Haruki's feet slipped.
Renji stumbled sideways.
Daichi's balance broke.
Even Shiro, who had remained centered, was forced to drop his stance and brace himself.
And in that single heartbeat of instability…
The Kuru Clan moved.
Not all of them.
Just one.
Arya.
The archer.
He didn't step forward dramatically. He didn't shout. He didn't chant long incantations like the legends of Kuru were famous for. He simply raised his bow calmly, his eyes narrowing as if the battlefield had already slowed down for him.
The string drew back.
A single arrow formed, glowing pale blue.
And the moment he released it, the arrow split midair.
One became five.
Five became twenty.
Twenty became dozens.
The arrows multiplied like reflections in a shattered mirror, streaking across the battlefield with sharp whistling sounds, and instead of targeting the Minamoto rookies directly, they struck the ground around them.
One.
Two.
Three.
Dozens.
