The storm had begun.
In a single moment, a voice thundered through the city's corridors:
"The time of downfall has come."
Mousayuki was the first to move, leaping across rooftops, gripping a sword carved by Sajibro's own hands.
Meanwhile, Raizen slipped through the shadows, silencing horns, stifling calls for help, and planting fear into the hearts of guards who once believed themselves its masters.
The goal was never to kill them, but to break them.
A message was being delivered: "We are here. And we are not afraid."
Amidst the chaos, Sajibro walked steadily toward the Black Palace, carrying a sword unlike any other.
It was not mere steel—it was alive.
It was Leva.
She had become a pale blade, pulsing like a heart, as though she already knew: the blood to be spilled today was blood that deserved no mercy.
He entered the palace without hesitation.
The king was waiting.
Upon the throne sat a man whose features were carved in stone, a shadow fossilized with arrogance, his voice dripping with the mockery of ages.
"Welcome, little rebel… Have you come to dethrone a king? With nothing but your imagination?"
Sajibro gave no reply. He simply raised his sword.
"Do you truly believe what you carry is enough?"
And then—war erupted.
Steel clashed, shadows tore apart, and the palace itself trembled with their fury.
The king fought with the force of a tempest, his shadow a weapon, his voice a curse.
Yet his strikes bore the hollowness of a dead soul.
Sajibro, on the other hand, fought with something far more dangerous—life itself.
But suddenly—
A strike.
The king's black blade pierced Sajibro's shoulder. Blood spilled, his body faltering.
The king laughed.
"So this is all you are… just another boy who bleeds."
But Sajibro… smiled.
"Do you think… this will kill me?"
He closed his eyes.
And imagined.
He imagined his body rebuilding, every cell breathing anew, every wound vanishing.
In the blink of an eye—the injury was gone.
"My power… is to surpass every chain. Even death itself."
He stood tall again, his eyes burning with a light untouchable by darkness.
"Will you surrender?"
The king scoffed, arrogant to the end.
"I will never bow to you!"
Sajibro lowered his head slightly, whispering:
"You've left me no choice."
With a single strike, his blade pierced the king's chest.
A scream—then silence.
As the body collapsed, the palace itself began to crumble, as though its walls had been breathing with the tyrant's life.
Sajibro stood amidst blood, shadow, and ruin, raising Leva as she returned to her human form, whispering softly:
"He deserved death… yet you didn't strike in anger, but in a dream."
Sajibro's voice was hoarse, but steady:
"The shadows have begun to cleanse themselves… and this was only the beginning."
End of Chapter Fifty-Nine.