Kinzoku Divine Arsenal Arts.
A technique invented by the Kinzoku Clan, famed for their mastery of weapons.
As a martial artist grows stronger with each realm, their weapons sadly do not grow with them. Long-time companions are left behind, rendered useless, or worse, the weapon itself begins to limit the strength of its wielder.
Weapons, no matter how finely forged, are simply not strong enough to be handled by the most powerful Masters, let alone Sages.
There were exceptions, of course. But for most of the population, this was the fatal flaw of weapon-based martial arts.
Long ago, the Kinzoku founding clan head sought to remove this limitation by utilizing a martial artist's internal energy and imbuing one's intent into the weapon. Not only to protect and strengthen it, but to force it to surpass itself.
He had succeeded, aided by his ascension to Martial Sage status.
A divine martial technique that allowed it to be used with any kind of weapon, so long as the user wills it. It could theoretically even be a type of body enhancement martial arts, with gauntlet and kick-based weapons toeing that line.
This became the most prized technique of every clan head for generations, granting the Kinzoku Clan power and recognition. Mastery of it became tradition, and a requirement for inheriting the position of clan head.
That tradition broke with the 4th Patriarch, Nobunaga.
On the eve of battle against the Great Britannian Empire, he was betrayed by his own brother. He died before his heirs could master the technique.
What followed was chaos.
Each political faction within the Kinzoku Clan trained their supported heirs, forcing them to master the Divine Arsenal as quickly as possible. Desperation replaced patience. Each heir fell one by one, their bodies destroyed by improper, rushed training.
The clan head's seat was temporarily shared among several high-ranking martial artists to preserve the status quo. It was not enough. Other clans continued to rise, and the Kinzoku Clan slipped into a quiet, deadly decline.
In response, they opened access to their exclusive technique, training their most promising martial artists in hopes of producing another Martial Sage. Someone who could restore the Divine Arsenal.
Martial artists from all over the country flocked to Kinzoku Clan lands. Even martial artists from other clans came, drawn by rumor and ambition.
Still, the success rate remained abysmal.
And now…
…the technique is in my hands.
I stare at my arms, at my clenched fist glowing red and pulsing with power. My entire body heats up as energy floods through me, thick and violent.
Cool.
Ouch.
The power cuts out abruptly, and my body returns to normal. Minor internal injuries. Nothing my body can't take.
This power feels familiar.
Veeery familliar.
Isn't this Kaioken?
Yeah, that Kaioken. Goku's bread and butter right up until he unlocked the shiny new yellow-haired transformation.
The difference is simple.
I have to stay angry.
At least, that's what Father's notes say.
Temper oneself. Remain in perpetual rage. Maintain a heightened state where the body releases amplified energy.
In other words, yeah. Stay angry.
That's harder than it sounds.
Think of the angriest moment of your life. Really think about it.Can you still feel as angry about it now as you did when it happened?
Time dulls pain. It blunts edges. And nothing in this life has hurt me deeply enough to sustain the kind of rage this technique demands.
If anything, this life has been… good.
Too good.
There are too many things worth protecting. Too many reasons to smile. This is my second life, after all.
For now, I can only reach for smaller things. The way the village looks at my family. The way those martial artists ignored the pleas of help from my sister. The thought of someone hurting my parents. My sisters.
…
My body erupts again.
Red aura surges outward as muscles swell and veins stand out sharply against my skin. Blood flooded with power races through my body. Heat builds fast, oppressive. My heart slams against my ribs, close to five hundred beats per minute.
The world slows.
Pain fades.
My thoughts sharpen into something narrow and brutal. Movement feels lighter. Faster. Stronger.
Then it ends.
My body snaps back to normal.
Ouch.
Every time I enter that state, there's backlash. But this time, it hurts less.
Is my body adapting already?
Do I get mini-zekai boosts each time?
Still, I can't stay angry for long. That's the curse of being able to think. Logic creeps in. Justifications. Excuses.
A learned fellow knows how to keep his temper.
It'd honestly be easier if I were stupid. If I could be fed rage-bait and stay furious over nothing.
I saw it all the time back on Earth.
Even so, touching that power is already enough. I've gone through most of Father's Volume 1 notes. I know for a fact that if he hadn't guided me so carefully, my first attempt would've killed me. Even with my Saiyan body.
Heck, canon Goku died of a heart attack, which sparked the whole Android-Cell timeline.
Thankfully, Father stayed with me the entire time, guiding me and forcing me to dig deeper. To find something that truly hurt.
Something that would not fade.
At first, nothing came.
Maybe for people born into this world, where survival is constant struggle, a defining moment burns itself into memory easily.
But me?
The first thing that surfaced was my past life. Something stupid. Something small. Like authors writing cruel cliffhanger chapters consecutively.
Huh?
A spark flared briefly in my chest.
That worked?
Then it vanished.
Reset.
Sigh..
I stayed in meditation, pushing harder. Digging deeper. Past irritation. Past fear.
Then it hit me.
How could I forget?
My death.
Hands grabbing at a screaming girl.Boots hitting the pavement as they ran at me.Laughter. Drunk, sloppy laughter.Pain. Confusion. Rage I never got to release.
The three men who killed me twisted in my mind, their shapes warping, their voice echoing. Flesh stretched and fused until they became a single massive boar. Grisly. Deformed. Dozens of tusks. As tall as a two-story house.
A pig.
This fucking pig.
Who almost killed Ichigo and her made her doubt her martial path.
The pig that nearly crushed Ringo, destroying her arm.Fucking pig that forced Mikan to bring another kind of danger.
This fuck that nearly ended me.
You made me feel weak.
You don't get to exist.
"Merun, stop!" Father shouted.
I snapped back to reality.
Father was in front of me, gripping my head with both hands, shaking me hard.
"…Did I fail?" I asked.
"What do you feel, Merun? Are you alright?" His voice was tight with worry.
"…My body feels like a big lady stepped on me several times."
Father stared at me.
Then he laughed.
"You did it, my son," he said, smiling. "Congratulations."
I did it.
Months of preparation. Not just rigorous and grueling training guided by Father, but also tempering my mind. Learning to carry rage without drowning in it.
I raised my hand and clenched my fist.
My first technique. My first glimpse at my martial path.
It took a long time. It felt like I was fighting against the world... who didn't allow a Saiyan to have a martial path.
It felt like i was defying heaven.
"I won," I said, grinning.
Father laughed.
…
Ouch.
Yeah.
My body really fucking hurts.