The forest was quiet again.
Broken trees leaned drunkenly against one another, their trunks splintered by stone and light. The ground was churned into ruin, pocked with craters and streaked with ash.
Ten armored bodies lay scattered in the dirt—bound, broken, unconscious. Only three still breathed, pinned beneath Davion's golden chains.
Davion sat on a flat boulder near the wreckage, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his brow. His hands still trembled from the fight, golden sparks twitching at his fingertips like restless embers.
"I… I did it." He whispered, hardly believing the words. "I fought… and lived."
John Stewart stood a short distance away, his back to him, green aura low but constant. The veteran kept watch, scanning the ruined forest for more hostiles. His voice, steady and uncompromising, broke the silence.
"You survived your first battle. That doesn't mean you understand what just happened. Sit. Breathe. Get control."
Davion pressed a palm to his forehead. The crown above him still flickered faintly, as if unsure whether to vanish or flare brighter. His breath slowed, and he tried to push the chaos out of his mind.
He sat cross-legged on the boulder, eyes closing.
The world dimmed.
Darkness.
And then light.
A vast golden sea stretched before him, endless and shimmering. Above it loomed a sky of shifting constellations, stars bending into strange, symmetrical patterns. His chest felt heavy, yet his body weightless.
A voice—not John's, not his own—whispered through the expanse.
"This… is the power of the King."
Davion's brow furrowed. "The power… of the King?"
The sea rippled. Images rose from the surface—echoes of the fight, every strike, every cry, every jutsu. They hung in the air like portraits painted with fire.
"What is the power of the King?" the voice continued, calm yet terrible. "It is understanding. Clarity. To see the world as it is—and claim it as yours."
Davion staggered as the golden sea pulled him deeper. He saw more images. Fields. Cities. Thrones. Men kneeling, women weeping, soldiers marching. It was not one kingdom, but countless, stacked like cards, woven into something infinite.
"Under heaven and earth," the voice said, "is it not the King's land? And upon that land, the King may use any power his subjects possess."
Davion gasped. "Wait—you mean… if someone serves me… I can use their strength? Their gifts?"
The sea shuddered with affirmation. "This is your inheritance. The Crown's authority."
For a moment, awe overtook him. The possibilities stretched wide as the golden horizon. But the voice grew cold.
"The King's road begins with cruelty."
The sky above warped, constellations turning crimson.
Shadows rose from the water, taking the shape of the three unconscious ninjas, still bound in his golden chains.
"The King's Plunder," the voice said. "Take from those who cannot resist. When they fall unconscious, when their souls fade in death—you may claim their strength. Their memory. Their essence."
Davion's gut twisted. "Plunder? Kill them, and take everything they were?"
"Yes." The voice was merciless. "Born to be King, you must be merciless. Each soul devoured is another stone in your foundation. Without it, you will crumble in worlds not your own."
The shadows writhed. Power thrummed in his chest. A pull, magnetic and hungry, dragged him toward them.
Davion clenched his fists. His mind recoiled at the thought of killing a helpless man. But something deeper—fear of weakness, fear of being lost and powerless—screamed back.
"Mi cyaan… mi cyaan be weak! (I can't… I can't be weak!)" he shouted, voice raw. "If I don't take it… I'll die here!"
The sea of gold blazed brighter, swallowing him whole.
His eyes snapped open. The battlefield returned. The smell of smoke and blood filled his nose.
John turned, brow furrowed. "What just happened to you?"
Davion's crown pulsed, its golden light steady now. He rose from the boulder, walking slowly to the three bound ninjas. His eyes locked on the one nearest him, a man with cracked armor and a shallow, ragged breath.
"I… I understand now," Davion whispered. His voice shook, but not with fear—with resolve. "This is what it means to be King."
John's eyes narrowed. He didn't intervene.
Davion knelt beside the ninja. His hand hovered above the man's chest. The crown flared, brighter and brighter, until golden energy poured downward like a river.
The man's body jerked. His eyes snapped open in shock, then rolled back. A scream—silent, more soul than sound—ripped through the air as golden light devoured him.
The chains shattered. His body went limp. Dead.
Davion reeled as the energy surged into him. His veins burned. His lungs seized. For a heartbeat, he thought his chest would burst. Then it settled—flooding his mind with knowledge, memories, sensations that weren't his.
He staggered back, clutching his head.
Flashes. Images. A stone fortress built into a cliff. Men with banners marked with an earthen crest. Missions taken in secret. Contracts signed with blood. He saw his victim's childhood, his training, his struggles. He felt the weight of a thousand hours of practice with sword and jutsu.
And more than memory—power.
A current awakened in his body, warm and thrumming. Chakra. He could feel it coiled inside him, coursing through veins that hadn't known it existed before.
His breath hitched. "I… I have chakra."
And along with it—knowledge of jutsu. Techniques carved into his mind like scars.
Earth Release: Stone Bullet. Earth Release: Earth Wall. Earth Release: Hell Swamp.
And faintly, a second current, gentler but present. Water affinity.
His chest heaved. His body trembled. His world had changed in an instant.
The crown above him shivered, then dissolved into a stream of light. It sank into his forehead, searing like fire. When the glow faded, a golden six-pointed star gleamed at his temple, embedded into his very being.
Davion gasped, touching the mark with shaking fingers. "It's… inside me now."
John studied him with a soldier's wary eye. "Do you know what you just did?"
Davion turned, eyes burning with both horror and awe. "I killed him… and his power, his memories… they're mine now."
John's jaw tightened. He didn't flinch, didn't condemn. He simply nodded once. "Yes you now have the power at the cost of a life, that's the weight of your crown."
Davion dropped to his knees, clutching his head as more fragments of memory settled. He saw maps. Clans. Contracts. A world in endless war.
Finally, the truth crystallized.
"I know where we are," he whispered. His voice was barely audible, but heavy as stone. "This… this is the Warring States era. There are no villages. Only clans. They fight for money, for land, for power. They kill until nothing's left."
He raised his head, eyes wide with realization. "We're in the world of shinobi. Right in the land of fire"
The forest seemed to lean in, pressing down with the weight of his revelation.
John said nothing, his gaze fixed on him with soldier's patience.
Davion clenched his fists, golden sparks crawling up his arms. His voice shook, but not from fear anymore. From certainty.
"The road of the King has begun. And it's cruel."