Chapter Seventy: A Day in the Life of Muramasa (Part Nine)

The three of them watched in despair as the mysterious figure approached. Unlike his cold and domineering demeanor when he shot Watanabe, this time the stranger merely touched Hirata’s forehead with a gentle tap. Instantly, a nearly imperceptible wound appeared where his finger had landed. Hirata collapsed, his face calm and serene, no longer marked by anger or fear.

Next, the mysterious man reached mechanically for Kimura. His movements were stiff, entirely inhuman. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he said unexpectedly. He extended a finger to Kimura’s forehead and tapped lightly. Kimura seemed unharmed, staring blankly at the stranger. The mysterious man’s body tensed for a moment, but his voice remained steady and unhurried.

Something strange seemed to happen to Kimura. He was no longer panicked—his expression grew resolute, and he declared with conviction, “I came here to save someone!”

Perhaps there was a hidden meaning in those words. The mysterious man appeared momentarily distracted. When he regained his focus, his tone was tinged with cruelty. “That is impossible! Even if I must offer you to death as well!”

But there was no longer any sign of Luo Hanya or Kimura. While the mysterious man was lost in thought, Luo Hanya had already dragged Kimura toward the dining room, leaving the stranger with nothing but their retreating backs.

“You cannot escape—prepare to meet your end,” the mysterious man intoned. He did not seem enraged, but spoke in that same mechanical cadence, striding after the fleeing pair.

Luo Hanya and Kimura ran with all their might. Along the way, Luo Hanya occasionally left subtle traces, hoping to mislead their pursuer, though who could say if it made any difference? Most likely, it was all in vain.

Panting heavily, the two ran for more than ten minutes before finally stumbling onto the deck. The moment they stopped, they collapsed in exhaustion, their sweat-soaked clothes clinging to their bodies.

Luo Hanya had originally intended for them to stay within the ship’s cabins and circle around, but as they ran, Kimura had said, “Head for the deck.” Luo Hanya looked deeply into Kimura’s eyes, chose to trust him without reservation, and so now they lay spent upon the deck.

They were silent for a moment. Each seemed to have something to say, but it was Kimura who spoke first. “Muramasa, don’t you want to ask me anything?”

“I only want to know if what I now understand is true. Can you answer me?” Luo Hanya lay back, hands cradling his neck, eyes half-closed, gazing calmly at the gray sky.

“What do you know?” Kimura’s voice trembled.

“I think I’ve guessed your identity. Am I right, Father?” Luo Hanya let out a long sigh, looking at Kimura with a complicated expression.

“When did you realize?” Kimura’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“I thought I was mistaken. I always believed Kimura Masahiro was my son, but only just now did I understand.” Luo Hanya looked at Kimura quietly, a deep bitterness welling up from within—a bitterness that seemed instinctive to Muramasa, now entirely suffusing Luo Hanya.

“Perhaps this is what they call fatherly love?” Luo Hanya thought, though he wasn’t sure which father and son he referred to.

“I’m sorry to say, your child—my grandson—is already gone. Just moments ago.” Kimura’s face was haggard and defeated, his words heavy with pain.

“My poor, wretched child. It was I who doomed him,” Luo Hanya felt like a bystander, unable to control his body, forced to watch as Muramasa wept in anguish, tears glistening as they fell to the ground.

“Such is the heartache of all parents,” Luo Hanya thought, unable to bear what was unfolding before him, until his consciousness returned to Muramasa’s body.

“What should I do now, Father?” Luo Hanya wiped away Muramasa’s tears and asked the now tear-stained Kimura.

“You must survive!” Kimura suddenly became agitated, gripping Luo Hanya’s shoulders with both hands. “Remember! You unfilial son, even if only for yourself, you must live!”

A surge of guilt flooded Luo Hanya’s heart. He couldn’t help but twitch his lips, gaining a new understanding of Muramasa’s failings, and felt a deep, aching pain. “Brother, just how many wrongs have you committed? What a bizarre script, saddling me with such an identity.”

“Listen! Soon, I’ll rush him and hold him down. You take the gun and shoot him dead!” Kimura spoke as if making his last will, his voice aged beyond his years.

“Alright! I understand.” Luo Hanya replied loudly, not bothering with sentimentality. He drew from his pocket an old rifle he had grabbed from the storeroom during their escape. He loaded the weapon—four bullets in total. Luo Hanya felt a pang of anxiety; with only four shots and little experience, his one prior encounter with firearms had been aided by a system-granted skill. He was only marginally better than a novice. What if he missed all four times?

“I’ll get as close as possible—just one shot in a vital spot is enough. With a body that big, surely one out of four will hit.” Luo Hanya took a few deep breaths, regaining his confidence, gripped the weapon, and aimed at the cabin entrance, waiting for the mysterious man’s arrival.

Tap, tap—the same rhythmic footsteps, each landing like a blow upon Luo Hanya’s heart, making it hard to breathe.

“Prepare to die—cease your struggle,” the cold, familiar voice resounded again. But Luo Hanya was no longer the helpless prey he had been; at least now, he had the means to fight back.

Tap. The mysterious man stepped onto the deck—the final step.

Bang! The gun fired the instant the footsteps ceased.

“Hm?” For the first time, the mysterious man’s voice betrayed a flicker of human emotion. Clearly, Luo Hanya’s ambush had succeeded—his first shot struck the man’s right arm.

Bang! Another shot, but this one missed as the mysterious man began to move with blinding speed, rushing at Luo Hanya like a gust of wind. Luo Hanya could not aim—a split second, and the stranger would be upon him!

At the critical moment, Kimura hurled himself at the stranger’s legs.

“Shoot him! Kill him!” Kimura clung to the attacker with all his strength, hoping to slow him, if only slightly.

From the moment the mysterious man began to move, Luo Hanya had been waiting for this chance. His eyes flashed, and without hesitation, he fired again.

Bang! The mysterious man, no ordinary being, twisted his body in an unnatural way, narrowly evading a fatal shot.

Bang! Another shot, decisive and bold—this time, Luo Hanya’s bullet tore through the left side of the mysterious man’s chest. The assailant let out a beast-like howl and kicked Kimura aside with a savage strength. “Die! Die! Damn you!” The mysterious man, now completely unhinged, ignored Luo Hanya and the blood pouring from his chest, venting all his fury on Kimura, beating him relentlessly as if only Kimura’s death could satisfy his rage.

“You think you’re invincible, but in truth? Your appearance here is pure chance. I’m glad; everything I’ve done has been worth it!” Kimura spat blood, but a triumphant grin played across his dust-smeared face.

Suddenly, the mysterious man seemed to realize something, abandoning the bloodied Kimura and turning to launch himself at the approaching Luo Hanya.

“Damn!” Luo Hanya swung the gun like a club, aiming for the attacker’s head.

The mysterious man snatched the gun away and struck Luo Hanya with the stock. Luo Hanya managed to block with his arms, but flesh and bone were no match for steel. Pain shot through him, and it felt as if his bones were shattered.

“You shall all meet your end—my disappearance is only fitting!” The mysterious man let out a guttural, mocking laugh, as if he was utterly certain of his victory.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Suddenly, three shots rang out from the stairwell behind the stranger. Each bullet struck home—back, neck, and cerebellum. The black hood covering the mysterious man’s head trembled twice, his body swayed, and at last, he collapsed.

“Perhaps you’ll be disappointed. I will atone for my own mistakes.” Yamamoto emerged from the stairwell, holding the pistol the mysterious man had earlier discarded. It was this gun that had delivered the three fatal shots.

As the mysterious man fell, Luo Hanya again lost control of his body. Unlike before, when Muramasa’s emotions had briefly overwhelmed him, this time everything became a blur. The gloomy ship, pistol-wielding Yamamoto, and the bleeding Kimura all faded away. After a moment’s haze, Luo Hanya found himself in a new setting.

A slightly shabby seat, steeped in the smell of leather and rubber, doors on either side, and a steel grille separating front and back—clearly, the backseat of a taxi.

“Welcome back, Mr. Kimura.” In the driver’s seat sat the same uncanny old man Luo Hanya had met before—the one who had driven him to the Hirata house in this very taxi.

“Is it over?” Luo Hanya asked abruptly. “Are you Death? Is it all finished? Was that mysterious man your doing?”

“Heh, don’t be ridiculous. Mysterious man, Death? Mr. Kimura, perhaps you’re only dreaming.” The old man chuckled, steadfastly denying everything.

“Do you remember what you said the last time we met?” Luo Hanya replied. “It was, ‘Young man, you’re here? No need to hurry.’ I didn’t understand then, but now I see—you knew I’d be coming all along. No need to hurry? What’s the rush when heading toward death?” He paused, then continued, “And your form of address—Mr. Kimura. How did you know my surname? Even I only just learned it. If you aren’t Death himself, guiding the wandering souls, then I must truly be blind!”

Death was silent for two seconds, then replied, “Han Crow Luo, you are perceptive. No wonder you made it here. But the most dangerous moment is only just beginning.”