Twenty years ago, before the flowers were soaked in blood and the landscape tasted of ash, the waters were still crystalline. They didn't hurt to touch. They didn't scream. They didn't bleed.
Back then, the Kingdom of Hokori had yet to witness the price that war carves into the bones. It was in that fragile calm that the first threat from Sainokuni arrived—a letter sealed in gold and blood, delivered to the Obsidian Palace just as Genshin no Ikkaku had ascended the throne.
The council of nobles roared. They demanded an immediate answer. They wanted fire, glory, and vengeance they themselves would never wield. They pressed him with shouts, wrapped in luxurious garments but with hearts rotted by greed.
Genshin, seated on his throne as if he already beheld the world in ruins, watched them with contempt. He knew they didn't seek to protect Hokori. They wanted a war that would consume him, so they could divide what was left of the throne.
Then the King made a decision.
"We will send the most powerful heirs of the four great clans." His voice froze the air. "Even their sons. Even the children."
Silence fell.
Then—chaos.
Some nobles rose in outrage. Others demanded explanations. But amidst the uproar, a single voice cut through, firm and unyielding.
It was a boy of about sixteen. His dark hair could not yet hide the scars of his first missions. Reiji Mikazuki, newly promoted to Sergeant. The prodigy soldier. The one who had shattered every record in the army. The only one, whispered in hushed tones, who might one day equal the King himself.
"I accept that order, Your Majesty. Not out of obedience. But out of a desire for extermination." Reiji spoke without hesitation. "The Kingdom of Sainokuni deserves no mercy. Only oblivion."
Genshin smiled.
"Then you will lead the offensive."
Without delay, Reiji went to the Kingdom's Biological Weapons Laboratory. There, submerged in fluids as dense as the sludge of sins, lay beasts with artificially induced Shinkon. Broken bodies, fused with Hokori's darkest magic. Among them stood out a woman: an enemy Captain of Sainokuni, captured alive and turned into something no longer human.
The kingdom's scientists resisted. That power was sealed. To use it required royal authorization.
But Reiji no longer spoke as a soldier.
He spoke as one who had embraced hell—and wished to bring it home.
"In war there are no rules," he shouted. "I'd rather command a thousand monsters… than trust a thousand cowards."
Silence returned to the laboratory.
And with it, the beginning of a war that never should have been.
---
Only a few days had passed.
The cities burned.
From the highest balcony of the Royal Palace, King Genshin no Ikkaku watched as the horizon turned crimson. Flames devoured the border towns, while the cries of war drowned in the pillars of smoke and ash. And yet, his face betrayed no emotion. Only an unsettling calm.
Behind him, the nobles—those same who had demanded blood weeks earlier—now fell to their knees.
"Stop this, Majesty! We are sending our children to certain death!"
Genshin did not look at them. He spoke as if reciting an ancient truth:
"I send them to die? No, my lords… They choose whether to live. And if they die… it is because they were not enough to represent Hokori. If they live, the people will remember them as heroes. Is that not a fair price for glory?"
One noble, his voice fractured by fear, dared to speak:
"You are completely mad…!"
This time, Genshin did turn. His gaze was a bottomless pit, and his smile a fracture.
"Mad? I like the sound of it. But no… I am only the reflection of your ambition, your greed, your hypocrisy. If you held the power I do… would you not do the same? No… you would be worse. Much worse." And he burst into laughter that cracked like dry thunder through the Throne Hall. "HAHAHAHA!"
No one replied.
Not a word.
Not a breath.
Silence consumed the hall.
Genshin no Ikkaku slowly descended the throne's steps and walked among the nobles as though they were hollow statues of salt. He gave no farewell. Sought no counsel. Never looked back.
He spoke only once, as he crossed the door:
"Prepare yourselves… Because this is only the beginning."
And he left.
Leaving behind a hall where the cowards already knew: war would not be the worst thing. It would be the man leading it.
---
When half the Kingdom of Sainokuni had already fallen…
when Hokori's banners waved over still-warm corpses…
when blood could not be washed away, not even by rain…
A small village still stood.
Devout. Silent. Fractured.
Reiji Mikazuki's soldiers showed no mercy.
They burned homes.
They cut down the elderly.
They enslaved the children.
The church was the first to burn.
And the prayers… the last to fall silent.
Reiji walked through the ruins with a bottle of sake dangling from his belt. He searched for beer. Perhaps something that didn't reek of death.
He entered an old house. The door hung broken, as if it no longer wished to protect anyone. The floorboards groaned, and the air was thick with dried incense.
There, on her knees, amid blood and dust, a young woman still prayed.
Her body was covered in wounds, her face dirty, her blonde hair tangled. Green eyes like prairies not yet invaded. Tall, slender, draped in tattered yet dignified clothes.
Reiji froze.
She noticed him… but did not flinch. She did not ask for help. She did not beg for mercy.
She only lifted her gaze and, with a weak but steady voice, said:
"I will not beg for mercy. Asking that of the devil… is like shouting at a cliff and expecting an answer."
Reiji said nothing.
Something inside him trembled.
An image flashed through his mind: his mother.
Devout. Kind. Innocent.
The woman who taught him to love before the world forced him to hate.
The young woman before him… resembled her too much.
Golden hair.
Skin of moonlight.
A gaze resigned, but unafraid.
"Do it," she told him. "Kill me. Do not show me mercy."
Reiji drew his blade.
Its steel gleamed under the moonlight, tainted by smoke.
The screams of his soldiers shattered the moment.
From the far side of the village… the beasts with induced Shinkon had escaped their cages. Twisted creatures, made of flesh, fury, and despair, ravaged everything in their path.
One of them lunged toward the house—straight for the young woman.
Reiji turned.
Measured.
And with a single, precise slash, he severed the beast's neck before it reached her.
The monster's body collapsed at her feet, splattering her with its black blood.
Reiji breathed deeply.
He said nothing.
He did not look at her again.
He only sheathed his sword… and stepped back into the hell he himself had helped build.
---
"Kill me already!" screamed the young woman, eyes wide with pain, tears mixing with the blood on her face. "You and your kind destroyed my village… killed my family… and…!"
"Ask that of a beast," Reiji cut her off, his voice calm but his gaze as sharp as his katana. "Not of a boy who, even in war, still clings to sanity."
The girl trembled.
Not with fear.
But with the bitter certainty that she would not even be granted death as solace.
Reiji turned his back on her without another glance. His steady footsteps across the broken wood echoed like the toll of judgment.
Outside, three Shinkon beasts approached. Horrid. Twisted. A grotesque fusion of man and weapon, rage and torn flesh.
Reiji paused a moment…
and did nothing when one of them entered the house.
He did not turn.
He did not speak.
He simply allowed fate to grant the girl her wish… or her punishment.
No scream followed. Only the creak of wood… and then, the same silence as before.
The other two beasts lunged at him.
They didn't last two seconds.
Slash. Turn. Cross-cut.
The very air seemed to shatter as his katana sang. Their deformed bodies dropped like rag dolls.
The stench of hot blood mingled with the smoke of the village.
More beasts came from the north.
Reiji moved like an elegant demon. Each motion surgical, each strike a sentence. One by one, the creatures fell.
Until…
silence. Broken only by the distant cries of soldiers and the crackle of flames.
Some soldiers surrounded him. Others dared not approach. Their eyes shook more than their hands.
Reiji turned.
His breathing calm, his blade bloodied, his expression devastatingly serene.
"What happened?" he asked, without raising his voice.
Silence.
Until a child soldier, no older than thirteen, swallowed hard and spoke:
"T-they started fighting… over a slave… One wanted her… and the other too… Their Shinkons clashed. A-and the impact broke the beasts' cage seal."
Reiji said nothing.
He looked at him.
Listened.
Then lifted his gaze to the rest of the squad.
His stare was harsher than any word.
As if he didn't see men.
Not even soldiers.
Only trash.
Shaking trash on a battlefield.
And without a word…
he turned his back on them.
The night kept burning.
---
The capital of Sainokuni burned like a candle at the end of its wick. Smoke danced among the ruins, and blood mingled with the acid rain the heavens poured in silence.
Reiji Mikazuki arrived alone.
No squad, no orders.
Only him.
With slow steps, his katana at his side and his shadow greater than any banner.
The soldiers of Sainokuni did not run.
They knelt.
One after another, trembling like autumn leaves.
They knew who he was.
They knew what he brought.
From the palace's heights, the King of Sainokuni raised a white flag. The symbol of peace. The last refuge of the weak.
He descended the stairs, dressed in ceremonial robes still stained with wine and despair. He was about to speak. To beg. But he never uttered a word.
SHHHHK.
Reiji's blade slid through his neck like an inevitable truth. The King's head rolled down the steps until it struck his own banners.
Silence.
No soldier dared lift his eyes. None drew their swords. No voice. No curse. Only the echo of steel returning to its sheath.
Reiji lifted the bloodied crown from the ground. Held it high, as if presenting the corpse of an idea: faith.
"Your faith ends here…" he murmured, without hatred, without compassion.
The soldiers wept. Others simply stared at the ground.
And then Reiji walked among them. Until he found a child hiding among the rubble of a collapsed altar.
Only eight years old. Dark hair, eyes reddened from crying, his gaze hollow. His name was Shinsei Kōji.
Reiji knelt before him, looked him in the eyes as a man looks at another man.
And without another word, placed the crown on his head.
"You will bear the sins of this land…" he said softly, almost like a prayer. "May the crown weigh heavier than your soul. May God hear you… if He exists."
And he turned away. Without looking back.
Shinsei did not understand. He did not believe in gods. But that night, as the sky wept, he knew he had seen one.
Not one who grants miracles.
But one who brings judgment.
---
Reiji returned alone.
No drums.
No hymns.
No caravans of glory.
Only him.
And his blade.
He dragged no prisoners. Brought no jewels. No slaves. Only victory. Silent. Bloody. Absolute.
When he crossed the gates of Hokori, the people did not cheer. The people trembled.
And as Reiji advanced toward the Royal Palace, he left no footprints on the ground… for the dead need none.
The wind seemed to still with every step. His torn uniform, his hollow gaze, and the bloodstained edge of his sword spoke louder than a thousand war tales.
King Genshin no Ikkaku watched him from the palace heights. A crooked smile curled on his face.
"He will be more than my successor… He will be my living legacy," he whispered, his eyes burning with ambition.
But many others saw as well. And among those eyes fixed on Reiji were futures yet to come.
From the lower ranks of the training barracks, some child soldiers gazed in awe and fear. Yodaku, only twelve, his hands still bandaged from early drills, clenched his fists tight. Narikami, stern and silent, etched that bloodstained face into memory, as one gazes at the future—or inevitable fate.
They were merely recruits. Merely children. But they knew what stood before them was no ordinary man.
It was the beginning of something they could not yet name.
There too was Kagemaru no Shūen, still without rank, yet bearing a disturbing gift: a Shinkon that let him copy appearances perfectly, a power that would make him indispensable for espionage and sabotage in the years to come.
All of them, in silence, understood a cruel truth:
In Hokori… glory is not found in the light. It crawls out of the shadows with bloodstained hands.
For all of them, Reiji Mikazuki became the standard. The man who asked for no glory. The boy who returned stripped of humanity. The living symbol of victory and death.
He was promoted to Lieutenant without objection. His name etched into the military records in black ink—the kind reserved for those who altered the course of the Kingdom.
The Kingdom does not reward men for being heroes.
It rewards them for destroying more than the enemy.
And Reiji…
was destruction incarnate.
Some called him hero.
Others, murderer.
But all, without exception…
feared him.
---
In the present.
The sky was gray,
not from clouds,
but from memory.
Reiji Mikazuki, standing before a shattered window of the old shelter, gazed out at the smoke rising from the fields he once swore to protect. The laughter of the village… the children's games… the voices that once gave life to Tsuyoi… all faded like memories someone struggles to forget.
His eyes did not blink,
but his soul cracked with every image that crossed his mind.
He saw cities burn again, but now they were his own.
He heard the screams again, but now they were his people's.
And he…
He was not at the front this time.
He did not lead, he did not save… he only watched.
And in his mind, like an echo that never found rest, a single phrase repeated over and over:
"Perhaps…"
"Perhaps… perhaps…"
"Perhaps I should have ended that Kingdom when I had the chance…"
His fingers trembled.
His throat was dry.
His eyes…
grew wet for the first time in years.
Silent tears fell onto the dusty floor.
No one saw them.
No one dried them.
For the ghosts of the past do not comfort the living.
And there he was.
Losing what he once swore to protect.
Regretting not what he had done… but what he lacked the courage to finish.
---
"MOTHER! BROTHERS! PLEASE… HOLD ON!" cried Donyoku, his voice breaking, his muscles taut, his soul ablaze with panic.
His steps thundered against the hardened earth. The screams, the crackle of fire, the villagers' laments—all fused into one thing: pain.
Smoke began to swallow the sky. The soldiers of Sainokuni, clad in golden armor and banners drenched in blood, marched like saints of death. Their spears no longer trembled… they seemed ravenous.
Donyoku reached the barn. The door groaned as he flung it open… and then he saw.
But before stepping inside, his eyes caught what was happening a few meters away: four village elders, their strength long gone, were being dragged by their hair. One begged, voice broken, that they not harm his hands. Another moaned, eyes turned heavenward. A third no longer spoke at all—only bled from the mouth.
A soldier laughed as he broke one elder's fingers. Another drew a knife.
Donyoku saw it all.
And ignored it.
He knew he should do something.
He wanted to.
But his soul had already chosen.
The cries of the elders faded behind him, for before his eyes lay what truly broke him:
His mother, kneeling, trembling arms wrapped around the youngest. Her body already bore the marks of exhaustion, fear, and quiet struggle. Before her, with only six years and a splinter of wood in hand, his younger brother Haruma stood like a spark in the storm. Small, trembling, but standing.
A soldier approached with a twisted smile.
"What do we have here? A little savior?" he mocked as he raised his spear.
"STAY AWAY FROM HER!" Haruma shouted, his voice like thunder bursting from a tiny chest.
And then Donyoku entered.
Like a demon born of the most desperate love.
He did not think.
He did not breathe.
He did not measure.
He simply leapt.
He stepped on the body of an old man without seeing it.
He vaulted over a wall of bundles.
He landed before the soldier.
The glow of his Shinkon ignited like black fire.
It was not justice.
It was not redemption.
It was hunger.
It was necessity.
It was violent love.
And no one… absolutely no one… would stand between him and his family.
---
Twenty years ago, we believed we had won the war… but all we planted was a hatred that now blooms in blood.
Thank you for stepping into this second arc, where war is not only waged with swords, but with wounds of the past, choices beyond return… and souls that have yet to decide on which side they stand.