Renzō walked beneath the moonlit sky, his footsteps silent against the forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of rain, though the storm had yet to come. He had no destination, no mission, yet the world always had a way of placing him where he was needed.
By dawn, he arrived at another village—small, hidden within the cliffs of the northern reaches. Its walls were tall, built more to keep something in than to keep others out. The people here were silent, moving with the kind of fear that did not come from war, but from something deeper.
Renzō stepped forward, his chakra naturally spilling into the air, announcing his presence without intention.
The moment the guards saw him, their faces paled.
"A sage," one of them whispered, his grip tightening on his spear. "No, something worse."
Renzō did not stop. His golden eyes scanned the village, seeing the signs—doors shut too quickly, faces hidden behind windows, the unmistakable hush of people praying to something they did not understand.
A man, dressed in faded robes, stepped forward from the crowd. His hair was gray, his face lined with years of worry. His hands trembled as he pressed them together in a respectful bow.
"Great one," he murmured, his voice strained. "We beg you, do not bring your wrath upon us."
Renzō tilted his head slightly. "Why would I bring wrath?"
The old man swallowed hard. "You are… you are like him."
Murmurs rippled through the villagers. Some whispered prayers. Others turned away, as if avoiding Renzō's gaze would keep them safe.
The sage remained still. "Like who?"
The old man hesitated, then glanced toward the cliffs beyond the village. There, nestled within the rock, stood a towering temple—its doors sealed, its walls scarred by time and battle.
"He calls himself a god," the elder finally said. "And he will not allow another to exist."
Renzō understood now.
This village was not afraid of him. They were afraid of what his presence would bring.
A challenge.
A war between the divine.
The villagers had seen what power could do, and they had long since learned that when gods clashed, it was mortals who suffered.
Renzō closed his eyes for a moment, listening—not to the elder, not to the whispers of the villagers, but to the quiet pull of the world itself. The truth was always there, waiting to be heard.
When he opened his eyes, his path was clear.
Without another word, he walked toward the temple.
The village did not stop him. They only watched, caught between fear and hope.
Because if Renzō truly was a god, then perhaps, just this once—one god might be enough to end another.