VOLUME 2: THE CAPTAIN'S FIRST TRIAL

CHAPTER 3: THE YOUNG CAPTAIN AND THE BLOODY STREETS

Barely a month had passed since those dusty, sweat-drenched days filled with mocking whispers at the swordsmanship academy. Yet for Yamato Tsugikuni, the very concept of time had long lost its meaning. He was no longer the frail, battered boy who used to walk those academy hallways. Resting upon his shoulders was now a snow-white captain’s haori, bearing the emblem of the 13 commanders—the government's most elite, deadliest, and legendary leaders. Yamato was only sixteen years old, and he had already made history as the youngest captain of the 10th Division.

However, this title was no source of pride for him. It was merely a stepping stone on his oath of vengeance—a heavy new stone block added to the mountain already crushing his back. Because in this realm, being a captain did not simply mean issuing orders; it meant staring directly into the eyes of death from the frontlines. Fate did not make the young captain wait long to face this bitter reality, placing his first true trial before him in the form of a bloody town raid.

The darkness descending upon the town was not the cool breeze of an ordinary night. Seeping through the clouds that ripped the sky apart was a toxic, rotting breath—a cursed omen left behind by the demons infesting these lands. As Yamato and his division passed through the wooden gates of the town, the icy wind of death brushed against his face. The streets were dead silent, but this silence was not born of peace; it was the product of absolute terror wrought by pure brutality. Fresh trails of blood leaked out from the shattered doors of the houses.

"Captain..." whispered one of the soldiers behind him, his voice trembling with sheer horror. "No one... no one might be left alive."

Yamato did not answer. Beneath his half-white hair swaying in the wind, he simply scanned the darkness and wrapped his fingers tightly around the cold hilt of Kurunomi at his waist. His blade felt heavier than ever, and the pitch-black spiritual energy swirling inside it was fiercer than ever before.

A shrill, bone-chilling scream echoed from the depths of the streets, shattering the silence like glass. Hidden behind the curtain of darkness, the demons had cornered the innocent—women and children—like helpless prey, ready to sink their claws in. Yamato could not wait any longer. The agonizing memory of that snowy night surged within him all at once. With the heavy metallic clash of Kurunomi being unsheathed, he leaped forward.

Yet, just as he was about to strike, a massive silhouette burst from the rubble, cutting off his path. When Yamato’s eyes locked onto the enemy’s weapon, he felt the blood in his veins freeze into solid ice. The blade held by the demon before him was a slab of ominous, pitch-black steel that absorbed what little moonlight remained.

A jet-black sword... just like his own.

This was not merely the shock of encountering a powerful foe. This was the darkest mirror fate could ever force Yamato to face.