in Africa—Miguel—the man who, in the original story, had managed to stall a full-power Satoru Gojo for ten whole minutes by himself!
"Halt, outsiders."
Miguel looked coldly at the mercenaries in the front, but his gaze instantly bypassed those trash with guns and locked firmly onto Yoru, who was walking at the very back.
A look of intense wariness and confusion flashed through his sharp eyes.
'This Asian boy...'
Miguel's pupils constricted suddenly.
'He clearly doesn't have even a shred of cursed energy on him. He's like a normal, transparent person.'
'But why...'
'Just by being watched by him, the cursed energy in my body—even my very soul—is trembling uncontrollably?!'
Miguel had only felt this terrifying sense of oppression from one person in his entire life.
That was the monster known as the strongest of the modern era—Satoru Gojo!
No, this was even purer than Gojo. It was even more suffocating!
It was the embodiment of pure, absolute violence and death!
"You're Miguel, right?"
Yoru stepped past the shivering mercenaries and walked slowly up to Miguel.
He looked up and down at this man who was extremely strong yet always forced to play in the high-tier bracket in the original story, a playful smile appearing on his face.
"Don't be nervous. I'm not here to cause trouble for your tribe."
Yoru pointed at the strand of Black Rope around Miguel's neck.
"I'm just here to make a deal."
"Give me the Black Rope you're wearing, along with all the woven stock in your village."
"In exchange..."
Yoru's hand slowly rested on the hilt of the ordinary cursed tool at his waist. His deep red pupils suddenly erupted with a terrifying sword intent that seemed capable of tearing the heavens apart!
"I can make an exception and let you experience firsthand what is called the power of a true god!"
Every muscle in Miguel's body tensed to the limit instantly.
He violently ripped the Black Rope from his neck and swung it through the air, creating a piercing whistling sound.
"Arrogant Asian kid!"
"You want the Black Rope? Then trade your life for it!"
Miguel let out a low roar of anger. The Black Rope in his hand pulled taut instantly, like a viper emerging from its hole, tearing through the thick, hot air.
Yoru lowered his gaze slightly, his finger lightly flicking the hilt of his blade.
"In that case, I'll show you."
"The temperature... that can sever causality itself."
BOOM—!!!
At that moment, crimson waves exploded madly with Yoru as the center!
The already bone-dry ground of the African wilderness was instantly ignited by this extreme heat.
And amidst the interweaving of those flames, the terrifying storm that was 2016 had just begun to reveal its most hideous edge.