In an hall hidden deep within the mountainous borderlands, the air burned heavy with the suffocating pressure of power.
One by one, figures enveloped in dense, terrifying auras stepped through the entrance. They moved without a sound, taking their seats on parallel silk cushions lined neatly along the wooden floor.
These were the true rulers of the Sekigahara Confederate—Martial Masters and Martial Sages whose subtle breath alone could rattle the surrounding walls.
"How have you been, Itahaya?"
The voice belonged to Master Seishin, a visibly aged matriarch draped in dark purple robes, sitting directly across the aisle. Her eyes curved into a thin, mocking slant as her gaze lingered on Master Itahaya.
"I must admit, watching your clan survive must be exhausting," Seishin continued passively, fanning herself with a slow, patronizing rhythm. "The numbers of true weapon martial artists grow dwindled by the year. How much longer can the Kinzoku name bear its own weight?"
It was an old insult that every leader in the hall knew the depth of.
Long ago, during the golden era when men fought predominantly with steel, Clan Kinzoku stood as the supreme house of Sekigahara. At the forefront of every historical conflict, their weaponmasters walked the battlefields as near-invincible warrior.
Victory bred power, and Clan Kinzoku expanded continuously until an unforgettable moment shifted the tides of history—the day a legendary Kinzoku swordmaster was struck dead by the bare fist of a lone Martial Apprentice.
That single death birthed the modern age of martial arts.
Sensing the immense, untapped potential of the human vessel, the world gradually abandoned reliance on weapons in favor of cultivating the physical body. As the centuries passed, the number of weapon users withered, and with them, Clan Kinzoku's once-absolute authority shrank.
Yet, adaptation followed decay.
When Clan Head Oda Nobunaga rose to power, he ingeniously fused pure martial arts into traditional weaponry through his legendary Divine Arsenal, breathing vibrant life back into the clan.
But following Nobunaga's infamous betrayal and ultimate death, Kinzoku's influence plummeted once more.
If they were allowed a seat and a voice among the elite councils of Sekigahara today, it was only a privilege born out of reverence for their rich history.
Yet, facing Seishin's petty provocation, Master Iaiashin did not show a sliver of anger.
Instead, a subtle smile curved her lips.
She met Seishin's arrogant gaze head-on and spat back smoothly, "For what we lack in quantity, Master Seishin, we make up for in quality. If you are so concerned with our standing, we will gladly relieve you of your eastern territory during the war games next month."
Seishin's fan snapped shut, her brow twitching in sudden irritation. Before she could spat back in her arrogance, a low, reverberating voice cut through the hall.
"Enough."
Sage Shinken, seated at the head of the chamber, raised a single hand. The ambient pressure in the room spiked instantly, pressing everyone back into silence as Sekigahara's most powerful Sage spoke.
"I want this meeting concluded as quickly as possible," Shinken said coldly, turning his sharp, piercing eyes down the hall. "Master Seishin, Master Iaiashin, save your squabbles for the war games. Now... speak, Patriarch Kokure."
From the shadow of a pillar, a lean man wearing a tight black gi embroidered with a dark crow stepped forward.
Unlike the titans surrounding him, Patriarch Kokure was neither a Martial Master nor a Martial Sage. He was the head of the Nindo Clan—a faction dedicated entirely to espionage, covert intelligence, and assassination. Because of their reliance on shadows rather than direct martial confrontation, the other grand clans openly looked down upon them.
Kokure paid their sneers no mind, lowering his head slightly. "I'll keep it simple. Our operatives have confirmed reports of a possible dungeon."
The revelation landed like thunder.
Gasps echoed down the parallel lines of cushions. Several clan heads leaned forward, their eyes flashing with immediate greed and excitement. Questions instantly erupted across the room.
"Silence!" Sage Shinken's voice boomed, sending a shockwave across the hall. "Quiet down! Kokure, continue!"
Patriarch Kokure nodded calmly. "According to our latest intelligence, the dungeon sits within the uncolonized heartland of the continent, far south of Sekigahara. It lies roughly central between the borders of Kandria and the Sekigahara Confederate—in the region known as the Severian Plateau."
"The Severian Plateau?!" One of the Sages stood up, his massive frame radiating heat. "Why are we sitting here talking?! Let's move immediately!"
Sage Shinken rose from his seat as well, his eyes blazing with intent. "He's right! We have no time to waste before the Kandrians catch wind of it!"
"No, wait! Listen to me!" Kokure insisted, raising both hands to hold his ground against the oppressive pressure of the Sages.
"What is it?!" the Sage barked. "Make it quick! Every second we waste idling here is another second those pathetic Kandrians inch closer to taking it!"
"The dungeon is locked by a natural realm-barrier!" Kokure revealed loudly. "Entry is strictly limited to Martial Apprentices! The entire dungeon structure seems to actively defend itself against higher realms... going so far as to destabilize and destroy its own core structure if a martial artist above the Martial Apprentice realm attempts entry!"
A wave of groans swept through the leaders.
"A realm-locked dungeon?" another leader scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "Then destroy the damn place. If we can't send our powerhouses to claim it, no one gets it."
"Sage Kaze is right," another chimed in. "Why waste resources on an apprentice-level dungeon?"
"Please, just listen!" Kokure pressed urgently. "We have a legitimate chance at completely monopolizing this territory! Based on our calculations, the Martial Apprentices of Sekigahara drastically outnumber and outclass the young generation of Kandria or any surrounding nation! Furthermore, this is no ordinary dungeon—it is a living processing plant that siphons raw energy straight from the Gaia's deep depths and purifies it into highly concentrated and usable forms!"
He took a breath, letting the weight of his final point settle over the room.
"We processed a single stray fruit brought back by our scouts. Within it, we extracted an esoteric material known as Featherblood Mercury. It is one of the core ingredients needed to produce high-grade potions capable of healing critical injuries."
The murmuring stopped instantly.
Healing critical injuries was a holy grail for every major clan and martial artist. Kokure bowed his head slightly, adding, "Think of this as an indispensable resource for our future wars."
The heavy silence stretched until Sage Shinken slowly lowered himself back onto his cushion.
His sharp eyes scanned the faces of the gathered leaders.
"Fine," Shinken conceded, his voice heavy with authority. "It's about time our Martial Apprentices pulled their weight." He looked around the room as Patriarch Kokure let out a long, quiet sigh of relief. "How many Martial Apprentices can your respective clans muster for this campaign?"
Chaos broke out again, though quieter this time, as clan heads summoned their academic aides to review active registries and troop counts.
These people were mainly Martial Artists first, and Clan Heads second.
While others panicked over logistics, Master Itahaya sat comfortably, resting her hand lightly against her chin.
When Shinken's gaze finally landed on her, she spoke up smoothly. "The Kinzoku clan will dispatch roughly one thousand Martial Apprentices for this war... primarily low to mid-grade martial artists, alongside two high-grade apprentices."
Master Iaiashin were different from these brutes as she took the role of Matriarch of Kinzoku quite seriously.
From across the aisle, Master Seishin let out a sharp, mocking scoff. "Only one thousand? And only two high-grades? So, two mid-grade trash by actual martial standards, surrounded by cannon fodder."
Master Itahaya didn't lose her composure. Instead, her soft laugh echoed quietly. "Are you looking to make things interesting, Master Seishin? What about a wager?"
Seishin tilted her head, her smile twisting into pure arrogance. "Hoho... quite bold. I don't usually encourage gambling, Iaiashin, but go ahead. What nonsense are you spouting now?"
"My martial apprentices will perform significantly better than your rabble," Itahaya said calmly.
Seishin's drawn eyebrow rose high on her forehead. "Oh? You must have found some new blood to brag about... Ah, don't tell me. Is it that peasant-born girl you adopted into your household recently? How tragic will it be when my disciples outshine her in every conceivable parameter?"
Seishin leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. "What do you wish to wager?"
Without a word of hesitation, Master Itahaya reached into the sleeve of her white kimono. She pulled out a exquisitely carved, ornate pouch and placed it directly onto the tatami before her.
"My own Fruit... for yours."
Seishin's eyes widened in shock before her mouth widened into a greedy, triumphant grin.
A Fruit from the Tree of healings was Sekigahara's national treasure, capable of restoring any kind of wound continuously for a limited amount of time.
It was the countries' national treasure and its most well-guarded secret. Even Clan Heads only get one each for emergencies.
This was true even for Sekigahara's most powerful Sage, Shinken.
But they did not bar each other from trading, selling or wagering them.
Fearing Itahaya might back out, Seishin immediately reached into her own robes, pulling out a matching embroidered pouch and quickly placed it down onto the floor. "No taking it back! I, Master Seishin, accept your wager!"
SWISH—!
Before either Masters could continue, an invisible current of compressed air swept across the tatami. Both pouches levitated smoothly off the floor, darting across the room and landing directly into the wide palm of Sage Shinken.
"You ladies should really be more careful with treasures of this caliber," Shinken said, closing his hand over both pouches with a faint grunt. "I will act as the impartial witness to this wager. The winner takes both upon the campaign's conclusion."
Both Master Itahaya and Master Seishin bowed their heads respectfully toward the Sage.
As the rest of the council finished reporting their apprentice numbers, Seishin cast a smug, victorious glance toward Itahaya, convinced she had just walked away with two fruits.
Across the aisle, Master Itahaya turned her face slightly away, biting the inside of her cheek to suppress the laugh rising in her chest.
You old fool, Itahaya thought, her eyes glittering with satisfaction.
When Merun had initially made his confession, Itahaya had felt a pang of disappointment and betrayal, realizing his unbelievable traits weren't the result of standard martial training or the legendary Tyrant Strength Body.
But to her surprise, it had proven to be far more of a blessing than a curse.
Merun was Saiyan... an anomaly—something that existed completely outside of the world's established rules and limitations. With his staggering power and unshakeable loyalty to her family, she suddenly held far greater pieces on Sekigahara's grand chessboard than anyone in this hall could ever comprehend.
She needed more time to carefully plan her next grand moves, but for now, stabilizing the estate and letting the campaign play out was the priority.
As for her own ascension to Sagehood... she would simply stick to her original plan. There was no need to rush.
She would wait for the young Ieyasu Tokugawa boy to finally break through into a Martial Master, at which point she could pass down the Divine Arsenal to him and make her ascension.
...If he comes back after leaving the country.
Master Itahaya closed her eyes, tucking her hands gracefully into her white sleeves, eagerly anticipating the day Master Seishin's greed would shatter right in front of her face.
Her pouch had a fake fruit, of course. She'd already invested it into something far more valuable... but it didn't hurt to get another one.