As expected, there are no weaklings left at this tournament.
Seeing the opponent's shinobi blade erupt into a bright crimson hue, Gekkō Hoshiyomi sighed quietly. It seemed… he'd have to finally draw his sword.
If he still had chakra, he was confident he could've ended the match sheathed. But in his current state—chakra completely drained—he had no way to resist chakra-based attacks. If he didn't get serious, this match might turn against him.
"There it is!" the announcer called out, his voice echoing across the stadium. "That's the secret kenjutsu of the Crimson Heart Dojo—Crimson Sword Style : Scorching Flame! With this technique, the Crimson Blade contestant's assault becomes even more intense! Kenshin may be in real danger. Still no sign of him drawing his blade!"
Just as the announcer described, the moment the technique Scorching Flame activated, his opponent's strikes grew fiercer. Seizing a brief gap, the shinobi thrust his glowing blade forward—a serpent-like strike aimed at an unguarded angle.
Hoshiyomi could feel the heat pulsing from the blade before it even reached him.
But he didn't panic.
His hands calmly gripped the hilt. His eyes narrowed.
Mikazuki Munechika shimmered as it left its sheath for the first time on the main tournament stage.
Clang!
With precise timing, Hoshiyomi parried the fiery thrust, redirecting the momentum with the flat of his drawn blade.
"Oh! He's drawn his sword! Kenshin has finally revealed his weapon! A clean, exact parry—could this be the turning point?!"
Perhaps it was due to his deep bond with Mikazuki Munechika, but the moment Hoshiyomi drew the blade, he felt his movements become smoother, more fluid.
He twisted his wrist, knocking aside the opponent's sword with raw strength, and then transitioned smoothly into a technique of his own:
Crescent Moon Slash – Second Form.
This was a technique he had developed during his three years of training—refined with his master's guidance and drawn from memories of his past life's swordsmanship.
It began with a reverse downward slash, followed by a swift two-handed upward strike. The movement's wide arc created the image of a crescent moon falling to earth.
The blade's gleam carved through the air like moonlight. Wherever the arc passed, the searing red sword aura of his opponent seemed to shudder and recoil.
The Crimson Blade swordsman blocked the first slash—but the second rising arc came too fast. He couldn't react in time.
The blade's tip sliced cleanly through his uniform, leaving a shallow but visible cut across his chest.
Pain stabbed through him. Alarm bells rang in his mind.
He retreated quickly, putting distance between them.
His crimson chakra flared even hotter now. He thrust his blade downward, drawing a line toward Hoshiyomi's direction—and the ground erupted in flame.
Crimson Sword Style – Flame Burst!
Flames roared up in vertical jets, forcing Hoshiyomi to backflip to safety. But the wall of fire also cut off his line of sight, blinding him from his opponent's next move.
And that's when it happened.
Behind the flames, unseen by the crowd and his opponent, the Crimson Blade swordsman sheathed his blade and began channeling what remained of his chakra into a final, desperate gambit.
He was running out of chakra. If this dragged on, he'd lose. He had to finish it now—with his strongest technique.
Hoshiyomi couldn't see through the fire—but something felt wrong.
His instincts screamed at him. The hairs on his neck stood up.
He closed his eyes.
In the darkness, his ears twitched. His sense of hearing heightened.
This was a technique his master had trained into him—locking him in pitch-dark rooms and forcing him to rely on nothing but the blade's instinct.
Through the crackling of the flames, he heard it—a click.
The sound of a blade sliding into a sheath.
He's sheathing his sword?
Why would he do that—does he think I'm already finished? No… he saw me dodge. And the referee hasn't called it.
There's only one explanation:
He's charging up a final attack.
…
On the other side of the arena, the Crimson Blade swordman had finished his preparation.
All his remaining chakra was now compressed into the blade. The red aura now burned like physical fire, warping the air around it.
He roared:
"Crimson Sword Style – Absolute Flame Slash!"
As he unleashed the technique, the sheath on his back exploded into fragments—unable to contain the violent energy.
A massive crimson arc, nearly two meters wide, tore through the air.
It cut through the flames and hurtled toward Hoshiyomi like a wrathful comet.
The audience gasped.
To them, it looked unblockable.
Women in the stands covered their faces, unwilling to see what they assumed would be Kenshin's charred corpse.
Then—silence.
The arc faded.
And the announcer's voice broke the tension:
"Wait—Kenshin? Kenshin is… gone?!"
The crowd froze.
Even the other contestants stared in disbelief.
Gone? How could he just disappear?!
That's when someone spoke, voice quiet but clear:
"He's not gone. He's above us."
All heads turned upward.
And there—soaring through the sky—was Hoshiyomi, blade in hand, plummeting toward his stunned opponent.
The Crimson Blade fighter noticed too late—only when he saw the shadow below.
He spun, raised his weapon to block.
But Hoshiyomi's eyes narrowed with focus.
Hiten Mitsurugi-Ryū – Ryūtsui Shōsen (Dragon Hammer Soaring Flash)!
Descending like a thunderbolt, Hoshiyomi slammed the hilt of his sword into the man's wrist.
CRACK.
Bone shattered. The shinobi's blade clattered to the ground.
But Hoshiyomi wasn't finished.
Ryūtsui Shōsen had a second strike: a rising follow-up.
Normally, the next move—Ryūshōsen—would launch the blade upward in a lethal vertical slash.
But Hoshiyomi held back. He wasn't out to kill.
Instead of slashing, he twisted the sword, gripping it by the blade's spine, and smashed the hilt into the opponent's jaw, like an uppercut.
The Crimson Blade swordsman flew backward and landed outside the ring, unconscious.
Winner: Himura Kenshin.