Ch. 2 — Blades of Doubt

The city no longer spoke with one voice.

By day, its streets bustled under curfew patrols and ration lines, but tension clung to every corner. Markets echoed with hushed debates, taverns filled with whispers. In the shadows, chalk symbols marked walls—signs of factions forming.

Some painted flames.

Others painted crosses through them.

“—Guess I’m the city’s favorite love-hate relationship, ” he muttered.

A voice cut through the noise.

“There he is. ”

Arata shifted his head slowly.

A group of young men blocked the street, armed with makeshift blades and stolen armor. Their leader stepped forward, eyes burning with hostility.

“You don’t belong here, ” the youth spat. “You’re no savior. You’re a demon in disguise. We won’t let you curse this city any longer. ”

Civilians gasped, pulling back. Some whispered pleas for peace. Others watched with grim approval.

Arata tilted his head, smirking faintly. “Bold words. Especially for a guy holding a sword like he’s never swung it before. ”

The youth’s grip tightened. His friends spread out, surrounding Arata.

The flame’s hand rested lightly on his katana. “—Careful. You’re picking a fight with the wrong monster. ”

The tension snapped.

The first youth lunged, blade flashing clumsily in the firelit street.

Arata didn’t even draw his katana. His Draconic Eyes flared behind the shades, slowing the boy’s movement to a crawl. With a sigh, Arata shifted, sidestepping effortlessly. His hand snapped out, striking the boy’s wrist with enough force to send the blade clattering to the ground.

“Strike one, ” Arata muttered.

The others roared, charging from all sides.

Arata moved like a shadow. A twist here, a step there—each motion precise, deliberate. He grabbed one by the collar, flipping him into a fruit stand. Another swung low; Arata kicked the blade aside, sending the boy sprawling. The last tried to stab from behind—Arata caught the blade between two fingers, snapped it in half, and shoved the attacker into the dirt.

The fight was over in seconds.

The crowd that had gathered gasped, murmurs splitting like cracks in glass. Some stared in awe.

“He didn’t kill them—”

“He could’ve—but he didn’t. ”

“He’s holding back. ”

But others whispered fear.

“Did you see how fast—? ”

“He toyed with them like children. ”

“No one should have that kind of power—”

Arata stood at the center, brushing dust from his coat. The would-be attackers groaned on the ground, bruised but alive.

He angled his head, his voice sharp enough to cut through the noise.

“—Listen up. I don’t care if you hate me. I don’t care if you spit on me in the streets. But if you raise a blade to me again—” He lowered his shades just enough for the crimson slits of his eyes to gleam in the firelight. “—you’d better be ready to die. ”

The crowd fell silent, frozen between awe and terror.

Arata pushed his sunglasses back into place, let the corner of his mouth quirk faint but heavy. “—Your move. ”

Then he walked away, leaving whispers to churn like fire through dry wood.

By the time Arata returned to the base, the story had already reached the walls. Soldiers stood stiff at their posts, their eyes sharper than usual, whispers running faster than orders.

Inside his quarters, Aris was waiting.

She stood by his katana, still sealed in reinforced glass from his recovery, her arms folded tight across her chest. When Arata stepped in, her gaze was already locked on him—sharp, cold, unreadable.

“You couldn’t walk the market without turning it into a battlefield? ” she asked, her voice low but edged with steel.

Arata leaned against the doorframe, smirking faintly. “If by ‘battlefield’ you mean me babysitting kids with knives, then yeah. Guilty. ”

Aris’s eyes narrowed. “You humiliated them. In front of the entire district. ”

“Better than killing them, ” Arata shot back. “And don’t forget—they came at me. I just reminded them I’m not the easy target they wanted me to be. ”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “You don’t get it. Every time you fight—even if you don’t kill—you feed their fear. Half the city sees you as savior, the other half sees you as predator. And every clash widens that crack. ”

Arata’s thin smile faded. He stepped forward, shadows cutting across his face. “—And what would you have me do? Let them carve me up just to prove I’m ‘safe’? You and I both know the demons won’t wait while I play nice. ”

For a moment, the tension was suffocating.

Aris finally let the breath go, turning slightly toward the window. “You’re right. But control isn’t just about strength—it’s about restraint. If you can’t convince them you’re more than a weapon, they’ll turn on you. And when they do—” Her gaze flicked back, steel in her eyes. “. I won’t be able to stop them. ”

Arata adjusted his shades, let out a small, lopsided smile returning faintly though his jaw was tight. “—Then I’ll just have to make sure the demons fall faster than their doubt. ”

Aris didn’t answer. She turned, leaving him alone with the weight of her words.

Far beyond the walls, the demons listened.

In a crumbling tower, cloaked figures whispered around a black flame. Images rippled within it—the market, the crowd, the flare of Arata’s Draconic Eyes.

The Crowned Demon smiled, his golden gaze alight. “Good—good. Every step he takes deepens the fracture. The humans will destroy their flame for us. ”

The shadows hissed in laughter, spreading like smoke.

The last demon’s body dissolved into smoke, leaving only scorch marks across the steel corridor. Silence followed, broken only by the hiss of smoldering flames.

Arata lowered his katana, blood dripping down his arm, his crimson coat torn and charred. His Draconic Eyes dimmed faintly behind the shades, though their glow still pulsed like embers.

Behind him, the humans who had tried to kill him earlier huddled against the wall. Their masks hung loose, revealing pale faces twisted with fear. Some stared at him with wide, trembling eyes—shaken, guilt pressing heavy in their throats. Others glared harder, their fear burning stubborn into hatred.

Arata turned, let out a small, lopsided smile faint but cutting. “—Well? Still think I’m the bigger monster? ”

No one answered. The silence said enough.

The door at the end of the corridor slammed open. Commander Aris stormed in with a squad of soldiers, her saber drawn, her eyes sharp with fury. She froze at the sight—the wreckage, the smoke, the assassins alive but shaken, Arata standing bloodied at the center.

“What—happened here? ” she demanded.

A soldier stammered, “Commander—they,they tried to,”

Aris raised a hand sharply. Silence fell.

Her gaze locked on Arata. “Is it true? ”

Arata leaned his katana against his shoulder, gave a faint smirk curling despite the blood on his lips. “Yeah. Your people tried to kill me. Guess the demons decided to crash the party. ”

The assassins flinched, some bowing their heads in shame. Others shouted desperately.

“He’s lying. ”

“He staged it—he brought them here. ”

“He’s the reason they knew where to strike. ”

The corridor erupted with noise, soldiers gripping their weapons, civilians crying out. Fear twisted into chaos.

Aris’s voice cut through like steel. “Enough. ”

The chamber fell silent again.

She looked at Arata, her expression unreadable. “—You saved them? ”

Arata’s a faint smirk faded into something heavier. “—Didn’t do it for them. Did it because those demons would’ve kept going if I hadn’t. ” He angled his back, sliding his blade into its sheath with a clean click. “But believe what you want. ”

He started walking, boots echoing against scorched steel. Behind him, the whispers rose again—some grateful, others venomous, all tangled in doubt.

Aris watched him go, her jaw tight, her hand still gripping her saber. She said nothing.

For now.

The night air was cold atop the city’s rooftops.

Arata sat on the edge of a steel beam, his crimson coat torn and stained, his katana resting across his lap. Smoke from the outskirts still drifted faintly in the distance. Below, the city stirred uneasily—torches lit in the streets, patrols doubled, whispers carrying even through the dark.

“—Saved the same people who tried to stick a knife in me, ” he muttered, voice low, bitter. “And still, they look at me like I’m the devil. ”

His grip tightened on the katana. Doesn’t matter. They can curse me, hate me, call me a monster—as long as they live, it’s fine.

But the fire in his chest didn’t burn steady. It burned restless—like it knew every whisper of doubt, every fracture in trust, was another wound deeper than steel.

Far away, in the ruins lit by black flame, the demon generals gathered.

The crowned one stood at the center, his golden eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. Images rippled in the fire—Arata clashing with humans in the market, civilians whispering in fear, soldiers glaring in doubt.

“Perfect, ” the Crowned Demon purred. “Every battle he wins, he loses another piece of their trust. Soon they won’t need us to kill their flame. They’ll do it themselves. ”

The serpent coiled and hissed with laughter. The winged general grunted in grim approval.

The black fire roared higher, casting their shadows like knives across the broken city.

The immortal flame burned bright—

But the world around it was already beginning to smother the light.