The silence after Kaede's last words felt heavier than the building itself.
Reiji didn't answer her at first. The corridor was dim, lit only by failing emergency lamps that flickered like dying fireflies. Dust hung in the air, still settling from the explosion that had ruptured the lower levels. The scent of burned circuitry and scorched metal clung to the walls.
Kaede stood beside him—trembling but unbroken, eyes still bright with the stubborn fire that refused to die even after everything she had seen. The truth of the Director. The truth of the Vanguard. The truth of Reiji himself.
And all of it had carved itself into her.
Reiji finally exhaled, quiet but steady.
"We don't have time," he murmured. "The Silent Crown won't wait."
Kaede swallowed, nodding. "Then we move."
They walked.
Each step deeper into the underground complex felt like stepping into a grave being filled behind them. The lights dimmed further. The hall narrowed. Somewhere in the distance, alarms blared before sputtering out. The oxygen pumps groaned like they were dying.
Reiji could feel it—every part of this facility was collapsing, just like the empire it served.
---
The Descent
At the next junction, Reiji paused. His senses sharpened—footsteps, faint but growing closer.
Not soldiers. Too light. Too controlled.
Assassins.
He grabbed Kaede's arm and pulled her behind a collapsed wall. She didn't question it.
A breath later, three masked figures moved through the hall with unnerving synchronization—their movements silent, predatory. Painted sigils glowed faintly on their gloves and blades: the symbol of the Shōmei Sect, the Director's personal executioners.
Kaede's breath hitched.
"Reiji…"
"I know."
He pushed her gently toward a maintenance hatch.
"You go down the lower vent. It loops around and reconnects to the central chamber."
"And you?"
Reiji stepped forward, sliding a blade from his sleeve, the metal whispering like an old memory being forced awake.
"I'll slow them down."
Kaede reached for him. "You don't have to fight alone every time—"
"I do tonight."
There was no time for her to argue; she knew it. She ducked into the vent seconds before one of the assassins snapped their head toward their hiding place.
Too late.
Reiji stepped out.
The three figures halted, heads tilting unnaturally, their masked gazes focusing on him.
One spoke with a distorted, modulated voice.
"Shinomiya Reiji. The Director wants your body intact."
Reiji lifted his blade.
"He can keep dreaming."
---
The Fight
The assassins moved first—blurring forward with impossible speed.
Reiji dodged the first strike by a hair, the blade slicing the air where his throat had been. He pivoted, catching the second assassin's wrist and twisting sharply until something cracked. A muted grunt. The masked figure dropped to one knee.
But the third assassin was already behind him.
The impact slammed into Reiji's back like a hammer. Pain shot through him—white-hot—but he didn't fall. He rolled, deflecting a downward strike, sparks scattering as steel met steel.
Three against one.
He'd survived worse.
He caught the first assassin's blade with his own, twisted it aside, and slammed his elbow into their mask hard enough to dent it. Before they could recover, he drove his knee into their chest, sending them crashing into a support beam.
The second assassin lunged.
Reiji dropped low, slashing across their leg. Blood sprayed. The assassin staggered, but their grip didn't loosen. They swung again, faster, more desperate.
Reiji moved with precision, every motion honed through years of training, trauma, and the relentless weight of necessity. His blade gleamed under the flickering lights—cold, sharp, merciless.
The third assassin attempted to flank him again.
Reiji anticipated it.
He spun, catching their arm mid-strike. A brutal twist, then he drove his blade through the chink in their armor at the ribs.
A gurgled cry—then silence.
Reiji didn't pause.
The second assassin tried to retreat. He didn't let them. With a swift step forward, he struck their throat, then their jaw, then swept their legs. They crashed to the floor, disarmed and gasping.
The first assassin—mask cracked, breathing ragged—charged again, screaming without sound through their modulator.
Reiji stopped them with a single, precise thrust.
The world fell still again.
His breath came harsh but steady. He wiped his blade clean on the assassin's cloak.
One more step toward the Director.
One more step toward the truth.
One more step toward the end.
---
The Chamber of Vows
The maintenance vent Kaede used reconnected to the main corridor, exactly as Reiji had said. She was waiting for him, bruised but unharmed.
"You're bleeding," she whispered, eyes scanning his back.
"It's nothing."
She didn't believe him, but she didn't push. She simply fell in beside him again as they approached the central chamber.
As the metal doors slid open, a strange chill swept across Reiji's skin.
The room was circular, vast, and ancient—the only part of the complex that didn't look industrial. The walls were stone, carved with runes older than the Vanguard itself. Candles flickered in sconces, though no one had lit them in decades.
At the center stood an altar.
And on it lay a blade.
Long. Dark. Beautiful.
Its surface shimmered not with metal, but with something older, something alive.
The Blade of Forgotten Vows.
Kaede stared. "What… what is that?"
Reiji stepped closer, the air humming around him.
"It's the original oathblade," he murmured. "The one the first Vanguard used when they swore themselves to the Director." His voice lowered. "Before he twisted everything."
Kaede touched the altar's edge.
"And he wants you to take it?"
Reiji didn't answer.
He already knew the truth.
This was no weapon.
This was a chain.
A blade forged from promises and blood. A blade that carried the weight of every oath the Vanguard had ever broken.
His vows.
His failures.
His past.
Kaede whispered, "Reiji… don't touch it."
He reached out anyway.
The instant his fingers brushed the hilt, the world shattered.
---
The Visions
Reiji's breath froze.
The chamber vanished.
He stood in a void—endless, suffocating darkness illuminated only by memories. His memories.
He saw himself as a child, kneeling before the Director.
He saw the blood of the first man he killed.
He saw the missions.
He saw the lies.
He saw Kaede screaming his name when he almost died in her place.
He saw the moment he decided to betray the Vanguard.
And beneath it all—
He heard the Director's voice.
"Reiji. You are the blade. You were always the blade."
Reiji gritted his teeth.
"No."
"Your vows bind you. They always have."
"No."
"Come home."
"NO."
His scream fractured the vision.
Light cracked through the darkness as he wrenched the blade free of the altar and stepped back into the physical world, chest heaving, skin cold, mind burning.
Kaede grabbed his arm. "Reiji! What happened?!"
He looked down at the blade.
The air trembled around it.
He steadied himself.
"We're finishing this," he said quietly—his voice steady despite the chaos inside him.
Kaede stared at the blade, fear and trust battling in her eyes.
"The Director… he's waiting?"
Reiji turned toward the deeper passage—the one that led to the lowest chamber of the complex.
The heart of the empire.
The throne of lies.
The man who created him.
"Yeah," Reiji said.
"Let him wait a little longer."
He lifted the blade.
"And then I'll end this."