The first light of dawn was only a hint on the horizon, yet the air already felt weighted, saturated with the salt of the sea and the ghostly hush of the forest.
Cicadas buzzed in the distance, their droning more insistent than usual, as if the island itself sensed the day was different.
Nero found Mu and Zen waiting outside the dojo, just as they had promised.
The two sat cross-legged by a low table, the delicate steam from a shared teapot curling in the morning chill.
The moment felt ritualistic, quiet and solemn, as if something old and sacred was about to be honored.
He joined them, folding himself into the silence. Neither Mu, nor Zen spoke at first.
Mu poured the tea with precise, meditative movements.
Zen reclined with one leg slung over his knee, fingers tapping out a nervous pattern that betrayed more worry than his face ever would.
Nero cradled the teacup, savoring the bitter warmth.
He knew what today meant, not just for him, but for the unspoken trust that had grown between them.
He'd asked for this. He'd insisted.
But now, with the moment looming, the weight pressed down harder than he expected.
Mu broke the silence, his voice as steady as the mountains. "You still want to go?"
Nero nodded, his gaze unwavering. "As I said yesterday, if I'm going to push my limits, I need to do it for real.
There's only so much you can learn sparring with friends, or fighting in a school tournament.
I need the real thing. Danger. Consequences."
A long breath.
Mu's hands wrapped around his cup as he began the story, voice low and grave.
"The Shatterveil is an island shrouded in magic.
Its edges slip on maps, its heart always hidden.
A few centuries ago, it was the site of a magical war.
Hundreds of clans, rogue wizards, and forbidden spells, raging to acquire a cursed legacy.
They further broke the land in their battles.
The magic was so thick and violent it left the place twisted. Half-living, half-cursed."
Zen took over, a storyteller's cadence in his voice.
"No country governs it now. There's no law, just chaos.
The land is split between a warlord, madmen, and the unlucky.
Some were criminals, banished for crimes too severe or shameful for any prison.
There were murderers, black market warlocks, rogue Animagi, and those whose only sin was standing on the wrong side of a political purge.
Others had fled justice after a betrayal in the high courts of magic.
There were even former Aurors, broken by war, who'd chosen exile over facing their own demons. Most…don't survive.
But not everyone had been chased there.
Some crossed the Shatterveil's threshold willingly, drawn by whispers of forbidden knowledge or relics thought lost to history.
Treasure-seekers and would-be alchemists, cultists obsessed with unlocking the island's magical scars, and scholars desperate enough to risk their sanity for a glimpse of power.
Some became scavengers, haunting the ruins for scraps of spellcraft or enchanted artifacts, anything to buy another day of survival or, with luck, a way to escape.
Others simply stayed for the fight.
They came for the lawless chaos, the challenge of living where death stalked every shadow, the grim thrill of testing themselves against monsters and each other.
It was a place where the weak were weeded out quickly, and only the most ruthless or cunning endured.
Over time, a kind of society emerged from the wreckage, a brutal underworld shaped by the desperation of those the world had cast aside.
Factions fractured and alliances shifted, every bond was a calculation, every promise sharpened by the knowledge that betrayal might be a necessity tomorrow."
Zen's tone was edged with something close to respect, or maybe warning.
"The people who live there aren't like us," he said.
"They've spent years where every day might be their last.
Some have forgotten what mercy feels like.
The longer you stay, the more you have to become like them, just to survive."
Mu nodded. "And the beasts are as bad as the people.
Some are the results of magical experiments gone wrong, others are ancient monsters drawn to the carnage.
And there are those who used to be human, twisted by the ambient curses until their bodies and minds broke.
They say the worst ones still remember who they once were.
Some hunt in packs. Some haunt the ruins.
Some are only shadows, watching, waiting for a crack in your defenses."
Zen grimaced, rubbing his jaw.
"And then you've got the Black Talons. The most dangerous group out there.
Led by Malrik the Hollow. Rumor is that he has reached the grandmaster level.
Built his fortress on the bones of a ruined city.
No one goes near unless they've got a death wish.
His people kill for fun, or just because they're bored."
Mu's voice grew quieter, but colder. "Malrik is a monster by choice. If you cross his path, don't hesitate, run, disappear, do whatever it takes to get out of his sight."
He paused, letting the weight of that advice settle.
"As for the Black Talons… treat them like you would any predator. Don't draw their attention. Don't challenge them unless you have no other option. If you see them first, make sure they never see you."
Zen nodded grimly. "They're the worst scum humanity's got. Don't ever expect mercy from a Black Talon, they won't give you the chance. If you can avoid them, do it. But if you have no choice but to fight…don't hesitate. Don't hold back. Go for the kill, because they absolutely will."
Nero absorbed the warning. "Understood. Is there anything else I should know?"
They traded glances.
Mu spoke again, voice almost conspiratorial. "The land itself fights you. Magic is unstable there. Some spells cannot be channeled, some streets lead nowhere, others change overnight.
There are areas where the air's thick with old magic, making your head spin, or your memories slip. There are forests where time loops, rivers that show you your own death."
Zen's fingers drummed faster. "And then there are the mana storms. When they hit, you don't want to be above ground. Raw magic tears through everything, it kills, warps, wipes places clean.
Survivors built shelters underground. The monsters outside? They thrive in the chaos."
Nero set his cup down, mind racing through plans. "So don't trust anyone. Stay out of sight. Keep moving. Hide when the storm comes. Is that all?"
"Never all," Zen said with a crooked grin. "But it's a start."
For a moment, the only sound was the wind through the trees and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs.
Then Mu stood, straightening his robe. "It's time."
They walked together through the sleeping school grounds, following a path rarely used, its stones covered in moss and old runes.
The cicadas faded, the forest closing in as the path narrowed and twisted.
Occasionally, they passed shrines, old, half-forgotten, the paint faded and charms worn thin by salt and rain.
Zen muttered words under his breath at each, touching a talisman here, a carved fox statue there.
The trail grew steeper, the ground turning to jagged stone.
The trees thinned, revealing the open sky and the endless sweep of the ocean below.
The wind picked up, sharp and biting, carrying with it the tang of sea spray and wild, untamed magic.
At the very edge of the cliff, the portal waited.
This one pulsed, a ragged oval of silver-blue light, its edges sparking and warping the air around it.
It looked like a living wound torn in the world, a hungry mouth that promised nothing but uncertainty.
Mu stopped a few paces back, his eyes fixed on the swirling magic.
"This portal's been here since the end of the war. Anchored by too many deaths. Anyone with enough magic can find it, if they know where to look. You'll be alone on the other side."
Zen snorted, but there was affection in his voice. "If you die, I'll go through your notebooks. Maybe I'll learn some of your secrets like that."
Nero managed a half-smile. "If you can understand my handwriting, you deserve whatever secrets you find."
Mu extended a hand, grip strong, warm, grounding. "One month, Nero. No rescue, no contact. Don't die, and come back to us."
Nero shook his hand, then turned to Zen, who pulled him into a brief, rough hug.
"I know that you're built differently, but don't try to be a hero. Surviving is enough."
He nodded, and muttered "I will be back Mu, Zen."
As he stepped through the portal, Nero became aware of the silence.
No birds, no insects, just the wind and the low, endless hum from the portal.
He stepped forward, alone this time, feeling the weight of both lives pressing down: the expectations of his teachers, the lessons from his past world, and his own hunger for tangible growth.
He paused at the threshold.
For a heartbeat, the world felt poised, waiting.
He took one last deep breath, let the cold air settle into his lungs, and pushed away every thought except for the singular certainty of his decision.
He stepped through.
The world shuddered.
Magic clawed at his skin, cold and wild, a mindless hunger searching for a weakness.
Then, the sensation faded.
The wind died.
The world changed.
And the Shatterveil swallowed him whole.
—————————————————————
Back on the cliff, Mu spoke first, his voice quiet.
Mu spoke, his voice quiet. "He's gone…"
Zen stood quietly for a moment before answering, his voice lower than usual.
"I hope he comes back in one piece."
Mu didn't look away from the spot where Nero had stood.
"We cannot intervene with the Shatterveil. He will truly be on his own in there.
No backup. No guidance. Only his will, his instincts… and the strength he's built."
Zen glanced at Mu, then back to the empty space where Nero had vanished.
"All we can do now is believe in him. He's come a long way since we first saw him step foot in Japan."
Mu gave a small nod. "His growth has been… staggering."
Zen smirked faintly, folding his arms. "That's this kid's specialty, surprising people.
I'm curious to see what kind of heart attack he'll give us next."
He paused, then added more seriously,
"Still. Albus is as scary as ever. To think he anticipated this possibility a year ago."
Mu finally turned to him, nodding.
"Indeed. That conversation changed everything. Without it, we would have probably sent him to a place with much less bloodshed and tragedies."
He glanced back toward the pulsing light of the portal.
"He must have an immense faith in Nero's character, to grant his blessing for such a thorn-covered path."
Zen exhaled through his nose. "Yes. To think Albus would make that kind of call…
In his younger days, definitely. But when was the last time we saw him take this sort of forward approach?"
Mu's tone was thoughtful. "He seemed conflicted, even as he said it. But the resolve was there.
Not just trust… but belief that the boy will return stronger, not broken, or worse."
Zen's smirk softened. "Guess we're not the only ones believing in him."
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50 chapters ahead on Patreon (Suiijin): Chapter 190: The Pressure of Power