Chapter 26: March to the End
The silence was louder than any war cry.
No one said a word as they prepared.
Armor tightened. Weapons sharpened. Magic checked and double-checked.
They all felt it—that electric tension in the air. The war was nearly over. And they were walking into hell to finish it.
Riya stood at the center of the room, eyes scanning the faces of his team—no, his family.
Each of them had fought, bled, and suffered for this. And now, there was no more running.
"Before we go," Riya said, breaking the silence, "I just want to say…thanks..."
Astolfo threw on a wide grin. "Aw, come on, boss, don't get all sentimental on us now."
Sieg smiled gently. "It's okay. He's allowed. We might not get another chance."
Muramasa, sitting quietly with his blade across his lap, gave a small nod. "No use fearing death. It comes for us all. Just make sure it finds you standing."
Everyone gave a quiet chuckle, even through the tension.
They stepped outside. The morning sun painted the sky gold, mocking the darkness in their hearts.
It should've been beautiful—but all they could think about was how many of them would see another sunrise.
The path to the Red Faction's base was eerily quiet. No monsters. No traps. Just an ominous wind pushing at their backs, urging them forward.
Finally, they reached it—the ruins of what once was the Black Faction's fortress. Now reborn in crimson.
"This is it," Riya said. "Everyone knows the plan. No turning back now."
Muramasa cracked his neck and drew his sword. "Achilles is mine."
"I'll take Karna," Sieg said.
"And I'll help!" Astolfo added, spinning his lance with a flourish.
"I'll handle Tezcatlipoca," Riya finished.
"Just buy me enough time. When you're done, come to me. We'll finish this together."
Everyone nodded.
Then… the group split.
Riya watched them go, one by one, vanishing into the ruined base like shadows.
And as he turned toward his own battlefield, his heart pounded.
Not with fear.
But with the weight of everything that had led to this moment.
He was ready.
Achilles stood at the far end of the courtyard, arms crossed, a cocky grin on his face.
"Took you long enough."
Muramasa stepped forward, drawing his blade with a metallic whisper.
"You talk too much."
The Rider laughed. "And you're still trying to act like the quiet type. But I know you've been looking forward to this."
Without another word, Achilles slammed the butt of his spear against the ground.
"Diatrekhōn Astēr Lonkhē!" he declared, his voice echoing with power.
A flash of divine energy pulsed through the area.
The very air around them shimmered as the Noble Phantasm activated—an anti-interference field.
No one would interrupt this battle. Not allies. Not enemies. Just the two of them, as it was meant to be.
But Achilles wasn't finished.
He reached back and summoned a radiant golden shield, spinning it once before slamming it down with thunderous force.
"Akhilleus Kosmos!"
The world around them twisted—the courtyard vanishing in a rush of light.
In its place stood a vast arena, a colosseum built from divine essence and will.
Stone stands surrounded them, filled with the silent echoes of ancient spectators.
The sky above burned a deep red, as though the heavens themselves acknowledged the gravity of this duel.
"A fitting stage," Achilles said, resting the spear on his shoulder. "For the last ride of a hero."
Muramasa rolled his shoulders, eyes narrowed, blade gleaming in the false sunlight.
"I don't need an audience."
"But I do," Achilles grinned. "Let's give 'em a show."
Their weapons clashed in a blur of sparks and steel.
Speed versus precision. Power versus technique.
Each strike shook the stones beneath them. Achilles was fast—blindingly so—but Muramasa met every blow, parrying, redirecting, countering.
"You can't win," Achilles said between blows, breathless but grinning. "I've got divine protection. You're just a man with a sword."
Muramasa's eyes flashed. "Then I'll show you what a man with a sword can really do."
The clash intensified—both warriors moving faster than the eye could follow.
The colosseum lit up with each strike, each dodge, each deadly dance between gods and men.
The sound of the battle rang out like thunderclaps in a divine storm.
Sparks flew with every clash. The arena trembled beneath their feet.
Then, it happened. Both fighters leapt back at the same time, eyes locked, breathing steady but fierce.
They knew. It was time.
Achilles he crouched low. A green light began to pulse around his body.
He grinned, wild and proud.
"Dromeus Komētēs!"
The battlefield blurred.
A single streak of emerald light shot forward with unimaginable speed—Achilles, at his peak, no longer running but flying, each step more like teleportation than movement.
His entire form was a comet, a streak of divine energy.
But Muramasa was ready.
He stood in silence, his eyes calm, blade in hand. Behind him, reality fractured—the ground cracking and reshaping into a wasteland of broken swords.
A Reality Marble. A world forged from endless steel.
As the swords shattered like glass, one remained. Pure. Pristine.
A perfect katana formed in his hands.
He whispered:
"In abandoning excess, weight, and speed, I have found myself.
Though it sure took a while…
Watch closely.
The heart of the blade…is here."
Tsumukari Muramasa: Originless Creation of Swords.
One step.
One slash.
And time itself split down the middle.
Achilles appeared in front of him, fist aimed for Muramasa's heart—his green trail still glowing behind him.
But the strike never landed.
The blade had already passed through.
A gust of wind.
Silence.
Then Achilles stumbled, The glow faded.
He smirked.
"…Damn. That really was a hell of a slash."
Muramasa held his blade at his side, looking at the warrior who had given him everything.
"You were fast," he said, his voice low.
"Faster than anyone I've ever fought."
Achilles nodded once, proudly—even as his body began to fade into golden dust.
"I wouldn't have wanted it to end any other way."
With that, the Rider disappeared, leaving only silence and fading light behind.
Muramasa stood alone in the center of the divine arena, sword still glowing faintly in his hand.
He looked up at the crimson sky.
"…One down."