Chapter 143: Realization
Chapter 143: Realization
Kume Nansho chose a small shrine as his place for seclusion.
The shrine was surrounded by a lush, green forest.
The courtyard was paved with bluish-gray stone slabs, and climbing up the crumbling stone steps from the street below led directly into the shrine’s grounds.
Kume Nansho had chosen the inner hall for his seclusion. After emerging from inside, he squinted at his old friends, a bitter smile forming at the corner of his lips.
“Kume, your decision is quite foolish. With your current physical condition, even if you use qigong to maintain your peak, if this turns into a battle of attrition, what chances do you think you have?”
The speaker was an elderly man who looked like a wealthy merchant, dressed formally, his wrinkled face framed by white hair.
This old man was a martial artist of the “Mirror Heart Origin Style” and a longtime friend of Kume Nansho.
“Forget it, Shishina! You know how stubborn this guy is once he’s made up his mind…”
A slightly annoyed snort came from an old man dressed in an advanced-level suit.
Though also advanced in years, he had a robust build and had deliberately dyed his white hair black.
“Let’s not talk about that… Kume, what are your actual odds? From what I know, Kuki Muen’s strength might have surpassed yours over the years.”
Kume Nansho chuckled darkly. “Funatsu, weren’t you doing quite well in Kantō? What brings you all the way out here?”
“I figured I might be here to see you off. Let me make one thing clear—I want no part in your fight with Kuki. If you end up dead, I won’t lift a finger to avenge you.”
The old man in the advanced-level suit sneered, and with a thud, his cane smashed the brick tiles on the ground, the tip piercing through and sending stone fragments flying.
“Kuki and I are fighting to the death. The odds are fifty-fifty. He might have improved over the years, but my decades in the Huanzang Style haven’t been in vain…”
A look of resolve flashed in Kume Nansho’s eyes.
“Thanks, Funatsu, but you really don’t need to get involved. This is our Huanzang Style’s private matter. The old debt between Kuki and me must be settled with life or death. Even if he hadn’t come looking for me, I would have sought him out before my strength completely faded.”
The suited old man looked furious, as if too angry to speak, and simply turned his face away.
The last old man was thin and short, giving off an unremarkable impression. He had a bald forehead, wispy white hair around his ears, and wore a plain kimono.
The old man sat silently with his eyes closed, cross-legged on the wooden platform that bordered the four sides of the shrine’s courtyard.
Kume first called out “Kamoda,” likely his nickname or title.
The old man’s ears twitched. Though he remained cross-legged and outwardly unmoving, his spine straightened subtly, as if ready to spring up from his seated position at any moment. This was the mark of someone who had immersed themselves in martial arts, integrating their skills into daily life.
“Kamoda, you old ghost, don’t tell me you came here to talk sense into me too!”
Kume spoke without any change in expression.
“This old man has no such intention.”
Kamoda rolled his eyes and muttered impatiently.
“If you die, it’s your own bad luck. As for that junior brother of yours, I’m no match for him either. If I went along, it would probably just mean my death too, so I can’t be bothered with this mess.”
Kume shook his head and said, “The three of you—did you come to support me or to bid me farewell?”
Though he said this, he felt deeply grateful to these three friends. They had come fearing something might go wrong in the upcoming duel, serving as witnesses.
The old man named Shishina, dressed like a wealthy merchant, was a master of the “Mirror Heart Origin Style,” renowned in his earlier years for real combat.
He was a well-known figure in the domestic martial arts world, though he had withdrawn from the scene many years ago to manage his family’s business, now considered an industrialist. His willingness to show up here was already quite rare.
The old man in the advanced-level suit, Funatsu, was a famous swordsman from Kantō, trained in the Immovable Wisdom Mysterious Style under a previous swordmaster, with many outstanding disciples of his own.
His physical condition was still decent, but he had developed heart problems a few years back. While he could still teach students, he likely couldn’t last long in a sword fight.
Funatsu and Kume Nansho had been close friends since their youth, viewing each other as rivals. Funatsu was also the most opposed to Kume’s life-or-death duel with Kuki Muen.
Hearing the news, Funatsu had probably been furious.
Knowing his old friend’s state of mind, Kume Nansho could only respond with a bitter smile.
Funatsu was, after all, an upright person. He had previously suggested using official means to prevent Kuki Muen from returning to the country.
But Kume Nansho would never agree to that. As he had said earlier, he would eventually settle things with Kuki Muen—it was only a matter of time.
The last friend, Kamoda, wasn’t well-known but was a martial arts expert Kume had befriended, likely the strongest of the three. However, he came from an obscure minor school called the “Hidden Fox Style.”
Kamoda was an eccentric old man, and the Hidden Fox Style was essentially an assassination martial art. Throughout its history, practitioners would do anything if paid.
Among Kume Nansho’s friends, Kamoda’s nature was ambiguous—both righteous and wicked, solitary and eccentric—a close friend who could only be described as “fate working in mysterious ways.”
But this time, even Kamoda didn’t think Kume had good odds, going so far as to say, “Even if the two of us went together, it might just mean both of us dying.”
“Alright, you three old geezers, enough with the gloom. I’ll trouble you to serve as witnesses from here on, and… please figure out what to do about Sakaki Tetsuhei when the time comes.”
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A scream erupted from the back of the room, then abruptly cut off. It was hard to believe a grown man could make such a sound; he must have been in extreme agony before death.
But that was to be expected, Furuta thought. The man named “Da Cha” was clearly a sadistic murderer, and his cruelty naturally sent chills down one’s spine.
Because he killed to satisfy his own pleasure.
The other members of the League of Nether Ghosts were no better. When Furuta entered the room at the deepest part of the apartment building, he found that most of the walls, floor, chairs, and tables were stained with reddish blotches of blood.
Human limbs, gore, and chunks of flesh were scattered throughout the room, and the rusty scent of blood assaulted his nostrils.
This wasn’t an ordinary room—it was a vault of the Iwamoto Group. Roughly thirty percent of the proceeds from the gang’s underground fighting rings, casinos, and loan-sharking were stored here.
Da Cha and the League of Nether Ghosts had deliberately attacked this vault, thinking the old man Wakabayashi might be hiding inside, but they were wrong.
Not entirely wrong, though—they had found the accountant in charge and the sturdy vault the Iwamoto Group had installed deep within the room. But now, the vault door stood open, and it was empty inside.
Da Cha and his underlings were torturing the unfortunate accountant and the gang members guarding the vault.
“Torture” wasn’t quite the right word—it was more about indulging their perverted desires. These people not only enjoyed fighting but also took pleasure in tormenting their opponents.
“Hahaha! Look at this—I got a beautiful tattoo. I always say it’s best to skin someone while they’re still alive…”
Da Cha was holding up a bloody piece of skin with a Hannya mask tattoo on it.
This had likely been tattooed on the back of someone from the Iwamoto Group. Unfortunately, from today on, it would become part of Da Cha’s personal collection.
“Hey! Isn’t that Furuta, old buddy?”
Da Cha grinned. “You’re back already!”
“Yes…”
Furuta lowered his head timidly. “Also, we’ve received word from the Iwamoto Group. The old man Wakabayashi wants to personally ransom his wife. He also said the person who killed the ‘League of Nether Ghosts’ member could be handed over to us…”
“Good!”
Da Cha sneered. “That old bastard is quite straightforward. Too bad I accidentally killed his wife—this is a bit of a headache now.”
Furuta’s heart sank. He truly hadn’t expected Da Cha and his crew to be this reckless… How were they supposed to handle the hostage exchange now?
“What’s there to worry about? We’ll just find an opportunity to kill the old man, then take out the Iwamoto Group and Sunao-gumi’s leadership. That’ll solve everything!”
Da Cha laughed heartily, his cruelty and directness laid bare. His ultimate goal was to eliminate the entire Iwamoto Group and Sunao-gumi for Kuki Muen—there was no other option.
“Alright!”
What else could Furuta say? He didn’t have the nerve to debate alternatives with these murderers.
He just kept his head down and continued, “Also, the old man Wakabayashi has one condition. He said the exchange can’t happen inside the city. He wants to meet us at the long-abandoned Kurasaki Hospital outside the urban area. If we don’t agree, he said there’s no point in further discussion…”
“You think the old man is up to something?”
Da Cha let out a sinister laugh. “Fine, fine! I, Da Cha, will play his little game.”