“Look, I even have supporters,” Rosse pointed at those people, smiling as he looked to Toki beside him.

Toki rolled her eyes, “There are so many people in Ringo; there must be different thoughts. Do you want to kill them all, or assimilate them?”

She had a feeling Rosse was cooking up something big again.

“You think starting an uprising would be interesting? Feed the hungry, you think they’ll overthrow Wano?”, Rosse said with a half-smile.

“No way, dream on. The rule of the daimyo families won’t be shaken,” Toki expressed disbelief, her light gaze falling on those paupers from before.

Because they said something discordant, those people had already been singled out by others nearby.

If Rosse weren’t here, they’d probably have been dealt with on the spot.

Wano had always been ruled by daimyo families, and people were used to their presence.

Maybe some longed for a better life, but definitely not those who were already full.

“Then we’ll give it a try,” Rosse smiled lightly, his right hand slowly settling on the hilt of his sword.

Seeing Rosse’s movement, Shimotsuki Ushimaru a short distance away went pale and tried to draw his blade as fast as he could.

But before his hand reached the hilt, he felt a pain in his arm.

Shlkkk!

Shimotsuki Ushimaru’s right arm flew clean off, blood erupting outward in a frenzy.

At the same time, Rosse’s voice sounded from behind him.

“A hand so slow, but still dared to block my way?”

Clutching his bleeding right shoulder, Shimotsuki Ushimaru turned with difficulty and could only see Rosse’s tall back.

‘So fast…’

He hadn’t reacted at all; Rosse had not only moved behind him but had severed his right arm.

In the whole of Wano, the only person who could do such a thing was Kozuki Oden.

He and Rosse were not on the same level at all.

“Even if you kill me, Ringo won’t accept you… Shusui?”

Shimotsuki Ushimaru suddenly cried out, eyes fixed on the sword in Rosse’s hand, his pain forgotten.

“How is it in your hands?”, Glaring with rage, Ushimaru demanded.

That sword had been stolen years ago by a pirate from the northern cemetery of Ringo; none expected it to be in Rosse’s hands.

That blade meant a great deal to the Shimotsuki family and to all of Wano.

“Isn’t it fitting to use this Shimotsuki sword to kill the Shimotsuki clan?”

Rosse flourished the blade, still with his back to Shimotsuki Ushimaru, not bothering to take him seriously.

A swordsman who was only B-rank and without fruit powers, standing here, he couldn’t even break Rosse’s defense.

To Rosse, Shimotsuki Ushimaru’s greatest value was merely entertainment.

After he slaughters most of Ringo, he was curious what faces they’d make and how filthy the curses would be.

“All right, today you’re not the main character. Just stand there and watch. It’s time for the others,” Rosse’s voice drifted down lightly, with a trace of casual laziness, as if announcing something trivial.

He strolled forward as if in a leisurely walk.

Only then did the others react.

Most, seeing their daimyo insulted and falling, erupted in rage, eyes bloodshot, roaring as they swung blades and spears. Like a broken levee, a tide of fury surged at Rosse.

A few realized something was wrong and quietly stepped back, melting into the chaotic crowd.

Facing this torrent that could tear steel, the smile on Rosse’s lips grew thicker, as if watching a carefully staged drama.

He even tilted his head slightly, listening to their frenzied shouts.

“Then,” he said softly, low but clear in everyone’s ears, with a teasing anticipation, “Begin!”

Before the words finished, Rosse moved.

It wasn’t a world-shattering burst, nor did he use any haki or fruit power.

He simply lifted Shusui lightly and, in an almost elegant manner, walked into that forest made of flashing blades.

“Kill!”

The moment they met, it was thunderous.

At least six long spears, katana, wooden clubs, approaching from different angles with whistling, air-tearing speed, closed off every escape and aimed for his vitals.

Rosse didn’t even look at the weapons. He merely flicked his wrist, and Shusui traced a dark arc through the air almost invisible to the naked eye.

Shk!

A crisp ringing of metal clashed, sharp and clear.

The next instant, the six weapons of tempered steel shattered in unison, their breaks smooth as mirrors, carried forward by inertia and flying outward.

The warriors’ faces, still twisted with ferocity, froze into utter astonishment.

Rosse’s eyes shifted ever so slightly; his arm moved like the most dexterous brush, a gentle sweep.

There was no earth-shattering roar. Only the faint “psh” of blade through flesh, like silk being cut.

In an instant, the six men furthest forward all opened thin lines of blood at their necks simultaneously, fountains of crimson arching out.

Their faces of disbelief were forever fixed; their bodies went limp and fell, kicking up a small cloud of dust, adding the first bold stroke to this bloodied canvas.

With a kick, he sent a still-warm corpse flying, precisely toppling several behind it, then like a lion breaching a flock, he dove deeper into the thick of the crowd.

Fists, feet, elbows, blades.

The purest forms of physical technique and swordsmanship in Rosse’s hands all transformed into killing tools.

Every punch, every raised knee, every elbow, every swing of the blade was like the knell of the reaper; death arrived immediately.

His movements had no excess. Flowing like clouds and water, swift as lightning.

In the span of a single breath, his figure flashed multiple times; more than ten people, full of despair and unwillingness, fell, their blood quickly forming rivulets on the ground.

Rosse didn’t use any flashy area attacks. That would be a constraint, ruining the purity of this “performance.”

He danced among this ten-thousand-strong formation with the purest body and sword arts. Every move, every strike carried aesthetic precision, as if a top artist sculpted his work.

Only his medium was living flesh, his paint scalding blood, his music the dying wails and the groans of breaking bones.

Outnumbered? No. This was Rosse’s solo show.

A mere ten thousand, he alone was enough.

═❀═❀═❀═❀═❀═❀═

patreon.com/AmbitiousTranslator

🥳Joining Patreon keeps me motivated and eager to work diligently, so please consider joining.🥰 You can access upto 20 advance chapter through Patreon.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep