The next morning, Rome awoke in celebration, but for the three warriors, the world felt quieter. Their bodies were still sore, bruised and scarred from the battles in the Colosseum, yet their minds were sharp. They had logged off from all the distractions of the city—no more feasts, no more baths, no more noisy cheers in the streets. Today felt different. Purposeful.
The Champion had sent for them.
Alaric, Sylas, and Celestria made their way to the far edge of Rome, past the busy plazas and past the enormous archways that had been adorned with fresh banners celebrating their victories. The deeper they walked, the thinner the crowd became until finally, they reached a quiet cliffside, where the city met the horizon of hills and sky. There, waiting for them, stood the Champion.
He was not in his blazing armorbound, nor carrying his colossal glaive. Instead, he stood in a simpler form, wearing only a cloak draped over his shoulders and his helmet under his arm. His flame-colored eyes were dimmer, but his presence still carried the same weight—a man who had fought, bled, and died countless times, only to rise again.
As the three approached, he gazed at them with a thoughtful expression, then finally broke the silence.
"Tell me," his voice rumbled, carried on the wind. "Where shall this path of yours tread itself? You have endured Rome's beasts, tasted glory in the Colosseum, and shattered darkness itself… yet the road ahead is long, and shadows are deeper than you think."
The three exchanged glances. For the first time in weeks, none of them had a ready answer. It was Sylas who finally crossed his arms and muttered beneath his mask, "You sound like you're asking us to decide the fate of the world."
Alaric chuckled faintly but added with sincerity, "What would you suggest, Champion? Where do you think the world calls us next?"
The Champion studied them for a long moment, his gaze hard but not unkind. Then he spoke with clarity
"Japan."
The word hung heavy in the air.
Celestria tilted her head, raising a brow. "Japan? Why there?"
The Champion turned to look at the horizon. "Because it was once drowned in despair—an empire consumed by ink and shadow, swallowed whole by the Artist's corruption. But with his defeat, Japan breathes free for the first time in decades. The land is scarred, yes… but also ripe with new dangers. Those who served under the Artist are restless. Some cling to the power of shadow. And there are whispers of something worse, something the Artist himself feared."
Alaric gripped the hilt of his sword and smirked. "Sounds like trouble waiting for us."
Sylas scoffed through his mask. "Or like a death trap."
But Celestria, brushing her silver hair back, nodded firmly. "Then it's settled. If there are people in need, if there are shadows yet to banish—we go."
The Champion gave a satisfied nod. "Then you shall go. But not alone."
The three blinked at him. "Not alone?" Alaric asked.
The Champion lifted his helm, placing it back over his head, the embers of his eyes glowing once more. "I asked a friend of mine to guide you. A woman whose blades are silent, but her loyalty unshaken. She will meet us here shortly."
Time passed. The wind rustled against the cliffside as the four of them waited. The three heroes shifted their weight, curious about who this mysterious companion could be.
At last, faint footsteps approached from the distant road. Quick, agile, light. A figure emerged from the shade of the trees and came into full view.
She was unlike anyone they had seen in Rome.
A young woman, her long black hair tied into a sleek ponytail that swayed behind her with each step. Her eyes, a deep crimson, glimmered like molten rubies under the sun. She wore a black ninja outfit that clung close to her frame, designed for speed and silence rather than spectacle, the fabric stitched with subtle red patterns that caught the eye when she moved. Her long black socks stretched from her high heels up her thighs, meeting the hem of her outfit seamlessly, while her arms were wrapped in protective covers ending in a single glove that gleamed faintly with steel threads. Across her lower face rested a dark mask, obscuring everything but those sharp eyes that seemed to measure the world in an instant.
She ran the last few steps, her breath heavy as she finally stopped before them, panting slightly. She bowed low, her voice calm despite her hurried arrival.
"My apologies… for being late."
The Champion raised his hand dismissively. "It is fine, Itsuki. You came as swiftly as the wind always does."
He turned to the three heroes, his voice carrying weight as he gestured to her. "This is Itsuki Tora. Some know her by another name… Shadowblade."
Itsuki straightened, her crimson eyes flicking from Alaric, to Sylas, to Celestria. She studied them without a word at first, her gaze sharp, as if trying to pierce through their armor to measure their worth. Then she gave a slight nod.
"I have heard of you three," she said softly. "The warriors who defied the Artist and tore away his darkness. Rome sings of you. Japan whispers your names." Her hand rested on the hilt of a slender blade strapped to her hip. "It will be an honor to fight alongside you. But know this—Japan is not Rome. Its shadows run deep, and mercy is rarely found there."
Alaric grinned, stepping forward, his hand resting on his sword. "Good. Mercy was never my strong point."
Celestria smirked, twirling her staff idly. "At least she sounds more tolerable than you, Sylas."
Sylas tilted his head, giving Itsuki a long stare through the cloth of his mask before muttering, "We'll see if she can keep up."
The faintest curve tugged at the corner of Itsuki's masked lips—perhaps a hidden smile, or perhaps just the sharp edge of confidence.
The Champion chuckled, the ground beneath him faintly trembling with the sound. "Good. You'll need that fire. For what awaits in Japan will test more than your blades. It will test your hearts, your bonds, your very will to continue."
The wind swept through, the red stripes of Itsuki's cloak fluttering beside the silver of the Champion's. Rome lay behind them now. Ahead was the East, and the uncertain storm rising there.
And as the four stood together on the cliff, the beginning of a new chapter was etched into fate.
The four lingered for a moment after introductions, the Champion giving them final words of wisdom, his voice low but resolute.
"Rome will always stand ready to aid you, but the path you walk now is yours alone. Walk it with strength, walk it with unity."
The three bowed their heads respectfully, each offering their own thanks, before turning to follow Itsuki down the long stone road leading east. The Champion remained where he was, watching until their figures grew small against the horizon. Only then did he lift his hand in a warrior's salute.
"Farewell… and may your blades never dull."
The road stretched on, quiet except for the distant cries of gulls and the rustling of wind in the tall grass. Itsuki led with swift, precise steps, her cloak swaying behind her like a shadow tethered to her form. Her presence was silent but sharp, as though the very air parted to let her pass. The three trailed behind, exchanging looks as they studied their new guide.
Then, almost casually, Itsuki slowed her pace and leaned slightly forward, her crimson eyes glimmering with mischief. She tilted her head toward Sylas, peering at him through her mask.
"You…" she said, voice soft but edged with playful curiosity. "You're the one I've heard so much about from the women of Rome, aren't you?"
Sylas froze mid-step, his mask hiding any change in expression, though the slight stiffening of his shoulders betrayed him.
Alaric barked a laugh, clapping Sylas on the back so hard the archer nearly stumbled. "Oh, this is rich! Even in a foreign land, your reputation chases after you."
Celestria crossed her arms, smirking as her silver hair shimmered in the light. "Of course it does. Half the women we passed looked like they'd faint if he so much as said hello. I suppose word spreads fast."
Sylas adjusted the strap of his bow, muttering through the cloth of his mask, "They exaggerate."
Itsuki straightened, eyes narrowing in mock seriousness. "Mm. Exaggeration or not, I'll be watching. If your charm is half as dangerous as they say, it may be more troublesome than the shadows we face."
For the first time, there was a faint curve of a smirk behind Sylas's mask. He tilted his head toward her. "Then I suppose you'll have to keep close. Wouldn't want me causing chaos, would we?"
Celestria groaned, shaking her head. "Oh gods, don't encourage him."
Alaric only laughed harder, the sound echoing across the path. "This journey is going to be interesting."
And so, with light banter, the four continued down the road. Rome faded behind them, and before them stretched the uncertain lands of Japan, where shadows waited and destiny tightened its grip.
Itsuki adjusted her mask with a subtle tug, her movements calm and deliberate, then clasped her hands neatly behind her back. Her stride matched theirs effortlessly, her presence blending so naturally with the three that it felt as though she had always been there—another sibling joining their strange little family.
Her voice, soft but certain, broke the silence of the open road.
"There's no need to walk the entire way. Japan lies much too far for even the strongest to reach on foot. Up ahead, hidden among the hills, there is a magic teleporter. Old… but functional. It will take us directly to the outskirts of the Japanese lands."
Alaric raised an eyebrow, brushing a hand through his hair. "A teleporter, huh? That's convenient. I was already dreading the thought of another month of marching."
Sylas walked in his usual quiet pace, arms loosely at his sides, eyes flicking toward Itsuki. "Old but functional doesn't exactly inspire confidence. If it sends us into a mountain or under the sea, whose fault would that be?"
Itsuki glanced at him with her crimson eyes, a hint of amusement breaking through her otherwise stoic demeanor. "If that happens, I'll take responsibility. Though, if you're the one to drown, perhaps the women who adore you will build shrines in your honor."
Celestria let out a sharp laugh, covering her mouth with her sleeve. "Sylas the Heartthrob, remembered forever as the man swallowed by the sea."
Alaric smirked and shook his head. "A tragic end… but fitting."
Sylas gave a slow exhale, pretending at irritation, though the corners of his eyes crinkled faintly behind the mask. "You're all insufferable."
Itsuki tilted her head at him again, the way she had earlier, studying him as though dissecting his very reactions. Then she straightened, her voice steady. "I only jest. The teleporter is safe. I've used it before. It is guarded, however, and not all who protect it are… friendly."
Celestria's smile faded slightly, her hands tightening on her staff. "Guarded by who?"
"Not men," Itsuki replied. "Not beasts. Something in between. Shadows left behind from those who tried to destroy the gate centuries ago. They linger still, half alive, half gone. We'll need to deal with them before we pass through."
Alaric rolled his shoulders, his new blade gleaming faintly at his side. "Then it seems our journey begins sooner than expected."
The four walked on, the wind whistling through the tall grass, the sunlight thinning as clouds gathered above. And though the road was quiet, each step brought them closer to the unseen teleportation gate—and the shadowed guardians waiting ahead.