Scene: Ichigo & Mr. Kael's Journey Begins
The scene shifted to Ichigo—the boy who had stood bloodied in the arena, now riding alongside Mr. Kael, a man once feared across nations.
The wind blew softly, but the old warrior's words carried the weight of thunder.
"From now on, kid… your life changes forever," Kael said, not looking back. "The gods send us here for a reason—brief as it may be. Most of us fade into nothing. Forgotten. But a few… a few live forever, in the hearts of those they protect. Those they inspire."
He turned his sharp gaze to Ichigo.
"You're not like the others. That's why your training will be different. No fixed shelter. No familiar faces. You will learn what no one else dares to. And in time… you'll become someone this world cannot ignore."
Ichigo nodded silently, determination flickering in his eyes.
They traveled into a quiet Japanese village, known for its majestic horses. Kael decided they'd stay the night before heading to his old house on the outskirts. Despite his power, age had begun to take its toll. After dinner, he retired early—falling asleep in moments.
Ichigo, however, sat alone outside beneath a vast blue moon. His thoughts drifted.
Where is Kyra now? Did she… regret the kiss? Will she wait for me?
He was lost in dreams and doubts, staring into the stars—until something rustled in the bushes.
His hand instinctively slid to his sword.
His eyes narrowed—sharp, still.
A rabbit darted out. He exhaled softly.
But just as calm returned, a distant sound snapped it away—horses. Loud. Panicked.
Ichigo climbed a tree in silence and scanned the village. His eyes widened.
Firelight.
Dozens of samurai. Nearly fifty.
They were raiding the village, stealing every horse. One lieutenant barked orders:
"Ten of you—climb the mountain and fetch that old horse grazing near the hut. It'll be tonight's feast."
The villagers begged, "Please, not that one. It belongs to our guests!"
The lieutenant sneered.
"Then bring me their heads. I hate interruptions."
Ichigo's eyes sharpened. He moved. Swift and silent. Leaping tree to tree like a shadow given breath.
He landed by the roadside—blocking the path.
The ten samurai stopped their horses.
Ichigo stood, sword resting on his shoulder, eyes cold, grip tight.
One soldier shouted, "Hey, kid! Wanna die?"
No reply.
"Get lost or I'll take five seconds to separate your head from your body."
Still nothing.
He growled and kicked his horse forward—but the animal refused to move. It sensed something unnatural. Something dangerous.
A deadly aura pulsed from Ichigo.
"You… what are you?" the soldier asked, uneasy.
Ichigo slowly drew his katana.
Its edge caught the moonlight like a whisper from the gods.
"I'm the reason you'll remember this night," he said, voice like steel.
And then—he moved.
The night air crackled with tension. Moonlight bathed the earth in pale blue as the first samurai soldier leapt forward, screaming his fury, blade raised high to cleave Ichigo in two.
Time seemed to slow.
Ichigo stood still—calm, composed—his eyes glowing faintly under the moon. His right hand gripped the hilt of his sword, the edge still sheathed in silence.
The moment the samurai's feet left the ground, Ichigo moved.
A flash.
Just one.
A single slice through the air. Smooth. Effortless. Almost unseen.
The samurai froze mid-air, eyes wide in disbelief. His sword shattered into pieces like falling glass, and a line of red bloomed across his neck. A moment later, his head slipped cleanly from his shoulders and dropped with a heavy thud, followed by the body collapsing like a broken puppet.
Ichigo slowly lowered his blade, its edge gleaming under the moonlight without a single drop of blood.
He looked up at the stunned enemies—nine remaining warriors frozen in fear.
Then, with quiet grace, he sheathed his sword and spoke with a slight smirk:
"That was just a test… for my new sword."
The wind howled, but none dared to move.
Not anymore.
The remaining 19 samurai stared in stunned silence as their comrade's lifeless body fell at Ichigo's feet.
A cold breeze swept through the village.
Then—chaos.
"Kill him!" one screamed.
They charged together, blades gleaming under the moonlight, roaring like wild beasts. But Ichigo was already moving.
Step one.
He vanished. A blur of black and silver.
Before the first attacker could react, Ichigo appeared behind him, blade halfway sheathed. A crisp click—and the man's head slid off cleanly, body dropping forward.
Step two.
Two rushed from both sides. Ichigo flipped into the air, spun mid-flight, and with a double-slash—two heads spiraled into the night sky, blood painting crescents in the moonlight.
Step three.
He landed on one soldier's shoulder. The man trembled. Ichigo bent low, whispered, "Too slow." And in a flash, five more necks opened, clean and precise, before Ichigo touched the ground again.
The crowd panicked. They spread out, surrounding him.
But Ichigo stood straight, lifted his blade to the moon, and with a deep breath, entered his high-speed stance.
A glowing aura of blue-white energy wrapped around him—his mana flaring for the first time.
Shadow Step.
In less than a second, he was gone again.
Nineteen blades struck empty air.
One by one, Ichigo reappeared like a phantom behind each samurai.
Slash. Slash. Slash.
With every flash of steel, another fell. Blood sprayed like red mist in the moonlight.
Tenth. Fifteenth. Eighteenth.
He moved like water—smooth, flowing, yet unstoppable. He blocked a spear with his bare hand, twisted the wielder's arm, and with a reverse slash, sent the last attacker's head spinning into the air like a coin.
All nineteen… down.
Ichigo stood alone, not a drop of blood on his clothes—only his blade, dripping red and humming with power.
He exhaled softly and looked up at the rising wind.
"Too easy," he muttered, sheathing his sword with a satisfying click.
The trees around him rustled. Somewhere, a crow cawed over the battlefield.
Only silence remained.
Ichigo stood still, the full moon casting a pale glow on his blood-slick blade. The ground around him was littered with fallen bodies—nineteen samurai, each fallen with a single, clean stroke.
He exhaled slowly.
"That should do," he muttered.
He moved methodically, gathering the heads of the defeated warriors. There was no cruelty in his actions, only purpose. He placed them—ten in one sack, nine in another—and tied both bags to the saddle of a calm brown horse nearby. The horse neighed low, as if it, too, understood the weight of what had happened.
Ichigo patted the animal's neck and whispered, "Take them home."
Then, with a light slap, he sent the horse trotting back toward the village. The quiet clop of hooves slowly faded into the night, leaving nothing but silence… and the smell of steel and blood.
From atop the hill, the lieutenant watched everything—his jaw clenched, knuckles white on the reins of his horse. When he saw the sacks swaying on the back of the retreating horse, his face twisted in disbelief… and then dread.
His soldiers, nineteen elite samurai, wiped out by a single warrior?
He leapt from his mount in rage, but his legs trembled as they hit the ground. A bead of sweat traced his cheek, mixing with dust and shame.
"I'll go alone," he growled, unsheathing his blade.
His boots crunched softly over the dirt as he walked toward the small hut where Ichigo had vanished. The moon above seemed colder now, distant and watching.
"What kind of demon lives there…?"
He reached the hut's edge, his shadow merging with the wood.
Then—
A soft breeze.
A flicker of movement.
He stopped breathing.
Behind him… a whisper.
"You're late."
His eyes widened.
Steel shimmered.
Black.
Silence.
To be continued...........
"If this chapter struck your heart, honor it with a collection — your support is my sword"