Saturu stood at the peak of Skull Mountain, a place where the air was so thin it burned the lungs and the ground was a grim mosaic of bleached bones and shattered steel. The skeletons of countless failed swordsmen lay scattered around him, a silent testament to the mountain's brutal judgment. Before him, the air shimmered like heat haze, coalescing into the form of the Blade Demon. Its body was a living armory, a monstrous samurai whose flesh was a tapestry of protruding blades and scars earned in endless, timeless battles.
"I give you a choice," the demon's voice rasped, a sound like grinding stone and shearing metal. "Turn back now and live, or face my eternal wrath."
Saturu did not flinch. The howling wind tore at his clothes, but his stance was as unyielding as the mountain itself. "...A true swordsman does not retreat from a challenge," he replied, his voice cutting cleanly through the gale. "Not until I have claimed what I came for."
"So be it. Your ambition will join the others."
The Blade Demon's form swelled, its shadow falling over Saturu as it grew to twice its height. New blades sprouted from its arms with a sound of ringing steel. It moved not with steps, but with a blurring displacement of air, closing the distance between them in the space of a heartbeat. Reacting on pure instinct, Saturu snatched a rusted sword from the skeletal grip of a long-dead master and met the charge.
Their battle erupted across the peak—a cataclysm of clashing steel and brilliant orange sparks. Saturu activated his Authority of Adaptation, his body moving at impossible speeds to deliver dozens of strikes in a single breath. Yet the demon matched him perfectly, its own innate Swordsman Authority reading and countering every move. The very rock beneath their feet fractured under the strain, creating a web of cracks as they fought their deadly dance.
In a burst of motion that defied perception, the demon vanished. It reappeared directly behind Saturu, its blade already in a killing arc. Only centuries of ingrained battle instinct saved him; he twisted his body at the last possible moment, the edge grazing his cheek and drawing a thin line of blood. The sting of the blow ignited a cold fury within him. He charged forward with a roar, but as their blades met again, the rusted sword in his hand could take no more. It shattered into a dozen pieces, leaving him disarmed.
The demon seized the opening. A massive, blade-covered hand shot out, grabbing Saturu by his torso and hurling him across the peak like a discarded toy. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, skidding painfully through a field of bone and sharp rock.
*flashback*
He stood in the quiet sanctuary of Kayon's study, holding the broken fragments of yet another failed blade. Frustration was a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Is it even possible for someone like me to master a sword technique?" he asked, the question laden with doubt.
Kayon took the pieces from him, examining them with a critical eye. "Every sword you touch ends up broken. Your raw spiritual energy is too vast, too volatile for any physical weapon to contain. But there is an alternative path—unarmed martial arts. You must learn to channel that energy directly, to make your own body the weapon."
Saturu's eyes widened as the concept clicked into place. "Now I understand... This is how a sorcerer truly fights in close combat."
"Master this," Kayon said, his tone uncharacteristically grave. "Ingrain these teachings so deeply that they become part of your very soul. In doing so, my knowledge will live on through you."
"You place too much faith in these techniques," Saturu replied, a hint of his old defiance returning. "They will be lost to time, just like everything else..."
In a movement faster than sight, Kayon's hand shot out, gripping Saturu's with terrifying force. "I don't expect you to fail," the sorcerer said, his voice low and intense. His grip tightened relentlessly until two of Saturu's fingers snapped with a sickening crack. "Otherwise, I will hunt you for all eternity."
*flashback ends*
The phantom pain of those breaking bones flared in his hand, bringing with it a wave of perfect clarity. "So that's what he meant," Saturu breathed, pushing himself up from the ground, his resolve hardening. "No more relying on brittle steel. It's time to use his real teachings."
He took a single, measured breath, centering himself. He made a motion toward another fallen sword, a feint to test the demon's reaction. The creature anticipated him, snatching the weapon first and hurling it into the abyss. But Saturu didn't need it anymore. As the demon charged again, a visible aura of pure mana expansion flared around him, crackling with untamed power. He became a blur of motion, meeting the charge not with a block of metal, but with the focused, devastating force of his own will.
The resulting collision was a thunderclap that shook the mountain to its core. As they clashed, Saturu reached deep within, past his rage, past his pain, to the core of his being. He unleashed his ultimate sword skill one final time, but this time, the sword was an extension of his soul. "Sword of Light!"
A blade of pure, incandescent energy materialized in his hand, humming with cosmic power. He drove it forward, piercing straight through the Blade Demon's core. The creature staggered back, its form flickering, beginning to dissolve into motes of fading light.
Suddenly, the mountain peak vanished. They now stood in a featureless, endless white space. The demon's monstrous form was gone, replaced by a humanoid figure clad in simple, dignified samurai attire. Its voice, once a grating roar, was now calm and carried the weight of eons.
"Out of the countless swordsmen I have faced across the ages," the figure said, a note of profound respect in its tone, "none have ever come close to besting me. But today... today I have witnessed my lifelong dream fulfilled. To be truly defeated." It bowed slightly, a gesture of deep honor. "Saturu, I deem you worthy of my authority... my title... my dream. Take care of it."
Back on the rain-swept mountain peak, Saturu stood alone. The storm that perpetually wreathed the summit had broken, and a gentle rain began to fall, washing the dust and blood from the stones. A new sword rested in his hand—a Divine Blade, perfectly balanced, its steel gleaming with an inner light, humming in harmony with his own spirit. As he smoothly sheathed it, a permanent, deeper shade of blue settled into his eyeshadow, a visible mark of his transformation.
His descent was swift. At the mountain's base, a full contingent of Vermillion guards stood waiting, their crimson armor a stark contrast to the grey landscape. Their leader stepped forward, his voice projecting forced confidence.
"Saturu of the Vermillion Clan! Surrender now, or face our collective wrath!"
Saturu didn't bother with a reply. His answer was the soft, definitive shing of his new sword being drawn.
"So be it!" the leader yelled, and the entire unit charged as one.
What followed was not a battle, but a harvest. Saturu blitzed through their ranks, his new blade a silver streak of inevitability. He moved with a terrifying grace, slashing without hesitation or mercy. The air filled with desperate screams cut short and the horrific sound of spraying blood.
"Uwaaahk?!"
In the midst of the carnage, a sudden, violent spike of spiritual energy pierced his awareness—Kayon's energy, flaring with alarming intensity and then faltering. The sensation was a cold shock to his system. Without a second thought for the remaining guards, he broke off, leaping into the trees and vanishing into the forest canopy.
He was a blue streak against the stone and green, moving faster than he ever had before, driven by a dreadful urgency. He burst into the familiar grove where Kayon had promised to wait, but the scene that greeted him stole his breath.
Kayon was slumped against the base of a great tree. A terrible wound glowed in his chest, pulsing with a corrosive, celestial energy that no mortal medicine could ever hope to heal.
"Oh, Saturu... you're here," Kayon rasped, his voice a faint echo of its former strength. "Sorry you have to see me in such a... undignified state."
"You acquired the Divine Blade," Kayon stated, a faint, proud smile touching his bloodless lips. "As I knew you would."
"Who did this to you?" Saturu demanded, kneeling beside him, his hands hovering uselessly over the fatal wound.
"There is no need for that now," Kayon said, coughing up a mouthful of blood that sizzled on the grass.
"Let me help you!" Saturu's voice was raw, a mix of command and plea.
"No need," Kayon waved a frail, dismissive hand. "Live on, Saturu. Live on, my old friend."
"You can't die like this, Kayon! Not after everything!"
"I have lived my whole life running from one fate or another," the sorcerer whispered, his gaze distant. "Now... it's all up to you."
His eyes closed, and his body dissolved not into death, but into a soft, radiant light that rose and scattered on the wind.
Saturu watched, the cold rain mixing with the hot tears streaming down his face. He made no move to wipe them away. "I will keep your promise," he whispered to the empty air. "I swear it."
He stood, his expression hardening into a mask of cold fury. Without a backward glance, he turned and began walking, his steps heavy and deliberate, toward the heart of the Vermillion palace.