Super Fighting Tokyo.

Musashi seemed to be teasing Shiraki, laughing, "Since you won't be killed and I won't be beaten up, what's there to fear from those people?"

"What is there to fear..."

Musashi murmured a sigh, then put his hands on his hips and said, "That's true, Shiraki, I've already chopped you into mincemeat."

Shiraki Chengze smiled faintly, "And I also beat Miyamoto Musashi so badly that his bones and flesh were broken."

Musashi did not refute, but nodded.

His eyes were downcast.

"In that case, Shiraki, you should be able to understand, right?"

"No, it's not about understanding; you must have considered it too."

"The 'cursive script realm' in swordsmanship, and what lies beyond that...?"

"It'll be soon..."

Musashi suddenly opened his eyes wide, his aura solidified, and transformed into two semi-transparent swords, one large and one small, which he gripped in his hands.

He spoke in a low, menacing voice, which made those around him tremble.

"Thus, one has reached the state of having no sword—!!"

As soon as he finished speaking—

"Humph!"

With another muffled shout from Musashi, he suddenly swung his hands in the air, unleashing two powerful gusts of wind that swept past Shiramoto's sides.

"Humph!!"

As the second muffled shout subsided, Musashi simultaneously swung his sword again, the force of which was even stronger than before, even stirring up wisps of dust.

"Humph!!!"

When the third muffled shout was completed simultaneously with the third swing, the audience could even hear the ear-piercing buzzing of the blade cutting through the air!

Clang!

"Well……"

Musashi lowered his gaze to the translucent swords he held in his hands, and muttered to himself, "Very good, it has a sense of weight."

Upon hearing this, Shiraki Cheng couldn't help but smile, feeling somewhat happy for Musashi.

Hey~~~!

He could see that Musashi's twin swords were even more distinct than before, not only in terms of blade shape but also in the gleam of the blades!

Even the spectators in the distance gasped in surprise.

"He has a knife..."

"Musashi has a sword in his hand!"

"Incomprehensible!"

"..."

As Musashi listened to the chorus of praise, a smug look appeared on his face. He turned to look at Shiraki, his tone even carrying a hint of anticipation.

"As you said, Shiraki, the swords that could be put down have already been put down by me."

"So, does that mean I can chop things up however I want?"

Musashi pursed his lips, looking a little embarrassed.

"I love chopping things, I'm addicted to it."

"Once I get a good opportunity to cut, I don't want to miss it, and I might accidentally make a few more cuts."

"..."

After thinking for a moment, Shiraki Cheng nodded in understanding.

"Yes, because I don't want to miss out..."

Bai Mucheng's eyes gleamed as he grinned and said, "Facing difficulties and facing strength—the ultimate realm we reach constitutes each and every vivid and overflowing soul."

"Such a valuable opponent, within reach at some point, so I didn't want to miss the chance, and inadvertently wanted to take a few more hits, or even hit a few more times, to gain more satisfaction..."

"..."

Musashi looked up at the lamplight and recalled:

"In my past life, when facing those opponents I felled with a single strike, I always thought—"

"Ahhh...!! Get up now! Get up and fight me one more time!"

"I want to chop! I want to hack!"

Musashi's face showed joy, mixed with a strange fervor.

"One cut, two cuts, then a third cut, a fourth cut, a fifth cut, a sixth cut... it never stops!"

That fervor spread in all directions, but it collided head-on with Bai Mucheng's momentum, like a huge wave crashing against each other.

Shiraki Seiya's eyes trembled with excitement, a ghostly light flashing from the depths of his pupils.

"Yeah! I always want to throw more punches and have more fights..."

"I haven't had enough fun yet!"

"Whenever I encounter a good opponent, I want to fight in every way possible, using the first move, the second move, then the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, the seventh, the eighth move...!!"

"What will happen when the next move is made...?"

……

……

The two voices transformed into two intertwined bursts of madness, spreading from the arena and gradually permeating the surroundings, surging forth in a powerful roar.

The space blurred and distorted, and it seemed that only Shiroki and Musashi could be clearly seen—those two figures!

"..."

Tokugawa Mitsunari trembled with nervousness, "Who are those two people...!!"

Katahara Metsudou squinted, "Hmm."

Yuji Doppo frowned and sighed, "That's right, they really are the same kind..."

Tokita Ohma's eyes widened. "Hey, those two guys...!!"

Hanma Baki clenched his teeth and pursed his lips, his arms crossed over his chest and gripping his upper arms tightly. "Brother Shiraki... and Mr. Miyamoto Musashi..."

Shibukawa Takeki let out a long sigh, "They're going crazy, they're all going crazy...?!"

"..."

Kaeya, the Earth God, was even more sensitive to auras. He was covered in cold sweat and couldn't help but turn to look at his teacher beside him.

His teacher, Honbu Izo, clenched his fists and said forcefully, "Indeed, those two were completely wrong just by meeting!"

……

……

On the field—

The madness was brewing, making it hard for those around to breathe.

Shiraki Shō and Miyamoto Musashi—their respective fanaticism converged at the same time, transforming into a raging flame that distorted everything around them!

Musashi's eyes widened, his expression like a ferocious demon, "Slaying, charging, assassinating, striking, grappling, all done with effortless ease..."

Shiraki grinned, the wound on his left cheek tearing open again, blending with the bloodstains on his body.

The ink surged endlessly, transforming into black and white lines that outlined his movements and spread waves of murderous intent.

Shiraki Cheng also began, "Karate, wrestling, drunken fist, military combat techniques, parkour, Muay Thai, kickboxing, boxing, Pankrasin, wildness, mental strength, yoga..."

"..."

Shiraki Shōwa and Miyamoto Musashi—

Two madmen, one saying something and the other saying something!

As the conversation continued, their voices even overlapped, each saying their own, a chaotic mix of unrestrained joy and exhilaration.

Musashi: "Freedom! I!! I am now completely free...!!"

Shiramu Cheng: "What is strength? Now! Starting now! Starting with the fight...!!"

"..."

Suddenly, in a single moment, the two fell silent. The noise ceased, leaving only heavy breathing and an increasingly intense frenzy.

Musashi opened his eyes wide, then calmly straightened his chest. "So, Shiraki, you should be able to understand, right?"

Bai Mucheng nodded, "Yes, I understand."

"..."

Musashi looked down at the broken sword "Kuni-Tora" that he had discarded.

"Swords and blades can leave one's hand—haven't you seen that many times already?"

"The so-called 'ghost wielding a big stick' is just a forced 'metaphor.' In the end, the ghost and the big stick exist independently and are not inseparable."

"A sword that will never leave my hand..."

Miyamoto Musashi raised his head, looked up at the bright and dazzling overhead lights, and unconsciously moved his feet on the sand.

"I want a sword that I'll never let go of!"

"I can endure loneliness, but being separated from swords is even more desolate."

"..."

A few breaths escaped from Bai Mucheng's lips, and his steps quickened with excitement.

“I can accept victory, defeat, fooling around, playing around, and fighting to the death, but I can’t accept that I can’t continue fighting.”

—At this point, the two in the arena once again entered a state of extreme madness and synchronized rhythm.