Kiseki's eyes snapped open, his chest heaving as if he'd been chased by a vengeful spirit. The remnants of his dream lingered, the memories of that fateful evening still seared into his mind. He was 13 now, but the pain of losing his brother, Tenjin, remained raw.
As he caught his breath, Kiseki's gaze drifted to the right, settling on a worn photograph. The smile of his 7-year-old self, standing beside Tenjin and their parents, seemed to mock him. They were happy then, carefree and full of laughter.
"Tenjin... It's been six years and I still wonder if you're ever coming back. I still wonder... Would you still be smiling if that evening never happened?" Kiseki whispered, his voice barely audible.
He stared deeper into the picture, memories flooding his mind. The warmth of his parents' embrace, Tenjin's mischievous grin, and the sound of his mother's gentle laughter.
"Why did it have to happen? Why did it have to be you?" Kiseki's voice cracked, his eyes welling up.
Suddenly, his door creaked open.
"Kiseki, are you okay?" his mother asked as she moved in on her wheel chair, concern etched on her face.
Kiseki hastily wiped away his tears. "Y-yes, Mother. Just a bad dream."
His mother's expression softened. "Come here, dear."
She enveloped him in a gentle hug. She suddenly noticed Kiseki's eyes drift back to the photograph, his thoughts swirling.
"But what if... what if that evening never happened?" he wondered, his voice lost in the silence, "What if-". Suddenly there was a knock on the front door. Kiseki's mother watched him leave to answer the door, her expression fading into a distant gaze. The knock echoed through the years, transporting her back to that fateful evening six years ago.
The memory unfolded like a macabre tapestry. She had rushed outside, expecting a peaceful evening, only to find her world shattered. Her husband lay lifeless on the ground, his eyes frozen in terror. A masked figure fled with Tenjin, her precious son.
Adrenaline fueled her desperate chase. She caught up to the masked man, grappling for Tenjin. The struggle intensified, her pleas falling on deaf ears. The masked man's rage unleashed a maelstrom of brutality. Fists pounded her flesh, each blow a hammer to her soul. She felt her ankles sliced, arteries severed, and her world dissolving.
But the worst agony wasn't the physical pain. It was Tenjin's eyes, once bright with hope, now resigned to fate. He stopped resisting, fearing for his family's safety. "Please... don't hurt them," Tenjin's tiny voice echoed in her mind.
The masked man's grip tightened, and Tenjin vanished into the darkness. Kiseki's mother's gaze snapped back to the present, her eyes welling up with tears. The knock at the door seemed to fade into the echoes of her past.
Kiseki opened the door, expecting a neighbor or traveling merchant. Instead, two swordsmen stood before him, their faces etched with annoyance. Aka and Kaito, village head's soldiers, wore traditional Akakor attire, their eyes gleaming with a mix of frustration and entitlement.
"Ah, good day, honored soldiers," Kiseki bowed respectfully.
Aka, the taller of the two, dismissed Kiseki's greeting. "We need to speak with your grandfather. Our comrades' swords broke in battle. Again."
Kaito added, his tone laced with disdain, "Your family's craft is crucial. We risk our lives to protect this village, and your weapons should be able to withstand battle."
Kiseki's smile faltered, but he maintained his composure. "I understand your concerns. I'll relay your message to my grandfather. He's still working on the new batch."
Aka's gaze narrowed. "See that you do. We can't afford to lose more men due to shoddy craftsmanship." Kaito's parting words carried a veiled threat. "You'd better deliver our message. We wouldn't want to come back here."
As they turned to leave, Kiseki watched them go, his thoughts swirling. "Why must they always treat us like this?" he wondered. The village head's soldiers seemed to forget that Kiseki's family crafted weapons to protect them, not to serve their egos.
With a sigh, Kiseki closed the door and sought out his grandfather. "Grandfather, the soldiers came. They're unhappy about the swords breaking."
His grandfather's eyes, clouded with concern, looked up from his work. "Is that what they said, Kiseki?" His grandfather watched as Kiseki saldly nodded, "I'll speak with the miners. Look up Kiseki... Remember, our craft is not just about making weapons; it's about protecting those who protect others."
Kiseki nodded, but his thoughts lingered on the encounter. "The village is protected by fools," he thought, shaking his head
Kiseki's grandfather's words echoed in his mind, "Don't speak ill of those who protect our village, Kiseki." But the memory of Aka's and Kaito's disdain lingered, fueling his frustration.
"Help me deliver weapons to the soldiers once I finish this one," his grandfather requested, unaware of Kiseki's turmoil.
Kiseki's emotions boiled over. "Why must we always cater to them? They don't appreciate your craftsmanship, Grandfather!"
Storming off to his room, Kiseki's anger sought release. He lifted the mat-cloth, revealing a hidden floorboard. From it, he pulled out a rice-filled skin bag and tied it to a ceiling slab.
Donning his wooden elbow blades, Kiseki began his rigorous training. Hours passed as he unleashed calculated strikes and combos on the dummy. Sweat dripped, muscles burned, and his arms felt leaden, but his mind remained fixed on the fateful day.
Tenjin's terrified eyes, his mother's screams, and the masked man's merciless laughter haunted him. "It's my fault... I couldn't protect him," Kiseki's thoughts tormented him.
As exhaustion took hold, Kiseki collapsed onto the training dummy, embracing it as tears welled up. "Tenjin..." he whispered, his voice cracking.
For six years, Kiseki had trained in secret, driven by a burning vow: to confront the masked man who shattered his family. His resolve remained unbroken, forged in the fire of his pain.
"I'll become strong enough... strong enough to take revenge... to protect those I love." As Kiseki's tears dried, his determination hardened. The village soldiers might have failed him, but he would not fail himself.
East from Kiseki's village
The once-mighty army of Yomimaho lay in ruins, decimated by two men: Nethercrimson and Kushino. Their presence seemed almost mythical, their prowess unmatched.
Nethercrimson, with his raven-black hair and gold sleeveless knight armor, exuded an aura of unyielding efficiency. His gaze was as cold as steel.
Kushino, on the other hand, boasted an unconventional appearance: tall, dark blue demon horns and a modified Roman soldier attire. Stone knee and ankle pads adorned his trousers, while his bare feet seemed unfazed by the carnage.
As they stood victorious, Kushino taunted the injured King of Yomimaho, the sole survivor of his ravaged army.
"Hey, Your Highness! Don't be shy. Share the secrets. Where's the Karen Sapphire?" Kushino asked, his jovial tone a stark contrast to the brutality surrounding them.
Nethercrimson's patience wore thin. "Enough, Kushino. We don't have time for games."
With a swift motion, Nethercrimson took over, his golden gloves stained with the King's blood. The air grew thick with tension as he engraved brutality into the King's wounds.
The King's resolve crumbled under Nethercrimson's relentless interrogation.
"Ganja village..." he whispered, defeated.
Nethercrimson's expression remained unyielding. With a hidden blade, eerily similar to the masked one's, he ended the King's suffering.
"Kushino, report to Father: Ganja village is our next target. We'll capture it and find what we seek."
Kushino's grin faltered for a moment before he nodded. "Got it. Time to spread the word."
As they departed, leaving Yomimaho in ruins, the shadows whispered of an ominous force, driven by an unyielding pursuit.