As if in answer to the dawn, the pillar of flame that had been Raito’s heraldry began to waver. The roaring inferno that had turned the night into day softened, its edges blurring before it finally dissipated into a final, shimmering plume of heat, leaving only the hissing steam of the ocean behind. The blade of pure energy that had extended from the hilt of Raito’s broken sword flickered once, twice, then retracted, the crimson light collapsing back into the splintered wood until it was gone. In his pocket, the fiery crystal that had been a burning, living heart a moment before, now cooled, its vibrant glow fading to the dull, inert warmth of a simple stone. The last of the impossible power receded, and the fierce, burning crimson in Raito’s eyes softened, melting back into their familiar, gentle brown.
The battle was over.
A final, gentle gust of wind, a soft sigh from the sky, swept across the beach. The cage of shimmering air that had imprisoned Yukari dissolved into nothingness, the razor-sharp currents turning back into a simple, salty breeze that tugged at her hair.
She was free.
For a single, breathless moment, she stood frozen, her silver eyes fixed on the boy standing alone on the sand, his silhouette a dark, familiar shape against the rising sun. And then, she ran.
It was not a graceful sprint. Her feet stumbled in the soft sand, her breath a raw, ragged thing in her throat. She ran with the desperate, unthinking urgency of someone who had just been given back their entire world.
She crashed into him, her arms wrapping around his neck, the force of the tackle sending them both tumbling to the ground in a chaotic, tangled heap of limbs and relief. She landed on top of him, her body a trembling, living anchor, pressing him into the sand as if to make sure he was real, that he wouldn't just dissolve into mist and blow away on the morning breeze.
And then she began to cry.
Great, gulping sobs wracked her body, a raw, ugly, and beautiful sound of a heart that had been shattered and was now, impossibly, being made whole again. She tried to smile through the tears, her lips trembling, her face a mess of saltwater, sand, and pure, unadulterated joy.
“I… I thought I lost you,” she choked out, the words a broken, breathless whisper against his chest.
Raito looked up at her, at the tears tracing clean paths through the grime on her cheeks, and a slow, gentle smile spread across his own face. He was exhausted. Every muscle in his body screamed, the gash on his torso a dull, throbbing ache. But he was alive. And she was here. That was all that mattered.
He weakly raised a hand, his fingers, gentle and sure, wiping a single tear from her cheek. “Crybaby,” he murmured, the word not an insult, but the softest of caresses. “I’m sorry. I also thought I was gone.” His smile widened, a flicker of his usual teasing light returning to his eyes as he gently pinched her cheek.
Yukari sniffled, her sobs subsiding into a watery, hiccuping laugh. In retaliation, her own fingers found his cheek, pinching it with a familiar, gentle pressure.
“Idiot,” she whispered.
And then, in the quiet aftermath of the storm, with the rising sun as their only witness, she leaned down, and their lips met. It was not a kiss of passion, but of profound, bone-deep relief. A quiet, gentle affirmation of a promise made in a dark prison cell, a vow sealed in the heart of a raging battle, and a future that, against all odds, they had just won back.
Their lips finally parted, the warmth of the rising sun a comforting presence on their skin. Raito’s smile was soft, a little dazed, and full of a quiet, profound contentment.
“I could get used to more of that,” he said, his voice a low, breathless murmur.
“Don’t bet on it,” Yukari replied, though the teasing words were betrayed by the radiant, happy blush that colored her cheeks. They both smiled, a quiet, perfect understanding passing between them in the silent aftermath.
Ahem.
A soft, polite, but pointed cough from above shattered the moment. Yukari and Raito both jolted as if struck by lightning, scrambling apart in a frantic, awkward mess. Yukari quickly helped Raito to his feet, both of them refusing to look at each other, their faces now a matching shade of crimson.
“Young Raito,” Sun Yoon commented from where he now stood a few paces away, his expression a mask of serene, grandfatherly amusement. “It seems you have awakened your hidden potential.”
“Maybe,” Raito replied, still flustered. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the small, inert crystal. In the bright morning light, it was a perfect, tear-drop shaped piece of red jade, a low, dormant warmth radiating from its core.
“A Blaze Core,” Yukari commented, her composure returning as her scholar’s curiosity took over. She tilted her head, inspecting the crystal with a critical eye. “Fire element, huh…” She looked from the Core to Raito, a familiar, teasing smirk touching her lips. “I personally don’t think it matches you.”
“Why?” Raito asked, a playful challenge in his own voice. “Because it would melt you?”
“I’m still stronger than you,” she stated, crossing her arms with a haughty sniff.
“Well, that’s only because you’re an old lady,” he shot back.
“What did you say?” Yukari’s voice was a low, dangerous growl.
“Sorry, please don’t pinch me,” Raito immediately apologized, holding up his hands in surrender.
“Good,” she said, her smirk returning. “And for the record, those crimson eyes… they don’t suit you.”
Raito blinked, his hand flying to his face as if he could feel the color of his own irises. “What crimson eyes?” he asked, his voice full of a genuine, clueless confusion.
Yukari’s smirk vanished, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. “Wait, you don’t know? Your eyes, they turned crimson. A bright, burning red.”
“Really?” Raito looked from Yukari to Sun Yoon, his brow furrowed. “Do Cores do that when you activate them?”
“Well…” Yukari’s own expression turned thoughtful, her tactical mind now faced with a new, unfamiliar variable. “Not that I know of.”
“Ahem,” Sun Yoon coughed again, his intervention gentle but firm. “Perhaps this is not the best place to continue our conversation.” He raised a hand, and the air around them seemed to shimmer, the world dissolving into a blur of color and light. A powerful, silent gust of wind swept over the beach, and in the blink of an eye, they were gone, leaving only the unconscious form of Ao and the rising sun behind.
The world solidified around them with a jarring suddenness. Raito stumbled, his legs still weak, while Yukari instinctively steadied him, her eyes darting around their new, unfamiliar surroundings. To her, the small, silent clearing and the weathered wooden shrine were a complete mystery. But to Raito, it was a place of ghosts and echoes.
“This is the shrine,” he said, his voice a hushed whisper of recognition. “The one with the weird voices.”
Sun Yoon laughed, the sound as soft and as ancient as the wind. “Yes, young Raito. This is where you trained before.”
“See?” a new voice, warm and full of a rich, masculine amusement, echoed from within the shrine itself. It was a voice that sent a jolt of impossible recognition through Raito. “I told you this place looks bad, old friend. Why can’t you make something more approachable?”
“I… I know this voice,” Raito stammered, his eyes wide as he looked toward the dark, open doorway of the shrine. “When I was drowning… I thought that was my subconscious.”
“Hey,” the voice replied, a playful indignation in its tone. “The great me is not some lousy subconscious, you know.”
A figure stepped out from the shadows of the shrine’s entrance, and the world seemed to hold its breath. He was a man who looked to be in his late thirties, his dark, severe hair tied back neatly from a face that was all sharp angles and a quiet, unyielding intensity. He wore a simple, dark combat kimono, its fabric seeming to shift and waver in the morning light. And he was transparent.
They could see the ancient trees, the clear blue sky, the very leaves on the ground directly through his shimmering, ethereal form.
Yukari and Raito froze, their earlier banter completely forgotten, their minds struggling to process the impossible sight before them. Sun Yoon, however, just laughed.
“Is he… transparent-looking to you?” Yukari whispered to Raito, her voice a hushed, incredulous thing.
“Yes,” Raito whispered back, not taking his eyes off the shimmering figure. “It’s not just me, right?”
Yukari shook her head, her own silver eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror.
“Does that mean he’s a gho—” Raito began, the word a clumsy, terrified thing on his lips. Before he could finish, Yukari’s hand shot out, clamping over his mouth and silencing him.
“Not another word,” she hissed, her eyes darting nervously toward the figure. “Supernatural things are banned.”
Raito nodded vigorously, his eyes still wide.
The ghostly man just laughed, a deep, hearty sound that seemed to echo not in the air, but directly in their minds. “These kids are as interesting as you said, old friend,” he said, his gaze shifting to Sun Yoon.
The old hermit nodded, a fond smile on his face. “Perhaps,” he said, his voice a gentle, knowing murmur, “it is time for you to introduce yourself.”
“Very well,” the transparent man declared, puffing out his chest with a theatrical pride that seemed completely at odds with his severe appearance. His voice, clear and full of an unwavering confidence, rang through the quiet clearing. “Listen here, brats! My name is Ittou Mitsurugi, the 56th head of the Ittou clan, the creator of the ‘Ittou Style Swordsmanship’ book, and the proud inventor of the ‘Ultimate Sword’ technique!”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Sun Yoon could only bring a hand to his face, covering his eyes with an expression of profound, weary exasperation that no one had ever seen from the serene Storm Lord before. Yukari and Raito, meanwhile, were completely, utterly bewildered, their minds still trying to process the fact that a talking, boastful ghost had just materialized in front of them.
“Hmm…” Mitsurugi stroked his chin, a look of genuine disappointment on his translucent face. “Not the reaction I expected. A great warrior appears before you, and no praise? No gasps of admiration?”
“You…” Yukari finally found her voice, though it was a sharp, accusatory thing. She pointed a trembling finger at the shimmering figure. “Grandpa said you died 300 years ago! And you’re the reason that Ao person is hunting this idiot here!” Her gaze flickered to Raito. “How? Are you even Al…”
“Alive? Not exactly, miss,” Mitsurugi replied with a casual, almost cheerful tone. “I’m very much dead. See?” He took a step toward Yukari and reached out as if to pat her on the shoulder. His hand passed directly through her, a strange, cold wisp of air the only sign of his passing. “I’m just a spirit who can’t pass away quietly. Even I don’t know how this happened. But it’s been fun! I can peep at any bathhouse I like!” He let out a hearty, inappropriate laugh.
Sun Yoon let out a long, slow sigh, the sound a mixture of disappointment and resignation. The two runaways, however, were still completely lost, their bewilderment now mixed with a healthy dose of sheer, unadulterated absurdity.
The ridiculous atmosphere, however, was shattered in an instant. Sun Yoon, his earlier exasperation gone, took a slow, deliberate step forward and bowed. It was a deep, formal gesture, his head lowered not to his old friend, but to the boy who stood trembling before them.
“I am sorry, young Raito,” the Storm Lord said, his voice stripped of all its ancient power, replaced by a quiet, profound sincerity. “For not helping you against Ao. But I had to try. I wanted to confirm if the potential only existed in young Yukari, or if you also possessed it.”
The sheer weight of the gesture—a demigod bowing to a mortal—left Raito and Yukari speechless. But before either of them could react, the ghostly figure beside them moved. Ittou Mitsurugi’s playful smirk was gone, his entire demeanor shifting to one of solemn, shared responsibility. He, too, bowed.
“My bad,” the swordsman said, his voice losing its earlier arrogance, now a low, serious thing. “The one who told him about your hidden potential was me.” He looked up, his transparent gaze meeting Raito’s, full of an apology that was both ancient and deeply personal. “I was at fault. Don’t put the blame on him.”
The weight of their shared apology, of a demigod and a ghost bowing before them, was too much. Yukari, who had been a silent, bewildered observer, finally snapped.
“Are you two insane?!” she shouted, her voice a raw, furious thing that cut through the solemn silence. The protective fury that had been building inside her, the terror she had felt watching Raito get cut down, finally erupted. “He almost died! For some ‘hidden potential’? Some ‘gamble’? What if it never existed? What if he had drowned?!” She took a step forward, her silver eyes blazing, her entire body trembling with rage. “I won’t take your apology! Not from either of you!”
“I understand, young Yukari,” Sun Yoon said, his head still bowed, his voice heavy with a quiet, profound regret. “I was about to save young Raito, the moment I sensed his awakening was not coming. It’s just that…”
“I was the one who stopped him,” Mitsurugi interjected, his voice a low, serious thing as he straightened up, his gaze unwavering. He pointed a translucent finger at Raito. “I know that potential exists within you. I have seen the truth of your soul, boy. You just needed a strong enough will to bring it out. A will that you can only obtain when closing in to the realm of the dead.”
“Wha… this is ridiculous!” Yukari’s rational mind, her centuries of tactical training, couldn’t process the sheer, reckless insanity of it all. “Just for that?!” She lunged forward, her fist a blur of motion as she tried to punch the ghostly swordsman in the face. Her hand passed directly through him, the strange, cold wisp of air the only thing she connected with.
She stumbled, off-balance, and before she could launch a second, equally futile attack, a gentle hand closed around her wrist.
“Calm down,” Raito’s voice was a low, steady thing beside her. “It’s okay.”
Yukari spun around, ready to argue, but the look on his face stopped her cold. It wasn’t just acceptance. It was a quiet, profound gratitude. “And Grandpa, please stop bowing,” Raito said, his voice full of a new, quiet authority. “What’s done is done. I’m still alive. And I finally made progress.” A slow, genuine smirk spread across his face. “I’m actually grateful.”
Seeing his smile, feeling the steady warmth of his hand, the fire in Yukari’s chest cooled, replaced by a weary, bewildered resignation. Sun Yoon and Mitsurugi slowly stood, their expressions a mixture of relief and a lingering, somber respect.
“But…” Raito’s gaze shifted to the ghostly swordsman, his brow furrowed with a deep, lingering confusion. “What do you mean by ‘the truth,’ Mr. Ittou? Why were you so sure that I had some hidden potential?”
“First of all,” Mitsurugi said, his theatrical pride returning in an instant, “don’t call me ‘Mr.’ It’s weird. Just call me Master.” He puffed out his chest, expecting a look of admiration.
Raito just gave him a withering side-eye.
The ghostly swordsman’s smirk faltered, and his expression turned serious once more. “That truth…” he began, his voice losing its earlier arrogance, now a low, cryptic thing that seemed to echo with the wisdom of the grave. “I am sorry, but it is not my place to talk about it. Just know that as someone who is in the realm of the dead, I see things differently.”
He looked at Raito, his transparent gaze seeming to pierce through to his very soul. “Perhaps, one day, there will be someone better than me to explain it to you, boy. As long as you stay true to yourself, that truth will be revealed to you.”
The message was a riddle wrapped in an enigma, a string of words that should have been meaningless. But as Raito listened, a strange, quiet understanding settled over him. A memory, so distant it was almost a dream, flashed in his mind: a quiet room in a lonely orphanage, a small boy who felt he had no place in the world, finding solace not in friends, but in the simple, honest work of making a space clean. Of creating order from chaos. Of being, simply and quietly, himself.
He didn’t know how, but somehow, he understood.
“I understand,” Raito nodded, his own voice quiet but full of a new, unshakable certainty. A quiet understanding passing between him and the ghostly swordsman.
“So,” Yukari said, her voice still sharp, though the furious edge had softened into a grudging curiosity. She turned her glare from Sun Yoon to the transparent figure. “Were we only transported here for you to gloat about your ‘ultimate sword’ and sling around some cryptic message? I don’t see why we have to be here.”
“The reason you two were brought here,” Mitsurugi began, his voice losing its boastful tone, replaced by a quiet sincerity, “is because this is where I can somewhat manifest myself. Since this is my resting place, my presence is the strongest here.” He paused, his ethereal gaze full of a genuine regret. “And the reasoning… is for me to apologize to you two for having to deal with Ao. It was my fault for not fully defeating him back then, for letting him escape. That he would terrorize Hanyuun even today… that is a failure that rests on my soul.” The proud ghost bowed his head once more. “I am grateful that you managed to stop him,” he said, looking at Raito.
Raito felt a faint blush rise on his cheeks, but Yukari just scoffed, still clearly not ready to forgive the reckless spirit. “Then that means this ‘ultimate sword’ of yours isn’t really that ‘ultimate’ after all,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Raito looked at her, and a small, surprised laugh escaped his lips. It was followed a moment later by another, deeper laugh from Ittou Mitsurugi.
“What’s so funny?” Yukari asked, her brow furrowing as she looked from one to the other. “And why are you the first one to laugh?” she snapped at Raito.
“Sorry, it’s just really funny,” he chuckled. “So you think what I did back there against Ao was the Ittou Style’s ‘Ultimate Sword,’ Yukari?” Raito asked, a wide, knowing grin spreading across his face.
“Well, yeah,” she said, her confusion mounting. “You declared it, didn’t you?”
“Wait for it,” Mitsurugi whispered to Sun Yoon, a mischievous glint in his transparent eyes.
“The Ultimate Sword doesn’t exist,” Raito said, his face a perfect, unreadable deadpan.
“Wha…?” Yukari’s jaw dropped, her mind struggling to catch up.
“He gets it,” Mitsurugi said, a proud, triumphant laugh finally breaking free.
“Should I explain it to her, or will you?” Raito asked, turning to the ghostly swordsman with a newfound, easy camaraderie.
Sun Yoon let out a long, slow sigh, the sound a mixture of ancient weariness and fond exasperation. “I shall,” he said, turning to Mitsurugi with a look that clearly communicated, You have done enough damage. “You, my friend, were always a jokester.”
Mitsurugi just shrugged, a carefree, unapologetic grin spreading across his transparent face. “Go ahead.”
“You see, young Yukari,” Sun Yoon began, his voice the patient, steady tone of a teacher explaining a difficult but simple truth, “this ‘Ultimate Sword’ that has caused so much trouble… it never existed. It was nothing more than a joke, a tall tale the Ittou clan decided to employ during one of their sake-drinking contests hundreds of years ago.”
“But I saw Raito defeat Ao with it,” Yukari insisted, her brow furrowed, her logical mind refusing to accept the absurdity of it all. “I saw it.”
“That was just a move I made up while remembering how to clean a stubborn stain,” Raito explained with a small, almost sheepish smile.
The sheer, unadulterated absurdity of the statement left Yukari completely speechless.
“You see, miss,” Mitsurugi interjected, his voice taking on a proud, almost reverent tone, “we of the Ittou clan… we were not a clan of warriors. We were nothing more than civilians. Commonfolk. Farmers, hunters… heck, I was a blacksmith.”
“A bad one,” Sun Yoon commented under his breath, glancing at the crude, unfinished katana that still hung on his own hip.
Mitsurugi shot him a playful glare before continuing. “Don’t mind that. Due to the wars in Hanyuun, we had to take up arms to protect ourselves. Thus, the Ittou Style Swordsmanship was born. Not from a hero, or a warrior, or some divine revelation. It was born from the simple desire of commonfolk to protect their homes. A sword created from the mundane.”
He paused, a nostalgic, almost mischievous glint in his ethereal eyes. “And this ‘Ultimate Sword’… it was something that was born from that joke. A way for us to have a bigger self-confidence than our enemies. And somehow,” he let out a hearty, triumphant laugh, “it worked. The rumors spread. Our enemies became wary of our legendary ‘Ultimate Sword,’ and we exploited that fear to its fullest.” He grinned. “That’s why no one in the Ittou clan has the same ‘Ultimate Sword.’ Each one was a unique, on-the-spot improvisation.”
His expression softened, his gaze full of a profound, quiet respect as he looked at Raito. “However, our little bluff eventually attracted someone like Ao, and we met our demise. A joke till the end. But that’s all in the past. This is the future.”
He looked from the boy to his own worn, ghostly hands, and then back again. “That young man,” he said, his voice now a quiet, sincere thing, “he has finally grasped the true essence of our sword.” He gave a single, definitive nod, a silent blessing from a forgotten age. “Therefore, he is the true, last successor of the Ittou Style.”
The tension, the raw, visceral fear of the battle, the crushing weight of their impossible situation… it all finally drained away from Yukari’s body, leaving her in a state of pure, dumbfounded exhaustion. The legendary, terrifying “Ultimate Sword” that had been the cause of a 300-year-old grudge, that had nearly gotten Raito killed, that had defined the life of a monster like Ao… was a joke. A drunken tall tale. The sheer, unadulterated absurdity of it all was too much for her weary mind to handle.
“Urghh… all of you are idiots!” she finally yelled, the words a raw, frustrated cry that was directed at everyone and no one. She turned and began to stomp away, her hands balled into fists at her sides.
Her outburst was met not with apologies, but with a fresh wave of laughter. Raito and Mitsurugi chuckled again, a shared, easy sound of two people who were in on the same ridiculous secret. Even Sun Yoon, who had been a pillar of weary exasperation, let out a long, slow sigh that was suspiciously close to a laugh, his shoulders shaking with a quiet, suppressed amusement.
The duel was over. Raito’s awakening had come not in a blaze of glory, but with the quiet, absurd click of a puzzle piece falling into place. But the story of Hanyuun, a land built on just as many jokes as it was on tragedies, was far from finished.
Somewhere, in a dark, cavernous space deep beneath the earth, the air was thick with the scent of saltwater, wet stone, and a low, rhythmic, almost hypnotic chanting. Thousands of hooded figures knelt before a massive rock altar, their voices a single, unified, fanatical drone that seemed to make the very air tremble.
“Uroboris… Uroboris… Uroboris…”
At the very front of the assembly, two figures stood, their own hoods raised, their posture one of unwavering, absolute devotion. From beneath the cowl of one, a single, shimmering curl of blonde hair could just be seen, glinting in the eerie, blue light that pulsed from a massive, amber-like formation behind the altar.
Suddenly, the ground shook. Not a violent tremor, but a low, deep rumble, as if the world itself were stirring in its sleep.
Deep within the amber prison, something that had been dormant for millennia flickered to life. A single point of cold, blue light, impossibly bright, pulsed in the heart of the shadowy, serpentine form trapped within.
And somewhere else, in a place beyond time and space, a directive, cold and logical, flashed across a silent, unseen screen.
ANOMALY DETECTED......
REBOOT... ERROR......
DAMAGES CONFIRMED......
PRIORITIZING SELF-REPAIR....
ATTEMPTING TO CONNECT TO HOST COMPUTER.....