Chapter Seventy-Seven: You Dead! (End of the Fourth Update - Merry Christmas!)

Aoki Tsukasa narrowly twisted his body to the side, and a gleaming katana swept past the tip of his nose, slicing through the straw hat atop his head, which fell to the ground in tatters. There was no time to think; instinctively, his right hand gripped the hilt at his side, and in one swift motion, he drew the blade and slashed at Kotaro’s waist.

“Ah!” Before Aoki Tsukasa could even process the dull sensation in his hand, Kotaro cried out in agony, staggering back two steps while clutching his waist, barely able to stand as he leaned against a thick bamboo stalk.

“You… such speed!” Kotaro’s hand, pressed to his bleeding side, was soon stained red. He spat out a mouthful of blood, his face twisted with pain and hatred. “No wonder my dearest friend died at your hands.”

Aoki Tsukasa looked at the wound at Kotaro’s waist, then at his own blood-stained sword, and his expression grew uneasy. “I didn’t kill your friend. Why don’t you just give up now? I don’t want to kill you.”

Kotaro gave a bleak, bitter laugh, removing his hand from the wound, where dark, clotted organs could be glimpsed through the gash.

Aoki Tsukasa turned his head away in nausea. Even knowing this was a dream and Kotaro was nothing more than a simulation conjured by the system, the air, the weight of the blade, Kotaro’s tragic state, and even the faint scent of blood—none of it felt the slightest bit false.

“Die, you bald bastard!” Kotaro roared, staggering forward, brandishing his katana high and charging at Aoki Tsukasa.

Aoki Tsukasa knew perfectly well that one more casual slash would finish Kotaro off, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had learned swordsmanship only to make himself a little stronger, never imagining he would one day wield a real blade in a fight for his life.

Ideally, nothing like this should ever happen—this was Aoki Tsukasa’s truest wish.

But Kotaro, realizing he was already doomed, pressed the attack with wild abandon, forsaking all defense. Aoki Tsukasa struggled to parry, but eventually, one strike broke through, biting into Kotaro’s arm.

Did it hurt?

To be honest, at first, it didn’t. But then, when Aoki Tsukasa saw the blood pouring from his own arm, a primal survival instinct blanked his mind. Facing Kotaro’s contorted, hate-filled face, he swung a fatal blow without thinking.

He retched as his blade lodged deep in Kotaro’s throat at point-blank range, the sight of mangled flesh turning his stomach.

[Enemy eliminated. Initiating next wave of training. Enemy count: 2.]

Aoki Tsukasa didn’t even have time to call for a halt before two more swordsmen, dressed as ronin, suddenly burst out behind him. His own wound began to heal before his eyes.

“Aoki Tsukasa!” He shoved Kotaro’s corpse aside and turned, forcing himself to remain calm. Two samurai, who bore a striking resemblance to Kotaro, charged at him, faces twisted with rage, katanas raised high. “How dare you kill my younger brother, Kotaro!”

“You insulted my beloved, killed my brother—how could I not avenge this?! If I don’t, I’m not worthy to be called a man!” The ronin’s furious shout was shrill and piercing, his blade flashing coldly as it swung mercilessly at Aoki Tsukasa.

Aoki Tsukasa’s face turned pale. He understood now—unless he died here, this training wouldn’t end.

With no choice but to fight for his life, he threw himself into the desperate struggle against the oncoming blades.

———

[You Dead]

When the system’s “You are dead” message popped up, Aoki Tsukasa jerked upright in bed, gasping. The sore, aching muscles from last night’s boxing reminded him he was back in reality.

He staggered down the stairs, steadying himself against the wall, then leaned over the sink and splashed his face with cold water, breathing heavily for a long while before finally stopping.

“Damn!” he swore, rare for him. Exhausted, he sank to the floor. Outside, the world was still pitch black—no wonder, since he’d only been asleep for about an hour.

He had managed to last a full thirty minutes in the combat training ground just now.

Every time he killed an opponent, the system would restore him to peak condition. At the same time, the next wave would add one more enemy. Each of these enemies bore a blood feud with Aoki Tsukasa; even with broken arms, they would charge him fearlessly. Their identities ranged from Kotaro’s brothers and uncles to his neighbors and beyond, each one shouting that Aoki Tsukasa had disgraced their beloved and that they would not rest until he was dead.

What bothered Aoki Tsukasa most was that all of them shouted about him insulting their beloved, yet he had no memory of any such thing—it felt like he was being cheated. He wondered just how gorgeous their beloveds must have been to drive him to such madness so many times, or perhaps they all had the same beloved?

In any case, by the end, six or seven ronin-like swordsmen were chasing Aoki Tsukasa, slashing at him in a furious frenzy. His earlier hit-and-run tactics no longer worked; after killing a few more, he got careless, took a hit to his left leg, and was hacked to pieces by four or five ronin on the spot.

He was nearly chopped into meat scraps!

The vivid pain was so real that Aoki Tsukasa dared not continue the training and exited the training ground, jolting awake from the nightmare.

No wonder the system warned him to be cautious using this training room, lest he suffer mental fatigue.

Anyone who experienced a one-hundred-percent realistic nightmare would feel drained the next day—let alone being hunted down and butchered by a mob.

For now, Aoki Tsukasa really couldn’t bring himself to enter the combat training ground again. The only reason he managed to survive until the system spawned six or seven opponents was not that he could dispatch the earlier ones unscathed, but because every time he was half dead, the system would restore him. Which meant his memories were filled not with the pain of dying once, but with being hacked, disemboweled, and losing limbs—over and over in the span of an hour.

And the sight of his own handiwork—his enemies’ miserable ends—lingered in his mind like real memories, leaving him deeply unsettled.

Annoyed, he opened the fridge, took out a can of beer that Masao Kasugano had left, popped the tab, and gulped it down.

Damn it, if I go in there again, I’m a dog, he thought, eyes red.

[Swordsmanship LV4: Your swordsmanship has placed a foot into the truly vast world of the way of the sword. Additional bonuses: Strength +1, Agility +1, Charisma +1. Experience (131/600)]

Wait, how much experience?

[131/600]

Aoki Tsukasa sucked in a cold breath and swallowed hard. Maybe… if he changed his mindset, he could try again?