chapter : 1 A Fool’s Kindness, A Blade’s Curse

In the year BCD 986, there lived a boy named Dante Ichiro, who was different from all the other children.

He had no relatives on this earth except his best friend, Akiro Tenson. When the two of them turned fifteen, they decided the time had come to leave their quiet life behind.

They would go on a journey to see the true beauty of the planet.

They managed to reach the first major town on their route thought land as their food and water supplies ran low.

But as they passed through the gates, both heroes stopped, shocked by what they saw.

Before them was a town drowning in forced merriment.

Loud, tinny music spilled from casino doors, mingling with the desperate shouts from gambling houses and the raucous laughter from taverns.

Well-dressed nobles sneered as they passed by commoners, whose faces were worn with exhaustion.

In the shadows of the ornate buildings, Dante saw slaves in chains, their eyes empty.

“Wow,” Dante breathed, his eyes wide. “This place is so full of life!”

Akiro’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword. He smelled danger beneath the cloying scent of cheap ale and perfume.

“This isn’t life, Dante,” he said quietly. “It’s a cage. We need to be careful here.” He scanned the crowds.

“I think we should buy proper swords. For protection.”

Dante nodded, his trust in Akiro’s judgment absolute. “Good idea! To protect us from enemies and bad guys.”

“Bad guys?” Akiro repeated, turning to his friend.

Dante looked puzzled. “Yeah! So… who are the bad guys?”

Akiro’s eye twitched. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, slow sigh. “Dante,” he said, his voice dangerously calm, “‘Bad guys’ are the people who do bad things. Like putting other people in chains. Try to keep up.”

“Oh, gotcha!” Dante said, completely missing the sarcasm. “So, are we going to kill them or just defeat them?”

“We will only defeat them,” Akiro stated firmly. “Killing won’t do us any good. Now, look. That shop over there,” he said, pointing.

“It looks less crooked than the others. Let’s check it out.”

As they walked toward the shop, they found a boy their own age slumped against the front wall.

He was chained by the ankle to a heavy wooden block, his clothes little more than rags.

The boy’s eyes were hollow and fixed on nothing, his shoulders slumped as if carrying an invisible weight.

Dante’s cheerful expression vanished, replaced by one of deep empathy. He knelt beside the boy.

“Hey, brother,” he said gently. “Can I have the honor of knowing your name?”

The boy flinched, then slowly lifted his head. His voice was a dry, weak rasp, the sound of someone who hadn’t eaten in days.

“Sir… why are you using such a formal tone toward a slave?” He gave a bitter, humorless smile. “Are you a fool?”

Before Dante could respond, Akiro spoke, his tone calm and analytical.

“In this accursed world, who do you think the real fool is? The slave who knows his place, or the supposed genius next to me who thinks a kind word can fix a broken world?”

Dante was shocked at first, then realized Akiro was talking about him.

“Hey! I’m not the fool; you’re the fool!” he shouted, then immediately turned back to the boy, his voice softening.

“Slave or not, you are human, just like us. You deserve freedom and the right to live your own life.

So please, tell me your name.”

The boy stared at Dante for a long moment, a flicker of light returning to his empty eyes. “I… I can see that you are good people,” he whispered.

“But I don’t remember my name.”

“Then we’ll have to give you one,” Dante declared. “Let me think… How about Kamazu Yidorin? Do you like your new name?”

“Kamazu…” the boy tested the word. “Yeah. It’s cool.”

Akiro raised a single eyebrow. “For the first time in your life, Dante, you’ve used your brain.”

Kamazu looked between the two friends.

“I have a favor to ask you,” he said, his voice gaining a sliver of strength.

“But before that, I want to know your names.”

Dante grinned. “Where are my manners? I’m Dante Ichiro, and this is my friend Akiro Tenson. We’re on a journey to find a new place.

You can join our crew, if you wish.”

“Sir Dante,” Kamazu began, “can I just call you Dante?”

“That’s fine with me,” Dante said.

“About the favor I asked…” Kamazu continued, looking at the chain on his ankle.

“I want to explore the world, same as you. Will you set me free from these chains?”

Dante didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed the thick iron chain connecting Kamazu to the wooden block, and with a yell of exertion that showed a surprising amount of raw strength, he pulled.

The metal groaned and twisted before snapping with a loud crack.

“That’s my property you’re touching, boy!” a loud, greasy voice boomed from down the street.

They turned to see a large, brutish man with a cruel smile swaggering toward them. He was flanked by two thugs who looked just as unpleasant.

The man pointed a sausage-like finger at Kamazu, who visibly flinched and tried to hide behind Dante.

“I paid good money for that one,” the man sneered. “Now hand him over before you get hurt.”

“He’s not property, he’s a person just like us !” Dante shot back, stepping in front of Kamazu protectively.

Akiro’s eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking between the three opponents. Two on the flanks, overconfident.

The one in the center is the primary threat, he thought, settling into a low fighting stance.

The slave owner laughed, a horrible, gurgling sound. “Get ‘em,” he ordered his thugs.

The two men charged forward. Dante met the first one head-on, his movements wild but powerful, a whirlwind of untrained energy.

Akiro dealt with the second, his style the complete opposite: calm, precise, and efficient. He dodged his opponent’s clumsy punch and delivered a single, sharp knife-hand strike to the side of the man’s neck, sending him crumpling to the ground.

After a brief scuffle, Dante managed to knock his own opponent out with a solid right hook.

“Useless fools!” the owner roared, his face turning a deep shade of purple. He drew a massive, rust-stained axe from his belt.

“I’ll deal with you myself!”

He swung the heavy axe at Dante, who had to dive out of the way, the axe head burying itself in the dirt where he had been standing.

The sheer force of the attack against their bare hands was overwhelming.

“Dante, his left side is open after he swings!” Akiro called out, his eyes analytically tracking the man’s clumsy movements.

The owner roared again and swung at Dante, who ducked under the whistling blade. The moment the axe was past him, Akiro darted in, his foot lashing out in a precise kick to the owner’s exposed knee.

The big man howled in pain and stumbled, his guard dropping for a critical second. That was all the opening Dante needed.

He surged forward, getting inside the axe’s range, and drove his fist hard into the owner’s gut.

The man gasped, the air leaving his lungs, and Dante followed up with a powerful uppercut that sent him collapsing in an unconscious heap.

As Dante helped Kamazu to his feet, Akiro walked over to the slave owner’s unconscious form.

He reached into his own small pouch, pulled out a few coins, and tossed them onto the man’s chest.

“For the broken chain,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. It wasn’t an apology; it was a transaction. With the debt settled in his own mind, he turned to join the others.

From the dusty window of the sword shop, a pair of old, sharp eyes had watched the entire exchange.

A thoughtful, almost nostalgic expression crossed the old man’s face. That fire… that reckless conviction, he thought. He reminds me of him, all those years ago…

After freeing Kamazu, their new friend confirmed Akiro’s suspicions about a ruthless pirate organization running the town.

“To face them,” Akiro stated, “we definitely need better swords. Kamazu, do you know a good shop?”

“I do,” Kamazu said. “I know a shop where real swords are sold.”

“Then why wait?” Dante cheered. “Let’s go!”

The moment they pushed open the heavy oak door of the shop Kamazu led them to, the place assaulted their senses.

The air was thick with the sharp smell of quenching oil and the smoky scent of a coal forge in the back.

From the far corner came the source of a ruckus: a loud, booming argument between a hulking man and the shopkeeper.

All around them, the sound was muffled by racks of weaponry, the polished steel of countless blades gleaming softly in the dim light.

Dante’s eyes lit up. “Wow! There are so many epic swords. I bet they’re costly. What do you think, Akiro?”

A gruff voice cut through the air. “I don’t think so.”

The three turned to see the shopkeeper, a stern-faced older man, glaring at the large customer he had been arguing with. Dante, confused, looked at the man and asked, “Whoa! Who are you?”

Akiro sighed, stepping forward to put a hand on Dante’s shoulder. He leaned in and whispered, “Use your eyes, you moron.

He’s standing behind the counter of a shop. He’s the shopkeeper.”

The man gave a gruff chuckle, having overheard Akiro. “That’s right,” he said, his voice deep. “I’m the manager of this establishment.

My name is Ziraka. Now, are you here to buy something, or just to state the obvious?”

Before they could answer, Ziraka’s eyes fell on Kamazu. “I see you have a new friend. Do you have any money?”

Dante looked at Akiro, who sighed again. “We have a little left after buying food and water.”

“Hmmph. Well, you are free to choose the sword you like,” Ziraka grunted. “We can talk about the price later.”

But He had already decided to arm them, seeing it as an investment in the rare spirit they possessed, but he kept his charity a secret.

This was a test, a chance to gauge their character before revealing his hand.

As Dante began looking at the first row of swords, one blade in particular caught his eye. It was a long, elegant katana with a deep black steel and a crimson .

Unlike the others, it seemed to absorb the light around it, and he could feel a strange energy radiating from it, a faint hum like a cursed whisper.

Ziraka noticed him staring. “You have a good eye, kid,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “That is a legendary sword, wielded long ago by an epic hero.

Legend says he defeated ten thousand demons in his lifetime, and after his death, his immense energy was absorbed by the blade.”

Ziraka leaned closer, his voice dropping to a grave whisper. “That king was a legend from long ago. But the stories don’t stop there.

I’ve seen three men try to wield that blade in my lifetime. Not conquerors, just arrogant fools.

The moment their hands closed around the hilt, the light in their eyes went out. They didn’t even have time to scream.

The hero’s energy doesn’t just kill you if it rejects you,” Ziraka said, looking Dante dead in the eye. “It devours your soul.”