Several months had passed since the Shinkon Evaluation. The village of Tsuyoi had changed.
People no longer spoke only of crops, rain, or distant politics. Now, there was another word in the air: hope.
Every morning, a crimson light rose from the nearby mountain, followed by a vibrating distortion in space. The villagers quickly understood that those flashes came from Donyoku and Chisiki's relentless training—under the watchful eye of the stoic Reiji Mikazuki. What few knew was that these sessions walked the line between training and torture.
"Again, Donyoku! Control, not rage!" shouted Reiji, as a red burst of Shinkon sliced a boulder in half.
Donyoku, drenched in sweat, growled through his gasps, his knuckles steaming.
"I am calm… calm!" he lied.
Now, months later, the results of that relentless effort were about to be put to the test.
Tsuyoi's central plaza buzzed with excitement. Wooden benches had been set up, onigiri vendors scrambled to prepare stalls, and the elders were already deep in heated arguments over who would win the duel.
Reiji stood calmly in the center of the training grounds, wearing a loose gray cloak and his hair tied back. Unlike in past sessions, today he wore his ceremonial katana at his side—still sheathed. His Shinkon, subtle and refined, was barely noticeable: a natural pressure, almost elegant, as if the very air respected him.
"They've grown… but I want to see if that growth reached their souls, not just their muscles."
From one corner of the field, a girl's eyes sparkled as she watched him.
"Donyoku!" yelled Aika, her cheeks flushed. "If you win, I-I'll… I'll buy you sweets! For the whole week!"
Hearing that, Donyoku stumbled on his own feet and nearly faceplanted. His Shinkon flickered, confused for a second.
"Y-You idiot! Don't say stuff like that in public!" he barked, his face as red as a tomato.
"Eh? But it's a motivational reward…" Aika crossed her arms.
From the same spot, Donyoku's mother clapped proudly.
"Go, son! Make your father regret it from hell!"
"I bet two servings of rice on you!" shouted one of his younger brothers.
"And I bet you'll trip before the first punch!" joked the youngest.
Donyoku covered his face with a hand but couldn't hide his grin.
"I'm not alone. This time… I'm really not alone."
Next to him, Chisiki rolled his neck from side to side. His aura had changed. Once timid and doubtful, he now stood tall, his eyes gleaming with the conviction of someone who had learned to trust himself. His Spatial Shinkon shimmered over his skin, subtly bending the light around him.
"Reiji-sensei… today I won't hold back. I want to show you how far I've come."
"That's what I want to see, Chisiki," Reiji replied with a slight smile. "But be warned: today I will use my Shinkon. Moderately. If I crush you, it'll be with love."
"You're scared," Donyoku teased. "Admit it."
"Keep talking, Donyoku… and I'll send you flying without touching you."
Chisiki snapped his fingers. A small fissure in space opened, briefly revealing the far side of the field. His control had evolved to the point of warping space effortlessly.
"Let's go."
The atmosphere shifted. The crowd fell silent. And in that moment, with a simple gesture, Reiji signaled the start of the match.
The earth cracked under Donyoku's first step. He didn't run—he surged, a torrent of raw energy. His Soukei, now stable, no longer radiated madness. His crimson aura was firm, focused. Each step left a faint red echo in the air.
Chisiki moved to the flank, his hands sketching nearly invisible patterns. His Spatial Shinkon was no longer just for escape or defense—it was woven into his every movement. Brief distortions flickered open and shut like blurry mirrors, letting him dodge with micro-teleportations that barely left a shadow.
Reiji stood still, gray eyes analyzing everything.
"They're well-synced. If I didn't have experience… I'd already be cornered."
"Now, Donyoku!" shouted Chisiki.
A crimson flare erupted from Donyoku's right fist. No longer a chaotic blaze, it now resembled a precise lance of energy wrapping around his arm.
Reiji drew his katana slowly, as if performing a sacred ritual.
"Shinkon: Hakumei no Michi (Path of Dusk)," he whispered.
At that moment, gravity on the field changed. The ground felt heavier, the air denser. The audience struggled to breathe. Reiji's Shinkon wasn't destructive—it was commanding, as if the world itself bowed to his will.
Donyoku struck. His Soukei-wrapped punch clashed with Reiji's still-sheathed blade, and a circular shockwave blasted outward. Trees in the background swayed as though struck by an invisible thunderclap.
"He's still using the sheath?! He's underestimating us!" growled Donyoku.
"No. I'm protecting you," Reiji replied, spinning and slicing the air.
A gray line—pure cutting will—shot toward Chisiki.
But Chisiki was no longer that doubtful boy. His body dissolved into a glowing fissure and reappeared behind Reiji in the blink of an eye.
"Now, Donyoku!"
Donyoku turned sharply, unleashing his Soukei like a flaming claw—and for one brief second, just one—they were about to land a perfect combo.
But Reiji, as if he'd foreseen it before they were even born, smiled.
"You fell for it."
With a flourish, Reiji released a sudden wave of his Shinkon. Space compressed like the world itself took a deep breath inward. Both were thrown back. Chisiki stumbled—just enough for a sheathed blade to press against his neck.
Donyoku tried to recover, but Reiji was already behind him, blade pointing at his spine.
Silence.
"You're dead," said Reiji coldly. Then lowered his katana. "But only for today."
The crowd was stunned into silence… until Donyoku's mom broke it:
"He got that move from his father! Falling with style runs in the family!"
Everyone burst into laughter. Aika clapped excitedly, though clearly annoyed by the loss.
"Donyoku, you dummy! I was going to buy you sweets—now it's just stale bread!"
"E-Eh?! Blame Reiji-sensei! He fights like some elegant old man!"
Reiji crossed his arms, stoic. But inside, he was impressed.
"That final combo… if they'd been just a little faster, dodging without drawing might've been impossible."
He looked at the two boys—sweaty, panting… and smiling.
"You're ready for the next step. Very few can synchronize their Shinkon like that. But you still need to perfect one thing: don't doubt each other. Not for a second. The enemy won't give you that pause."
Chisiki nodded, still out of breath.
"We understand… Reiji-sensei."
Donyoku only growled, but clenched his fist in respect.
"We'll do better next time."
For the first time in ages, Reiji felt something stir in his chest. Pride. But also… fear.
"What if they surpass me someday...? No. When they surpass me… the world will change."
---
Location: Royal Palace of Hokori – Council Chamber
A sacred hall of black and red marble, draped in ancient banners. A grand circular table bearing the Kingdom's crest stood at the center. Seated around it: ministers, generals, Kenshiro Gai—the War King—and to the left of the throne, a man with closed eyes and an expressionless face: the King's Guardian, known only as Kyomu (虚無 – "The Void").
The chamber doors creaked open. Two soldiers entered, dragging a filthy, beaten man in chains. No one recognized him at first. His face was covered in fresh scars, uniform in tatters, hair long and matted. But when one of the ministers leaned in to get a better look, his voice cracked.
"Is… is that him? Kagero?"
The silence grew heavier. No one had spoken that name in months. He was believed dead in some village—or worse, a deserter. But there he was: Captain Kagero, who vanished after being sent to monitor the interior provinces.
"He was found in the slave market of Kutsuu," reported one soldier, eyes down. "Sold three times… no one knows how he survived."
Kagero collapsed to his knees before the great table of black and red marble. He could barely stand. His lips trembled, but his voice burst out with strange fury—desperate and shaking.
"That man… he wasn't just a clumsy drifter! He was a killer—disguised as a fool!" His scream echoed off the walls, but no one moved. "He took my sword like it was a stick. Disarmed me—without even looking at me!"
The ministers exchanged silent glances. Some frowned. Others simply listened.
"He didn't even use his Shinkon! And still… STILL he humiliated me!"
A dark energy crept along the walls. The air turned bitter, as if the palace itself had been insulted. Yodaku stood slowly. The light around him wavered. The floor creaked. His dormant Shinkon began leaking into the room like a beast awakening.
"You kneel before us," said Yodaku, his voice softer than wind, "just to dress up your defeat in poetry and excuses?"
Kagero swallowed hard. A tear rolled down his blackened face.
"I'm only telling… the truth."
"No," Yodaku interrupted. "The only truth here… is that you've disgraced the uniform you wear. You've shamed the banner of Hokori. Don't speak to us of monsters, Captain. You became one yourself—only weak. And weak monsters have no place in this world."
With a slight wave, he had him dragged away. No one dared speak. Kagero vanished into the shadows—perhaps where he had always belonged.
The King of Hokori sat on his elevated throne, staring into a wine cup with the calm of someone watching a distant storm.
"A man with no soul," he finally said. "No technique. No glory. No name. And yet, he brought down one of our officers, left an entire unit in the dirt… and survived the markets of Kutsuu."
His voice was soft, almost like a private reflection spoken aloud.
"Isn't that… fascinating?"
The chamber stayed silent. Only Kenshiro Gai, leaning on his metal arm, observed with his usual indifference. Beside the throne, the Guardian remained motionless. He didn't speak. He didn't even look. It was said his soul no longer lived in his body—and that his power could stop wars before they began.
The King turned slightly to one of the minor ministers.
"Contact Sabaku," he ordered. "I want a special group."
His fingers toyed with the rim of the cup.
"One with a Shinkon of distortion. One who's mastered their Ketsuho to the limit. And one… whose Soukei has rotted so deeply that their soul barely clings on."
"Objective, Your Majesty?" asked the minister, voice fragile.
"Don't kill him," the King replied with a faint smile. "Not yet. I want to see him fight. I want to see him fall. I want to see him choose—his soul… or his life."
Yodaku chuckled quietly.
"If he survives, perhaps he's worth something. If he dies… just another rotten leaf fallen from the tree."
The ministers nodded. The order was sealed. The name Hikaru, still unknown to the world, had just been marked for the hunt.
And the Kingdom of Hokori prepared to watch—not with fear. But with hunger.
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Thank you for reading this chapter of Chi no Yakusoku.
If you enjoyed it, don't forget to follow for the next step in this dark blood oath.