Chapter 39 – A Legacy to Protect

The first rays of dawn rose over Kita, the capital of Yukihana since the day Shogun Tsukihara claimed it as his own.

As he did every morning, the man sat polishing his katana. It was a ritual he had imposed on all who bore a blade in his nation: steel was to be revered, as though it were the very extension of a Yuki’s honor.

While the cloth slid along the edge, his thoughts—as always—returned to his former master.

Yukino Aseina.

To him, she would forever remain a traitor. An empress who had committed the gravest dishonor of all… entrusting the Katana Yukihana to a foreigner.

The reason didn’t matter. To Tsukihara, that act had stained their tradition and cast an eternal shadow over his people.

The Katana Yukihana, the divine treasure bestowed upon the Yuki by Yuri himself, was more than a weapon. It was the gift that had united the clans beneath the banner of House Aseina. The only blade, the legends said, capable of wounding even a god.

That thought accompanied him every day. And today, more than ever, he clung to it.

The alarm bells began to toll in every direction. Their metallic echo shattered the calm of morning and shook the foundations of the city.

Tsukihara froze mid-motion. Oil still dripped from the blade when he realized the inevitable.

The day he had awaited for the past year had finally come.
The invaders were coming for his capital.
And he had no intention of yielding it.

On the frontlines, Yura Aseina marched at the head of twenty thousand revolutionaries. Samurai with gleaming katanas, lancers and shield-bearers moving in tight formation, archers drawing their bows, even freed prisoners and victims of experiments now fighting for vengeance.

“Shields, forward!” Yura shouted, her voice carrying above the thunder of war.

“Mages, take position! Keep your eyes on the walls!”

The troops advanced in formation, the sky-blue sakura crest flying high.

From atop the walls, the defenders aligned themselves—but they did not raise bows.

Instead, they held long weapons with glowing blue barrels.

“Fire!”

The first volley thundered. Mana projectiles rained down like lightning, smashing into the shields of the vanguard. Each strike exploded with brutal force, shattering wood and flesh alike.

The screams of the wounded mingled with smoke and blood-stained snow.

Yura grit her teeth.

Those are… mana weapons?

She raised the Katana Yukihana, its blade shining like a beacon.

“Mages, counterattack! Destroy those cursed weapons before they tear us apart!”

A roar swept through the army. Magic circles blazed in the air, unleashing waves of ice and fire at the gunners on the walls.

Explosions lit up the fortified city. The sky over Yukihana became a canvas painted in blue and red flame.

Inside the capital, Shogun Tsukihara remained in his hall, waiting patiently. The thunder of war reached his throne, yet he did not stir.

The side gates began to open. From them, squads of samurai marched forth with unshakable discipline—waves of steel advancing in perfect unison.

“Defend the walls! Let no one pass!” Tsukihara roared, his voice booming like thunder across the capital’s walls.

The weapons of Solmara spat volley after volley of mana, but to his astonishment, the rebels endured.

How could they withstand such fire?
How could they even dare to assault such a fortress?

Who stood behind this army?
Who had trained them?

The questions pierced his mind like thorns. Frowning deeply, Tsukihara donned his armor and descended from his safe seat of power.

He had to see it with his own eyes.

At the frontlines, Yura Aseina led the charge. Her katana carved arcs of ice, cutting down samurai one after another without pause. It was as if she were wading through an endless dungeon of monsters—every strike a sentence, every step one closer to her people’s freedom.

The revolutionary army began to break through. The thunder of crumbling walls announced the inevitable: the capital had been breached.

And then the Shogun appeared.

Like a demon wrapped in steel, he tore through the revolutionary ranks. His blade reaped lives as easily as a storm strips leaves from trees. Soldiers fell in his wake, blood spreading across the streets like a crimson veil.

Yura saw him. The traitor to the Aseina line. The man who had shackled Yukihana in chains.

With a cry, she hurled herself toward him.

Their swords clashed in the middle of the battlefield, the clash of steel eclipsing the chaos of war for a heartbeat.

Tsukihara’s eyes fixed on the blade meeting his own. Its edge shone with frozen dignity.

“That sword… where did you get it?”

“At last we meet, traitor.” Yura’s voice did not waver; each word was a shard of ice.

At first, Tsukihara hadn’t paid her any mind. He had thought her just another Yuki among many.

But that face… those eyes… that gaze.

The Shogun staggered back a step, as if staring at a ghost.
“Yukino…” he whispered, uncertain.

Yura said nothing. She didn’t need to. In that moment, she was her mother reborn: the legacy of Yukino Aseina, returned to judge the traitor.

“You’re…” Tsukihara’s eyes widened. “The child Yukino saved nearly thirteen years ago. Her daughter.”

“That’s right,” Yura declared, raising her katana. “I’ve come back to claim what is mine by right.”

Tsukihara’s face twisted in fury.

“This nation no longer belongs to the Aseina!” he roared. “It’s mine! I am the strongest warrior of them all! I AM THE SHOGUN!”

His shout cracked like thunder, his katana slamming against Yura’s with such force the air itself shuddered.

“You’re nothing but a coward,” she retorted, not yielding an inch. “You stabbed my mother in the back. That doesn’t make you strong—only a traitor.”

Steel trembled between them, but Yura’s eyes were as cold as a storm.

“Yukihana must be free,” she continued, her voice steady, glacial. “And you have disgraced your own people.”

Another clash sent sparks spilling across the snow like crimson fireflies.

“I sold us to Solmara to give this land power!” Tsukihara spat, pressing with all his strength. “With mana weapons and slaves, I made Yukihana strong!”

Yura held his gaze, unshaken.
“No. All you did was break its spirit. You turned a proud nation into a dictatorship of fear.”

Tsukihara roared, forcing her guard.

“I’ll kill you here and now, just like I killed your mother!”

Yura gripped the Katana Yukihana tighter. Ice coursed along the blade, sheathing her hands in frost. Her gaze cut through him like a blade.

“No, Shogun.” Her voice was the final verdict. “Today is the last day of your tyranny.”

The entire battlefield seemed to hold its breath.

In that final duel—between the traitor and the heir—the future of a nation would be decided.