Chapter Thirty-Three: Yue Longze Targeted

More than half a month passed, and the depths of winter arrived. At night, the biting wind, as if laced with razor-sharp blades, cut so fiercely against Yue Longze’s face that it stung.

Within an abandoned open-air factory, the dry ground was littered with industrial refuse, and the already rough walls were now covered in countless sword marks. Here, Yue Longze relentlessly practiced his sword-drawing technique.

Like the swordsmanship of Jinglong, the art of drawing the sword emphasized speed above all, but it was even more forceful, concise, and efficient. The draw was like a thunderclap—one strike, one kill! Unlike other schools of swordsmanship, which shunned the moment of drawing the blade for fear of delay, this art was predicated upon it: draw to kill, the sword unsheathed to draw blood, its power peaking in that single instant. A single failed strike meant defeat.

Moreover, the sword-drawing technique eschewed the complex forms of other styles. There was but one movement: draw and kill. Those who reached the pinnacle achieved a strike so swift and lethal that the sword emerged only to taste blood.

The demand for speed in this art was extraordinary. If your opponent’s blade was already drawn while yours remained sheathed, it was nearly impossible to surpass their speed. If you were not fast enough, your fate was sealed. Only by achieving ultimate speed, swifter than any foe, could you guarantee a lethal blow.

Another crack split the air, followed by the sharp report of steel striking stone. The battered wall bore yet another slender sword mark.

Yue Longze had been training here for over half a month. The pitted, scarred wall bore silent witness to his efforts: from left to right, the early sword marks varied in depth and power, but those on the right, though still chaotic, were now all equally deep.

The sword-drawing technique pursued two things: extreme speed and overwhelming power unleashed in the instant of the draw. As for the angle of the strike, it was left to instinct or circumstance. There was only one sword; to adhere to fixed forms would only allow the enemy to anticipate your move. The art of drawing the sword was a swordsmanship without set techniques.

Yue Longze ignored the sweat that drenched him, repeating the draw again and again. Whether practicing this art or any other, mastery came not in a day or two, but only through unwavering perseverance and indomitable will. This was a truth as old as time.

Now, Yue Longze had gained a certain mastery over the force of his draw, able to adjust his strength depending on the opponent or necessity. Otherwise, if he used his full power when it was unnecessary and risked lethal harm, that would not do.

Eventually, Yue Longze stopped, his right hand sore and aching from repeated draws. He exhaled deeply, the warm breath visible in the frigid air.

“All right, that’s enough for today,” he muttered, sheathing the Cloud Cluster Sword and wiping the sweat from his brow with a tissue. Humming a tune, he set off for his grandmother’s house. Each day after work at the dojo, Yue Longze would come to this deserted factory to practice.

His work had gone smoothly of late. At first, some of the male students resented him—such was the fate of a capable young man—but that was only natural. In the dojo, both Sonoko Aoki and the girl with a dusting of freckles on her nose admired him greatly.

In time, Yue Longze got along well with everyone, blending in with the group—they were all young, after all. Only the senior disciple remained narrow-minded, persistently disliking Yue Longze. Yet Yue Longze was unconcerned; from a loftier vantage, his perspective was different.

It was already midnight by the time he returned home. Moving quietly so as not to disturb his grandmother, he found her still awake, enraptured by a television program she had recently become obsessed with.

“We interrupt this broadcast for breaking news: Mount Kirimune, a dormant volcano, has just erupted. Residents nearby are urged to evacuate immediately to safe locations.”

The urgent news bulletin abruptly interrupted her show.

Yue Longze frowned. “Mount Kirimune… If I’m right, it’s Golza this time.”

Still, he had no intention of getting involved. In this world, apart from the evil god Gatangeje who would appear at the end, and later Dimaga, no monsters posed any threat to him.

The next day, Yue Longze went to work at the kendo dojo as usual. After all, Mount Kirimune was far from where he lived and had no impact on his daily life.

At the Hokushin Ittoryu Kendo Dojo, the students took a break during training and began discussing last night’s volcanic eruption.

“Coach Azawa, did you see the news last night? The volcano erupted! So scary!” Sonoko Aoki exclaimed, flailing her arms theatrically, paying no heed to her ladylike image in front of Yue Longze.

“It really was frightening…” Masako Haneda, the cute student with freckles on her nose, chimed in softly.

“Natural disasters like this are for the government to handle. Ordinary folks like us should just focus on our own lives,” Yue Longze said, sitting cross-legged on a bench as he wiped down his Cloud Cluster Sword. He brought it to work every day, finding comfort in having it close at hand.

“Coach Azawa is right. Instead of worrying about such things, we’d be better off practicing our swordsmanship!” The short, stout student who used to mock Yue Longze now voiced his agreement, whether out of genuine respect or simple flattery.

Meanwhile, elsewhere, Shinjo and Daigo had already piloted the underground Pipatank into the volcano and discovered Flame Golza.

By noon, the remaining students—who lived nearby—went home for lunch. Yue Longze declined their invitations, ordered takeout, and stayed alone in the dojo to continue practicing his sword-drawing technique.

“Are you the coach here?”

Several men in black clothing and hats entered the dojo. The largest among them addressed him.

“Huh? Yes, I am!” Yue Longze instantly stopped his practice when he heard someone enter and answered.

“Oh,” the burly man grunted. Without warning, the men behind him drew hidden daggers from their belts and lunged at Yue Longze. Their movements were swift and precise, the mark of special training.

“Who are you people?” Yue Longze quickly retreated, frowning as he regarded the black-clad assailants coldly.

They gave no answer, their daggers flashing with a cold, sinister gleam as they thrust towards him.

A series of sharp cracks rang out.

Sword-drawing technique!

Suddenly, all the daggers in their hands snapped in half, leaving only the handles.

Fear flashed in the attackers’ eyes.