Chapter 183: Chapter 183: The Shogunate’s True Intent

Chapter 183: The Shogunate’s True Intent

“Take heed of the clan head’s decree:

Victory in war hinges on swiftness.

If there are any diseased refugees on the island, show no mercy.

Lure them discreetly to the harbor and sink their vessel halfway through the route.

Should anyone ask, blame it on rebel forces—

Lest a mere Tatarigami disrupt Her Excellency’s heavenly dominion.”

“If anything goes wrong—deploy the Kamuijima Cannons. Let none who know the truth survive.”

“Above all—silence must be maintained.”

“Glory to the Shogun and her everlasting reign.”

Hours ago, that bonfire had been a symbol of hope—its warm glow dancing in the eyes of refugees.

Now, it was the perfect tool for the officer to destroy evidence.

The letter, sealed with the Kujou Clan’s crest, slowly turned to ash in his hand.

He exhaled a slow, heavy breath.

“…Fire the signal.”

At his command, one of the men beside him aimed a flare gun at the sky and pulled the trigger.

A bright streak of red light arced through the night sky.

Back on the ferry, several soldiers exchanged looks as they noticed the flare.

Without a word, they moved.

The previously sealed cargo hold was quietly opened.

Inside—surrounded by sacks of sand and stone—were a group of shirtless, muscular men. The moment they saw the signal, they picked up their tools and began tearing into the ship’s hull.

Thunk, thunk, thunk

The hammering sound echoed through the vessel, but nobody paid it much attention.

The people living on the lower decks were already mentally broken—howling, laughing, smashing whatever they could find with reckless abandon. In the ears of the upper-level passengers, this was just more of the same.

Only one person moved upward.

A soldier, blade in hand, approached the top-deck suite where Bai Luo was staying.

Knock, knock…

His hand gripped the hilt of his blade tightly.

His eyes glinted with murderous intent.

The order had been clear: those in this suite were not ordinary refugees.

So no need to torment them.

Just make their deaths quick and clean.

(Aka, they paid extra.)

The door opened.

Bai Luo stood there with a friendly smile, tossing a fruit in one hand.

“Sunsettia. Sweet one. Want a bite?”

The soldier didn’t even glance at the fruit.

With a snarl, he lunged—drawing his blade and swinging hard at Bai Luo.

In a blur, the paper umbrella at Bai Luo’s waist transformed into a katana.

With a single flick, he deflected the strike.

“You—?!”

The soldier’s eyes widened.

He saw the Reverse Blade Sword and realized something terrifying.

If the intel was correct… that sword belonged to the legendary Battousai.

But Bai Luo didn’t give him time to process it.

One clean strike to the neck—not to kill, but to knock out—and the man collapsed in a heap.

Behind him, Sveta had already bound the unconscious man using flowing streams of water, locking him in place.

Bai Luo wasted no time.

He leapt from the top deck, landing soundlessly on the lower deck.

The power of One-Winged Angel made him immune to all fall damage.

Orienting himself quickly, he ran toward the hatch he’d marked earlier.

Though reinforced and sealed, a single slash from Bai Luo shattered the wooden door, revealing the scene below.

Dozens of shirtless men—muscular, grim—were hammering at the lower hull.

Water had already begun to seep in. Pools formed on the floor, reaching their ankles. The combination of sand, stone, and sabotage was sinking the ship rapidly.

“Stop him!!”

They weren’t idiots.

Seeing Bai Luo here, they immediately understood what was happening.

Several men, weapons in hand, surged forward.

And they weren’t rookies.

These weren’t just soldiers.

They were battle-hardened veterans. Scars on their bodies. Cold, dead stares in their eyes. The stench of blood and war followed them like a miasma.

Their killing intent condensed, forming a near-physical aura.

These weren’t mere grunts.

They were survivors—war-forged death troopers.

They had fought in the worst hells and returned. Not just fearless—but monstrously skilled.

CLANG—!

Steel met steel.

Their strikes were heavier, fiercer than even the Kaijin berserkers Bai Luo had fought before.

Upward slash. Diagonal cleave. Downward cut—

The techniques used by the Shogunate soldiers were few in number—simple, direct, and brutal. They mirrored the exact same basic sword forms Bai Luo had once taught to Teppei.

But technique wasn’t everything. It mattered who was wielding them.

Unlike Teppei, these death troopers weren’t practicing—they were killing.

Each swing was aimed at a vital point. Each strike sought to end a life.

Their forms were large, open, and lacking in finesse—but they came with terrifying momentum.

“They say raw strength beats a thousand techniques.”

Even master swordsmen might find themselves overwhelmed by this brand of “idiot swordsmanship.”

But… they were up against Bai Luo.

And Bai Luo was no ordinary swordsman.

His class—Battousai—was built for high burst damage and assassinations. On the surface, it looked like a single-target DPS class.

But in truth, aside from his ultimate, every Battousai skill was AoE.

Tzing—

With a sharp sound, Bai Luo sheathed his blade.

In the next instant, the death troopers surrounding him all froze in place—wincing in pain, hands clamped over their ears.

Ryūmeisen (Dragon Cry Flash).

Unlike Battoujutsu’s usual drawing attacks, this technique focused on the opposite—resheathing the blade at high speed to generate a supersonic wave. The shock disrupted enemy movements and abilities.

Under the system’s enhancement, it could even interrupt elemental energy flows.

The result: silence.

And in a real fight, a single second of silence was all Bai Luo needed.

He dashed forward, sword drawn once again.

Each movement—clean, efficient, deadly.

Even something as simple as repositioning his blade was done with surgical precision—like when he “accidentally” tilted his sheath to the left, impaling a soldier who’d tried to flank him.

This was Hiten Mitsurugi Style—a sword style born not for sport or honor, but for killing.

It was murder, refined into art.

Other than the initial Ryūmeisen (Dragon Cry Flash), Bai Luo didn’t use any flashy skills. No glowing effects, no dramatic declarations.

Just the techniques he had mastered from the Battousai class.

In game terms—basic attacks.

But every “basic attack” from Bai Luo hit like a skill.

Of course, since he wasn’t triggering system abilities, those attacks didn’t inflict status effects—no Silence, no Accuracy Down, no Knockback.

Even so—the results were clear.

By the time the water had reached ankle depth in the hull, the place was littered with groaning bodies.

The burly, hardened men who’d once looked like demons from hell… now lay broken and disarmed, their bodies covered in deep cuts—none of them fatal, but all of them enough to end a fight.

Bai Luo took a last glance at the defeated troops.

He sheathed his sword and began climbing the stairs back up toward the deck.

“There should be a few carpenters among the refugees. I imagine they’ll be more than willing to help repair the ship…”

But in his calm efficiency, Bai Luo missed something.

One of the injured soldiers—bleeding, battered—gritted his teeth and forced himself upright.

Clutching a flare in his hand.

Fwoosh—BANG!

A dim burst of red light shot into the sky.

Not bright enough to be seen from afar…

But from the shore, it was clear as day.

The officer at the dock let out a long, weary sigh.

“So… something’s gone wrong.”

He glanced at the subordinate beside him, and gave a small nod.

The subordinate gulped and then moved.

A moment later, the beacon fire beside them roared to life.

All across Tatarasuna, flames began to blaze—beacons flaring like stars of war, drowning out the real stars overhead.

And finally, the oil tarp emblazoned with the triple tomoe of Electro was pulled away.

Revealing the dark, yawning mouths of the Kamuijima Cannons.

. . . . .

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