The air of the night grew thick, heavy with a suffocating weight that was equal parts the humid, tropical heat of Hanyuun and the cold, paralyzing fear coiling in Raito’s gut. He had trained. For weeks, he had pushed his body past its limits, his muscles screaming under the impossible weight of a sword designed to break him, all so he would never have to be a burden again. He had faced down assassins, fought alongside rebels, and even survived a fall from the sky.

  But this was different.

  The hulking beast of a man in front of him, Ao, was on a completely different plane of existence. It wasn't just his size, a mountain of muscle and rage that seemed to drink the moonlight. It was his speed. Despite his massive frame, he moved with an unnatural, predatory grace, his footsteps silent on the sand. And his sword, a monstrous blade that should have been slow and clumsy, was a blur of motion in his hands, each swing possessing the swift, precise economy of a kitchen knife.

  Why?

  The question was a frantic, desperate drumbeat in Raito’s mind as another sword strike, a blur of moonlit steel, came screaming towards him. Why was he in this position? Why was Yukari, his partner, trapped in a cage of wind? Why did his master, his only hope, simply watch from the sky as if this were a play? And most of all, why did Ao, whose grudge had been laid bare and proven to be a ghost, still hunt him with a bloodlust so pure it was almost tangible?

  He could never understand.

  He moved on pure, ingrained instinct, the lessons from his brutal training the only thing keeping him alive. He brought his heavy wooden sword up, his arms straining, his teeth gritted as he tried his best to parry the incoming blow.

  The moment his wooden sword made contact with the cold steel of Ao’s katana, a bone-jarring shockwave shot up his arms. His muscles screamed, a raw, tearing agony that was a world away from the simple burn of training. His parry simply didn’t work. Ao’s brute strength was a force of nature, a tidal wave of pure, overwhelming power that brushed his defense aside as if it were a child’s toy. Raito was thrown sideways, his feet skidding in the sand as he barely managed to keep his footing, his body a fragile, inadequate dam against an unstoppable flood.

  Raito panted, his lungs burning, each breath a ragged, desperate gasp for air. Sweat and saltwater dripped into his eyes, blurring the monstrous figure that was now circling him with a slow, deliberate patience. “Huff… huff… Why?” he managed to get out, the words torn from his throat. “Why are we still fighting? Your nemesis… he’s dead. You should’ve just gone home. Get some dinner or something.”

  Ao stopped, tilting his head as if genuinely considering the question. A low, rumbling chuckle started in his chest. “You really don’t get it, do you, boy?” he asked, his voice a strange, almost philosophical purr. “Have you ever worked for something? Poured your entire being into a single, passionate purpose for your whole life? And then, just as you are about to achieve it, it’s ripped away from you.” He gestured to the stump of his horn, a shadow of the old obsession flickering in his eyes. “My first failure. But in that failure, I realized something.”

  He took a step closer, his predatory grin returning, wider and more terrifying than before. “I can just start anew. There’s no need to grieve over something that has passed.” He lunged, his massive katana a horizontal silver arc that aimed to cut Raito in two.

  Raito dropped, the wind from the blade screaming over his head. He rolled forward, coming up in a crouch, and swung his own heavy sword in a desperate counter-strike, aiming for Ao’s exposed side. But the hulking warrior didn’t even bother to block with his weapon. With a contemptuous ease, he brought the back of his gauntleted hand around, swatting the impossibly heavy wooden sword aside as if it were a child’s toy. The impact sent a numbing jolt up Raito’s arm, but Ao hadn’t even flinched. No damage.

  “Okay…” Raito scrambled back, putting distance between them, his mind reeling. “It’s nice that you have a very positive mindset, but… is it really not possible to find another hobby? Something that doesn’t include fighting? Or killing?”

  Ao’s mocking laughter echoed across the desolate beach. “I’m guessing you’ve never properly fought in a life-or-death battle before, boy,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Don’t worry. I’ll properly educate you on it.” He took another slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes glinting with a chilling, pedagogical light. “Once you taste the exhilaration of beheading your enemy after a serious battle, you become addicted. You’ll want more. The first blood… that is always how it starts.”

  He moved, his speed a shocking, violent blur. Before Raito could even raise his sword, a heavy boot slammed into his gut. The front kick was a brutal, piston-like blow that lifted him off his feet, the air exploding from his lungs in a single, silent gasp. He was thrown backward through the air, crashing to the sand in a crumpled, wheezing heap.

  Meanwhile, floating serenely above the brutal, one-sided battle, Sun Yoon watched, his expression unreadable. His hands, tucked into the wide sleeves of his green robe, were clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists, a silent testament to the storm of conflict raging within his own ancient soul.

  Inside the cage of wind, the world was a screaming vortex. Yukari hammered her fists against the shimmering, translucent wall, the compressed air feeling as solid and as unyielding as diamond. “Grandpa, let me go!” she screamed, her voice a raw, desperate thing that was swallowed by the roar of the wind. “Raito will die!”

  She drew her daggers, their familiar weight a useless comfort in her hands. She slashed at the barrier, the steel blades scraping against the currents with a high-pitched shriek but leaving no mark. She summoned a volley of ice spears, each one a shard of her own desperate will, and hurled them at the cage wall. They shattered on impact, exploding into glittering, harmless frost that was instantly whipped away by the vortex. She even tried to freeze the very air around her, the ring on her finger glowing with a fierce, white light, but it was like trying to freeze a hurricane. The wind, a raw, untamed extension of the Storm Lord’s own being, was a force of nature she could not hope to master. A cage made by a demigod.

  “Please!” she pleaded, her voice cracking as she watched Raito get thrown to the ground again. “Whatever happened with your old friend and Ao… Raito has nothing to do with this! Let me go! We have to help him!”

  But Sun Yoon remained silent, a distant, sorrowful statue in the sky.

  On the sand, Ao stood over Raito’s wheezing form, a look of profound, almost academic disappointment on his face. With a casual, contemptuous flick of his wrist, he tossed his massive katana aside. It landed in the sand with a heavy thud, a gesture of absolute confidence that was more insulting than any blow.

  The act was a spark on dry tinder. A wave of pure, unadulterated rage, born from humiliation and a desperate, cornered fear, washed over Raito. With a raw, guttural yell, he surged to his feet, his heavy wooden sword a blur of motion as he swung it in a wide, desperate arc, aiming for Ao’s torso.

  He put every ounce of his training, every bit of his will, into that single strike. But Ao didn’t move. He didn’t block. He just took it.

  The sound was not the sharp crack of a successful blow, but a dull, pathetic thump. The impossibly heavy sword, a weapon that could shatter stone, hit Ao’s side and simply stopped, its momentum completely absorbed by a wall of sheer, unyielding muscle. Raito felt the impact shudder up his arms, but Ao… he didn’t even have a visible reaction.

  “This is getting boring, boy,” Ao said, his voice a low, bored growl. And then he moved. His fist shot up from below, a low uppercut that was almost too fast to see. It connected with Raito’s gut, the impact a brutal, sickening crunch that lifted him off his feet.

  Raito groaned, his body shaking, the world a blurry mess of pain and swirling stars.

  “Are you really the successor to the ‘ultimate sword’ Ittou style?” Ao’s voice was a low, mocking purr as he circled the trembling boy. “You’re weak. Pathetic.” A roundhouse kick, a blur of motion, came screaming towards Raito’s head.

  Raito reacted on pure, desperate instinct, bringing his wooden sword up to block. The impact was a bone-jarring crack, the force of the kick so immense that even though the sword held, the shockwave still sent him stumbling back, his arms numb, his vision swimming in a sea of black spots.

  He struggled to his feet, his vision blurring, the coppery taste of blood thick in his mouth. He used the heavy wooden sword as a crutch, its familiar weight the only thing keeping him upright.

  “Look, man…” Raito began, his voice a raw, pleading rasp. “I don’t know who this Ittou, or whatever that ‘ultimate sword’ is. And I never considered myself a successor.” He took a shaky, stumbling step forward, his own words a final, desperate attempt at reason. “I’m just a nobody. A janitor turned farmer who is trying his best to stay alive. That Storm Lord over there… he just happened to tell me he could teach me how to fight, and I took it. Most of it just came from physical training, and a book.”

  He tried to steady himself, his gaze unwavering despite the pain. “I will never engage you in this life-or-death battle you want,” he declared, his voice cracking with a conviction born of pure, stubborn will. “It’s not worth it.”

  “Not worth it, you say?” Ao’s voice was a low, dangerous snarl that cut through the night. The bored disappointment in his eyes was gone, replaced by a fresh, burning wave of pure, unadulterated fury. “You dare taint the purity of a one-on-one duel to the death?” He took a step forward, his massive frame radiating a palpable heat. “The Ittou clan are a clan of warriors, honing their very souls into their craft! You were given the opportunity to learn from that coward lord who mingled amongst them, and you still don’t want to fight?!”

  He let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh, a sound devoid of all humor. “Enough of this. You leave a bad taste in my mouth. You are no warrior.” He looked down at the trembling boy, his gaze as cold and as final as a headsman’s axe. “You don’t deserve a quick, honorable death.”

  He grabbed his sword from the sand and charged. Raito braced himself, but Ao’s movements were an overwhelming, incomprehensible storm. He could read Raito’s swings as if they were the clumsy flailings of a baby. He would either deflect the heavy wooden sword with a lazy, almost contemptuous flick of his own blade, or he would simply take the blow, his body a wall of unyielding muscle that absorbed the impact without a single flinch.

  And Raito’s defenses… they were a joke. Every block was too slow, every parry too weak. Ao exploited every opening, his massive katana a blur of motion that was not aimed to kill, but to wound. To torture.

  A shallow cut opened on Raito’s arm, the pain a searing line of fire. Another on his leg, making his knee buckle. A third across his ribs, stealing the air from his lungs. More bruises. More damage. Each blow was a carefully measured lesson in pain, a slow, methodical dissection designed to break not just his body, but his will. Just as he had said, it was a painful, slow education for someone like him.

  Soon, Raito could barely stand. His body was a canvas of crimson cuts, his clothes torn and stained, his breathing a shallow, wet rattle in his chest. He panted, leaning heavily on the splintered remains of his wooden sword, his vision blurring in and out of focus. He looked past the monstrous figure of Ao, his gaze finding the shimmering prison of wind that held the most important person in his life. He tried to smile, to offer some final, reassuring gesture, but his lips wouldn't obey. His eyes, however, spoke a silent, final message across the blood-soaked sand.

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  I’m sorry. I tried my best.

  Yukari watched, her own world a silent scream of horror. She desperately tried anything she could think of, her actions a frantic, hopeless ballet of futility. She clawed at the sand, trying to burrow under the cage, but the wind barrier extended deep into the earth, a perfect, unyielding sphere. She tried to create pillars of ice to launch herself over the top, but they shattered into harmless frost before they could even form.

  “Grandpa, he will die! Please!” she pleaded again, her voice a raw, broken thing as she hammered her fists against the invisible wall until her knuckles were bloody.

  Ao heard her cries, and a slow, cruel smirk spread across his face. “No need to cry, girl,” he called out, his voice a low, mocking purr that was more terrifying than any roar. “That coward lord was always like this. When I killed most of the Ittou clan, when I fatally wounded his supposed friend, he just stood and watched. That coward won’t act. He never did.” His gaze, cold and predatory, shifted from the broken boy at his feet to the trapped girl in the cage. “And don’t worry. As soon as I send your pathetic lover to the other side, you’re next. So prepare yourself. Make it more interesting than this one.”

  He raised his sword, the moonlight glinting off its impossibly sharp edge, ready to deliver the final, merciful blow.

  “Raito, move!” Yukari screamed, her voice a raw, animalistic sound of pure, unadulterated terror.

  But Raito couldn’t move. His stamina was gone. His body was broken. He could only brace himself, his eyes, full of a quiet, final acceptance, fixed on the descending blade.

  He brought his wooden sword up in a last, desperate, futile block.

  CRACK!

  The sound was sharp, definitive, a single, terrible note in the night. Ao’s katana sliced through the dense, heavy wood as if it were a dry twig. The blade continued its downward arc, carving a deep, diagonal gash across Raito’s torso, the steel a searing line of white-hot agony.

  At the same time, a heavy boot slammed into his gut. The front kick, brutal and final, sent him flying backward through the air. He crashed into the churning, dark water of the ocean with a heavy splash, the impact a final, jarring punctuation to the one-sided battle. For a moment, he floated, a broken, discarded thing on the surface of the waves. Then, slowly, inexorably, he began to sink, his form disappearing into the cold, black depths.

  Yukari fell to her knees in the sand, the strength leaving her body in a single, silent rush. “Raito…” she muttered, the name a broken, breathless whisper. Her mind was a white, static void, unable to process the horror she had just witnessed. Then the dam broke. A raw, guttural sob ripped from her throat, a sound of pure, animalistic grief. “Raito… Raito… Raito…”

  Her tear-filled eyes, full of a new, burning, all-consuming hatred, snapped up to the silent figure floating in the sky.

  “Why?” she screamed, her voice a raw, broken thing that seemed to tear at the very fabric of the night. “Why are you doing this? We never wanted to participate in your gamble! Why are you forcing him to fight this? Why?!”

  She lunged at the wall of her cage, a whirlwind of ice and despair. A dozen shimmering ice spears, larger and sharper than any she had summoned before, materialized out of thin air. They shot forward, not at Ao, but directly at Sun Yoon, a final, futile act of defiance against the god who had just watched her world die.

  They shattered against the wall of wind, exploding into a shower of glittering, harmless frost, a beautiful, silent testament to her utter, absolute powerlessness.

  Ao’s triumphant laughter echoed across the now-silent beach, a harsh, grating sound that grated on Yukari’s raw nerves. He slung his massive, blood-flecked katana over his shoulder, the picture of a predator who had just finished a satisfying, if slightly disappointing, meal.

  “That boy is so pathetic,” he mused, his voice a low, contemptuous rumble. “I can’t even consider putting him in my new hit list.”

  He turned, his predatory gaze landing on the shimmering cage of wind. His lips twisted into a cruel, anticipatory grin. “Mind lowering this for me, you coward lord?” he called out to the silent figure in the sky, his voice dripping with condescension. “This girl might give me better entertainment.”

  Inside the cage, Yukari was a hollow, broken thing. Her world, which had been rebuilt so carefully, so painstakingly, on a foundation of quiet laughter and shared meals in a small farmhouse, had just been shattered into a million irreparable pieces. The light in her silver eyes was gone, replaced by a dull, lifeless emptiness.

  “It’s not over yet.”

  The words, spoken by Sun Yoon, were a quiet, steady murmur that seemed to cut through both Ao’s arrogant gloating and Yukari’s silent despair.

  Ao and Yukari both looked up at the old hermit.

  “What did you say, old coot?” Ao growled, his patience wearing thin.

  Sun Yoon’s gaze was not on him. It was fixed on the churning, dark water where Raito had disappeared. “It is not over yet,” he repeated, his voice gaining a strange, unwavering certainty. He looked down at the broken girl kneeling in the cage, a gentle, almost sad smile on his face. “There is a reason my friend chose that boy. The sun will always rise.”

  His gaze then shifted to Yukari, his old eyes full of a quiet, profound meaning. “You must have felt it too, young Yukari. Trust him. Trust this love of yours.”

  Trust him? The words were a cruel, senseless mockery. Yukari stared at the old man, her mind a storm of grief and confusion. Raito was gone. Drowned in the cold, dark sea. What was there left to trust? What was this nonsense about believing in him? She always had. From the moment they had made their vow in that cold Takayama jail cell, she had placed her entire world in his hands. And now… now he was gone.

  That Takayama jail cell…

  The memory hit her with the force of a physical blow. The darkness. The fear. The ropes that bound them. The rope that had bound him. A memory, so strange and so illogical it had almost been forgotten, flashed in her mind. The smell of something burning. The quiet, inexplicable snap of a rope that had freed him when all hope was lost.

  She looked from the spot in the ocean where he had fallen, to the silent, watching Storm Lord, and then down at her own hands. A new, impossible, and utterly insane hope, a single, defiant spark in a world of darkness, began to ignite in her heart.

  She scrambled to her feet, her hands pressed against the wall of wind, her face turned toward the dark, churning waves.

  “Raito!”

  Her voice was not a cry of grief. It was a roar. A command. A vow.

  “I won’t forgive you if you miss our wedding!” she screamed, the words a raw, desperate, and beautiful declaration of faith hurled into the face of death itself.

  Ao just stared, his earlier triumphant smirk replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated confusion. “Have both of you gone crazy?” he muttered, looking from the screaming girl to the smiling hermit.

  “Not crazy,” Yukari said, turning to him, her silver eyes no longer empty, but blazing with a fierce, unwavering light. A genuine, radiant smile spread across her face, a stunning, impossible sunrise in the heart of the storm. “Just madly in love.”

  Deep in the cold, black depths of the ocean, Raito was drifting, a broken, discarded thing in a world of silent, suffocating pressure. The searing pain in his torso was a distant, fading ember. His consciousness was a flickering candle flame, the last stubborn spark about to be extinguished by the encroaching, silent cold. The world was a blurry, dark mess, and the searing pain in his torso was a distant, fading ember. In what felt like his last moments of awareness, he could feel something hard and unyielding pressed against the deep gash.

  With the last of his strength, he looked down. Tucked into the front of his farmer’s garb, the place where Ao’s blade had struck, was the thin, worn-out book Sun Yoon had given him. The leather cover was sliced clean through, its pages a pulpy, waterlogged mess. But it had taken the brunt of the blow. A final, quiet thought, a single point of clarity in the encroaching void: it had saved him.

  And on the torn, tattered cover, in faded, barely-legible script that his fading vision could just make out, were a few, impossible letters.

  Itt-o.

  In the final, flickering moments of his consciousness, as the last of his strength was about to give out, a new, impossible realization dawned in the encroaching darkness. The book. It wasn’t just a book. It was the legacy of Grandpa Sun Yoon’s old friend, the very swordsman Ao had been chasing for centuries. Ittou Mitsurugi. A small, ironic smirk touched his lips. How fitting. The sword had failed him, but the story of the sword had saved his life. He wouldn’t die from a blade, but from the quiet, suffocating embrace of the sea. He could no longer move his body; he had no strength left to resurface. He was a failure. At the end of it all, after all the training, all the fighting, he was still not strong enough. He was still just a nobody, a boy who belonged in that desolate, lonely apartment back in Jinlun.

  A montage of faces, a silent film of his short, chaotic, and beautiful life, played in the dark theater of his mind. Miss Yinzi’s kind smile. He was sorry. He still had to be reminded by Yukari to write his letters. Jack, his first real friend, his booming laugh echoing in the memory. He was sorry for always making trouble for him. Bob and Mila, the giant who had saved him and the mercenary who had tolerated him. He was sorry for dying so soon after they had given him a second chance. Isao and Rara, two friends he had barely begun to know. It had been a fun ride. He was sorry it had to end.

  And then, Yukari. Her face, so full of a fierce, protective light, so beautiful it hurt. He was sorry. Sorry for going first.

  Then he heard it. A voice, so clear and so strong it cut through the silent, watery gloom, a sound that should have been impossible.

  “I won’t forgive you if you miss our wedding!”

  A hallucination, he thought, the word a quiet, final acceptance. A beautiful lie his dying mind had conjured to soothe his passing. He was giving up. It was time to go.

  “Is that all you are capable of?”

  The voice was different. Not Yukari’s. It was a calm, steady thing, a question that was not a memory, but a direct, challenging presence in the darkness of his mind.

  Who is that? Raito asked, his own thoughts a faint, distant echo.

  “Back in that shrine, you showed me your determination,” the voice continued, its tone sharp and unyielding. “The will to stand by her, even when you were scared. Was that a lie?”

  But Ao is too strong, Raito’s thoughts were a final, desperate excuse, the last defense of a boy who had done everything he could. I’ve done everything.

  “Really? Everything?” The voice was a dry, mocking whisper that echoed in the silent, watery void of his mind. “You’re sounding just like Sun Yoon right now, always the pessimist.” A low, warm chuckle followed, a sound that was both ancient and surprisingly familiar. “C’mon, lighten up. I’ve seen your soul, your truth. You are capable of so much more. You still haven’t shown me everything.”

  But what can I do? Raito’s thoughts were a raw, pleading thing. I still want to be there with her, but I’m not strong enough.

  “Are you sure?” The voice was gentle now, but with an undercurrent of unshakeable conviction. “To me, you are already there. Just show me your will, boy. Don’t make me regret choosing you.”

  Choosing me? A flicker of his old, sarcastic self stirred in the darkness. I never agreed on being chosen. This is so non-consensual.

  The voice laughed, a full, hearty sound that seemed to push back the encroaching darkness. “Now that is more like you.”

  Urgh… I hate how you’re right, Raito thought, the last of his despair giving way to a stubborn, familiar spark. Fine, then. My will.

  He took a breath, not of water, but of pure, unadulterated resolve. My will right now is not to beat Ao. Not to be a hero. Not to be the strongest, not to be some kind of successor. His thoughts were a clear, sharp, and beautiful declaration in the silent theater of his mind. I simply want to make the best wedding for her. The girl I fell in love with. The girl who gave me everything. The nerdy, stubborn, beautiful girl I want to be with for my whole life. There. You happy now?

  “That will suffice.”

  A brilliant, crimson light bloomed in the darkness in front of him. It was a single, perfect crystal, pulsing with a warm, inner fire, a beacon of impossible life in the cold, watery grave.

  “Take it, boy,” the voice whispered, its tone now full of a quiet, profound pride. “That is your potential. Now, go kick that rhino’s butt.”

  Raito’s hand, which should have been too weak to move, reached out, his fingers closing around the warm, glowing crystal. A surge of power, a feeling like a sun igniting in his chest, shot through him. He smirked, the familiar, cocky grin returning to his face.

  Wait, he thought, his own voice now clear and strong in his mind. I still don’t know who you are.

  “Oh, me?” The voice laughed one last time, a fading, gentle echo. “I am just a forgotten swordsman who still lingers. You don’t need to mind me.”

  Raito’s smirk widened. The crystal in his grasp pulsed, its crimson light growing brighter, hotter, until it was a miniature sun in the crushing darkness of the deep.

  On the surface, the dark, churning water where Raito had disappeared began to bubble. The gentle froth turned into a violent, boiling churn.

  FWOOSH!

  A pillar of pure, incandescent fire erupted from the sea. It shot into the night sky with a deafening roar, so hot it turned the surrounding water to steam, so bright it momentarily outshone the moon.

  “What is that?!” Ao’s voice was a raw, incredulous shout, his earlier triumphant confidence completely gone.

  Inside her cage of wind, Yukari’s smile was a fierce, beautiful, and utterly triumphant thing. “That,” she said, her voice a low, proud whisper, “is your defeat.”

  As the pillar of fire raged against the night sky, a sliver of light, pure and golden, broke over the horizon. The first rays of a new day. And just as Sun Yoon had said, the sun, in all its defiant glory, would always rise.