He Who Forged the Legend

I knew one thing with absolute certainty: if that chained abomination ever broke through the threshold, and I couldn't stop it, it would be an absolute disaster. The thought ate at me like rust.

So I made up my mind.I would train.I would sharpen myself into something capable of standing between that monster and the people I loved.

The next morning, I rose before dawn. The world outside was hushed and gray, the faint smell of morning mist clinging to the streets. I sat cross-legged and meditated until the first rays of sun touched the window, trying to calm the storm inside me. After that, I trained. Each swing of my blade tore through the stillness, raw and jagged. My arms ached, my chest heaved, sweat rolled down my skin, but I didn't stop.

Amilia woke after a few hours and found me there. She didn't interrupt. She simply watched from a distance. Her eyes caught something I could not hide: my swings were different now. No longer steady, no longer calm—each strike carried desperation, rage, grief. They were rough, unrefined, weighed down by the pressure crushing me from within.

She chose silence. Instead of speaking, she sat further away, closed her eyes, and began meditating herself. She focused on controlling her curse, keeping it in check, giving me space. She knew I was already carrying too much.

Later that day, after my body finally gave in to exhaustion, she came to me. She lowered herself to the ground beside me, her expression gentle but firm.

"Let's go to Kibō no Mura," she said. "That's where Jonathan's master lives. The one they call the legendary master of the Sword Demon. He's still alive there."

The words struck me like a blade to the gut.

Jonathan's master. The man who had trained the one I called teacher. The man who had given the world the Blade Demon.

How could I face him?How could I stand before him, knowing I had failed to protect his student? Knowing I had let Jonathan die, powerless, useless, nothing but dead weight?

The grief clawed at me again, pulling me back into that dark void where despair drowned every other feeling. For a moment, I wanted to refuse her. To say I wasn't worthy. That I could never face him.

But then… I thought of Annya. Of Amilia. Of Hikari. Of the lives already scarred by curses and loss. If I truly wanted to protect them—if I wanted to be the shield between them and the darkness of this world—then I had no choice.

I had to fight.I had to stain my hands with blood so theirs could remain clean.I had to walk the path Jonathan had paved with his sacrifice.

So I nodded. "Let's go."

The journey to Kibō no Mura was short, no more than a day. Amilia remained behind to train with Hikari, focusing on strengthening her healing magic. Hikari sent another apprentice to accompany us—a quiet, observant youth named Suga. His presence was steady, though he rarely spoke.

The road itself was peaceful. No demons, no ambushes, no nightmares waiting in the shadows. Just the sound of our footsteps crunching on dirt, the breeze running across the grass, and the weight of what awaited us at the end.

Kibō no Mura was a small village, plain and unassuming. Its houses were simple, its streets narrow, its people disciplined. Strangely, the presence of yokai was lower here than anywhere else I had been. Perhaps the shadow of a true master kept them at bay.

We found the dojo easily. A simple wooden structure stood at the edge of the village, echoing with the sharp cries of students. Children no older than ten swung their wooden swords with a discipline and precision that stunned me. Every strike landed in unison. Their focus was unshakable. Their posture, flawless. It was… beautiful.

This was what true swordsmanship looked like. This was what Jonathan must have known, once.

We passed through the hallway until we reached the master's chamber. The faint smell of smoke drifted through the paper doors. Inside, an old man sat cross-legged, a thin cigar burning between his fingers. His hair was silver, his frame lean, his back perfectly straight despite his age. His presence filled the room like steel drawn from its sheath—calm, but sharp enough to cut without moving.

He lifted his gaze as we entered. When his eyes fell on Annya, his face softened into a smile.

"It's been some time, Princess," he said, his voice low and steady. "So, what brings you here today?"

Annya bowed respectfully, but before she could answer, his gaze shifted.

It landed on me.

In that instant, the room changed. The air grew heavy, sharp, like the moment before lightning splits the sky. His smile vanished. His eyes narrowed.

And before I could breathe—before I could even blink—steel flashed.

The sound came first: a sharp, ringing note that split the silence. Then the edge of his blade pressed cold against my throat.

It was faster than sound, faster than thought, faster than sight.One blink too late, and I would have been dead already.

My pulse thundered. My breath caught. I didn't dare move.

The legendary master, Kagenken, stared into me with eyes that had seen countless lives end. His hand was steady. His blade unmoving. His intent unreadable.

The children outside kept practicing, their shouts rising and falling in rhythm, unaware that in this small room, my life now hung by a thread of steel.