Chapter 4 — A Blade That Should Not Exist
The wind whispered through the Forbidden Forest of Hoshikawa, brushing against the moss-covered stones and rustling the leaves with an eerie cadence. The path before Kenji was narrow, swallowed by fog and shaded by ancient trees whose bark bore carvings from a long-forgotten language. Every step he took echoed with hesitation and defiance—he was not meant to be here.
Ryuzen Academy had long forbidden entry to this part of the island. They said monsters roamed the woods. Curses lingered. Blades died here, and so did those who dared wield them.
But Kenji wasn't looking for safety anymore.
He was looking for something that could make him more than a ghost in training. He was tired of being the academy's weakling—the one Takeshi mocked, the one instructors barely acknowledged, the one who cleaned swords but never raised one with pride.
His hands trembled, but not from fear. From something else. Something… calling.
He paused beside a half-buried shrine. A stone fox statue loomed beside it, its eye sockets empty but somehow watching. A gust of wind slammed the trees to silence. Then he heard it again.
That whisper.
Not a voice. Not language.
But a feeling. A pull.
Kenji stepped past the shrine, deeper into the forbidden woods. The trees parted like curtains, revealing a clearing bathed in moonlight. At its center stood a pedestal made of obsidian, overgrown with vines, cracked by time—and on it… a blade.
It was sheathed in black, but the aura around it was unmistakable. Power. Old power. It shimmered faintly, like the night itself recoiled around it.
Kenji approached, heart pounding. He reached for it—slowly, cautiously—his fingers brushing the hilt.
The moment he touched it, the forest vanished.
A blinding flash engulfed him, and suddenly he stood in a field of fire. The sky bled red. Armies clashed in every direction. Giant warriors, armored in gold and bone, swung blades that tore the earth apart. He could hear the roars, the cries, the clash of steel. But all of it felt… distant.
And then he saw them.
A hundred warriors stood in a circle—each holding a katana unlike the next. Some burned with flames, some crackled with lightning, others whispered with shadows. In their midst stood a blacksmith, hammering something with unnatural rhythm. Sparks flew like stars.
One of the katanas turned toward him—just a blade, no wielder—and in a single instant, Kenji understood.
These weren't weapons. They were... memories.
And the one he held?
It didn't belong in his time.
With a lurch, the vision ended. Kenji collapsed to his knees, gasping, sweat dripping down his forehead. The pedestal was gone. The forest was quiet again.
But in his hand… was the katana.
A name surged into his mind uninvited—Seijintō.
The Pure Blade.
It felt light in his hands, like it had always belonged there. But it also felt wrong—like the forest held its breath in horror that it had been awakened.
Behind him, a voice cracked through the fog.
> "That blade… it chose you?"
Kenji spun around.
Master Renga.
The head of the Academy stood at the edge of the clearing, flanked by two elite samurai. His eyes, always unreadable, now burned with something raw—fear, disbelief… rage.
> "Do you even know what you've done, boy?"
Kenji stumbled back, gripping the katana instinctively.
> "I—I didn't mean—"
> "You shouldn't have even seen that sword!" Renga bellowed. "Much less drawn it!"
He stepped forward, and for the first time, Kenji saw a crack in the master's stoic composure.
> "That blade is not from this world."
Kenji's heart pounded. The katana pulsed in his hands.
Renga raised his hand, and his guards drew their weapons.
> "Take him."
But as they charged, the katana glowed.
And for the first time, Kenji didn't freeze.
He moved.
The blade danced on its own. His body responded like it had trained for years. Steel met steel in flashes of light and sound—and when it was over, both guards lay unconscious. Kenji stood, breathless, staring at the weapon in his hand.
He hadn't even drawn it fully.
Just enough.
Renga stared at him, wide-eyed. Then he did something unexpected.
He stepped back.
> "You're not ready for that sword," he whispered. "And if you keep it… you'll curse us all."
Then he vanished into the mist.
Kenji stood alone in the clearing. Moonlight poured over him.
The katana hummed faintly.
And from somewhere deep within, a whisper not his own whispered back:
> "Seijintō."
—
Chapter End Suspense:
The next morning, Kenji finds his name erased from the Academy's ledger. His dorm is emptied. His belongings burned. And posted on the Academy gates…
> "Kenji Sora is no longer a disciple of Ryuzen. He is hereby exiled for forbidden acts against the Blade Doctrine."
Only the katana remained.
And it whispered still.
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