Chapter Sixty-Nine: A Day in the Life of Muramasa (Part Eight)

The four had barely dashed out of the dining hall when another gunshot rang out. This time, all of them saw a mysterious figure at the end of the corridor, face obscured by a black hood, as if in pursuit of someone. His hands were busy fiddling with something as he ran.

“Stop! Don’t run!” Watanabe, wielding a hefty iron shovel, charged forward recklessly. The mysterious figure seemed startled for a moment, then simply halted and fired a shot straight into Watanabe’s chest.

As Watanabe rushed out, Luo Hanya shouted, “Don’t be rash! He probably has a gun! Running at him like that is just throwing your life away!”

But her warning came too late. Watanabe tried to halt his steps, but a man is never faster than a bullet. Even as the shot rang out, a spray of blood blossomed on his chest.

Bang! Bang! Perhaps not trusting the first shot to be fatal, the mysterious figure raised his arm and fired twice more. One bullet struck Watanabe’s right arm, the other pierced his head. The dazzling shine in Watanabe’s large head was snuffed out, a small hole opening as blood trickled out in crimson threads—like a lightbulb short-circuiting with a red flash, only this time, the short was forever.

“Watanabe!” Three voices rang out at once—one grief-stricken, one clinging with regret, one heavy with resignation—but Watanabe Nishizawa would never hear them again. His eyes remained wide open, mouth frozen in a final cry, as he collapsed to the ground. His only companion was the absurdly cumbersome iron shovel at his side.

The instant Watanabe was shot, Luo Hanya unhesitatingly pulled Hirata and Kimura into a corner. As expected, after Watanabe fell, another shot rang out, hitting the spot where they had just stood.

“Hmph, quick enough to react. The one who died was Watanabe Nishizawa, right?” The mysterious figure’s voice was neither male nor female, utterly unreadable, only imbued with infinite coldness. After killing Watanabe, he advanced step by step toward the corner where the three were hiding.

“Come out! Stop hiding! I’m here to kill you!” Unexpectedly, the mysterious figure shouted, “Yamamoto tried to escape earlier, but I’ve already wounded him! Sooner or later, I’ll find him! Not one of you will get away!”

“Who are you? We’ve done nothing to you! Why do you want us dead?” Luo Hanya had thought she’d unraveled the mystery, but now another strange figure had appeared, vowing to kill them all, leaving her more bewildered than ever, as if everything had unraveled again.

“I’m merely following orders. We have no personal feud, but you are meant to die, so I have come to take your lives,” the mysterious figure replied, his voice icy and devoid of human emotion.

“You mentioned Yamamoto earlier; what about Minako? Have you killed her already?” Hirata shouted.

“Minako? That woman? She’s been dead a long time. What does that have to do with me? Maybe I made her death a bit more miserable, that’s all,” the mysterious figure said, drawing steadily closer, muttering incomprehensible words.

Hirata seemed to want to ask more, but Luo Hanya pulled him aside and whispered so quietly it was barely audible, “Hirata, Kimura, when I count to three, we rush him and—” A flash of ruthless determination flickered in her eyes as she made a throat-cutting gesture.

Kimura nodded without hesitation. Hirata wavered a moment, but remembering this person had come for their lives, he finally nodded grimly.

“Ready.”

“One.”

“Two.”

Tap, tap—the approaching footsteps of the mysterious figure drew every muscle in their bodies taut, poised to pounce.

“So, you still plan to resist?” The cold voice resounded again. “I am inevitable! Death is your destiny! What else can you do?”

“You want our lives? Come and take them yourself!” Luo Hanya gritted her teeth, snarling, “But I’m afraid your teeth aren’t sharp enough! Try to swallow us and you might just break your jaw!”

“Hmph! I’d like to see how you shatter my teeth!” What should have been a threat sounded, from the mysterious figure’s mouth, more like a simple statement of fact—nothing but endless coldness, as if this person lacked any emotion at all.

Sweat trickled down Luo Hanya’s brow as she listened intently to the footsteps while exchanging words. The sound was now right before their hiding place. “Three! Go!” she shouted, rolling out in front, hurling two throwing forks as she sprang up.

Bang! Bang! To her shock, the mysterious figure shot both projectiles mid-air, sparks flying as the forks were blasted aside. At that moment, Hirata and Kimura charged in with butcher knives, slashing with all their might.

“Fools, so overconfident!” The mysterious figure tossed his gun aside and, with gloved hands, seized both knives mid-air, holding them fast in an iron grip.

Veins bulged on Hirata and Kimura’s foreheads as they poured all their strength into the attack, but the mysterious figure’s hands remained motionless, as steady as steel, utterly unshakable.

“Die!” Kimura screamed hysterically.

Luo Hanya seized the opportunity, flinging dozens of knives, forks, and nails in a gust of wind toward the mysterious figure’s body and head, intent on riddling him with holes.

Yet the mysterious figure remained completely composed, yanking the knives from Kimura and Hirata’s hands, then using both blades to deflect every projectile Luo Hanya had hurled. The room rang with metallic clangs as silver and iron utensils clattered to the floor, leaving Luo Hanya dumbstruck a few steps away, her face filled with disbelief.

This mysterious figure’s strength was inhuman—absorbing the full force of Kimura and Hirata’s strikes with his fingers, then snatching their knives and fending off every thrown weapon without a wasted movement. This was no mere fight; it was an art form! How could a human possess such immense computational prowess? Against such an opponent, surely despair was the only fitting emotion.

The mysterious figure released the knives, letting them fall to the ground, and regarded the stunned trio with the same icy indifference, calmly pronouncing their sentence: “You three may die now.” As if preparing to squash three insignificant ants, he advanced with measured steps toward their frozen forms.

One step away—the distance to death!