Chapter 18: No Sword? What Are You Gonna Fight Me With?
Ten fingers, ten puppets.
The people under his control practically covered all the top-ranking figures.
The entire Sakura Island, before anyone realized it, along with its proud Seven Dojos and its famous Swordsmanship Tournament, had all become tools for the "Carpenter" to earn his dirty money.
"So it was you…! All of this was your doing, you despicable lowlife!"
Junichi drew his blade, thinking of the years of suffering he and his father had endured. He grit his teeth, eyes glistening with fury and pain. "I will never… never forgive you!"
He was about to charge at the "Carpenter" when a sharp slicing wind suddenly swept past his ear. In the blink of an eye, the bamboo sword in his hand was cut clean in half.
Junichi turned his head, stunned.
The one who had cut his sword… was none other than his own father.
Right now, Sakuraba Itsuki's face was twisted with pain. His right hand gripped a pale pink longsword in a downward slash, while his left hand desperately clutched his own wrist, trying to stop the strike.
It was obvious—
That slash had not been meant for the bamboo sword.
It had been aimed at Junichi's head.
"G-Go… just go!" Sakuraba Itsuki growled from deep in his throat, voice full of agony. "Get away from me, Junichi!"
"Father!" Junichi's eyes widened, but before he could react—smack!—a powerful hand yanked him back and dragged him over ten meters away.
"Boss Shano, let me go! I can't abandon him—I have to save my father!"
"Don't say stupid things."
Shano flung him harshly into the corner of the wall and coldly said:
"Staying near him will only make things worse! Ever seen a puppet show? There's only one way to stop it—kill the one pulling the strings!"
"You think with your strength, and that broken bamboo stick, you can get close to that guy?"
Junichi looked up, dazed, his eyes locking on the distant figure of the "Carpenter."
"What are you looking at, kid?"
The Carpenter sneered and blew out a smoke ring. With a sudden swing of his left hand—his right hand moving only the two outermost fingers—he pointed southward.
"These old geezers are useless now anyway. Full puppet mode, all of them!"
—whoosh whoosh!
Invisible ripples pulsed through the air. Threads—like those of a puppet—shot toward the front row of the southern stands.
The seven dojo masters suddenly began to emit mechanical clanking noises. They stood in unison and marched forward with stiff, jerky movements.
Seven gleaming blades slid out of their scabbards with a shiiing sound.
As they moved, their elbow and knee joints made deep clack clack noises like wooden balls colliding.
Wood grain patterns began to crawl across their skin, becoming denser and more grotesque. Their eyes rolled back to the whites, threaded over with yellowish puppet strings. The sight was eerie—like something from a horror film made real.
In a flash,
The seven formed a loose semicircle—
Shielding the Carpenter behind them, and sealing off every path of escape from the stage.
"You too!"
The Carpenter laughed wildly, his right index finger flicking another yellow puppet string toward Sakuraba Itsuki.
"You still resisting? Go ahead, try! But this close, with my power, you won't even get the chance to twitch!"
"You bastard…"
Veins bulged on Itsuki's forehead as he struggled with all his might—
But it was hopeless.
He could only watch helplessly as wooden rings formed across his body.
His left hand lost control and slipped away, and the sword in his right slowly—bit by bit—turned toward where Shano and Junichi stood.
His mind, once sharp and focused, was now foggy and distant.
He shut his eyes—and when he opened them again, it was like he had made up his mind.
"Puppetization is irreversible. I'm not about to become some mindless monster…"
"Maybe this is the best ending I can hope for."
Sakuraba Itsuki smiled. "Goodbye, Junichi."
"Father…" Junichi's eyes went wide. Realization struck like lightning. He shot up from the ground, scrambling toward the stage on all fours.
But Shano pinned him down hard. Junichi flailed, his arms waving helplessly, eyes filled with tears as he screamed,
"No… don't! Please, don't! FATHER!!"
Shhk!
In an instant, Itsuki twisted the blade in his right hand and plunged it into his own chest—
And twisted.
Junichi froze.
Reflected in his pupils, that frail and skeletal body, wearing a final strained smile—
Fell forward to the ground with a crash.
The world seemed to collapse with it.
"Sakuraba-san!"
"Chairman!!"
Cries rang out from the crowd, voices filled with grief and fury, some even sobbing.
…
Under the spotlight—
The black-haired youth had quietly stepped back onto the stage. He stared at that unmoving face, his brow slightly furrowed—but said nothing.
Then he turned to the audience.
"What are you all still doing here?! You want to die? You think this is still a tournament?!"
Shano took a deep breath and bellowed,
"Run!!!"
The audience shuddered.
Looking at the Carpenter's cruel grin, and the horror-movie puppets now walking toward them—
They finally realized what this situation truly meant.
"Run!"
"M-My legs… someone help me, I can't move!"
"AHHHH! We're gonna die here!!!"
Panic and screams erupted. People scrambled madly toward the exits.
Even the host rolled and crawled his way through the employee passageway. Right before he escaped, he remembered to scoop up the two shivering broadcast Den Den Mushi from the wall and carry them with him.
Some unwilling swordsmen tried to stay behind and help, but were coldly stopped—cut down mercilessly by flintlock shots from Major Tomte and the Sheriff.
Blood sprayed everywhere.
The Carpenter casually flicked ash from his cigarette.
"You know…"
He looked at Shano on the stage, clicking his tongue in amusement.
"Didn't think you'd care so much about the crowd. Even with your own life on the line, you still shouted for them to run. I'm almost touched. Almost want to recruit you, kid."
"I think…"
Shano slowly raised his head. The Carpenter froze.
He saw a pair of blood-red eyes—burning with a wild, beast-like frenzy.
"—I told them to run, not because I cared."
"I just didn't want them getting in my way."
"…You little—don't get cocky!"
Something about those eyes made the Carpenter uneasy. He forced a sneer. "You said it yourself—this isn't a tournament. Your sword skills may be decent, but what can you do with that piece of trash bamboo stick?"
Swish!
Two dojo masters lunged forward. Their blades flashed—
The bamboo sword in Shano's hand was shattered in an instant.
Their swords pressed firmly against his throat and chest.
"Blame yourself," the Carpenter sneered, finally relaxing, "for trusting this tournament. A real swordsman carries his true blade. Without it, you're nothing but a declawed lion."
"All this talk…"
Shano stared at the broken hilt in his hand—then let it drop.
He lifted his head, grinning.
"Who ever told you… I was a swordsman?"
BOOM!!
As he finished speaking, two massive hands shot out—clamping down on the heads of the dojo masters beside him.
CRACK!
Skulls popped like walnuts under pressure.
Their features twisted and caved in. Skin cracked.
No blood flowed.
Instead—yellow puppet threads poured from the fissures, writhing like parasites, trying to wrap around Shano's wrists.
But the moment they touched his skin—
They were pulverized by the surge of muscle.
"That's it?"
The power in Shano's fingers grew more terrifying by the second.
Crack crack crack! Ten finger-sized dents appeared in the masters' skulls.
Then, with a roar, Shano hurled them like bowling balls—
BOOM!
The wooden puppets smashed into the stands, collapsing several rows of seats. When the dust settled, their bodies were twisted into grotesque shapes—completely immobilized.
Their waxy wood-grain skin gleamed under the lights.
"..."
The Carpenter stood frozen. His cigar dropped from his lips with a plop.
Riiip!—The sound of tearing fabric behind him.
He whipped around, just in time to see Shano toss aside his expensive kendo uniform like trash.
Now free of its restraints, his body swelled with muscle—pulsing and writhing, heart pounding like war drums.
The already imposing figure onstage seemed to expand again—towering like a mountain.
"Y-You…"
The Carpenter gulped, stumbling back. His legs trembled. He nearly fell.
"Warm-up's over."
The black-haired boy licked his cracked lips and grinned. His cheeks trembled—not from fatigue, but from the thrill of the hunt.
"—Now, it's your turn."