A remote village in Romania lay silent, its houses empty and lifeless. Tenra swept his gaze across the deserted scene, a shadow passing over his face.
"Lord Tenra, I'm back!" Gaspar called, breathless as he hurried in.
Tenra turned. "What did you find out?"
Gaspar relayed his news. "Locals said some church priests came a couple days ago and took everyone away. Lord Tenra, why did we need to find that person, anyway?"
Tenra's eyes narrowed. "Damn. Too late…"
He didn't bother explaining. He'd traded a Phoenix Tear just to get the location of a Sacred Gear wielder, plotting every angle to snatch the artifact. But the vampire detour had cost him precious time. The church had beaten him here.
Annoyance flickered across his features, but at least he'd gained the [Forbidden Balor View]—a small consolation.
"Let's go, Gaspar."
He wasn't one to brood. With a shrug, Tenra set off.
"We're not looking for that person anymore?" Gaspar asked.
"Church took him. No point chasing shadows."
"Oh…"
Their voices faded as they disappeared down the road, swallowed by the horizon.
Time slipped by, swift and silent.
Two years later—
"Ha… ha…"
A snow-laden forest. A blond boy crashed through the drifts, lungs burning, legs trembling. He stumbled, fell, clawed his way up again. His body was spent, but his eyes blazed with desperate resolve.
Survive. He had to survive.
His friends' voices echoed in his ears—"Even if only you escape, run!" They'd fought off the devils, pushed him forward, given him this chance. His life was no longer his alone. He owed them everything.
He had to live.
He collapsed again, poison flooding his veins, agony radiating from every cell. The snow was cold, but the pain was colder. He lay there, gasping, feeling his life ebb away.
His thoughts blurred, but memories flashed—his friends, their laughter, their hope. They'd all been children with nowhere to go, gathered and trained day after day, told they'd become "chosen by God." Harsh, cruel, yet they'd supported each other, believing that if they tried hard enough, they'd be special.
But they'd been betrayed.
Those so-called apostles of God were devils in disguise. They'd lied, used them as experiments, and when they were deemed useless, tried to erase them—utterly.
Bitter irony twisted through him. Even as a vengeful spirit, he'd curse those monsters.
"Lord Tenra, I found him!"
Through the haze, the boy saw two figures rushing toward him. Panic spiked—were they pursuers? But as they drew closer, he realized they were just boys, about his own age.
Tenra and Gaspar.
Tenra knelt, checking him over. His brow furrowed.
"Lord Tenra, how is he?" Gaspar asked, catching up. He'd grown taller over the years—more mature, yet still with a hint of youthful softness.
Tenra shook his head. The boy's body was riddled with poison. Nothing could save him now.
He still had two Phoenix Tears, but those only healed physical wounds. Curses, disease, poison—they were powerless here.
Gaspar's face softened with sympathy. Tenra felt a pang of regret.
For two years, they'd traveled, trained, and hunted for clues about the "Holy Sword Project." Half a year ago, they'd learned a survivor might escape, so they'd waited in these woods.
This dying boy—the sole survivor of the Holy Sword Project—was none other than the original Kiba Yuuto.
Of course, he hadn't received that name from Rias yet. And maybe he never would.
Tenra gently lifted him. "What's your name?"
The boy's breath was ragged. "I… Isaiah."
Tenra nodded. In the canon, Kiba's real name had been Isaiah.
"Sorry, Isaiah. I can't save you."
Isaiah barely reacted. He understood his fate.
Regret flashed in Tenra's eyes. In the original story, Rias had revived Isaiah with a chess piece. But Tenra had no such power.
He'd admired Kiba Yuuto, and had hoped to make him a companion. But fate had other plans.
"Isaiah, I need your Sacred Gear. Give it to me. In exchange, I'll hunt down the masterminds behind the Holy Sword Project. I'll avenge you—and your friends."
If he couldn't save Isaiah, he'd at least honor his final wish.
Isaiah's dim eyes flared with sudden life. He clutched Tenra's sleeve, voice trembling.
"Sacred Gear… take it. Avenge us!"
Nothing else mattered now. If Tenra could bring vengeance, Isaiah would give up anything.
Tenra nodded, understanding. He turned to Gaspar. "Guard the area. No one comes near."
"Yes, Lord Tenra!" Gaspar replied, shifting into bat form and circling overhead.
No time to waste. Tenra activated [Sacred Gear Plunder], plunging his hand into Isaiah's chest.
The process was agony. But Isaiah never screamed. He stared at Tenra, calm, silent—perhaps this pain was nothing compared to what he'd endured.
With Isaiah's cooperation, Tenra drew out the Sacred Gear—a jet-black jewel swirling with phantom swords. Tenra's heart pounded. This was [Sword Birth], the artifact that could forge any demonic blade.
"Thank you. I'll keep my promise—I'll avenge you and your friends."
Tenra absorbed the Sacred Gear, feeling its power surge through him.
"Please… do…" Isaiah whispered.
He didn't know who Tenra was, or why he possessed such terrifying power. None of it mattered. Maybe, just maybe, Tenra could bring justice.
A faint smile touched Isaiah's lips as his life slipped away.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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