I Formed the Strongest Swordsman Group-Chapter 55: Two Against Eight! First Deathmatch! (2)

“Members of the Expel the Barbarians faction…” Aoto’s expression darkened slightly. “They came much sooner than I imagined…”
The eight radicals blocking Aoto’s path all wore wide-brimmed straw hats pulled low, their faces hidden in the shadows beneath the brims.
After angrily calling Aoto a “traitor,” each drew the katana at his waist, stamped the snow from underfoot, and formed a formation of four in front and four behind, sealing Aoto and Saitō in the center.
“Hey!” someone shouted at Saitō. “You tall guy! This isn’t your business! We only want the head of Tachibana Aoto, the traitor who works for the barbarians! If you don’t want to die, get out of the way!”
Saitō’s response to that “friendly reminder” was a look—flat and emotionless—that swept over the surrounding radicals.
Without a word, he raised his left hand to his mouth, blew warm breath from his left palm, then drew the katana hanging at his right hip. He twisted his body and, turning toward the four enemies standing behind Aoto, used his broad back as a shield for Aoto’s back.
Pressed back-to-back with Saitō, Aoto heard Saitō murmur in a volume only they could hear:
“When the fighting starts, try to stay behind me.”
Aoto glanced at Saitō with a raised brow and a sidelong look, then smiled softly. “…All right. If I need to take cover behind you, I will.”
Because Saitō didn’t heed their “friendly reminder” and had even drawn his sword, the radicals who formed the ring around Aoto and Saitō also drew their blades.
“Tachibana Aoto!” one lanky, bamboo-pole-thin rebel sneered at Aoto scornfully. “You traitor serving the barbarians—are you so afraid of death that you hired a body—”
“Shut up.”
Before the bamboo-pole man could finish, Aoto interrupted in a tone that was neither friendly nor hostile—purely indifferent.
“You bloodthirsty, murderous lunatics—when did you start yappering like this?”
Back-to-back with Saitō, Aoto lowered his center of gravity and placed his left hand on the part of the scabbard nearest the tsuba, pressed his thumb against the guard, and pushed forward, drawing the blade out about an inch.
Clang, clang, clang...
As Aoto slid the sword out inch by inch, the blade sang with crisp, clear notes like droplets striking stone.
It seemed as if a halo of light bloomed from the blade as it left the scabbard.
“I have nothing to say to you killers who slaughter for ridiculous reasons.”
“Although you returned much sooner than I expected.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“You were going to show your murderous blades to me sooner or later anyway.”
“If that’s the case, killing you raving fools early will let me live in peace sooner.”
Aoto set the sword before him.
“Come on then—bring it on!”
Aoto’s words fully enraged the radicals.
“That servant of foreigners is so arrogant!”
“When did we ever slaughter indiscriminately? Killing filth who serve the barbarians—what’s wrong with that?”
“Charge! Kill him! Kill him!”
“Divine Punishment!”
…
The eight radicals closing in from front and rear moved as one.
They raised their blades and, shouting, rushed toward the two surrounded men.
As the radicals moved, Saitō acted too.
He inhaled deeply, then—without running—launched himself in a low, gliding leap toward the four enemies blocking their rear!
While airborne he switched to a two-handed grip on the hilt and assumed a high strike stance.
Saitō’s attack came unbelievably fast and brutal.
The man at the front, still not fully aware, had his skull cleaved by Saitō’s gravity-aided strike.
Blood, brain matter, and bone fragments sprayed everywhere.
A splatter of blood mixed with brain matter hit Saitō’s cheek. Unblinking, he quickly recovered his blade and, with a cold look, sliced toward the next enemy.
This opponent’s lack of battle experience was obvious. In a panicked attempt to force Saitō back, he wildly swung his sword at Saitō’s chest.
Saitō didn’t even bother to dodge.
He knew perfectly well that this man’s sword could never reach him.
Saitō stood 1.8 meters tall while the man was only 1.5 meters. Such a height gap meant a huge reach advantage.
In sword combat, arm length equals effective striking distance.
Saitō could easily cut this man while the man couldn’t touch Saitō’s vital points.
The result was inevitable—Saitō’s horizontal slash opened the man’s throat. Blood gushed from the severed artery like a high-pressure fountain.
Only two attackers remained blocking Aoto and Saitō’s rear. Both were stunned by Saitō’s violent, bone-shattering, brain-splattering style.
Their physiques were comically opposite. One was extremely short—about 1.4 meters—while the other was fairly tall at 1.6 meters.
After witnessing two comrades killed in an instant by Saitō, the two remaining attackers reacted differently.
The short man’s face drained of color; he wailed and turned to flee, sprinting away…
The tall one, however, didn’t run. After a stunned moment, a fierce light flashed in his eyes. He lifted his sword, shouted “Divine Punishment!” and charged Saitō resolutely.
While charging, he even shot an expression of contempt back at his fleeing comrade.
It was brave of him to charge on despite his companions being hacked apart. But courage can’t erase a massive difference in strength.
Saitō merely tilted his body slightly and sidestepped the tall man’s downward blow. As he slipped by, his body surged forward like sliding on ice. The white blade in his hand flashed coldly through the air and neatly sliced off the hooded straw hat and scalp of the tall man, sending both flying.
The tall man staggered a few steps and fell heavily.
From the leap to finishing those three—it took just five seconds.
Saitō glanced toward the fleeing short man—driven by a will to survive, the short man ran with unbelievable speed, and within moments he had put nearly ten meters between himself and Saitō…
Saitō didn’t pursue him.
First, the distance was already significant; catching him would take time and effort.
Second, Saitō’s mission was not to annihilate every one of these radicals but to protect Aoto.
After glancing at the fleeing short man, Saitō quickly turned to support Aoto.
But when he shifted his gaze to Aoto’s side of the battlefield, he paused. It seemed Aoto no longer required his aid at all.