The meadow beyond the village was worn from two weeks of hard training—grass flattened, dirt torn, cuts in stone from missed strikes. Ryu stood at its center, sweat streaking his face, his borrowed shortsword gripped tight. His right eye stung with focus, the Dragon's Eye dormant but ever watchful. Kaze faced him, katana out, silver aura flickering faintly. The morning was cold and still. The cliff's shadow had just begun to retreat.
"Again," Kaze said, voice firm but laced with approval. "Let me see your aura."
Ryu exhaled. The Sun-Harness sparked in his chest. His aura surged—red-and-black, no longer wild. It held shape now, clean and narrow like a blade. His shortsword glowed faintly, the aura wrapping it, sharp as forged steel. He dashed forward, faster than he'd ever moved. Kaze met the strike, their blades clashing, sparks scattering. Ryu turned on instinct, ducked Kaze's counter, his next swing slicing air—and a nearby boulder—clean through.
Kaze stepped back, nodding, his smirk wide. "Master-level," he said. "You've got it now. Two weeks, and you're carving aura like a seasoned blade monk. You're not normal, kid."
Ryu let the sword drop to his side, breath steady. His aura crackled, still present. "Took everything," he said. "But I'm not done."
Kaze sheathed his blade, tone settling. "You sharpened yourself. That speed, that focus—it's all you. Stay sharp. You'll need it."
Ryu gave a short nod. The Spirit Realm was still far, but the Ox was closer. And he was ready.
⸻
Far north, at the broken mountainside, Hideo stood among the remains of the Lion-Hybrid's den. The air stank of ash and rot. The yokai's body had been reduced to scorched bones. Around him, the mountain was torn apart—rocks split, trees uprooted. Kaze's Storm Destruction had left its mark. But it was the deep slash through the yokai's spine that held Hideo's attention.
He knelt, ran two fingers along the cut. Aura residue clung to the stone. Red-and-black—rare, powerful.
His scarred lips pulled into a cold grin. "Kaze," he muttered. "Still carrying storms. But this… this is new."
A slow green glow rose around him, deep and dense, shimmering like polished jade. It made the air heavy. Pebbles quivered at his feet.
"I've waited long enough," he said. "This time, you don't slip away."
He stood, his aura fading, and turned toward the valley. The trail was fresh. He walked, twin katanas silent at his sides.
⸻
Back at the village, the sun hung high. Ryu and Kaze packed their gear, the ruins behind them slowly returning to life. Villagers mended roofs, stacked bricks, hauled timber. Goro's crew worked with quiet grit. Ryu's chest was a pale scar now. His strength was tight, focused. Kaze's injuries were healed, his movements precise again. Two horses waited—Ryu's mare from Yamato, and a lean grey spare for Kaze.
Near the gate, Goro, Soma, and the two surviving spearmen stood waiting. They looked worn, but settled. Goro stepped forward first, nodachi slung, missing ear catching the sun.
"You're heading out?" he said. "Could've guessed. Still got that offer, you know. Head south. Plenty of coin to chase."
Kaze shook his head. "Not for us."
Ryu added, calm and certain, "Thanks. But we've got something to finish."
Soma limped up beside Goro. His stump was wrapped tight, but his posture was firm. "That aura of yours," he said, eyes on Ryu. "Don't waste it. Took me long enough to believe in you."
Ryu gave a quiet smile. "Thanks, Soma. For real."
Then the village elder approached, cane tapping lightly on the stone path. His back was bent, but his voice was clear. "You gave us peace," he said. "No more nightmares. We owe you."
Ryu bowed his head. "Glad we could help.
Just as they turned to mount, a young boy ran from the cliff path, panting, waving something in the air.
"Wait! Look what I found!"
He held up a katana—Ryu's, black scabbard dented, blade untouched. It had fallen into the ravine during the yokai fight. Somehow, it had survived.
Ryu's eyes widened. He took it carefully, tested the grip. It fit like it always had.
"Thanks," he said, voice lighter. "This sword's part of me."
Kaze clapped his shoulder. "Just in time."
They mounted. Goro gave one last bark of laughter. Soma nodded. The old man raised his cane. Ryu looked back once—at the repaired walls, the villagers, the friends who'd stayed. Then he faced forward. The Ox still waited, and his blade was ready.
⸻
Far to the south, deep in a bamboo-ringed compound, Hana and Yumi knelt on cold stone. Their wrists were bound. Multiple men paced the courtyard having their way with them, laughing, spitting. The Ox sat above them in a wooden chair, his red aura simmering low, thick as smoke. His face was blank, but his eyes never left them.
Hana's lip was split. Her head hung, but her will didn't bend. Beside her, Yumi trembled, her tears drying on bruised cheeks.
Hana leaned close. Her whisper cut through the still air. "He's coming."
Yumi blinked, lips trembling. "You think he's alive?"
Hana nodded once. "He's Ryu. He doesn't die easy."
They held onto that—his name, his strength. The Ox's men laughed louder, oblivious. But their prayers were quiet, steady, and fierce.