A bone-chilling dread spread wildly through the hearts of every ancient sorcerer like maggots clinging to bone!
Inside a concealed underground air-raid shelter within Tokyo Colony No. 1.
Dozens of ancient incarnated sorcerers, dressed in various garments and exuding powerful cursed energy ripples, were packed into this cramped space like a frightened herd of beasts.
"Have you heard? Hiromi Higuruma, the one who established the courtroom, actually bowed down to that monster with the red blade!"
"How is that possible?! Hiromi Higuruma's domain contains absolute rules that even our leader found troublesome!"
"It's absolutely true! Someone saw with their own eyes that Hiromi Higuruma's domain was completely ineffective against that monster—even Judgeman fell to its knees before him!"
Discussions tinged with despair and fear echoed throughout the shelter.
Over the past day, Yoru's name had become the greatest taboo in all of Tokyo Colony No. 1.
That black-haired youth—possessing not a single trace of cursed energy, yet capable of insta-killing a Grade 1 sorcerer with a single slash—was practically a tireless meat grinder.
The ancient jujutsu they took such pride in and their impenetrable shikigami defenses were as flimsy as tissue paper before that blazing longsword.
And now, even the colony's most troublesome "judge" had joined the other side's ranks, serving as the final straw that broke the camel's back.
"Let's run... We can't possibly beat that kind of monster."
A curse user who had once shaken the Heian era with renown now held his head, trembling all over as he cowered in a corner.
"He's not human... He's a divine punishment sent down by the gods! He came to completely purge undead souls like us who shouldn't exist!"
Just as the atmosphere inside the shelter grew suffocatingly tense and everyone was on the verge of a breakdown...
Boom!
The shelter's reinforced concrete door, half a meter thick, was suddenly cleaved clean in half from the outside by a horrifyingly immense force!
Violent sword aura swept in like a hurricane, instantly gouging a bottomless trench into the solid ground.
All the ancient sorcerers shrieked in terror, instinctively rallying their full cursed energy to face an enemy.
However, once they clearly made out the figure standing at the entrance, every movement froze, and the fear in their eyes instantly morphed into profound reverence.
It was a tall man clad in a worn kimono, carrying two katana at his waist.
His hair hung loose and disheveled, a ferocious scar marred his face, and his entire being radiated a suffocating stench of blood and wild, untamable sword intent.
"A bunch of useless trash."
The man swept a chilling gaze across the crowd inside the shelter, his eyes dripping with disdain and mockery.
"Frightened into this pathetic state by a mere brat who doesn't even possess cursed energy?"
"Did four hundred years feed all your guts to the dogs?"
Faced with the man's berating, not a single one among the trembling ancient sorcerers dared to speak up in protest.
Because the one standing before them was the undisputed strongest figure within this colony.
The absolute leader of the ancient sorcerer alliance, the legendary swordmaster known four hundred years ago as the Demon Blade for slaying countless Special Grade Cursed Spirits all on his own—
Musashi Miyamoto!
"Leader... it's not that we're cowardly, but that guy is truly too bizarre!"
One sorcerer mustered his courage, swallowed hard, and explained shakily.
"Not only can his blade sever cursed techniques, it can even bypass defenses. Even Thunder Demon was cut down by him in one strike..."
"Shut up!"
Musashi Miyamoto bellowed in fury, the violent sonic wave shaking the entire shelter until it buzzed.
"The path of the sword is meant to seek life in the face of death! If you don't even have the courage to draw your blades against a strong foe, what right do you have to call yourselves sorcerers?!"
He turned slowly, casting his gaze toward the smoke-shrouded sky outside the shelter.
"Still, to cleave through that trash Thunder Demon with one strike, and make a stubborn fellow like Hiromi Higuruma lower his head..."
Musashi Miyamoto's mouth curled into a ferocious, excited grin, his hand already resting on the hilt of his renowned blade, Izumi no Kami Kanesada, at his waist.
"This kid named Yoru is indeed somewhat interesting."
"Since none of you trash dare to face him, then this old man will go meet him in person!"
"This old man wants to see whether his blazing piece-of-junk sword is faster, or if my Niten Ichi-ryu holds the upper hand!"
Before his voice finished echoing, Musashi Miyamoto turned into an afterimage, vanishing from the spot in an instant.
He left behind the ancient sorcerers looking at each other in dismay within the shelter, along with a terrifying sword pressure lingering in the air that refused to dissipate for a long time.
...
Meanwhile, atop the ruins at the edge of the Shinjuku Ward.
Yoru, Yuji Itadori, and Hiromi Higuruma were gazing with solemn expressions at the figure slowly walking toward them.
Musashi Miyamoto.
Even across a distance of several dozen meters, that raging sword intent—as if capable of cleaving heaven and earth apart—still pricked painfully against Itadori and Higuruma's skin.
"Be careful. This guy is on an entirely different level from the small fry before."
Hiromi Higuruma pushed up his glasses, his gavel manifesting into a greatsword once more as he blocked in front of Itadori, treating the foe as a grave threat.
"According to the intel I gathered in the colony, he is the leader of the ancient sorcerer alliance, a special grade incarnated sorcerer from four hundred years ago."
"It's said his swordsmanship has reached the pinnacle of mastery. He doesn't even need to use a cursed technique—relying solely on pure sword skill, he can shatter the domain of a Special Grade Cursed Spirit!"
Hearing Higuruma's warning, Yuji Itadori silently clenched his fists as well, the cursed energy within him surging furiously.
However, Yoru, standing at the very front, suddenly raised an arm to stop them.
"Step back."
Yoru's voice was calm, yet carried an indisputable authority.
"You won't be able to interfere in this fight."
He slowly drew Shiranui from his waist, the patterns of the Transparent World spinning rapidly within his deep-crimson eyes.
In Yoru's vision, Musashi Miyamoto across from him was no longer merely human, but a mass of terrifying sword aura condensed to the absolute limit, seemingly ready to explode at any moment.
"Oh? You can actually see through my sword intent?"
Musashi Miyamoto paused his steps, raising an eyebrow in slight surprise.
He sized Yoru up and down, and upon seeing Shiranui in Yoru's hand—entirely crimson and devoid of any cursed energy fluctuations—the excitement in his eyes flared even brighter.
"No wonder you scared those useless fools out of their wits. You truly have an annoying, pure flavor about you, kid."
Musashi Miyamoto split his mouth into a cruel smile.
"However, in this world, absolute strength is the only truth!"
Clang!
Accompanied by a crisp metallic ring, Musashi Miyamoto swiftly drew the two katana at his waist.
A short sword in his left hand, a long sword in his right.
It was precisely the art that brought him worldwide renown—Niten Ichi-ryu!
"State your name, kid!"
Musashi Miyamoto crossed his twin blades before his chest, a visible, tangible sword aura erupting in an instant and grinding the shattered stones on the surrounding ground into dust.
"My blade cuts down no nameless ghosts!"
Facing Musashi Miyamoto's mountain-toppling, sea-overturning aura of terror, Yoru merely offered a faint smile.
He held Shiranui level in front of himself, blinding solar true fire igniting across the blade in an instant.
"Yoru."
"A passing swordsman who intends to cut you in two."
Boom!
As Yoru's words fell, the aura upon him erupted without holding back.
It was an absolute oppression belonging to Yoriichi Tsugikuni, seemingly capable of burning all evil into ash!
Two terrifying forces—one crimson, one black—clashed fiercely in midair.
The entire ruins of Shinjuku Ward seemed unable to endure this horrific power, beginning to tremble violently.
Under the standoff between two masters at the peak of swordsmanship, the surrounding space even formed visible distortions and ripples!
"Arrogant brat!"
Musashi Miyamoto laughed out of pure fury, the battle intent in his eyes burning to its limit.
"Then let this old man see whether you have the capital to back up your arrogance!"
Their gazes met in the air, seeming to spark violent friction.
On one side stood the myth of swordsmanship from four hundred years ago, the ultimate nightmare of ancient sorcerers.
On the other stood an unrivaled Asura bearing the power of the sun, an invincible god within the Culling Game.
A peak duel of swordsmanship worthy of being recorded in jujutsu history was about to officially raise its curtains atop these blood-stained ruins!