Chapter 139: Souta's Three Kugutsu
Shōnin's jaw was lined with rows of serrated steel teeth, and when he closed his mouth, there was a click!—the sharp, metallic sound of metal striking metal, small yet unnervingly tense.
Shōnin's face was blank, smooth and lifeless like a carved wooden doll, but his crimson eyes glowed faintly, burning like tiny embers that stared through his opponent, as if calculating where the flesh would tear easiest beneath those jagged teeth.
From Shōnin's mouth extended a wire as thick as a finger, coiling and uncoiling like a serpent's tongue—ready to strangle or pull its prey into death's embrace. Every subtle twitch of the wire made a faint hissing sound, like the soft exhalation of hungry steel.
The next Kugutsu, Sōtōken, was a massive canine construct, standing nearly one hundred and fifty centimeters tall. Its body was built from blackened steel and darkened wood, sculpted with heavy, muscular contours. The surface of Sōtōken's body was covered in hundreds of small spikes—like a dragon's scales forged from metal.
Each of its twin heads was armed with razor-edged jaws that gleamed with menace. From between its teeth dripped a thick, black lubricant that splattered onto the sand below, sizzling faintly—pssstt!—as the droplets met the heat of the desert ground.
Two iron tails sprouted from its hindquarters, each tipped with barbed spikes. They slithered lazily, scraping across the sand with a whispering sreeek... sreeek...—a sound almost delicate, yet promising certain death.
Both pairs of its eyes burned with feral red light, twin pairs of predator's glare that made anyone who faced Sōtōken feel hunted from two different directions at once.
And between those two Kugutsu stood Tetsujun.
This puppet was humanoid, towering at a height of one hundred and eighty centimeters. Its frame was crafted from dense, fortified wood layered with steel plates—sturdy and immovable, like a living fortress.
When Tetsujun stood still, the sand beneath its feet rustled softly, as if the earth itself groaned beneath its weight. Each step it took was accompanied by a deep metallic kreeeek, the sound of reinforced joints grinding in solemn rhythm.
Both of Tetsujun's arms were fused with massive iron shields, dull but glinting faintly under the harsh sunlight. From beneath the dark cloak draped across its back extended two additional arms—smaller, yet each gripping a circular buckler designed for swift counterattacks.
Its head was encased within a full metal helm, leaving only a narrow slit for vision. Behind that slit glimmered a dim blue light—cold, unwavering, and almost human in its stillness. Whenever Tetsujun turned its head, the motion produced a heavy scraping sound, the kind that made one's bones instinctively tense.
That sound alone carried weight—like two slabs of iron grinding together, deliberate and slow. Every time Tetsujun moved, the air around it seemed to compress, as though the atmosphere itself bowed to its mass.
Souta could only control two Kugutsu at once—but that didn't mean he was bound by limitation. Years of rigorous training had honed his coordination to the brink of human capability, forcing his brain and fingers to dance in perfect synchrony across three threads of chakra that glowed faintly at his fingertips.
He had mastered the art of balance between control and chaos, seamlessly switching dominance between his puppets in an instant. Shōnin and Sōtōken would take the offensive, while Tetsujun stood ready to replace either of them should defense become necessary.
The chakra threads at Souta's fingers shimmered in the sun, glowing with a faint bluish hue. They trembled gently in the dry air—thin, delicate strands that looked as fragile as a spider's web, yet pulsed with lethal energy. With each minute motion of Souta's fingers, one of his Kugutsu responded immediately, like a living extension of his will.
Pakura moved next. With a swift motion, she drew a kunai from its sheath. The polished steel caught the sunlight, flashing briefly as her eyes narrowed into razor focus. Every detail of her surroundings—every shift of sand, every subtle twitch of Souta's hands—reflected sharply in her pupils.
A faint vein pulsed at her temple, a sign of intense concentration. Her breathing was calm but deep, steady despite the heat that rippled through the desert air, distorting the horizon. The grains of sand around her feet trembled faintly with the pressure of her chakra.
Makima mirrored her. She sank slightly, lowering her stance until her knees bent lightly, her right hand hovering near her waist—ready to strike, throw, or block at a moment's notice.
The desert wind swept through, catching strands of Makima's hair and sending them fluttering wildly, glinting red under the sunlight like fiery threads of silk. Though her expression remained serene, the quiet pressure radiating from her gaze weighed upon the air—so dense it almost stifled sound itself.
In that suspended moment, the three Kugutsu stood in eerie stillness—each one poised like a predator awaiting command. Souta's chakra threads pulsed softly between his fingers, glowing faintly like veins of light across the battlefield. Pakura's grip tightened around her kunai. Makima's breath slowed, her focus narrowing to the space between movements.
Then, for an instant, the desert fell completely silent—no wind, no sound, just the stillness before steel and chakra collided.
...
Chapter 140: Successfully Wounding Panda
Kugutsu Panda moved—faster than anyone expected. The massive body lunged forward with thunderous steps, sending waves of sand exploding into the air.
A deep BOOM! echoed through the battlefield as Panda's metallic foot slammed into the ground, shaking the entire floor of sand beneath them.
In an instant, Panda's mouth opened wide—revealing a gleaming trail of iron plating lining its throat.
Fire ignited within. A moment later, Panda unleashed a torrent of blazing flame from its jaws, pouring out like the furious breath of a dragon set free.
The fire twisted and roared through the air with a shrill FWOOOOOSH!, splitting the distance between them and rippling the surrounding air with blistering heat.
"Fūton: Daitoppa!" shouted Pakura and Makima in unison. Their voices nearly drowned beneath the roar of fire, but their chakra surged forward all the same. From their palms burst two massive spirals of wind, spinning violently like twin miniature storms.
The gusts collided with Panda's flames midair. The impact came instantly—BAAAAAANG!—a deafening explosion that rattled the sky itself.
The mix of heat and wind formed a violent shockwave, slamming into the ground and hurling sand high into the air. Scalding vapor spiraled upward, turning into a dense fog of war that blanketed the battlefield in haze.
The air hissed. The smell of scorched metal and burning dust filled their lungs. Visibility vanished—only faint silhouettes darted like ghosts through the thick mist.
Souta seized the moment. Hidden beneath the cover of smoke and flying sand, he crouched low, his hands flashing rapidly before his chest.
"Now…" he murmured, barely louder than a breath.
The chakra threads at his fingertips quivered like lightning. Souta moved Shōnin—to strike from the left. Sōtōken followed, circling to attack from behind. His hands moved with the precision of a seasoned puppeteer, conducting a deadly orchestra.
Shōnin leapt low, the puppet's wooden body twisting in midair with startling agility for its size. Every time its tiny feet touched the sand, a puff of dust exploded beneath them.
On the other side, Sōtōken charged forward on its four heavy metal limbs, each step pounding the earth with sharp clang-clang! echoes—like hammers striking anvils in a blacksmith's forge.
The curtain of heat split open as the two shadows sped through it.
Panda twisted its bulky torso, the crimson glow in its eyes flaring dangerously as it caught movement from both sides. Its massive hands spread wide and—Sreeeek!—from each palm shot out long coils of steel wire, snapping out like whips.
The wires cracked through the air with a deadly SWISHHH! SWISHHH!, cutting toward Shōnin from the left.
The small puppet ducked swiftly, lowering itself so close to the burning sand it nearly scraped the ground, sliding right beneath the lash of the metal whip.
Sand particles erupted, scattering like sparks in the air. In one smooth turn, Shōnin leapt up—its iron jaws snapping open wide and CLANG!—bit deep into Panda's arm.
"Makima, now!" Souta shouted, his voice cutting sharply through the ringing of metal all around.
Makima's fingers intertwined, forming swift seals with elegant precision. Her movements were graceful, yet pulsing with lethal chakra. Her eyes gleamed with focus, and her hair whipped wildly as the wind chakra spiraled around her body.
"Kamaitachi no Jutsu!" she cried, her voice resonating through the clash of steel and the hiss of burning air.
From her fingertips, thin whirlwinds began to form—spinning faster and sharper, condensing into invisible blades. The high-pitched shuuuuu! tore through the air, slicing faster than sight could follow.
The air before her twisted violently and then—CRAAANG!—the wind blades struck. One of Panda's metal whips was sliced clean through with a loud metallic clang, spinning into the air before crashing into the sand, scattering a burst of sparks.
Panda staggered backward, a deep groan rumbling from its joints as the gears inside strained and screeched. Its huge frame wavered slightly.
But behind the faltering puppet, Masamichi stood unmoving—his expression calm, disturbingly serene.
A faint smile crossed his lips. A quiet, unhuman smile.
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