Scene: Tanjiro's Training Field
The scene shifted to a vast, open field under the golden hue of the rising sun. The wind roared softly across the plains as Tanjiro Nakamoto dashed through the open space like a streak of lightning, his wooden sword gripped tightly in his hands. His feet barely touched the ground, and every step seemed to split the air around him. His body moved in harmony with the energy of thunder—his signature style.
He had one target in front of him: a colossal stone that appeared like a piece of a mountain, standing silent and proud in the middle of the field. Tanjiro's eyes burned with focus. His aura surged, crackling with red electricity as if his very veins were pumping lightning. He leapt into the air, let out a powerful shout, and brought his sword down in a devastating slash.
A massive wave of red lightning tore through the sky and smashed into the mountain stone. The entire field trembled, wind exploded outward, and the earth cracked under the force.
And yet…
When the dust settled—
The stone stood there.
Untouched.
Unmoved.
Not even a single scratch.
Tanjiro stood still, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from every inch of his body. His eyes stared in disbelief as his wooden sword turned to ash in his hand and drifted silently to the ground.
Suddenly, the soft sound of sandals crunching against dry grass approached him. Out from the horizon came an old man—long white hair tied back, a beard that swayed in the breeze, and a commanding presence. He wore a loose, earth-toned robe, and though his face was aged, his eyes gleamed with infinite wisdom and silent fire.
The man stopped beside Tanjiro and looked at the scorched, darkened field that now resembled a bowl of black ash. "So," he said with a calm, grave voice, "you still haven't understood it."
Tanjiro, still panting, looked at the elder with a mix of frustration and humility.
"It's not enough for today," the old man continued. "But your food is ready. Go and eat. You'll need strength to fail again tomorrow."
Tanjiro nodded, wordless. He turned toward the small hut resting on the edge of the charred field. His footsteps were heavy, dragging the weight of defeat behind him.
As he left, the once green and vibrant field had been transformed into something haunting—a sea of black ashes, as if lightning itself had scorched the earth into something ancient and cursed. But in its silence, the land now mirrored the man who trained upon it: dangerous, disciplined, and brewing with hidden power.
And Tanjiro—bathed in sweat as though he had walked through a storm
As Tanjiro walked away from the blackened training field, the early morning sun began to rise higher in the sky, casting golden rays across the landscape. The light fell gently on his bare upper body, revealing the true story written on his skin — countless scars, gashes, and deep marks, each one a memory of a battle, a lesson, a failure turned into strength.
His muscular physique, carved through years of relentless training and pain, now glistened with sweat. Every step he took seemed to echo through the silent, ash-covered field, and even the wind slowed, as if to pay respect to the warrior's determination.
Tanjiro's back was a canvas of old sword cuts and fresh bruises, yet he carried them with pride, not shame. Each wound was earned, not given. A testament to his unyielding will.
The wind was calm, yet Ichigo's instincts weren't. He stood by the riverbank, hands soaked from rinsing his face after morning meditation. The sky was slowly burning gold with the rising sun, birds flying freely overhead, but Ichigo's heart was heavy. Something was changing in the air — something big was coming. He could feel it in his breath, in the silence between each rustle of the trees.
He remembered the brief but intense clash with Tanjiro just days ago, the power he'd witnessed… that pressure still echoed in his bones.
Mr. Kael had gone deeper into the mountains to gather ancient scrolls, leaving Ichigo alone at the hut for three days. In that time, Ichigo didn't rest. He trained harder. Faster. Stronger.
Today, Ichigo wasn't using the wooden sword anymore. Kael had left behind a special blade for him—made from obsidian steel, yet lighter than air. "It listens to your thoughts," Kael had said. "But only if your heart's in sync with your body."
Ichigo stood facing a tall boulder across the river—at least twelve feet wide and rooted deep in the earth. He closed his eyes. One breath in. One breath out. His hand gripped the sword lightly. Then—
He vanished.
Like a flash of blue lightning, Ichigo dashed across the river, feet barely touching the stones. In a blink, he was in front of the boulder. His sword shimmered—no aura, no glow, just silence.
Slash.
A soft whistle cut through the air. The boulder stood still. Ichigo exhaled.
Then a thin line appeared across the center of the rock.
It split perfectly in two.
Ichigo turned his back on the falling halves, walking away with calm steps. "I'm getting closer," he whispered.
Suddenly, a rustle in the woods. Ichigo stopped.
A boy appeared—young, clothed in white ninja robes, bleeding at the shoulder.
"Help…" he muttered before collapsing.
Ichigo rushed to him, kneeling. "Who did this to you?"
The boy gasped, voice trembling. "They're… coming… for Kael… a trap…"
Ichigo's eyes widened. His grip on the sword tightened.
Ichigo held the young ninja in his arms, his clothes stained with blood and dust. The boy's breathing slowed, eyes fluttering weakly.
"Hey! Stay with me!" Ichigo shouted, his voice echoing in the valley. "Who did this? Who's coming?!"
The boy's lips moved, barely a whisper. "They… they knew he was alone… Kael… trap… samurai…"
Then his eyes closed.
Ichigo froze. The world around him went still.
His hand trembled as he slowly lowered the boy to the ground, his jaw clenched tight. The wind blew gently across the trees, as if nature itself mourned the fallen.
Ichigo stood up, veins tightening across his arms, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of his sword like it was an extension of his rage.
"A samurai… I knew it," he growled, his voice cold, eyes burning with fury. "They never stop… Do they?"
He looked toward the direction of the path Kael had taken earlier that day, toward the old ruins deep within the mountains. A cold chill ran down his spine.
"I won't let them touch him."
Ichigo's aura ignited, blue flames dancing in the air around him. The very ground beneath his feet cracked slightly, the river behind him rippling unnaturally.
The calm Ichigo was gone.
This was war.
As Ichigo turned to leave, ready to unleash fury upon the samurai, he suddenly felt a weak tug on his sleeve.
The soldier in his arms—still alive—murmured, blood spilling from his mouth, "No… no… it's not the samurai…"
Ichigo froze. "What did you say?"
The soldier's trembling hand clutched Ichigo's collar. "The… Mongolians… they're coming… a fleet… shadows over the northern ridge… I saw them with my own eyes…"
Ichigo's expression shifted from rage to confusion. "Mongolians? That border's been quiet for decades."
The soldier coughed violently, his voice fading. "You… you must… transfer this notice… to Mr. Kael… and to the Samurai Association… even them… this threat… is beyond all of us."
Ichigo's heart skipped a beat.
The world around him suddenly felt heavier.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, but the soldier's hand slid from his chest and fell to the ground.
His eyes stayed open, lifeless.
Ichigo stood in silence.
The Mongolians? A notice for Kael… and the Samurai?
What kind of threat could be terrifying enough to force both the Ninja and Samurai associations… to work together?
He looked to the mountains.
To Kael.
And then to the east.
To the border.
Something darker was coming.
And it would change everything.
[To Be Continued…]