Seven burst forward—only to feel the air shift as he crossed an unseen threshold. Denjuro reacted instantly, unleashing two razor-thin wind slashes from his blades. Seven dodged between them, slipping through the gap with inhuman grace.
Behind Denjuro, Seven's clone lunged, silent and precise. Seven was certain the swordsman hadn't sensed it. But without so much as turning his head, Denjuro's smile widened — and the clone split cleanly in half, its form unraveling into loose strands of string.
Denjuro crossed his blades, eyes shutting as he drew in a steady breath. The moment he exhaled, the two collided— Seven's small dagger braced in both hands against the weight of Denjuro's katanas. Seven's feet scraped lines into the arena floor as he was pushed back step by step. If this remained a contest of raw swordplay, he wouldn't last.
Seven flung the dagger upward and thrust both palms forward.
"One Thousand Striking Snakes!"
A storm of white serpents burst from his hands — hundreds, maybe thousands — lunging at Denjuro from every direction. With a calm breath, Denjuro cut through them all, each swing carving clean arcs through the swarm. Seven took the chance to retreat, putting distance between them as Denjuro began to show the first hints of fatigue, his chest rising heavier than before.
The crowd erupted, feeding off the chaos, and even the announcer sounded half-mad with excitement.
"This Seven guy gives me the creeps," Rui muttered, shivering.
"You can say that again," Loretta added, resting his chin on his fist.
Zephyr laughed. "He was once a Visionary candidate—until we learned a bit more about him. Let's just say he's not... kid-friendly."
"That's not terrifying at all," Erenyx said dryly.
"I'm more worried about Denjuro," Heartz noted, eyes narrowed. "Something's off. And he's clearly holding back just for the thrill."
"Sounds like someone I know," Erenyx teased, shooting Loretta a look. He rolled his eyes and waved her off.
"Fatigue getting to you!?" Seven barked as he ripped off his sleeveless turtleneck, pulling two longer, curved daggers from his waistband.
Denjuro burst into laughter. "Now that's a surprise! You're a knife man, huh!?" He lifted both katanas overhead, crossing them like an executioner's axe.
Seven didn't wait to see what came next. He shot forward and leapt, aiming to bury a dagger into each side of Denjuro's neck— but the moment he descended, Denjuro's blades fell first.
Cloth shredded. Blood sprayed.
Denjuro's kimono split clean down the middle, leaving only the lower half intact and revealing a torso covered in scars. Seven, mid-air, was instantly soaked with thin, slicing cuts—hundreds of them.
The arena froze for a single breath. Then the two men crashed together again.
Steel screamed across steel as their arms blurred into streaks. Dozens of clashes, then hundreds, the sound of ringing metal swallowing the stadium. In the chaos, a thin white string slipped from the tip of Seven's dagger—and three razor-fine lines of blood opened across Denjuro's chest.
The stands erupted. The brutality, the speed, the carnage — this was exactly what they came to see.
Denjuro chuckled, planting both swords behind his back as he sank into a sprinter's stance. Seven lifted his blades to guard, but he was too slow. Denjuro blurred forward, and a storm of cuts tore into Seven's body, each one blooming red before his strings scrambled to stitch them together.
"HOW LONG CAN YOU KEEP PATCHING YOURSELF UP BEFORE YOU BREAK!?" Denjuro roared, his swords accelerating, slashing faster than Seven's makeshift regeneration could keep up.
Seven grit his teeth. Denjuro was right—no matter how fast he mended himself, his body wasn't the problem. The pain would get him first.
Aura is the manifestation of one's will imposed on an object, person, or environment. It appears as a visible glow around whatever the user influences, its color varying from person to person—though color has no bearing on strength or potency.
What determines the effectiveness of Aura is the user's resolve: how fiercely they want something, how prepared they are to seize it, and how much they're willing to sacrifice to achieve it. Aura isn't a technique that can simply be learned. It chooses its wielder—and once it does, it never loosens its grip.
The arena went silent. Every voice, every breath, every movement froze. Denjuro and Seven didn't look away from each other—not even for a heartbeat—until Denjuro finally lowered his gaze to the dagger buried in his chest.
He looked back up, blood spilling from his lips and staining his teeth, yet somehow he still grinned.
"This is why I love fighting so damn much!" he roared as a violent aura exploded from his body. The blast sent Seven skidding back, and Denjuro's muscles tightened around the blade, locking it in place so it couldn't tear the wound any further.
"What the hell is that!?" Heartz yelled, eyes wide.
Zephyr opened his mouth to answer, but Erenyx beat him to it. "It's called Aura. Usually you channel it into a weapon to enhance everything about it—speed, sharpness, impact. But he's forcing it into his own body instead."
Zephyr chuckled. "Oh? Someone's read up on Aura."
Erenyx blinked at him, genuinely confused. "Why wouldn't I be? I can use it."
Rui and Loretta snapped toward her in shock. "HOW!?" they shouted together.
Erenyx shrugged as if she'd just mentioned knowing how to tie her shoes. "If you really wanna know, I'll tell you after this round's over."
"I made you use it," Seven muttered, though he doubted Denjuro heard him through the manic laughter echoing across the arena.
Denjuro leveled both blades at his sides as his aura tightened—azure light condensing until jagged outlines formed around each sword like serrated fire.
"HEAR ME!" he bellowed, taking a single step forward. The pressure slammed across the stadium again, the dagger still jutting out of his chest as if it were nothing.
"You've more than surprised me... so I'll grant you your wish!"
Another step. People in the crowd—those too weak to handle it—collapsed instantly, suffocated by his bloodlust alone.
"MY NAME IS ISSHINANO GOEMON!" he declared, his voice thunderous, "I AM THE LAST MAN OF THE SACRED GOEMAN CLAN, ON MY GREAT GRANDFATHERS NAME, I SHALL SHOW YOU ALL HOW TRULY TERRIFYING A SWORD CAN BE!"