Heart's Burial.
The sword you carry is most stunning, and your technique is…acceptable. No demon can oppose you in this territory, it seems.
It is quite a shame, then, that your abilities are wasted on vermin that is well below your level. You will never improve at this rate.
Unless, perhaps, you choose to encounter someone who can truly battle against your skills. Have you ever heard of Honnoji Academy?
This is not an invitation as much as it is a challenge. The tower that pierces the heavens will be your destination, should you choose to visit Honno City.
Prove your strength!
When he finished reading the letter, he couldn't help noticing that it had no sender at the end, not a single name to attribute the message to. This person, who called his technique "acceptable" refused to let their name be known, reason enough for him to develop a low opinion of them; if someone summoned him claiming they had what was needed to face his power, they should at the very least have the valor to write their name, make him aware of who was foolish enough to even think of challenging him to battle.
No matter.
Vergil wasn't one to decline such proposals.
And besides…
He looked around the living room, stained with the blood of unholy creatures, their flesh sliced to pieces over the carpet, pieces that slowly turned to dust.
He gazed at empty window frames, the broken glass on the floor, and then at the charred sofa, at the plethora of blackened books lying near the ruins of the bookshelf.
He refused to look at the kitchen; he knew the soup he'd been cooking had spilled amidst the ambush.
(Found, once again.)
"I could use a change of scenery," he mused, bringing a hand to his chin. "Honnoji Academy, eh?"
He hadn't heard of it, truth be told, but he would make sure they realized the fatal mistake they committed the moment they decided to challenge him.
Although, he had to give credit where it was due.
"GROAAAR!"
He spun on his heel, toward the pale, horned creature approaching from behind, leaping from the hallway that led to his bedroom and slashing down at him with a scythe glowing reddish-white.
He, for his part, drew his sword and stretched his arm to the side in a swift, sharp movement.
As the scythe shattered, and as the pitiful Abyss' body was sliced into thousands of pieces, letting crimson rain on the floor, he sheathed his sword with a satisfying click, sealing complete victory.
Whoever wrote the letter was right in acknowledging the magnificence of the Yamato.