The battlefield still smoked behind them, the scent of blood and scorched wood hanging heavy in the air. Rikuya stood still for a moment, gazing down at Seline—her crimson hair matted with sweat, her face bruised but conscious. She had given everything in that fight, and despite her sins, she'd chosen not to raise her weapon again.
Without a word, he bent down and lifted her into his arms.
Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn't resist.
"You're heavy," he muttered under his breath—half joking, half exhausted.
"…Still carrying me, even after all that?" she said weakly, her voice trembling between pain and something softer.
He didn't answer. Just adjusted his grip and began walking—each step slow but steady, Tsuki following faithfully behind.
As they passed the broken shipyard, the townspeople watched from the shadows. No cheers. No applause. Just silence. Reverence. Fear. Awe.
The path back to the inn was smeared with the wreckage of violence, but ahead, the warm lights of the inn flickered like distant hope. Rikuya didn't look back.
The road back to the inn was quiet, the sea wind still carrying the bitter smoke of battle. Rikuya walked at the front, Seline resting unconscious in his arms, her weight light against his strength. Tsuki padded faithfully at his side.
Behind him, Solomar trudged with purpose, a sack of tools over his shoulder. Myra and Mara walked beside Lena, their eyes tired but determined. None of them spoke. They didn't need to.
When they reached the inn, it stood in ruins—doors hanging off hinges, windows shattered, soot across the walls. But it was still standing.
Solomar exhaled. "She's been through worse," he muttered, rolling up his sleeves.
Without a word, they set to work.
Myra and Mara cleared the shattered wood. Lena fetched buckets of water and cloths to scrub the stains away. Solomar hammered new boards into the walls, and Rikuya—still carrying Seline—helped lift broken beams and sweep the debris from inside.
Hours passed.
With each nail driven, each floorboard cleaned, the inn came back to life. Curtains were rehung. The hearth relit. The scent of stew returned to the air.
By the time the moon rose, the inn was warm again.
Rikuya laid Seline on a clean cot near the fire. She stirred faintly, her brows soft in sleep. Tsuki curled at her feet, resting his chin on her boot.
Solomar slumped into a chair and let out a long, satisfied breath. "Not bad for a bunch of pirates, eh?"
Mara giggled. Lena smiled. Myra leaned against Rikuya's shoulder for a moment. "Feels like home again."
And for a moment—it truly did.
Rikuya gently knocked on the door and stepped inside. Seline sat on the edge of the bed, her crimson hair damp from a wash, wearing one of Lena's blouses that hung slightly loose on her frame. Her eyes met his—tired, but no longer sharp with defiance. He offered his hand without a word. She hesitated, then took it.
They descended the stairs together.
The main room of the inn was warm with firelight. Myra and Lena were finishing setting the table, the scent of stew and freshly baked bread filling the air. Solomar was laughing softly, one hand holding a wooden spoon, the other flipping a pot lid. Tsuki was curled near the fireplace, tail swishing.
And Mara… sat at the far end of the table, bundled in a thick robe. Her bruises were still visible beneath the bandages wrapping her arms and collarbone. Her eyes—once lively—were distant, flicking up only when Seline appeared. Then, with a small, almost invisible motion, she nodded.
Seline froze at the sight. She remembered this girl.
Rikuya gently nudged her forward. "You're safe now," he whispered, before walking to the head of the table.
Solomar clapped his hands. "Good, you're here. Everyone—eat. There's plenty."
They gathered quietly. No one spoke of what had happened, but the silence wasn't empty—it was healing. Each clink of a spoon, each soft laugh that escaped from Myra or Lena as they teased Solomar's "chef skills," slowly pushed the shadows back.
After a long pause, Rikuya set his spoon down. His voice was low, but firm.
"All of this…" He looked around at the patched walls, the damaged beams, at Mara's broken gaze and Lena's quiet hands. "It happened because of me. You all got caught in my storm."
Myra reached over and touched his arm. "We made our choices, Rikuya."
He gave a faint nod, then said, "I'm joining the upcoming tournament. To earn money. Fix the damage. Fix everything. I need to do this."
Lena blinked, surprised. "That tournament? The one where even killers join?"
Rikuya's gaze didn't waver. "Then I'll beat killers."
A small, flickering fire danced in Seline's eyes. Solomar leaned back and gave a slow, approving nod.
And from the corner, Mara's lips moved—just enough to whisper two words no one expected.
"…thank you."
The sun had barely crept over the horizon when Rikuya rose from the bed. He didn't bother to stretch; there was no time for that. He had a goal in mind, and the only way to achieve it was through relentless discipline. He threw on a simple shirt, no time for armor or unnecessary weight. His body already felt the burn from yesterday's fights, but this morning, the pain felt like fuel.
He stepped outside into the cold morning air, Tsuki following close behind, tail wagging. The town of Ardenwave was still, the streets empty as the first rays of sunlight kissed the rooftops. The cool air bit at his skin, but Rikuya was already warming up—his muscles humming with energy.
First, he started with the basics.
A punch. His knuckles cracked as his fist collided with the solid wooden post in front of him. He pulled it back, his breath shallow, and then slammed it forward again, and again, the rhythm of his strikes fast and harsh. Each hit felt like it was cutting into the bone, yet he didn't slow. Every muscle in his body tensed, his biceps and forearms flexing with raw power. Sweat beaded on his brow, dripping down his temples, but Rikuya didn't stop.
The wind howled as his movements picked up speed. His punches were followed by low kicks, landing with brutal accuracy against the same wooden post. He was testing his limits, each strike sharper, each movement cleaner than the last. His legs burned as he executed high roundhouse kicks, his body contorting with power, smashing the air with vicious intent. His feet hit the ground with a thud every time he landed, knees trembling from the effort.
Tsuki barked in the distance, but Rikuya didn't look up. His focus was absolute. He pivoted quickly, transitioning from a spinning kick into a crouch, then into a sudden, explosive leap into the air, executing a powerful flying knee that he slammed into an invisible target.
His body screamed for rest, but he ignored it. He dropped to the ground, rolling forward and immediately springing back up to his feet. His heart hammered in his chest as he unleashed rapid-fire jabs in the air, each one swift, controlled, hitting with a precision that felt almost unnatural. The speed was unreal, and the power was growing.
"Faster…" he muttered, sweat soaking his shirt, his arms trembling as he kept punching, again and again, faster than the last. His breath came in ragged bursts, and yet he didn't stop. The pain in his arms, his legs, his chest—it was all fueling him.
He stood tall, blood pumping fiercely through his veins, and without a second thought, he launched himself into a full sprint. Tsuki chased after him, and Rikuya pushed his legs harder, the sound of his boots slapping the dirt echoing through the quiet town. His body burned with exertion, but he welcomed it. He could feel his muscles growing, the pain of each step pushing him toward something more. He was getting stronger.
The sprint ended when he reached a large tree just outside of town. He quickly spun around it, his feet barely touching the ground, and then burst into a rapid series of spins and flips, practicing his acrobatics, letting his body move with the wind. His core was rock solid, his flexibility and strength combined in a powerful synergy.
He finished with a landing so precise it looked effortless, his chest heaving with every breath, Tsuki circling around him in excitement. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, eyes narrowing with a dangerous focus.
"This isn't enough," he muttered under his breath. "Not nearly enough."
Rikuya's mind was already racing with the fight ahead. His opponents would be ruthless. He couldn't afford to slip up, not even for a second. If he was to stand a chance in this tournament, he had to be unstoppable.
Without hesitation, he dropped down into a push-up position and began again—faster this time, a steady rhythm building as his muscles screamed at him to stop. But there was no stopping. There was no time for weakness. The fire in his chest blazed hotter than ever.
As the two-week countdown to the tournament in Ardenwave began, Rikuya's training became even more grueling. He didn't care for rest, didn't care for comfort—only progress. And now, with the weight of the upcoming battles heavy in his mind, he was pushing himself further than ever.
It started early in the morning, the sun barely rising over the horizon. Rikuya stood in the middle of the town, several large boulders strapped to his back. The rocks were rough, uneven, and massive—each one weighing far more than a typical man could carry. He tightened the ropes around his chest, the stone digging into his muscles with each movement.
He began walking, each step heavier than the last as he made his way through the busy streets of Ardenwave. The townspeople paused, turning their heads to gawk in disbelief at the sight of him. The boulders shifted with every movement, grinding against his back and shoulders, causing his muscles to strain under the enormous weight.
Some of the weaker folk couldn't help but stumble into him, their eyes wide with shock. They tried to regain their balance but ended up tumbling against him, their bodies bouncing off his well-toned frame. Rikuya didn't flinch. He didn't even acknowledge them. The pain in his legs, the strain on his back—none of it mattered. He kept moving forward.
The murmurs of the townspeople spread like wildfire, each person whispering about the insane feat they were witnessing.
"Is he really carrying those boulders on his back? Is he out of his mind?"
"Doesn't he know how heavy those are? He'll break his back!"
"Someone should stop him! He's going too far!"
But Rikuya's eyes were locked forward, his face set in a determined grimace as he continued his march, step by step, moving with an eerie calmness despite the immense weight dragging on his body. He wasn't doing it for show. He wasn't doing it to impress anyone. This was for himself. For the tournament. To make sure no one—no one—would dare challenge him and walk away unharmed.
It wasn't until he reached the central square that he noticed Lena and Myra, their faces filled with concern and irritation. Both women were walking toward him with an almost identical scowl, their arms crossed over their chests.
"Rikuya!" Lena shouted, her voice filled with frustration as she approached him. "What the hell are you doing?! You're going to hurt yourself!"
Myra wasn't far behind, shaking her head in disbelief. "You can't seriously think this is a good idea. Those boulders are way too heavy for you. You need to stop!"
Rikuya didn't respond. He simply took another heavy step, pushing forward like a machine, his body showing no signs of slowing.
Lena grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "I mean it, Rikuya. This is insane! You don't need to punish yourself like this to prepare for the tournament!"
The straps of the boulders dug deeper into his skin, but he didn't show it. His breath was steady, his movements precise. He was used to pushing through the pain.
Seline, who had been watching from the side, walked over to Lena and Myra, her gaze soft but concerned. She placed a hand on each of their shoulders, trying to calm them down.
"Let him do this," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle, but firm. "It's the only way he knows how to push himself."
Lena frowned, looking from Seline to Rikuya, her voice still sharp with worry. "But this is too much! He's risking his life for what?"
Seline shook her head slightly, her eyes meeting Rikuya's from across the square. "He's doing this because he has no choice. He's fighting for something greater than just a victory. He's trying to find something within himself that no one else can understand."
Myra exhaled heavily, rubbing her temples in frustration. "I get it. I do. But we can't just sit by and watch him break himself down."
"I know," Seline said quietly. "But we also can't stop him. This is the only way he knows to prepare, to push beyond his limits." She looked back at Rikuya, who was still trudging forward, each step more exhausting than the last. "If he believes this is what he needs to do… then we need to trust him."
Lena let out a deep breath, her shoulders sagging in defeat. "Fine, but I still don't like it."
Myra, too, sighed, but there was a sense of resignation in her expression. "Yeah, I don't either, but… I guess we can't stop him."
Seline smiled softly, her voice taking on a more compassionate tone. "I understand. But sometimes, we need to let him fight his own battles."
The three women watched as Rikuya continued his march through the town, the weight of the boulders still on his back. The townspeople scattered to make way for him, still watching in awe and concern, but Rikuya's focus remained unwavering. His heart pounded in his chest, but his mind was clear. The tournament was coming, and this was the only way to ensure he was ready.