The Kandrian assault was an overwhelming success.
That was the conclusion reached on both sides of the battlefield.
For Kandria, the operation had accomplished nearly everything it had set out to do. Their assault force withdrew safely back into Kandrian-controlled territory after inflicting severe casualties on Sekigahara's high-grade Martial Apprentices and damaging several sections of their fortifications.
Their own losses were minimal by comparison.
The Kandrian Martial Union rewarded the participating Martial Apprentices accordingly. Performance evaluations were submitted, bonuses were distributed according to individual contribution, and the results of the operation were forwarded to Kandrian command.
Sekigahara received a very different report.
Sergeant Mindow stared at the papers in his hands.
His expression darkened with every line.
He deployed Sixty-three high-grade Martial Apprentices to intercept the Kandrian assault force before it reached the fortress.
What returned was barely recognizable as the same unit.
The dead alone were enough to make his blood boil.
The wounded made it worse.
Broken bones. Ruptured organs. Severe concussions. Crippled limbs. Several Martial Apprentices remained unconscious despite emergency treatment, while others had suffered injuries severe enough to remove them from the campaign entirely.
And that was before accounting for the damage to the fortress itself.
The Kandrian siege vehicles had forced Sekigahara's artillery batteries to expend enormous amounts of ammunition. Defensive positions had been damaged, several emplacements required immediate repair, and the interception force that should have prevented Kandria from freely operating near their territory had been mauled.
All for what?
Kandria had already withdrawn with minimal losses.
Objectives accomplished.
Mindow slammed the report onto the table.
BAM!
The aides standing around him went silent.
"Sixty-three."
Nobody answered.
Mindow pointed at the casualty figures.
"I sent sixty-three high-grade Martial Apprentices outside those walls."
One of his aides shifted uncomfortably.
"Sir, the Kandrian assault force appears to have possessed several combatants whose capabilities significantly exceeded our estimates."
"No shit."
The man immediately shut his mouth.
Mindow grabbed another report.
The same descriptions appeared over and over again.
A maneuvering specialist who seemingly disappeared from people's awareness.
A masked Martial Apprentice whose Martial Art nobody could properly explain.
And among the Sekigaharan casualties was Yoshimoto Seishin.
The Grade Ten, Yoshimoto Seishin!
One of the strongest Martial Apprentices Sekigahara had deployed to the Severian Plateau.
Defeated.
Thankfully, not killed.
According to the preliminary battlefield report, Yoshimoto had been rendered unconscious by the masked Kandrian and would likely have been killed afterward if the mysterious armored swordsman hadn't intervened.
Mindow's fingers tightened around the paper.
"Where's Yoshimoto?"
"Medical ward, sir."
"Conscious?"
"He regained consciousness approximately twenty minutes ago."
Mindow was already walking.
"Go get Intelligence."
His aides hurried after him.
"And someone from the analyst department."
"Yes, sir."
Mindow shoved open the door.
"We're going to find out who the fuck did this."
.
.
.
The medical ward smelled of blood, disinfectant and medicinal herbs.
Nearly every available bed was occupied.
Physicians and assistants moved between injured Martial Apprentices while trays of medicine, healing compounds and bloodied bandages passed in the opposite direction.
Some injuries were relatively minor while others weren't.
Mindow passed a young Martial Apprentice whose entire torso had been wrapped in bandages. Another had lost an arm below the elbow. Several remained unconscious while physicians worked over them.
His anger bubbled inside as he continued walking.
"Lord Yoshimoto is this way, sir."
They reached a quieter section of the ward.
Yoshimoto Seishin was awake.
Bandages wrapped around his torso, and bruising covered one side of his face. Several medicinal patches had been placed over his injuries, while one particularly ugly bruise had swollen along his jaw.
Considering he'd been kicked unconscious, he looked remarkably good.
His eyes moved toward Mindow.
"Sergeant Mindow."
"Lord Yoshimoto."
Yoshimoto noticed the intelligence officers behind him.
His lips curved faintly.
"Ah."
He shifted against the bed.
"Here to ask how I got my ass kicked?"
"Yes."
Yoshimoto stared at him for a second.
"...Fair enough."
Mindow pulled a chair closer to the bed.
An intelligence officer opened a notebook.
"We need everything you can tell us about the masked Kandrian."
Yoshimoto's amusement faded.
"Everything?"
"Everything useful."
Yoshimoto leaned his head against the pillow.
For several seconds, he considered the question.
"He was strong."
Mindow's expression flattened.
Yoshimoto chuckled as he looked toward the ceiling.
"Physically, I don't think he was stronger than me. At least, it didn't feel that way. My strikes had more power. My wind could overpower easily."
"Then why did you lose?"
Yoshimoto opened his mouth and nothing came out.
He frowned.
"He... figured me out?"
The pen began moving.
"Explain."
Yoshimoto raised one hand.
"He couldn't reach me at first. I kept throwing him back. He tried approaching several times, failed, then started changing how he approached."
Yoshimoto paused.
"He used compressed air to propel himself. Feints. Changed direction. Eventually, he got through."
"And in close combat?"
"I thought I'd still have him."
Yoshimoto sighed.
The analyst continued writing.
"But..."
The smile slowly disappeared.
"I'm not sure what happened, but his dodges became smoother and smoother right until I apparently got knocked out."
Yoshimoto looked down at his hand.
"That's basically the entire fight."
Yoshimoto shrugged.
"Timing. Footwork. Defense. How he received my strikes. When he attacked. Where he attacked. Every time I thought I understood what he was doing, he'd change something."
"He kept getting better."
"He kept getting better against me."
Yoshimoto looked down.
His hand was trembling.
He closed it into a fist as the trembling stopped.
Mindow's expression remained unchanged.
Yoshimoto looked away.
"He just adapted. That's all."
His voice was calm... almost dismissive.
"He was an unusually talented Martial Artist with some kind of adaptive Martial Art. I lost. It happens."
His fist began trembling again.
Yoshimoto's brows furrowed at the sight.
This was ridiculous!
He had lost fights before.
He had been hurt worse than this before.
There was nothing unusual about being defeated by a stronger Martial Artist.
Except...
Yoshimoto's mind returned to those black eyes.
Watching him.
There had been no hatred in them. They just stared with no panic. No desperation.
As if it wanted a little more information.
A little more understanding.
Yoshimoto couldn't explain why remembering that made another shiver crawl across his body.
He clenched his jaw.
"What the hell...?"
A physician stepped closer.
"Lord Yoshimoto?"
"I'm fine."
The physician looked at his hand.
Yoshimoto immediately lowered it onto the blanket deep in thought.
Mindow's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"What are you afraid of?"
Yoshimoto looked at him.
"I'm not."
The answer came immediately as Mindow glanced toward his trembling hand.
Yoshimoto followed his gaze.
His expression darkened.
"It was strange."
"How?"
"I don't know."
Mindow waited.
Yoshimoto searched for the words.
"It felt..."
Yoshimoto stopped.
The room remained quiet.
"Almost like..."
Those black eyes stared back at him.
"...staring into an abyss."
The analyst's pen stopped as Mindow stared at Yoshimoto.
Mindow looked back toward the casualty reports his aide carried beneath one arm.
"Pathetic."
Yoshimoto frowned.
"Excuse me?"
Mindow stood, preparing to leave.
"Whatever he does, he's still a Martial Apprentice."
Yoshimoto's jaw tightened.
One of his aides moved closer.
"Sir."
Mindow glanced toward him.
The aide leaned down and lowered his voice.
"We've begun interviewing the other survivors who engaged the masked Kandrian."
"And?"
"There's a problem."
Mindow's eyes narrowed.
"Their testimonies conflict."
Yoshimoto looked toward them.
The aide continued quietly.
"One described him primarily as a striker. Another insisted his greatest strength was his defensive technique. One described a grappling exchange. Others reported kicks, evasive maneuvering and techniques that don't appear in several other accounts."
Mindow frowned.
"You're sure they're describing the same man?"
The aide hesitantly nodded.
"But their descriptions of his fighting style are simply... different."
Yoshimoto's trembling stopped for a moment.
His eyes sharpened.
"That's him."
Everyone looked at him.
Yoshimoto swallowed. "That's what I'm trying to tell you."
He stared at Mindow.
Mindow turned toward the analysts as he sighed.
"Abyss."
One blinked.
"Sir?"
"We need something to call the bastard until we have a name."
Mindow glanced toward Yoshimoto.
"Abyss will do."
Yoshimoto stared at him.
"You're naming him after something I said?"
"Yes."
"I'm going to have to hear people call him that now, aren't I?"
"Yes. Let it remind you of your loss today. Disappointing performance, Lord Yoshimoto."
Yoshimoto groaned and covered his eyes with one hand.
"Wonderful."
Mindow ignored him.
"Cross-reference every Kandrian Martial Apprentice in our records. Tournament appearances, Martial Union records, military deployments, public fights, anything we have access to."
"Yes, sir."
"I want every surviving account compared."
Mindow began walking toward the door.
"If the reports contradict each other, find out why."
The analysts followed.
"And the other Kandrian."
"The maneuvering specialist?"
"The one who keeps disappearing."
"Understood."
Mindow stopped.
"I want names."
"Yes, sir."
He continued out of the ward.
Mindow barely made it twenty meters down the corridor before another familiar face approached from the opposite direction.
Orange hair.
Mikan Furutsu.
The two noticed each other as Mikan gave him a polite nod.
"Sergeant."
Mindow returned the bare minimum acknowledgement before walking past her.
Mikan watched him disappear around the corner.
"...dick."
She continued toward the medical ward.
.
.
.
Yoshimoto was still staring at his hand when someone knocked against the frame of the door.
He looked up.
Mikan stood at the entrance, one shoulder resting against the frame as she looked him over. Her eyes traveled from the bandages around his torso to the swelling along his jaw.
"You look like shit."
Yoshimoto stared at her for a moment before a smile tugged at his lips.
"Lady Mikan. How kind of you to visit."
"I came to make sure my rival didn't die before I got to fight him."
"You jest, I was nowhere near death."
Mikan walked into the room and stopped beside his bed. Seeing him awake and talking normally eased the small knot she'd carried with her since watching him fall.
He looked terrible, but he'd live.
That was enough.
Yoshimoto noticed her looking and gave her a tired smile.
"You lost to someone else," Mikan said. "You still owe me a fight."
For a second, he simply looked at her.
Then his smile grew a little wider.
"I suppose I do."
Mikan glanced at the bandages covering him.
"Just try not to get your ass kicked again before then."
Yoshimoto chuckled, immediately regretted it and pressed a hand against his ribs.
"Ow."
Mikan grinned.
"Serves you right. Didn't you tell me getting your ass kicked was impossible?"
"I may have been slightly overconfident."
"Slightly?"
Mikan snorted.
For a little while, neither said anything.
Yoshimoto leaned back against his pillow while Mikan glanced around the ward. Several beds away, physicians were still moving between injured Martial Apprentices. The aftermath of the battle surrounded them even here.
His expression slowly became more serious.
"Lady Mikan."
"Hm?"
"The armored swordsman."
Her attention immediately returned to him.
Yoshimoto noticed the tiny change in her expression.
"He saved my life, didn't he?"
Mikan nodded.
"Yeah."
Yoshimoto remembered very little after losing consciousness, but the reports had filled in enough. The masked Kandrian had been about to finish him when that enormous greatsword came flying across the battlefield.
Then its owner had stepped between them.
"I owe him."
"You do."
"Who is he?"
Mikan went silent, then she straightened and put on an uncomfortably serious expression
"You will know in time."
Yoshimoto blinked.
"That's all I'm permitted to say."
"...What?"
Mikan turned toward the door.
"Anyway, you're alive. My work here is done."
"Lady Mikan."
"Recover quickly."
"Lady Mikan."
"We still have a fight."
"Lady Mikan Furutsu."
She raised one hand without looking back.
"Bye-bye."
Then she walked out.
Yoshimoto stared after her.
The doorway remained empty.
"...What the hell does that mean?"
He leaned back against his pillow.
Apparently Mikan knew the man.
Or knew enough that she wasn't allowed to talk about him.
Yoshimoto frowned.
An enormous armored Martial Apprentice had appeared from nowhere, saved his life, fought two of Kandria's strongest Martial Apprentices at the same time and wielded... Blooming Blade?
That was interesting.
Very interesting.
Yoshimoto made a mental note to bother Mikan about it again once he was out of this bed.
Then his thoughts returned to the other man.
His amusement faded.
Abyss.
He still hated the name.
Yoshimoto looked down at his hand, remembering those black eyes.
His fingers trembled as he frowned.
"...Again?"
He clenched his fist.
The trembling continued.
Yoshimoto stared at it, more irritated than frightened.
He understood why Mindow had taken his words and turned them into a codename. He still didn't understand why he'd said them. Or why some part of him felt they were right.
"Abyss..."
Yoshimoto stared toward the window.
Somewhere beyond the walls and jungle, the Kandrians were already back in their territory.
Would he meet that man again?
His stomach tightened.
Yoshimoto frowned at the sensation.
He was supposed to want a rematch.
A powerful opponent. An unusual Martial Art. Someone who had defeated him and given him another height to overcome.
That should have excited him.
A Sekigaharan would rather die than to be humiliated... right?
Instead, his body gave another small shiver.
Yoshimoto clicked his tongue.
"...Fuck."
.
.
.
.
Several hours later, Sergeant Mindow was back in his office.
The investigation had made some progress. Reports from surviving Martial Apprentices continued to arrive, and the Sekigaharan Martial Consortium was cross-referencing every description with its records of known Kandrian combatants.
One of Mindow's aides placed a file on his desk.
"We've identified the maneuvering specialist, sir."
Mindow immediately opened it.
The photograph showed a young man with bright green hair and equally vivid green eyes. He possessed a lean, lightweight frame, the sort of body one might expect from a Martial Artist who valued speed over everything else.
"Kane Arrancar," Mindow read.
"Yes, sir. The identification is certain."
That made sense. Unlike Abyss, Kane hadn't concealed his face. His Martial Path was also distinctive enough to narrow the search considerably.
According to the report, Kane was an extreme evasive maneuvering specialist. His Martial Art sacrificed raw power and durability for extraordinary travel speed, agility and maneuverability. Survivor testimony also matched techniques in existing records, particularly his ability to seemingly vanish from human perception while remaining in motion.
Then Mindow reached his family information.
He stopped.
"Damian Arrancar?"
"Yes, sir."
Mindow looked up.
"The Devil?"
His aide nodded.
Of course Mindow knew the name.
Damian Arrancar was the head of the Arrancar Martial Household, leader of Kandria's Fire Sect and one of the most powerful Martial Sages in Panama. He was a strategic threat Sekigahara would very much prefer remained safely inside Kandrian territory.
His son was another matter entirely.
Mindow looked back at Kane's photograph.
"Kandria sent the Devil's son."
He tossed the file onto the desk.
At least that mystery was solved.
"And Abyss?"
"Still unidentified, sir."
Mindow's expression soured.
The mask wasn't their only problem. The surviving testimonies continued contradicting one another on what kind of Martial Artist Abyss actually was. Until the analysts found some common thread between those accounts, they had far too many possible candidates.
"Keep looking. Somebody has fought him before."
"Yes, sir."
Mindow leaned back before another thought occurred to him.
"What about the armored swordsman?"
His aide hesitated.
"We still have no identification."
Mindow stared at him.
"The giant in full armor carrying a greatsword almost as large as himself?"
"...Yes, sir."
"And somehow he's harder to identify than the masked man?"
"We have no matching records."
Mindow rubbed his forehead.
"Did you ask the Kinzoku?"
"We did. They are adamant that they don't know him."
Mindow's hand stopped.
"Bullshit."
Multiple witnesses had seen Kinzoku Martial Apprentices recognize the man's swordsmanship. Some had openly called out the names of his techniques during the fight.
Yet none of them knew who he was?
"What about Lady Mikan?"
"She said she wasn't permitted to discuss him."
Mindow slowly looked up.
"...Not permitted, huh?"
"Those were her words."
That made even less sense.
The Kinzoku claimed ignorance, while Iaiashin's adopted daughter apparently knew enough to be forbidden from talking about him.
Then there was the swordsmanship.
Mindow had received multiple reports claiming the armored man wielded techniques belonging to Itahaya Iaiashin herself.
He clicked his tongue.
He was beginning to regret taking Master Seishin's side in that stupid wager.
Who knew that old hag Iaiashin had been hiding such a sharp knife all these years?
That man was probably the most powerful Martial Apprentice in all of Sekigahara!
"Continue investigating him. Quietly."
"Yes, sir."
Mindow waved him away.
"You may leave."
The aide had barely gathered his papers when the door suddenly slammed open.
BANG!
An analyst rushed inside, breathing heavily with a file clutched in his hand.
Mindow glared at him.
"What?"
"Sir, we found him!"
Mindow immediately straightened.
"The armored man?"
"No, sir. Abyss!"
The analyst hurried to the desk and dropped the file in front of him.
"We changed the search parameters. Instead of looking for a Martial Artist matching one of the reported styles, we searched for Kandrian Martial Apprentices known for fighting without a consistent style at all."
Mindow's eyes narrowed.
"And?"
"We found a match."
He opened the file.
A photograph of a young man with black hair and pitch-black eyes stared back at Mindow.
The analyst pointed toward the name.
"We know who Abyss is."
Mindow lowered his gaze.
"Rui Quarrier."
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A/N.
Go ahead and comment, if you were a martial artist, specifically, a NON-Saiyan Martial Artist in Gaia:
Appearance: How you would be described.
Martial Art Classification: (Ex. Offense-Oriented Martial Art)
Description of Martial Art: A detailed breakdown of your individual fighting style. (Ex. A direct, high-impact striking style focused on palms inflicting heavy kinetic transfer, vital strikes, and pressing forward momentum)
Technique Inventory: 3-4 Martial Art techniques you have learned or mastered that best describes your martial style.
Personal Affinities: Your specific combat preferences, affinities, and technical focus (Ex. Prefers close-quarters combat (CQC), high-power body blows, and linear gap-closing maneuvers)
I may include them if they fit the narrative and maybe become friendly characters or those that die.
Thanks for reading!