The Beggar Sage walked without hurry, hands folded behind his back, sandals quiet on the stone. Deep, rhythmic, muffled impacts still came from the arena. Sounds like something like someone being repeatedly bashed into a wall.
He turned left. Then right. The alleys narrowed, the torchlight thinning, the city growing quieter around him as he moved away from the arena district and into the older parts of Ise where the stone was mossy and the streets looked desolate.
He stopped at a dead end.
Stood there for a moment, looking at the wall.
"That was quite the sight, don't you think?"
He didn't turn around.
"Master Hiraku?" he said pleasantly.
Hiraku stepped out of the shadow at the alley's mouth, arms loose at his sides, carrying a careful expression.
"Where might you be going, great Beggar Sage?" A faint smile. "It seems rude to leave without a word."
"Something urgent has come up." The Beggar Sage's tone remained easy. "We can speak at another time."
"I'm afraid that can't happen." Hiraku's voice hardened. "Lord Mangūsu has been expecting this meeting. You agreed—after Bankei's execution."
The Beggar Sage turned around.
He looked at Hiraku for a moment, then laughed.
"I said after Bankei's execution." He tilted his head slightly. "Bankei wasn't executed, was he?"
Hiraku's expression didn't change. But something behind his eyes did.
"Do not try to slip out on a technicality," he said, measured. "Please don't make the wrong choice."
The Beggar Sage raised a brow. "Ho? Threatening me would be very unwise."
"I mean no disrespect." Hiraku took one step forward, and made an unhurried nod. "But you are impossible to contact. Impossible to find. I myself am not entirely convinced you are who Lord Mangūsu believes you to be." A pause. "But since he is convinced, and since this may be the only opportunity we have—we cannot simply let you walk away."
The Beggar Sage stopped smiling.
He looked at Hiraku with both assessment and amusement.
"I suppose not all martial artists in Sekigahara are dumb hot headed idiots after all," he said.
Hiraku frowned. "What's that supposed to mean—"
The Beggar Sage suddenly collapsed.
The light behind his eyes had disappeared, and his body followed, the tension leaving all at once. He folded toward the ground without sound.
Hiraku caught him on instinct, one arm hooking under his shoulders before he hit the stone. He looked down at the face in his arms.
Old. Limp. Lifeless.
Dead.
Hiraku stood there in the narrow alley holding a dead man and said nothing for a long moment.
His mind moved quickly through possibilities, implications, the political catastrophe of having a legendary Sage die in your city when he was a special guest.
The ground shook.
Another deep impact from the direction of the arena. Then another.
Hiraku looked down at the old man one more time. Then gently set him against the wall, straightened up, and walked back the way he'd come.
From his sleeves, deep purple clouds of pure, dense poison slowly crawled to the ground and toward the corpse.
It consumed the corpse in mere seconds, not even leaving ashes behind. Not a single trace.
"Unfortunately, Lord Mangūsu, the Beggar Sage was simply too cunning to get caught... Yes, that could work..."
———
Somewhere in the mountains, a young man woke up.
He sat up slowly, pressing one hand against his temple. He had a throbbing headache.
Beside him, a cup of tea.
He drank it without looking and set the cup down empty.
He moved to the table. Stacked on it were papers—reports, tallies, correspondence, maps with notations in encrypted handwriting and languages. He went through them methodically, one by one, his eyes moving quickly. He finished the stack in a few minutes, set the last page down, and closed his eyes.
He sat like that for a moment.
Then he knocked on the table once.
The door opened. They filed in quietly, one by one, and knelt on one knee in a line. He looked at none of them specifically. He waited.
The first began.
"The report on the skirmish between The Sekigahara Confederate and the Brittanian Empire at the border of Lundemill is now outdated. Result: Brittanian victory. Sekigahara refuses to acknowledge defeat. Projected effect—temporary food shortage as the Brittanian empire leverages the conflict to renegotiate trade terms. Duration estimate—"
The meeting ran through each sector in turn. He rested his cheek on one knuckle and listened without expression. Trade. Movements. Casualties. Ongoing operations. His eyes stayed half-closed.
Then: "Merun and Bankei have been secured and treated."
"Alright," he said, his voice hoarse and dry. "Thank you, everyone. Leave us."
They bowed and filed out without sound. One remained.
She waited until the door closed.
"Merun has been fully examined," she said. "No anomalous signs. No symptoms of illness. He is in good health. Bankei as well."
He smiled. Small, but genuine. "Good. The Shinken martial artists—how many did we recover?"
A brief pause. "Half the original count."
He raised an eyebrow.
"They encountered the heretical prince on their way out." Her voice stayed even. "His reasoning was that killing fewer than half would risk exposing his cover."
He was quiet for a moment. He was reminded of a memory, red eyes behind a mask, an encounter made not long ago. He exhaled through his nose.
"Did the one named Tedate survive?"
"...No."
"Tch." He tapped one finger against the table. "He was leadership material. A real shame."
She said nothing.
"Monitor Bankei closely," he said. "Don't try any misdirection—he'll see through it. Brief him honestly on what he needs to know and nothing else."
"Understood."
"The draft curriculum for project ki?"
"Still under revision following the events at the execution. We expect to have updated recommendations within the month."
"Fine."
A pause.
"The final plan. Any progress?"
She looked at him with a sad face.
"The Saiyan cellular structure is genetically analogous," she said. "But upon testing across all available resources, we have been unable to produce a viable body. The fundamental architecture is—"
"It's alright." He said it before she finished. No frustration in his voice. "All we need is the Divine Doctor—any update on location?"
Her expression answered before she did. "No new information, still somewhere in the beast domain."
He exhaled. Then he reached across the table and briefly patted the top of her head.
PAT PAT
"Great work," he said. "Truly. Go rest."
She bowed deeply, and when she straightened, there was a brightness behind her eyes that hadn't been there before. She left.
He sat alone.
On the table between the stacked papers lay two drawings. One of a young man. Black hair, black eyes, a tail curling behind him. The other of something enormous, dark-furred, crouched in a circular arena with its fist against the ground.
He looked at them for a long time.
———
A Few Months Later
The streets of Gifu were quiet. It was eerie for a city this large to feel so empty
The usual noise of the market district had shifted—vendors who would have been crying their prices at the morning crowd were closed up, stalls folded, carts pulled aside. The residential streets had the stillness of midday but at the wrong hour. Even the constant clanging, clashing, and ringing of the outer forges were missing.
They were all at the arena.
The Kinzoku Clan had not hosted a tournament in eleven years. When they did, the entire city shifted around it.
The Steel Convergence, they called it. Five days. Every realm from Apprentice to Master. The prize for the Master bracket was a sage-level esoteric ore found only in Kinzoku lands, alongside full access to the clan's master blacksmiths for a commission of the fighter's own design. Weapons that would outlast dynasties. The kind of prize that drew people from every corner of Panama.
And all kinds of weapon masters did visit.
Today was the first day of the Apprentice bracket.
———
The axe came down hard and fast, aiming to decapitate its foe.
It found air.
WOOSH
Mikan was already somewhere else.
She'd moved before the wind-up finished. She bent sideways, right along the edge of the axe's arc, close enough that the displaced air ripped her sleeve. Her right hand flicked. A silver hook sailed low, trailing a thin line of steel cord, and caught the man's ankle.
He felt it a second later when he planted his foot for the recovery and found the cord already tight.
He tried to ignore it and moved forwards but he stumbled two steps, underestimating its power. When he looked back, the second hook was already in the air—higher this time, catching the shoulder of his weapon arm and pulling with a sharp backward tension.
The axe swung wide.
Mikan's knife found the gap between his elbow and his ribs. Deeply embedding itself into his lungs.
Ignoring the pain, with Mikan in range, he swung again. This time, a shorter arc, compensating for the shoulder—and she let it arrive, reading the adjusted weight distribution, the drag of the cord still around his ankle. He was fighting the hook more than he was fighting her. Every movement cost him twice what it should.
All it took was to get close enough to bait him into attacking her and not the cords.
She stabbed another knife into his forward knee on the recovery. The impact buckled the joint for a half second.
She was past him before he recovered, cord in hand, and pulled.
The ankle cord and the shoulder hook went tight simultaneously. He twisted, trying to manage both, and found it physically impossible. His weight moved the wrong way and then fell on the ground.
He didn't get up immediately as more cords wrapped around him.
The arena was not quiet. People laughed and cheered on as the man helplessly wailed, much like a fly stuck in a web.
Mikan stood back and waited.
The man calmed down pushed onto one knee. Looked at the cords. Looked at her. He immediately knew the ending of this battle.
Still, even in a hopeless situation, a martial artist never backs down. Not even in death.
He charged Mikan, still covered in cords.
The arena made its noise.
———
The crowd's cheers were deafening from Mikan's victory.
Afterward, the announcer asked her when she planned to ascend to Squirehood.
She smiled.
"Soon," she said, which was the answer she always gave to people who asked.
The truth was more complicated. She'd been at peak Apprentice for months—she could feel the ceiling, she had been given the knowledge of the Squire realm. All she needed was the procedure.
That's right, she learned that in order to attain the Squire realm's Martial Body, she actually had to go to a special place within Sekigahara that handles the creation of Martial Bodies.
Meaning, the Squire realm is actually a man-made process. The way it was explained to her, it could be simplified to this:
"To step into the rank of Squire is not something the body does on its own.
It must be forced.
First, a warrior must have a path that is truly theirs. Something shaped by their own hands. If their martial path is shallow, the body has nothing to grow into.
Second, that path must be complete. Like a boy becoming a man, your martial art must settle. No more wild changes. No more confusion. It must know what it is.
The body is then broken… and remade. Most die.
The flesh tears itself apart and tries to rebuild stronger than before. Blood burns. Bones change. Even the brain is tested—because if the mind cannot endure it, everything collapses.
That is why ordinary men cannot survive it.
Only those who have tempered both body and mind through the martial path have a chance.
And even then… it is not the same for everyone.
Every martial artist has a unique martial body suitable for their martial path.
A spearman does not grow like a brawler. A fast blade does not endure like a shield.
The body follows the art."
So, following the requirements, she had met all of it... except for one.
She was only a peasant-born.
Sekigahara's Squire council had different priorities.
Noble-born Apprentices moved through the queue first. That was simply how it worked. She wasn't bitter about it exactly—it had given her this, after all, months of dominating a realm that no longer surprised her, allowed her a richer quality and deeper understanding of her own martial arts that she wouldn't have found if she'd been rushed upward before she was ready.
Still.
She looked at the prize in the Apprentice bracket... It was a lesser material, certainly, but still Kinzoku steel. Not bad.
She looked at the stands instead.
They were there. All of them. Father in the second row with his hands folded and his expression quite proud. Ichigo beside him, arms crossed, cheering in her own way. And someone she hadn't expected to come—Ringo, wedged into the row with one shoulder pressed against Nashi's, waving.
"YOU DID WONDERFULLY MY LOVE!"
The voice carried over the entire arena with the confidence of a man who had never once felt embarrassed in his life.
Hideyoshi was on his feet. Kasumasu had both hands on his shoulders pulling him down. Nagahide was covering his face with his helmet. Katsui had turned away pretended he wasn't part of their group.
"SIT DOWN—"
"SHUT UP—"
"NOT RIGHT NOW—"
Mikan laughed, covering her mouth with one hand. She'd opened her heart to him a few months ago, and had learned she truly loved him... But she wanted to kill him right then and there for being so... What would Merun call it? Cringe?
But since this was in public, she had to hold it in... She'll tell him off later.
She gave him one small wave and a cute smile.
He pointed at her and cheered louder.
She was still laughing when something caught the edge of her vision.
A white cape fluttering in the stands amidst the crowd. When she turned, it was gone. Swallowed by the crowd before she could track it. She scanned the rows nearby. Cheering faces. Tournament banners. The ordinary chaos of a packed arena.
She was confident in her eyesight... But there was nothing.
She stood there for a moment.
That felt like...
She shook her head. She was imagining things. She'd heard nothing from him in months, not since before everything went quiet, and she'd stopped letting herself look for him because it never led anywhere good.
She turned back toward the floor.
———
Outside the arena the crowd noise was muffled.
A man with long, spiky, black hair stood with his back leaning against the stone wall. The device over his eye beeped once and he glanced at the display.
[SCAN HISTORY]
[Mikan: 300]
[Ichigo: 4,670]
[Ringo: 3,810]
[Budō: 230]
[Nashi: 2]
[Niwa: 4320]
[Takigawa: 4340]
[Shibata: 4400]
[Hideyoshi: 5900]
...
...
He looked at the numbers for a moment. Then up at the arena wall, behind which his old friends and family were currently attempting to physically restrain his brother-in-law.
His tail moved slowly behind him, left to right, curling once at the tip.
The white cape shifted in the light wind.
"Congratulations, dear sister," he said quietly, to nobody.
He exhaled, long and slow, and closed his eyes.
"I've missed you all."
[Merun: 15,600]
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[END OF VOLUME 1]
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Hope you guys liked it! The longest chapter so far.
This is my very first written work, and I've been rereading the first few chapters. I cringe whenever I see my poor grammar, incorrect tenses, etc etc. It makes me want to rewrite it.
I think I'll take a short break while I plot out some stuff and reread the early chapters of Martial Unity. I don't want to stray too far from the source material. Ki was pushing it.
If you made it this far, make sure you read the O.G. The Martial Unity light novel!