Yamakaji roared as he plunged forward, leaving the smoke and fire behind him.
The air screamed. The metallic whine drew closer and closer.
He could hear the ripping wind, feel the heat, see the smoke swirl.
And this time—he saw it.
A flicker of silver—racing toward him like a ghost.
His eyes snapped wide open.
He swung his blade with all his might.
A burst of sparks erupted in the haze. His face went pale. Pain shot through his arm. His body lifted off the ground from the force of the impact.
The deflected metal sphere slammed into the earth at an angle, exploding in a column of dust.
The ground shook violently. The observing Marines dropped low to stay on their feet.
Yamakaji's boots hit dirt again. He pressed forward.
His arm throbbed with pain, but he gritted his teeth and swung again.
This one grazed his side, leaving a charred, bloody wound across his left hip.
The backlash rippled through his entire body. Blood welled in his mouth and dripped from the corner of his lips.
No storm could stop his steps.
The howling sand, the searing heat—it all pushed him forward.
The silver orbs came faster now. Faster and harder. Like a relentless artillery barrage.
He couldn't knock them away. Not fully.
But with refined swordsmanship and instinct sharpened by endless training, he redirected their trajectories—barely. Just enough to avoid fatal strikes.
Still, his body was being torn apart.
Blood burst out in red blossoms with each near miss.
Yamakaji looked like a man walking through a storm of blades.
Every step forward added a new wound, a new line of crimson.
Silver streaks traced the air around him like stray bullets—appearing, vanishing, then reappearing again in endless succession.
Behind him, the training ground was torn to shreds. Buildings, cannons, the earth itself—perforated by the passage of those metal orbs.
He was only thirty meters away from Darren.
And yet it felt like an eternity.
A road that might never end.
Everyone watched in silence as he stumbled forward.
Zephyr clenched his jaw. His fists opened, closed, then opened again.
Blood stained Yamakaji's body. His trusted blade was chipped and cracked, its edge now lined with fractures.
And within ten meters, the intensity changed.
Darren's attack rate increased.
The silver rain came down like a storm, an unrelenting wall of death.
Yamakaji's blade swung faster. Fiercer. More desperately.
His sword edge crumbled with every clash.
Darren narrowed his eyes.
So this was the man who would become one of the strongest Vice Admirals of the future.
His sheer willpower and battle instinct alone placed him just beneath an Admiral's tier.
Darren smirked faintly and reached forward.
The silver orbs accelerated violently.
Yamakaji couldn't move forward anymore.
Silver flashed past his skin, slicing him open, spraying blood in the air.
The clang of steel erupted nonstop. Sparks flew like fireworks.
The earth itself detonated in columns of dust and sand.
His blood dripped freely from his mouth now.
He could barely hold his sword.
His hand was shredded. You could see the bone.
Only the cloth tied to his hilt kept it from flying away.
Was this... as far as he could go?
Yamakaji's eyelids sagged. His vision blurred.
"GO FOR IT, YAMAKAJI!!"
The shout cracked across the field like thunder.
Everyone blinked in confusion.
It was Tokikake, face red, neck straining, screaming with everything he had.
"BEAT THAT BASTARD DARREN!!"
"Go, Yamakaji!!" Doberman shouted, gripping his blade.
"Charge," Onigumo said coldly.
"You can do this!" Dalmatian growled through clenched teeth.
"You look so damn cool right now!!" Kuzan punched the air, brimming with passion.
The entire training ground ignited with cheers.
They rallied for their comrade—the boy with the buzzcut who refused to yield.
Side by side, voices roared:
One fight. One brother. One cause.
'Wait a sec... am I the villain now?'
Before he could respond—
"YAMAKAJI, YOU BRAT!!" Zephyr's furious roar split the air.
"GET IN THERE AND CUT THAT DAMN DARREN DOWN! IF YOU DON'T, I SWEAR—!!"
Amid the chorus of battle cries, something swelled in Yamakaji's chest.
A moment of distraction.
Another spark. Blood exploded from his shoulder.
His battered blade finally shattered—only half a sword remained.
Fragments rained down like falling stars.
The jagged edge of the broken blade glowed red-hot from friction.
Yamakaji bit through his cigar, roared, and charged forward!
One last step. One last attack.
The sand tore beneath his boots.
Like a spark at the tip of a dying cigar.
Like the last flash before an ember goes dark.
A trace of crimson fire flared in the chaos.
The broken sword, scraped raw by air, had ignited from sheer velocity.
Just like its wielder.
Forward. Always forward.
Through storm. Through sand.
Through the shadows of gods.
And with one last, righteous blaze—
It struck the war god standing at the heart of it all.
Flames howled into the sky.