The wind howled louder than before.
Snow painted the land in a cold, unrelenting white—each breath from Ayame, Ranka, and Raijin froze in the air as the temperature plummeted.
They stood still, tense, caught in the deathly rhythm of battle.
Raijin gritted his teeth, voice ragged.
"…This guy… he's on another level."
Before them stood the silent storm: Zankaibo the Grim Reaper.
Eyes closed. Blade undrawn. And yet—his strikes came swift and sharp, painting crimson arcs through the snow.
Zankaibo's monotone voice cut through the chaos.
"I promise you... death by my blade is... painless."
Slash.
A volley of invisible slashes descended on Team Ranka, forcing them into rapid dodges. Minor cuts opened across their arms and legs, but they were alive—for now.
What terrified them wasn't the speed or sharpness of the slashes...
It was the fact that Zankaibo never moved.
He hadn't budged an inch.
Raijin's voice rose over the shrieking wind.
"Fourth Flow: Thunder God Speed!"
Crack—!
His aura flared with electricity, splitting the snow around him. Then—
Dash.
A burst of movement. Faster than ever before.
He weaved between the slashes, narrowly dodging them, but still—he couldn't get close enough to land a hit. Every step forward was like stepping into a minefield of blades.
Ayame moved like wind among petals—graceful, sharp, yet she too was barely managing to deflect the onslaught.
Raijin grimaced.
"The closer I get... the more intense the attacks become!"
Ranka drew a talisman, her hand trembling.
"Ice Talisman: Fox Frost!"
Dozens of fox-shaped snow spirits charged toward Zankaibo—but the moment they crossed the invisible boundary, they were obliterated mid-air.
Ranka fell to one knee, breathing heavily. She conjured barriers around herself just in time to absorb a fresh wave of slashes.
Then suddenly—Zankaibo's assault stopped.
The snow fell silent.
His mouth opened slowly.
"Struggling is futile… you all should have known by now."
Zankaibo's eyes remained shut, and yet his voice cut colder than the wind.
"I'm no supporter of war… but I do hate stupidity."
He exhaled.
"As long as you struggle... you'll only prolong your death."
He paused.
"Such is a pointless life…"
---
A flashback.
Zankaibo once knelt in the ruins of a village.
A battlefield, bloodied and broken. Women and children lay dead around him. A small boy clutched a sword too large for his hand.
Boy: "They killed everyone… just for being weak…"
Zankaibo: "What a foolish reason…"
Boy: "I want to be strong! Strong enough to never suffer again!"
Zankaibo stared at the boy.
Then handed him a blade.
"Then be strong enough to never feel pain... and strong enough to never care."
The boy's eyes turned cold.
That boy… was Zankaibo.
---
Back to the present.
Raijin's eyes narrowed.
"Did you guys feel that?"
Ayame and Ranka nodded. The slashes had stopped—just for a moment.
The next instant, the barrage resumed.
Ayame and Ranka resumed their dance with death… but Zankaibo didn't realize Raijin was gone.
And then—
"Fifth Flow: Thunder God Speed Overflow!"
FLASH.
From far beyond the reach of Zankaibo's flow range, Raijin surged forward like a bolt of divine lightning. In the blink of an eye, he was in front of Zankaibo.
SLASH—!
A clean cut across the torso.
Zankaibo gasped.
Raijin landed beside him, panting.
"I went outside the range of your flow… and had Ayame and Ranka distract you."
Raijin continued.
"Your flow registers an opponent's signature… but it takes a few seconds before your attacks lock on and home in. We noticed earlier—when you dropped your guard—you detached your flow trajectory from us."
Zankaibo knelt quietly.
Still gripping the hilt of his sheathed blade.
"…Impressive."
---
Elsewhere…
Two blades clashed in a storm of fury and fire.
Shogun Akihiro stood tall, his blade meeting the relentless force of Yorinaga, the Shogun of Haganemori.
Their battle shattered the storm.
Snow scattered in every direction, repelled by the sheer power of their clash.
War cries echoed across the battlefield.
But the two Shoguns stood at the heart of it all.
A battle of ideals.
A battle of nations.
Akihiro roared through gritted teeth.
"I believe in a world where spirits and man can live together in unity!"
Yorinaga snarled back.
"To hell with you and your beliefs! You got entangled with a spirit you should've enslaved!"
"THAT'S why your kingdom perishes today!"
Clang. Clang.
Blade met blade. Spirit met fury.
The two clashed in a brilliant display of swordsmanship and unwavering belief.
And then—Yorinaga faltered.
Akihiro's blade pierced through.
Yorinaga gasped, blood spraying from his mouth. His blade dropped to the snow.
The war had reached its turning point.
But Akihiro was barely standing.
His body trembled. Blood soaked his armor.
Yet he turned—
Eyes locked on the one thing that still mattered.
Yuki Ona.
And he ran.
Not with rage.
Not with pride.
But with the last fragments of a heart broken by regret.
He ran toward her…
To let out his heart…
To let go of the wound he held within…
Even if it killed him.
Step 5000… 5001… 5002… 5003…