The road back was narrower than he remembered.
Roots clawed through the stone path like gnarled fingers, branches reached low as if to pull him back. Ketsu walked slowly, as if each step through the mist was peeling away a layer of memory. He had left this place behind. He wasn't sure why his feet had carried him back.
But he knew he couldn't avoid this forever.
The gates of Ketsu's Clan's estate creaked open with a push. No one welcomed him. The silence here was familiar—he'd grown up in it. Not the silence of peace, but of expectation. Of control.
The courtyard was nearly empty, save for the two men in crimson robes leaning against the old stone pillars.
"Well, well," one said, pushing off the wall. "The runaway returns."
The other grinned. "Still breathing? I lost a bet."
Ketsu said nothing.
They led him deeper inside. Through the old corridors carved into the mountain itself. Past the chamber doors where he had been cut open again and again. Blood stained the edges of the stone. Faint now, but not to him.
As they stepped into the inner court, the light dimmed. Elders gathered slowly on raised seats above the platform—watching, judging, weighing. In the center stood Kurogane, the clan's patriarch, dressed in ceremonial black with the blood-insignia stitched in silver thread.
He stared down with thin eyes, voice cutting like cold steel.
"You return. After all this time."
"I didn't come to return," Ketsu said calmly. "I came to leave. Officially. I'm severing ties with the clan."
Laughter rippled through the elders. One smirked. Another clicked his tongue.
Kurogane didn't smile. "Sever? You don't sever blood. You spill it."
A younger warrior—tall, scar over one eye, arms like corded steel—stepped forward from the crowd. Retsu.
"You hear that, Kurogane?" he sneered. "The blade we sharpened wants to snap on its own."
Ketsu met his gaze. "I'm not your Blade."
"Oh, but you were. We made you strong. Carved out your fear, gave you back the strength in blood."
He stepped closer. "Maybe you just need a reminder."
Steel flashed. It was sudden and precise. Ketsu didn't dodge.
The blade cut straight through his upper arm.
The limb dropped with a dull thud to the stone floor.
The courtyard broke into laughter.
Ketsu's face didn't change.
Retsu twirled his blade lazily. "Thought that would wake something up. Guess not."
Then, Ketsu laughed.
It was quiet. Dry. Empty.
Then his aura flared—so suddenly it made the air thicken.
The blood that had spilled onto the stones began to ripple.
Then it moved.
Bone restructured. Muscles spiraled back into place. Skin sealed.
In less than five seconds, the arm had returned—fully regenerated.
Retsu took half a step back.
Ketsu flexed his fingers, rotating his wrist.
"I remember everything even without your reminder," he said softly.
Blood surged around his feet, curling upward in fluid arcs. In a breath, it twisted into the shape of a heavy axe—dark red, pulsing slightly with aura.
Retsu's smile faltered.
He moved to draw again—
—but Ketsu was already moving.
A single step.
One swing.
The axe carved through Retsu's torso like paper—cleaving him from shoulder to hip. A clean diagonal slash.
For a second, nothing moved.
Then Retsu's eyes widened. His body split, folding inward as it collapsed to the floor in two heavy pieces.
Blood began to pool beneath him.
And the courtyard fell silent.
Dozens of eyes locked on Ketsu—some wide with fear, others with rage. But none moved.
He stood there, blood steaming around him, aura low but sharp as a blade.
"I don't want to fight," he said, but nobody heard.