Chapter 105: The Ninja Organization

Within half a day.

Eleven sword schools and dojos within Tokyo, Japan, were utterly annihilated. Each dojo was forcibly breached by the same individual, who ruthlessly slaughtered everyone inside—the masters and all the sword disciples—before setting fire to the very foundations of these venerable schools.

At each site, a single demonic card was left behind, as if to proclaim the identity of the intruder.

The “Demon” Kyle.

Like the embodiment of a demon himself, he crushed the pillars of Bushido with impunity, trampling upon the spirit that the samurai held sacred.

The people of Tokyo were once again shaken to their core. While dread filled their hearts at the thought of Kyle’s invasion, they came to a sobering realization: even the most skilled samurai they had always admired were so fragile.

Nearly one hundred thousand armed soldiers were mobilized in a sweeping search and pursuit. But Tokyo was vast—divided into four or five major urban centers—and the dozens of renowned sword schools scattered across various districts, making it impossible to deploy forces to defend every one.

Strategic analysts in Japan attempted to trace Kyle’s movements and anticipate his targets, stationing troops covertly near the dojos. Yet the next moment, another school would be destroyed ten kilometers away. By the time the soldiers rushed to the site, all that remained was a desolate wasteland of blackened ashes.

What they did not know was that a Blue Hawk drone scouted from over a kilometer above, making it nearly impossible for Kyle to be surrounded by the large military forces.

After all, he was not a machine. In combat mode, Kyle’s stamina drained far faster than an ordinary man’s. Yet, thanks to the enhancements of a super soldier physique and regenerative factors, his body quickly recovered.

Still, if trapped amidst a well-prepared large army, no matter how strong, he could not annihilate all enemies by himself. Prolonged, grueling skirmishes would rapidly drain his strength, leaving no opportunity to rest.

Moreover, sustained, concentrated artillery fire could overwhelm the protective venom and his mutated body’s endurance limits. The regenerative factor would be unable to keep pace with new wounds, and death would become a real possibility.

Kyle was fully aware of his own limits and would never place himself in such a life-threatening predicament.

During this deadly game of cat and mouse with the forces surrounding Tokyo, he went on to destroy five more defenseless sword schools, totaling sixteen wiped out.

Japan had never suffered such a catastrophic loss of so many sword school traditions at once since the Edo period a century before. The blow to those who took pride in Bushido was unimaginable.

At headquarters, Commander Sasaki grew anxious. He dispatched messengers to the remaining schools, urging them to abandon their main dojos and evacuate to safer areas.

Yes. Evacuate. To the nation, Kyle’s threat was no less than a natural disaster.

Yet, representing the spirit of Bushido, every dojo uniformly rejected Commander Sasaki’s plea. To them, facing a formidable enemy head-on—even unto death—was honorable; to flee before battle was cowardice.

If they abandoned their schools out of fear, would they not be forsaking the very essence of Bushido in their hearts?

“The sword remains as long as its wielder lives, and the wielder remains as long as the dojo stands.”

This was the unanimous response from the remaining sword schools—a proud, steadfast declaration.

Commander Sasaki, listening at the military command center, nearly cursed aloud. For the first time, he sighed inwardly: Bushido is harmful! Too rigid and foolish! Lacking flexibility!

If the enemy were anyone else, a chance of victory might justify such resolve. But this was Kyle—the demon whose name cast a shadow over all Tokyo in less than two days.

“Must we really wait until only a handful of dojos remain before we can concentrate our forces and mount a defense?” Sasaki’s head ached with worry. Just as he pondered his next move, a messenger burst in, brimming with excitement.

“Report, sir! Fresh intelligence: the ninja organization tasked with protecting the Emperor has left the palace and is operating covertly. They request our cooperation!”

“Ninjas?” Sasaki was momentarily stunned, then broke into a broad smile, laughing heartily. “It seems the Emperor can no longer stand idly by—he’s even deployed the ninja elite who have long been confined to palace protection.”

Ninjas—the elite of the elite, warriors among warriors! Each member possessed strength far beyond ordinary men. Unfortunately, this faction answered only to the Emperor, existing outside military jurisdiction.

Sasaki’s voice turned cold. “Cooperate? Of course we will! This operation will mobilize our entire armed forces, disregarding public property and civilian casualties. No matter the cost, we must kill that man in battle!”

Tokyo, Kanagawa Ward.

This area marked the boundary of the metropolitan city. The streets lacked the bustle of downtown, and in light of the American demon’s invasion, pedestrians were few and far between.

Yet here stood one of the top ten sword schools—the Hojo Ittoryu—rumored to be the keeper of the cursed blade “Murasame.”

Kyle arrived at the dojo’s entrance and was surprised to find no guards posted. The main gate stood wide open.

Had everyone inside already evacuated?

Kyle did not care. Whether the dojo’s defenders stayed or fled made little difference to him.

Destroying the dojo—to erase the foundation of what claims to be Bushido—was his sole purpose.

Expressionless, he reverted to his original black night combat attire and strode coldly into the main hall.

Upon entering the courtyard, he realized the dojo’s members had not fled. Instead, they knelt in orderly rows within the main hall. A middle-aged man in a black kimono sat at the front, with roughly fifty black-clad sword disciples behind him, all meditating with eyes closed, facing the entrance.

“You’ve finally come. We’ve been waiting,” the middle-aged man opened his eyes and fixed a steady gaze on Kyle, who stood erect at the threshold.

“Demon Kyle, here to challenge,” Kyle smiled, delivering his customary opening line.

“I am Hojo Maru, the twenty-first headmaster of the Hojo Ittoryu school,” the man said, slowly rising with a sheathed Japanese sword beside him. Resolutely, he declared, “On behalf of Hojo Ittoryu, I accept your challenge!”

At his words, the fifty disciples rose together, gripping their pre-drawn swords, ready to engage.

Hojo Maru spoke with calm dignity, “I know I stand no chance alone against you. That is why we will face you together.”

“Exactly as it should be,” Kyle nodded approvingly, his gaze resting on the sword in the man’s hand. With mild interest, he said, “Is that the rumored cursed blade ‘Murasame’?”

“Indeed. Murasame should never have been unsheathed. But now, with Hojo Ittoryu’s survival at stake, we have no choice but to defy our ancestors’ wishes,” Hojo Maru said, gripping the scabbard with his left hand and the finely carved hilt with his right, drawing out the slender blade inch by inch.

Kyle studied the so-called cursed sword.

Its hilt bore intricate, masterful engravings, and the blade gleamed like polished steel, cold light flashing sharply. In terms of ancient Japanese craftsmanship, it was nearly on par with Howard’s high-tech forged sodium carbon steel one-handed swords.

Yet, in truth, it seemed no different from other Japanese swords…