The past two days had passed in silence and stillness. Aranji remained in his room, meditating. The warped wood beneath his bed had confirmed it his Wood Release had awakened. He could feel it now, pulsing faintly beneath his skin, like a second heartbeat. The chakra of this world was different, but not incompatible. It was like tuning an instrument foreign strings, but the same music.
He emerged only to eat, drink, and bathe. "I'll miss hot water," he muttered to himself with a dry chuckle as he dressed. His robes, though worn from battle, were still finer than anything the locals wore. He had three sets woven from chakra-infused silk, resistant to wear and weather. He wouldn't trade them for the scratchy wool and rough linen of this land.
Downstairs, he asked the innkeeper for directions to King's Landing. The man squinted at him, then pointed east. "Follow the river till it bends south. You'll hit the Rose Road. From there, it's a month's ride if you've got a horse."
Aranji nodded. "I'll manage."
Once he was far enough from the village, he summoned his companion. The tiger-beast emerged from the trees, silent and powerful. Aranji leapt onto its back and closed his eyes, syncing their minds. Chakra flowed between them, enhancing the beast's speed and endurance. They blurred forward, a streak of motion along the dirt path, faster than any horse could dream.
As they ran, Aranji's thoughts wandered. How had his chakra adapted to this world? He had all five natures, dormant Wood Release, active Storm Release. Was it the contract realm that anchored him? Or something else? The past weeks had been exhausting physically, mentally. He needed answers, but for now, he would settle for progress.
Eventually, he dismissed his companion, choosing to walk the rest of the way. He wanted to feel the land beneath his feet, to learn its rhythm. The morning air was crisp, the sun climbing over the hills as he stepped onto the Rose Road.
That's when he heard them.
"Oi, look at this one," a gruff voice called out. "What's a pretty thing like you doin' out here all alone?"
Aranji didn't stop walking.
Another voice, younger, sneered. "She's got a sword. Thinks she's a knight, maybe. Or a runaway lady. Either way, she's ours now."
He glanced up. Ten of them. Rusted armor, mismatched cloaks, the faded sigils of a long-dead house. Bandits. Desperate men clinging to the scraps of fallen glory.
"Don't be shy, love," one said, stepping into his path. "We'll treat you real nice. Might even let you keep that stick if you behave."
Aranji's eyes narrowed. He said nothing.
The leader reached for him.
In a blur, Aranji's hand moved. His sword slid from its sheath with a whisper of steel. No lightning. No chakra. Just speed.
Flashstep.
In a blink, he was behind them.
A gust of wind followed.
The bandits froze then collapsed, one by one, blood blooming across their chests and throats. The leader's head rolled to the side, eyes still wide with confusion.
Aranji stood still, sword dripping. He exhaled slowly.
He wiped the blade clean on one of their cloaks, then paused. Kneeling, he rifled through their belongings, collecting coin pouches and a few trinkets. Nothing of value, but silver was silver. He sealed them into his storage tattoo with a flick of chakra.
"These weren't knights," he muttered. "Just foot soldiers… scavengers from a broken banner."
He turned back to the road, leapt into the trees, and vanished into the canopy silent