The night was quiet—but not empty.
Overhead, the sky was a tapestry of stars—each pinprick of light winking into the inky darkness, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath. Below that vast expanse, the muted clop-clop of horse hooves grew louder, the steady thunder of many mounts echoing across the slope like a gathering storm.
At the crest of the hill, the horses shivered to a halt. Their riders leaned forward, gloved hands tightening on reins. The pale moon, veiled by drifting clouds, cast a silvery glow across the landscape, illuminating the assemblage in eerie relief. Flames flickered far below, lining the shore and the shallow waves—an infernal beacon that painted everything in shades of crimson and ash.
One by one, twelve red banners snapped in the night wind. Each bore a different clan emblem—some angular, some serpentine, all proclaiming the lineage and pride of those gathered here. Beneath each standard, warriors sat tall in their saddles. Some wore lacquered red plate armor that gleamed like fresh blood; others were robed in black-and-white silk, the fabric edged in silver threads that caught the moonlight.
From the shadows stepped additional fighters—bowmen whose quivers rattled lightly against their backs, spearwomen who tested the balance of their shafts, and hulking infantry whose silhouettes bristled with axes and maces. Their presence cast a forest of shifting forms across the hilltop, the moonlight carving them into living statues of steel and silk.
A man with a balding crown and a neatly trimmed silver beard exhaled deeply, his breath blooming in the cold air like a wisp of smoke. He tugged the collar of his black silk robe tighter against the chill, then cursed, voice low and gravelly.
"Damn it all," he spat. The word hung between the rows of helmets and horseflesh.
A soft laugh drifted from behind him. "Getting frightened, are you, Tetsujin?" came a teasing voice. "Or does the sight of so many bow before your mighty courage?"
Tetsujin Yoshitake spun in his saddle and flicked a calloused finger at the speaker, a gesture both irreverent and familiar. "Fuck off, you old bastard" he shot back, tone half-mocking.
Then, expression sharpening, he sobered. "But yes," he admitted quietly, eyes narrowing as he gazed down the steep, grassy slope. "Not of you… but of that." His voice dropped to a whisper as his gaze traveled over the field below.
An army—soldiers massed on land, archers pacing the shoreline, and even a flotilla of small warboats glinting with torchlight on the water.
Thousands of hostile shapes, each holding a brazier aloft, illuminating the darkness with their feverish glow.
A grave silence passed.
"Tell me, Satoshi," Tetsujin said without looking away. "Any idea where that bastard is?"
Satoshi Sekai—gray-haired lord of the Sekai Clan—leaned forward, his black-and-white sash fluttering in the wind. "No clue," he replied, voice calm as rippling silk. "And how many do you reckon there are?"
Before Tetsujin could answer, Hoshinari Yoshitake—sixty years of bladecraft honed into a living legend—leaned from his own mount. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, surveyed the enemy lines. "Exceeds the thousands," he said evenly. "And if they've dragged the Shikotsu bastards here, it'll be a slaughter no matter what we do."
"Maybe I shouldn't have eaten that damn blowfish before marching here," Tetsujin muttered.
"You always do this. Did you ever think that you could've eaten that bread, Enjiro so graciously packed for you." Hoshinari sighed.
"Look, I wanted to treat myself before a grand time." Tetsujin shrugged.
A ripple of impatience cut through their stoic calm as Yusuke Rokkau, head of the Rokkau Clan, spurred his horse forward. His voice cracked like dried wood. "Enough fucking around," he barked. "Do you understand what we're about to do? My men—every blade here—is waiting on you to pull your weight and finally take what's rightfully ours from Tsurara!"
Tetsujin bristled. "Pull our weight?" he challenged, voice rising. "My men have trained blood and bone for this moment—just as they have every time we struck at those Mongsu bastards."
Yusuke leaned forward, nostrils flaring. "Training? Fine. But talking and strategizing don't kill the enemy. Men do."
Tetsujin turned, face twisting. "Listen, you prick. My men have been carrying their weight—every time you highland bastards decided to raid the Mongsu camps."
"Oh? You mean that pathetic skirmish at Kaminari Gorge?"
Yusuke stepped closer.
"Screw you, Rokkau—"
"Enough," said Lord Sekai, his voice not raised, but heavy with finality.
Both men fell silent.
"He's arrived."
At that pronouncement, something within the mass below shifted. All eyes seemed to pivot to a single point on the water.
A warship.
Its hull, wooden, dark, and weathered, glided silently into the shallows. From its prow rose a lone hornblast—a deep, resonant note that trembled through the night air, as if the sea itself had bellowed.
BAROOOOOOOOOM
A figure leapt from the deck of the warship. He was broad-shouldered, gleaming silver armor clinging to his form like living metal. Around his neck dangled the corpse of a fallen Gyuzi—skull and bone painted with the crimson of old blood.
It was the man himself, Khagan Kilux.
Raising a golden drinking bowl toward the hilltop, he roared, voice carrying like a tide. "WELCOME TO TSURARA!"
All eyes turned to the monstrous warlord.
He took a deep swig from his bowl before raising his voice again.
He nodded at each banner in turn. "Clan Nirei! Clan Kohaku—"
At the latter, a man near Tetsujin—twin ninjatō strapped to his back—snorted in fury.
Khagan continued, "Sakai! Rokkaku! And of course..Clan Yoshitake." When he reached Satoshi's banner, the malice in his tone deepened. "I sincerely thank you! All of you, for being present on this very, very special day."
A hush fell. Khagan paused, mock-bowing as if at a feast, then, voice calm but audible across the slope, he declared: "A day where every single one of your heads will decorate the shores of both Tsurara and Komoda."
The torchlight trembled below as the enemy lines shifted, eager for the slaughter. Khagan exhaled. "It is….unfortunate that it has come to this," he said, tone almost regretful.
"I wish there were another way, I really do. But this is what happens when men lack brains and fail to seek mutual accord." He straightened, raising the bowl again. "However," he called, "I'm feeling generous. An agreement can be reached. Hand over the tomb of Borodo, and all will be forgiven."
Satoshi Sekai's cry shattered the momentary lull. "You fool! We would never agree to such a disgusting offer!" he shouted.
"Wait," Hoshinari said, placing a hand on Satoshi's shoulder.
"What?" Sekai glared at him.
His voice was quiet, urgent. "Let me negotiate. There could be a chance..for no one needs to die tonight."
Satoshi's eyes widened as if Hoshinari had suggested madness itself. Between them, the tension crackled like charged wire.
Tetsujin spat. "Have you been cursed?? There's no talking with someone like him. It's a trap."
Murmurs spread through the warriors—young faces pale in firelight, old veterans knitting their brows in concern. But Satoshi remained silent, torn.
Khagan Kilux's horn call sounded again, sharp and insistent. "Is there disagreement? Speak!"
Hoshinari squared his shoulders. "If there is a chance this hellhole can finally be united, I will find a way."
He turned to Satoshi, capturing his best friend's gaze. His eyes shone with resolve and sorrow. "Please," he whispered, voice firm. "Let me do this."
Satoshi's battle-worn hands trembled. Then.
"…Go."
Yusuke Rokkau folded his arms, face a mask of skepticism. Tetsujin averted his eyes, jaw clenched. Only Hoshinari seemed certain as he gathered his reins.
Taking a deep breath, Hoshinari set his jaw and flicked his horse forward. He scarcely glanced back as he would not live to see this negotiation's end. "If anything happens," he called once more, "tell Monjin that he's a good man."
"Hyah!"
Then he urged his mount down the grassy slope, each hoofbeat pounding like a drum of fate.
The army of Komoda watched in reverent silence as he descended the hill.
Khagan watched, arms folded, while Daigen Shikotsu—clad in golden armor—raised a massive halberd, ready to strike. "Here, let me deal with him."
A gesture from Khagan halted him. "No," Khagan said, voice soft yet authoritative. "I wish to see this man's words first."
Hoshinari touched shore and dismounted with deliberate calm. His feet sank into the cold sand as he approached the waterline, the waves lapping at his boots like a whispering audience. Clad in simple black silk, staff strapped across his back, he made his way toward Khagan Kilux, who stood on the shores.
"Khagan Kilux," Hoshinari said, voice clear and steady. "I'm here to bargain."
Khagan inclined his head, curiosity gleaming in his golden eyes. "Bargain, eh? What does the Headmaster of Tya Academy wish to say? I am honored."
The clansmen behind them shifted uneasily. The torchlight flickered across scowling faces—some hopeful for peace, others ready for blood.
Hoshinari squared his shoulders, drawing on decades of discipline. "I am a smart man," he began slowly, "and I want peace for both Komoda and Tsurara. There is a way." He paused, letting the words sink in before continuing. "Instead of taking from one another, we should build together. Strength in unity."
Khagan's interest was piqued. He leaned forward, golden bowl set aside. "And how would you propose we do that?"
Hoshinari nodded to the dark sea behind him. "Beyond these waters lies the rest of the world—lands unknown, resources unclaimed. Together, we could explore, expand trade, share knowledge of mana and crafts. Imagine—Komoda steel tempered by Tsurara's cursed techniques. Tsurara's spellcraft enhanced by Komoda's battlefield strategy. We both gain."
He extended his hand.
"For once… let's be men of vision."
The northern warlords exchanged glances. The very notion felt revolutionary—and dangerous.
Khagan stepped closer, boots splashing through the sand. He advanced until only a breath separated the two men. He regarded Hoshinari with keen interest. "You make a great point. This place… has been a prison. We all, trapped in this hell. So many deaths. So many lives." He extended his hand.
Hoshinari then offered his own. The two men clasped, on the brink of an alliance that could reshape Ushima's fate.
But as the clasp solidified, Khagan's grip tightened—so gradually it was almost unnoticeable. Hoshinari frowned, eyes narrowing.
He opened his eyes—black orbs shot through with molten gold: his Kokugane Eyes. "But—" His voice broke the word like a blade.
Bone cracked.
Khagan's smile stretched unnaturally wide. "It does not align with my ideals… nor those of my men."
"—GAHHH"
Tendons snapped. Hoshinari's cry tore the night apart as Khagan crushed his right hand, forcing the old man to collapse to his knees, gouts of blood staining his silk robes.
"I hoped for honor," Khagan whispered, voice heavy with feigned regret, "But peace…peace demands sacrifice." He stepped back, raising a hand in cruel command.
"…And. Your dreams doesn't align with my ideals."
From the ranks of red-and-brown leather-clad soldiers, a man strode forward, palm glowing with cursed flame. With a swift gesture, he ignited Hoshinari's robes.
"GRAHHHHHHH!!!!"
The elder's screams rose, an anguished symphony that echoed across the water and up to the silent watchers on the hill.
Tetsujin bowed his head, eyes rimmed with sorrow and fury. Satoshi Sekai's sword hand trembled. Yusuke Rokkau's arms tightened across his chest.
Khagan lifted his giant naginata and brought the shaft down in a single, brutal arc. "How unfortunate. Sad ending for a pitiful man."
The scream ended as blade met bone. The body of the headmaster fell still, embers drifting upward like dying fireflies.
He strode back to the water's edge, voice cold and unrelenting. "Anyone else?" he demanded. "I have no time for childish games."
"ANSWER ME!!!"
A hush reigned—broken only by the crackle of distant flames and the soft sobbing of men who knew hope had died with Hoshinari.
From the hillside came a single breath. Satoshi Sekai closed his eyes.
"Reinhardt," he said, his voice even.
The young warrior stood behind him. Trembling. Eyes burning.
"Are you ready?"
His grip on the white katana at his side tightened until his knuckles whitened.
"Yeah." he said, simple, unwavering.
Lord Sekai nodded to Yoshitake. Then, with a roar that shattered the night's grief, he dashed from his horse, sword unsheathed in a silver scream.
"Attack!"
The flames of war ignited once again across Ushima.