The soft morning breeze carried an unusual chill, as if signaling a shift in the village's ordinary rhythm.
The two opposing sides stood facing each other, eyes sharp with intent. In a confrontation like this, the first move could decide everything.
Ichiro and Ryuji both understood that.
But behind them, Izumi, Yuriko, and Takae were caught on a different thought entirely.
"Ryuji… Shiga," Yuriko said, her voice unsteady.
"Does that mean you and him are—" Takae began, her words faltering.
Ryuji smirked.
"You must be referring to Asahi Shiga," he said, "the one who died fighting the Flaming Frost."
A pause.
"Your assumption is correct," he continued. "He—and the others who fell that day—were my brothers by blood."
His gaze hardened slightly.
"That's all we are. The Phantom Wolf Troupe… is nothing more than a group of brothers."
A faint grin returned to his face.
"So you can already tell—this is personal."
"You throw that name around a lot," Ichiro cut in calmly. "You act as if you're renowned, yet I've never heard of you."
"That's to be expected," Kenji replied. "We don't fight for recognition from Ashura samurai."
"What drives us," he continued, "is something far beyond your approval."
Ryuji let out a quiet chuckle.
"But if you're curious about our reputation…" he said, his eyes narrowing, "we'll just have to show you firsthand."
"Bring it on."
Ichiro said nothing.
Instead, he slowly unsheathed his sword from its brown scabbard, his grip steady as he exhaled.
"Miyuki, Takae," he said, his voice low but firm, eyes never leaving the men before him, "get the villagers to the evacuation point."
"Izumi. Yuriko. Stay here and support me. If any of them slip past, stop them."
He shifted into his stance.
"We prepared for this. Don't lose your composure—and don't rush in alone."
"Right!" they answered in unison.
Without hesitation, Miyuki and Takae turned and rushed toward the crowd.
Ryuji moved to follow—
but Ichiro was already in motion.
In a flash, he closed the distance, his blade cutting upward with blinding speed.
Ryuji barely avoided it, leaping back—but not cleanly.
A thin line of blood traced down from his chin.
"Where do you think you're going?" Ichiro said, stepping back into position.
Ryuji hummed softly, almost amused, as his fingers brushed the cut.
"It seems," he said, a smirk forming, "we won't be getting what we want the easy way."
His eyes sharpened.
"But I don't mind," he continued. "Taking you down might be far more interesting than I expected."
Ichiro didn't respond.
He relaxed his stance slightly, then raised his blade, its edge angled toward the sky.
His voice was quiet—but carried weight.
"Release… Mayoi."
The blade became engulfed in a blue light, forcing both of them to squint.
As the glow faded, the sword revealed a new form.
What was once plain and unremarkable had transformed. Near the base of the blade, where it met the hilt, two sharp protrusions curved downward. The blade itself had widened, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen.
For a brief moment, Ryuji caught his own reflection staring back at him.
Both he and Kenji instinctively stepped back.
Ichiro, however, remained completely still.
No movement. No breath. Not even a blink.
A strange unease settled in.
Ryuji narrowed his eyes and cautiously stepped forward—
Then Ichiro's figure blurred.
"What the—"
He never finished.
A violent gust struck him head-on, launching him across the field.
Kenji clicked his tongue, teeth gritted.
Before he could move to assist, a voice cut him off.
"You're not going anywhere."
He turned sharply.
Yuriko had already closed the distance, her sword drawn.
She swung without hesitation, but Kenji evaded and countered with a punch.
Yuriko barely slipped past the blow, retreating just enough to avoid a direct hit.
Now, standing before him—
Yuriko and Izumi.
Both with blades drawn.
Both ready.
"You should worry about yourself," Izumi said.
Kenji's expression twisted with irritation.
"You brats… you brought this on yourselves."
Yuriko smirked.
"You talk a lot. Let's see if you can back it up."
Kenji exhaled sharply.
"Then come find out."
—
Far from the center of the village, Ryuji crashed into a tree, the impact splintering its trunk.
A thin stream of blood ran from his mouth.
He pushed himself up, wiping it away with his sleeve.
"Did you bite your cheek?"
Ichiro's voice reached him.
Ryuji looked up—
and saw him.
Walking calmly toward him.
"You bastard," Ryuji muttered. "What the hell did you do?"
Ichiro tilted his head slightly.
"What do you mean?" he said. "All I did was hit you."
A faint pause.
"Or was I too fast for you?"
Ryuji's expression darkened.
From his arms, droplets of blood began to seep out, hovering in the air before hardening into sharp, crimson spikes.
More gathered along his fingers, forming elongated, claw-like extensions.
"Don't get cocky just because you landed the first hit," he said coldly. "This fight is far from over."
"Blood Manipulation: Crown of Thorns."
With a flick of both hands, he launched the spikes forward—
and charged in right behind them.
Ichiro deflected several with precise strikes, sending them scattering into the ground.
One slipped through, grazing his shoulder.
He didn't flinch.
Ryuji was already on him.
Claws extended, he struck.
Ichiro met the attack head-on, parrying at the last second and forcing him back.
Ryuji landed lightly, his breath deep but controlled.
A smirk crept onto his face.
Ichiro raised his blade once more.
"Tired already?" he said. "We're just getting started."
Ryuji's grin widened.
"You're right," he replied. "This is only the beginning of your downfall."
---
"Let's go, everyone—this way!" Miyuki called out, facing the crowd. "We can't stay here. It's dangerous."
"What the hell is going on?!" a man shouted.
"Yeah!" another voice followed. "Who are those people? What do they want?!"
The crowd quickly descended into chaos, voices overlapping in a storm of demands and fear.
"That isn't important right now," Takae said, her voice nearly drowned out. "What matters is getting you out of here."
"Shut up!" a man snapped. "Who are you to tell us what to do?!"
"Hey," someone else yelled, "I bet they're after her!"
"Yeah! She fits the description—and she showed up right before all this!"
Takae took a step back, her composure slipping.
"Whatever brought them here doesn't change the fact that you're in danger!" Miyuki shouted. "Forget the details and move!"
"No—screw that!" a woman yelled. "If we hand her over, maybe they'll leave us alone!"
Murmurs of agreement spread.
The tension shifted.
Fear turned into blame.
Voices began rising—not in panic, but accusation.
Insults were hurled at Takae.
When Miyuki tried to intervene, they turned on her too—calling her and her father a plague, a curse on the village.
Soon, the crowd became uncontrollable.
"Get out!"
"You don't belong here!"
The chants grew louder.
Relentless.
After repeated attempts to calm them, something in Miyuki snapped.
"I said shut up!!"
Her voice rang out, cutting through the chaos like a blade.
Silence fell.
"We're trying to help you!" she continued, her voice trembling with anger. "And all you're doing is acting like mindless sheep! Can't you think for yourselves for once?!"
"…She's right."
A voice came from the back.
The crowd turned.
Mei sat in a makeshift wheelchair, Juro behind her, one eye covered in bandages.
"These people don't care whether you give her up or not," Mei said calmly. "They won't spare you."
Her gaze hardened.
"Look at us. The same people did this to us—and wiped out our entire village."
A pause.
"What makes you think you're any different?"
"There's still time," Juro added. "While they're holding them back, you can still leave. So stop hesitating."
Silence followed.
No one spoke.
Then—
An old man stepped forward, leaning on a crooked walking stick.
Without a word, he passed them.
Then a woman with a child.
Then two men.
One by one, the crowd began to move.
Quietly.
Slowly.
Until the entire group was walking away.
Miyuki and Takae exhaled in relief as they followed behind, falling in step beside Juro and Mei.
"We're lucky you were here," Miyuki said.
"It's nothing," Mei replied. "I just can't believe you've lived with people this stubborn your whole life."
"Yeah," Juro added. "We didn't have that problem where we're from."
"You don't know the half of it," Miyuki said.
She glanced at Takae—
who was staring ahead, distant.
"Are you okay?" Miyuki asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"I'm fine," Takae replied quietly. Then, after a pause—
"…But what if they're right?"
Miyuki frowned.
"What if I just gave myself up… maybe it would save everyone the trouble."
"What are you saying?!" Miyuki said, gripping her shoulders. "Don't ever think like that. You're not a burden—those idiots just don't know what they're saying."
"That's right," Mei added. "Don't throw yourself away just to satisfy a mob. You're worth more than that."
"But I'm the one they're after…"
"Do you really think we'd hand you over?" Miyuki said firmly. "They'd have to go through all of us first."
A small smile formed on her face.
"I'm sure Yuriko and Izumi feel the same way."
That seemed to reach her.
Takae lowered her gaze slightly.
"…Thanks," she muttered, her voice barely audible.
Mei smiled softly—
but as she looked ahead, she noticed something.
Juro was quiet.
Too quiet.
"Hey… are you okay?" she asked, looking up at him.
Her voice pulled Miyuki and Takae's attention toward him.
Juro blinked, as if snapping back.
"It's nothing," he said, though his tone wavered.
A pause.
"…I just remember… there being three of them."