Seconds dragged into minutes, and minutes stretched into hours, yet Sentarō, Reiko, and Tadatoshi remained bound within the cold, suffocating walls of their cell. The shadows of the evening seemed to crawl along the wooden floors, stretching and twisting in tandem with their thoughts. Despite their impending execution, an inexplicable calm had settled over the trio.
They couldn't explain it, not fully, but it wasn't fear that dominated their hearts. It was certainty. They weren't going to die here—not quietly, not without a fight. The threads of hope, once fragile and nearly frayed, had begun to weave themselves into something unyielding.
The sun sank below the horizon, painting the sky with a dying orange glow that soon succumbed to the cold silver of the moon. Shadows lengthened in the corridors, and the faint scent of the wooden floors mixed with the faint must of damp stone. The samurai of the 4th division began settling into their nightly routines—some retired to the barracks, others remained at their posts, eyes sharp as steel, muscles coiled, ready to spring.
Tōkichirō was among those who did not rest. He sat alone in the courtyard of his modest house, staring blankly at nothing. His hands rested limply on his knees, but inside, his chest was a storm of guilt and regret. The Red Sun Incident played over in his mind like a relentless phantom: the homes aflame, the screams of the helpless, the blood soaked streets, and the faces he had failed to save.
"They were right…" he murmured to himself, voice barely audible under the whispering wind. His eyes glistened, a single tear carving a trail down his cheek. "I'm… a terrible person."
He had no answer for the regret that consumed him, and for once, Tōkichirō felt powerless. A life of rigid discipline and unquestioned loyalty had finally collided with a truth he could not escape—he had failed, and he had no one to blame but himself.
Meanwhile, within the administrative heart of the 4th division, Ukon approached the captain's office with a mixture of anxiety and duty etched into his features. The polished floors reflected the torches' flickering light, and with every step, the weight of the coming execution pressed down on him.
"Ah, Ukon," Ueda greeted, sitting with unnerving calm, his gaze flicking lazily toward the approaching subordinate. "Everything ready for tomorrow?"
"Yes, captain. Both the blade and the executioner have been prepared," Ukon replied, trying to maintain composure, though his fingers twitched nervously.
"And the agreement that was breached…?" Ukon's voice lowered, a rare note of apprehension threading through it.
Ueda smiled faintly, an expression so composed it made Ukon's stomach churn. "I see I am not the only one concerned."
"Concerned? Calmly accepting the situation?" Ukon snapped, eyes flashing. "If nothing is done, our heads will be on the chopping block!"
Ueda leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly, confidence dripping from every word. "Worry too much, Ukon. As soon as I received the report, a messenger was dispatched. He will attend the execution and see that justice is… properly served."
Before Ukon could respond, a cold, unfamiliar voice cut through the office.
"Is that so?"
Both Ueda and Ukon turned sharply. By the window, a figure sat, almost too calm, holding a small brown sack. The air shifted around him. It was an aura that only seasoned warriors could recognize—one of calculated, absolute danger.
"Ryunosuke?" Ueda's voice betrayed a hint of disbelief and unease.
Ryunosuke's smile was hidden in shadow, faint and unnerving. Slowly, he opened the sack, revealing its contents. The head of the messenger.
Ueda froze. His blood ran cold. Ukon's eyes widened in disbelief. The realization dawned like a shadow across their hearts—their authority was slipping, and death was imminent.
"I was instructed by the boss to intercept and eliminate him," Ryunosuke said casually, yet every word dripped with malice.
Ueda's voice cracked. "But… why?"
"The situation has made it clear," Ryunosuke continued, stepping fully into the light. His face was set, devoid of emotion, yet terrifyingly human in its resolve. "You cannot control your subordinates. You cannot enforce loyalty. So the boss has decided to purge this division. Completely."
Ueda staggered back, his breathing shallow and ragged. Ukon's knees nearly buckled beneath him as the reality sank in.
"So… that means…" Ueda whispered, a jagged edge in his voice.
"Yes," Ryunosuke said, expression hardening. "They are coming."
"Please! Mercy! I'll ensure this never happens again!" Ueda screamed, collapsing to the ground, tears streaming down his face in a desperate, unworthy plea.
Ryunosuke's shadow seemed to grow taller, more oppressive. "It's too late. Goro will handle this."
And with that, he vanished.
DONG! DONG! DONG!
The bell screamed across the 4th division, its vibrations shaking the wooden floors, rattling the doors, and echoing in the night.
"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!!" a samurai officer shouted, panic piercing his words.
Chaos erupted instantly. Samurai scrambled for weapons, doors creaked open as soldiers tried to form defensive lines, and shouts filled the hallways. Another officer began giving orders "EVERYONE TO—"
A single arrow sliced through the air, piercing the officer's head. His words cut short, his body collapsing in a heap. The realization hit the soldiers like a thunderclap—they were no longer in control.
Then the sky itself seemed to betray them.
Arrows, aflame at their tips, rained down like a storm of falling comets. The crackle of fire, the screams of dying men, the smell of burning wood, and the eerie light of orange and red engulfed the division. Buildings erupted in fire, walls cracked, and the once orderly compound became a battlefield of chaos.
"Oh no…" Tōkichirō breathed, the light of the flames painting his face in harsh oranges and reds. He quickly donned his uniform, secured his sword, and sprinted toward the carnage. His heart pounded—not from fear, but guilt and responsibility.
Inside the cell, Sentarō, Reiko, and Tadatoshi scrambled. The bell's warning and the distant shouts confused them.
"Hey! What's going on?!" Sentarō demanded, looking around for the guard, but he was nowhere in sight.
"Where did he go? What's happening?!" Reiko cried, fumbling at the ropes.
Tadatoshi froze, sniffing the air. "Do you guys smell that?"
The sharp, acrid scent hit them all at once. Burning wood and smoke.
"Fire!!" Reiko shouted, fear lacing every syllable.
With synchronized urgency, they tore at their bindings. Reiko's hands were raw, but adrenaline fueled her. The ropes cut against her skin, but she ignored the pain.
"Finally free," she muttered, rubbing her wrists.
"You stupid girl," Tadatoshi snapped, dragging Sentarō upright. "We don't have time to talk—move!"
Sentarō nodded, the fire in his heart mirrored by the fire outside.
Outside the cell, the scene was gruesome. Flames licked the wooden beams, sparks flying into the night sky. Samurai clashed with unseen attackers, their swords glinting in the orange light. The bodies of the fallen littered the floors, the air filled with the sounds of agony and steel.
"FIRE!! FIRE!!" a young samurai screamed, panic overtaking discipline.
"They're too strong! Run!!" another cried, blades tearing through armor and flesh alike. "Kekekeke, These aren't samurai, their a bunch of cowards"
A slim, almost fragile-looking figure danced through the battlefield, faster than the eye could track, slicing through three samurai in seconds. Blood sprayed, bodies fell, and the chaos intensified.
BOOM!
The walls trembled as more explosions rocked the division. A woman with a deadly elegance held a soldier by the throat, watching his struggles with an amused smirk.
BOOM!
Five more samurai were sent flying by a muscular man huge in physique and wielding a giant cleaver, "Pathetic" he declared.
"You guys are wasting energy," a man muttered, chewing on an apple as he calmly advanced. He didn't run. He didn't dodge. He walked—and the men who confronted him fell like wheat before a sickle, each slashed across the chest.
The attackers moved with a terrifying precision, muscles and steel harmonized in deadly choreography.
"Enough playing around," a man declared, his silhouette framed by fire, he possessed an unmistakable presence that the samurai sense, he was the man they called boss. "Our mission remains the same, wipe out the 4th division. Nothing else matters."
Back inside, Reiko, Tadatoshi, and Sentarō sprinted through the corridors, dodging falling beams and the heat of the encroaching flames.
"Move faster!" Tadatoshi barked, his usual arrogance tempered by urgency.
"Hey! Wait for me!!" Reiko shouted, struggling to keep pace.
The night had turned into a battlefield. The 4th division, once a symbol of order and authority, now burned, consumed by chaos, and threatened by forces faster, stronger, and more ruthless than anything within its ranks.
The fire crackled, the screams echoed, and the night was alive with the promise of survival, revenge, and the spark of a rebellion yet to ignite.