The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

The jet-black armor plates gleamed with a cold, eerie light under the moonlight; the Japanese Sengoku period armor worn by this person was of the highest standard.

His chest was covered with a huge torso, his shoulders were draped with exaggeratedly large sleeves of armor, his helmet had a golden shovel-shaped front, and he even had half of a demon mask on his face.

Add to that the unusually long and straight ancient sword at his waist, and it's as if he were an ancient daimyo forcibly dragged here from the battlefield of the Warring States period a hundred years ago.

Zhang Chang'an leaned out, holding a knife, and stood by the carriage. He saw several warriors fleeing in panic, clutching thick iron chains. They were probably the ones who had opened the carriage door for this person.

The enormous warrior raised his head, the moonlight illuminating his face beneath his helmet.

It was the face of a middle-aged man, with sharp features and a fierce yet somewhat bewildered look in his eyes.

He ignored the panicked guards and the fallen corpses. His gaze was fixed on Zhang Chang'an. The voice that came from his throat was extremely low and had a slightly strange accent.

"Someone..."

Before he could finish speaking, he suddenly began to move. His massive body rumbled as he stepped on the ground, causing the loose rocks on the mountain path to vibrate violently!

His enormous body possessed an agility completely disproportionate to his size. Even though there was a carriage between them, the moment he drew his long sword, the blade was already in front of them.

Zhang Chang'an's pupils dilated in shock, for he had discerned the man's unusual physical abilities. He decisively chose to temporarily evade the attack, grabbing the car roof with his backhand, flipping himself up, and leaping onto it.

"Clang!" The strange warrior's sword struck the carriage squarely.

After a loud crash, the wooden frame, which had some steel inlays, deformed violently and fell to the side, shattering the carriage and scattering the cargo all over the ground.

Zhang Chang'an, who hadn't even gotten a firm footing on the roof, was thrown off, and his hand, which was still bracing itself on the roof, felt a sharp pain.

"Bang..." Relying on his experience in martial arts, Zhang Chang'an rolled over and landed on the back of the carriage without getting injured.

However, the power of this strange being before them was self-evident: "What the hell... Is this a swordsman from this era? I don't remember any Meiji swordsmen who liked to wear Sengoku armor."

Zhang Chang'an shook his numb hands and slowly stood up.

Under the moonlight, the enormous Sengoku period warrior raised his armored hand, and with a sudden sway, he actually flipped the overturned carriage to the side.

"Boom..." His footsteps sounded like a series of drumbeats.

Zhang Chang'an was given no chance to catch his breath. The blade flashed again, its edge reflecting the moonlight and drawing a strange arc in the air, like a willow branch swaying in the wind, wavering and uncertain.

Zhang Chang'an's Death Eye sensed the intense killing intent coming towards him and immediately activated itself. He then discovered that the man's blade suddenly accelerated at the moment of approach, with not only a strange trajectory but also an extremely unpredictable speed.

Zhang Chang'an decisively dodged to the side, simultaneously activating the steam frame and raising his hand to swing the steam-powered longsword.

"Clang!" He slashed diagonally at the side of the man's blade. The force transmitted from the blade was indeed astonishing. Even though he was slashing from the side, the trajectory of the longsword was almost deflected.

More importantly, this person's physical attributes were monstrous, yet his swordsmanship was equally superb.

The blade had just been deflected, and before Zhang Chang'an could even sheathe his sword, he had already spun the blade back and was aiming straight for Zhang Chang'an's neck.

Fortunately, Death Eye was powerful enough, and with the help of Jack the Ripper's assassination steps, Zhang Chang'an lowered his head and bent down. The blade whistled past his head in an instant, but only cut off a few strands of hair.

He took the opportunity to step back and decisively created distance, adjusting the state of his outer armor with his taut hands, and operating it at full power.

The surrounding guards finally reacted. Someone shouted, "Surround them! Kill that steam monster!"

Seven or eight people immediately mustered their courage and rushed forward, raising their swords to stand beside the strange warrior.

But Zhang Chang'an saw this warrior turn around and sweep his sword horizontally.

"Pfft!" A flash of light, and blood mist burst from the chests of the three samurai at the front, and they fell down in unison like stalks of wheat that had been chopped down.

Before the people behind could react, the second slash had already arrived. The samurai even grabbed the man's shoulder, pressed him down, and plunged the long sword into the man's stomach.

The remaining few screamed immediately, their legs went weak with fear, and they dropped their knives and ran away.

Only then did a middle-aged man dressed in a silk kimono and wearing a crown stumble out of the back carriage. He knelt beside a carriage, trembling, and shouted to those around him, "Back off! Everyone back off! Don't mess with him!"

Suddenly, the warrior's eyes turned and landed on the man.

"you……"

His voice was deep and hoarse, like a rusty iron plate being rubbed together. He stared at the middle-aged man, then suddenly took a step.

The middle-aged man was so frightened that his legs went weak, and he collapsed to the ground, backing away repeatedly: "No, it wasn't me... I was just in charge of transportation..."

The samurai reached him in a few steps, reached out his left hand, grabbed him by the neck, and lifted him high into the air.

The middle-aged man kicked his legs wildly in the air, his face turning red, and he desperately tried to pry open the iron-like hand, but it wouldn't budge.

The samurai stared at him and slowly said, "I remember you."

His voice was lower than before: "It was you who fitted the armor onto my body."

He paused, his fingers tightening their grip: "Why must I be imprisoned in this body!"

The voice didn't sound particularly angry, but the icy tone made everyone present feel weak in the knees.

Zhang Chang'an stood not far away, watching the middle-aged man fall from the warrior's loosened hand like a lump of mud, his face turning purple and blue, unable to move anymore.

The warrior didn't look at the people around him; he turned around and looked at Zhang Chang'an again.

Under the moonlight, his figure was as heavy as a mountain.

"I am," he said, slowly raising his sword, "Itō Ittōsai Kagemitsu."

As he spoke, he slowly bent his knees, assuming a distinct half-kneeling posture typical of kendo: "I apologize for drawing my sword before introducing myself; I am still not quite used to this body."

Zhang Chang'an was already extremely puzzled by these strange words.

Under the moonlight, fallen leaves fluttered in the woods.

"[Ito Maki] (One-Sword Style Swordsman) (Abnormal Physical Enhancement)"

"Rank: [New Burning Level 13.43%]".

Zhang Chang'an took a deep breath and slowly stood up: "The new level of cultivation is indeed comparable to mine, but this is a bit too high, isn't it?"

Besides that, he had another question: "The common names in the family genealogy are all correct so far, so this name should be right. But why does he call himself Ito Ittosai?"

This name...it sounds vaguely familiar.

He looked up and saw that the fallen leaves around him were indeed still conveying a message to him:

"You have discovered the secret of history. The shogunate was very wary of the anti-shogunate faction in Choshu and other places. Therefore, many xenophobic people lowered their guard against Western technology at this time."

What you've encountered is one of those studies...

The night wind whipped up fallen leaves, swirling them among them. Before Zhang Chang'an could finish reading, a flash of light appeared before him.

"Clang!" The moment the blades clashed, Zhang Chang'an's arm felt like it had been struck by a hammer.

Zhang Chang'an gritted his teeth and held on, the ground beneath his feet bearing two deep marks.

But the man's knife showed no sign of stopping: "Clang... clang... clang..." One straight slash after another followed incessantly.

"Ito Ittosai, who studied under Chungjukuji, used a stance known as the Five Classics, one of which was the Golden-Winged Bird King Sword, which involved continuous straight slashes followed by an opportune strike to the arm..."