Ichigo Furutsu had left Owari at dawn.
With her injured little brother already looking much better and her dear mother finally recovering from her illness, she thought it was the best time to join the clan.
All those nights she spent recovering from the aftermath of that hunt were spent in a never ending nightmare. One where she was powerless to protect her family as she watched a large beast eat them one by one.
She needed to go.
She needed to seek power.
Not just for her family, but for herself.
To attain great strength is a responsibility.
The road from Owari to Gifu was wide and packed hard by centuries of feet, carts, and hooves. Merchants traveled in convoys. Armed escorts walked with hands never straying far from their hilts. Even peasants here wore better cloth than those back home. Patched, yes, but clean and purposeful.
The clattering and rattling of refined metals and esoteric ores inside the carts was loud. They were traveling toward Gifu, after all, the fortified fortress of the Kinzoku Clan, led by families specialized in Weapon Arts.
The fortress city was hailed as the weapons capital of all Sekigahara.
Ichigo walked alone.
Her pack was light: dried meat, a waterskin, spare wraps, and her father's katana. The same sword she had used to fight the mother boar. The same sword that had shown her, brutally, how lacking she was.
The city revealed itself after noon.
Gifu rose from the plains like a wall of iron and stone, banners snapping in the wind. Towers loomed above tiled roofs. Smoke rose in clean, straight lines. Controlled. Organized.
Guards at the gates wore black and green lacquered armor stamped with clan sigils. Kinzoku steel. Realms varied. Some areas only had Apprentices and Squires, while one sector held a single, powerful aura belonging to a Martial Senior.
The Iron Clan, Kinzoku.
Ichigo slowed her steps.
This wasn't Owari. No one looked away here. No one pretended not to see her. Guards watched her openly, eyes flicking to her sword, her stance, the way she walked.
A peasant with a blade was never invisible.
At the gate, a clerk asked her business.
"Martial Apprentice. Seeking duel tags," Ichigo said, her voice steady.
The man blinked, then laughed. "You and half the hopefuls."
He waved her through. "Good luck, young lady. Welcome to Gifu."
Inside, Gifu swallowed her whole.
The streets were wide but crowded, martial artists everywhere. Apprentices sparred openly in courtyards. It was lively and loud. Vendors hawked weapon oils, talismans, and manuals locked behind glass. The clanging of metal and the hiss of quenched steel rang out from nearby smithies. Clan runners darted through crowds with scrolls tucked into their belts.
Here, everyone seemed like martial artists.
All of them.
And Ichigo felt small.
She rented the cheapest room she could find. Bare floor. Thin mat. A lock that barely worked. She left her pack and went back out. There was nothing of hers worth stealing anyway.
She asked carefully. Listened more than she spoke. Duel boards were posted near training grounds and taverns. Names, realms, conditions. She sought out many duels, only to be laughed at or finding out that most Clan Martial Apprentices put out huge fees for a single duel; after all, each duel used up the Clan Martial Apprentice's time and money. Not to mention the risk of injuries and the time wasted on recovering could have been used to train further.
Having no other choice, she took the one posting of a confident clan Martial Apprentice who had a rather long queue but only for a small fee.
It would cost her all her remaining money, but it was worth the chance.
She didn't even have enough money to eat tonight, or the days after, but this was intentional. She fought better with hunger. Hunts were more successful with desperation.
Failure wasn't an option.
She finally found the line at the courtyard. In it were countless peasants of different ages, sexes, sizes, and weapons, all hoping for a chance to join the clan.
Most of the people in line wouldn't make it. After all, this duel was a duel to the death.
The people waiting were either in their peak condition or at their last breaths, seeking one final opportunity to secure a better life.
The path to joining the clan was brutal, but in a country where only the strong mattered, this was the reality.
She steeled herself as she waited. Could she do it? Is she strong enough?
Flashes of a charging boar sprung up in her mind, causing her to doubt herself even further.
Every so often, a body bag was dragged out of the premises, off to who knew where.
Everyone in line knew what it was, but no one wanted to talk about it.
The silence kept her in constant anxiety. Constant pressure.
Until someone approached her while she waited.
"Hello there," a young noble martial artist said, smirking. His robes were fine, his sword decorative, but real. "Alone?"
Ichigo nodded.
He glanced at the line and leaned closer. "Want to learn a secret?"
She stared at him, expression blank.
"The martial artist waiting on the other side is a peak Martial Apprentice specialized in torturing his opponents."
Her expression finally cracked. "What?"
"It's true," the nobleman said. "Ever wonder why the queue is so long? Why battles take forever to finish? Why it's so cheap?"
Her anxiety peaked. Her shaking hands steadied as she gripped her katana.
"...I've already paid. I'm here to duel," she said.
He laughed. "Then you'll duel."
"What if you dueled me instead?" he offered.
Ichigo raised a brow. "What do you mean?"
He pulled something from his dougi, duel tags—Three of them
"I'm a martial noble from the clan," he said with a smile. "It'll be fun."
Suspicious, Ichigo asked, "Why me? What's the catch?"
The noble put his arm around her shoulders. "If I win, you'll be one of my concubines. If I lose, then that's that. I promise."
She immediately removed his arm.
"In fact," he exclaimed, "I'll extend my invitation to everyone here in line. Come to the Lightning Pavilion and duel me for a chance at a duel tag."
A few agreed, especially those who had heard the "secret". Most stayed in line.
Ichigo decided to take him up on his offer.
She had already sized him up, and he didn't look all that powerful.
Much better than fighting an unknown, possibly sadistic martial artist.
———
At sunset, they met at the spacious courtyard of the Lightning Pavilion. It was a sanctioned dueling ground monitored by a Martial Squire.
Spectators and participants gathered quickly, mostly nobles drawn by novelty. The young man introduced himself loudly, exaggerating his lineage, his skill, and his generosity.
Ichigo allowed the other contestants to go first. A Martial Apprentice only carried one duel tag, but nobles had three.
It was essentially first come, first served. The duels not only allowed the Clan's Martial artists to temper themselves with constant combat with martial artists of all styles, but also to filter out weak applicants.
Duels used to be free... until some martial artists started asking for "duel fees" reasoning that it not only helped them recuperate damages, but also to prevent too much peasants to afford them at one time.
They needed them to still do the undesirable jobs, after all.
The first challenger stepped forward before the sun fully dipped below the walls.
He was a big man. Broad shoulders, thick forearms, wielding a heavy cleaver-like blade meant for chopping rather than fencing. A butcher, by the look of him. Solid. Practical.
The noble watched him approach with a lazy smile.
"Try not to die too quickly," he said, drawing his sword.
It wasn't a katana. The blade was longer and thinner, with a shallow curve and a narrow guard, designed for reach and show. Polished bright enough to catch the fading sunlight.
The squire overseeing the duel raised a hand.
"Begin."
The butcher roared and charged.
The noble moved aside.
His sword flashed, carving a shallow cut across the butcher's thigh. Not deep, just enough to sting.
The butcher stumbled, surprised more than hurt.
The noble laughed. "Careful. You're already bleeding."
He danced away, footwork exaggerated, blade spinning in wide, flashy arcs. Every movement was clean. Beautiful. Wasteful.
The butcher swung again and again, growing desperate as shallow cuts bloomed across his arms and legs. None of them fatal. All of them slowing him down.
For a moment, it looked like the butcher might catch him.
And surprisingly, he did.
The noble stepped in close, too close, letting the cleaver graze his sleeve.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The noble's eyes lit up.
Then his blade pierced straight through the man's throat.
The butcher collapsed without a sound.
The noble stepped back, flicking blood from his blade.
"One," he said lightly.
A servant dragged the body away.
Ichigo didn't look away. She needed to learn about his style. His techniques.
The second challenger was younger. Too young. Too skinny. A girl wielding twin short swords, her stance low and cautious. She didn't rush. She circled. Watched.
The noble tilted his head, intrigued.
"Oh?" he said. "You're smarter than the rest."
They exchanged blows, real ones this time. The girl slipped inside his reach, cut his sleeve, and drew a thin line of blood across his forearm.
The crowd murmured.
Ichigo's grip tightened around her katana.
The noble laughed again, louder this time.
"There it is," he said. "A talented peasant."
He began to press her. Not hard, just enough to force mistakes. His blade traced patterns in the air, herding her backward toward the edge of the courtyard. She finally started landing a hit on him. Then another.
His breathing grew ragged.
She was winning.
Then his tempo changed.
One step. One turn of the wrist.
Her swords flew from her hands.
Before she could react, his blade was already inside her chest.
She looked down, confused.
He leaned in close. "Never believe a noble when he lets you touch him."
She collapsed.
Two bodies.
The sun dipped lower.
The third challenger hesitated.
Ichigo saw it. The doubt. The fear.
He bowed stiffly, hands shaking as he raised his spear.
The duel barely lasted ten seconds.
This time the noble didn't bother playing.
A single, precise thrust to the heart.
The body hit the ground before the squire could even lower his hand.
The noble sighed, visibly disappointed.
"This batch is quire boring."
He turned, scanning the remaining challengers.
Most had already backed away.
Some had fled.
Only Ichigo remained.
Their eyes met.
For the first time, the noble's smile sharpened into something predatory.
"Well?" he said. "Still think you'll win?"
Ichigo stepped forward.
Her hands were steady now. Not because she wasn't afraid, but because she understood. At the very start, it was all a ruse. A trap.
Still, Ichigo bowed.
"I'm ready."
The noble grinned.
"Sure you don't just want to give up?" he said.
The courtyard had gone quiet.
No cheers. No laughter.
The noble stepped into the ring as though the outcome was already decided. He didn't bow.
"You understand the terms," he said, adjusting his grip on the sword. "If you lose, you belong to my household."
Ichigo said nothing.
Her silence amused him.
"Don't look so grim. Many would envy your future."
He smiled arrogantly. "I'll try my best not to hurt you too hard."
The squire raised his hand.
"Begin."
Ichigo moved first.
Her blade cut toward his shoulder, fast enough to test him.
He parried easily.
"You're tense," he said, circling. "You have a lot of thoughts in that beautiful head?"
Their blades met again. Sparks flared.
Ichigo pressed harder, forcing him back a step.
His brow creased, not in anger, but irritation.
"You don't need to struggle this much," he continued. "I don't require obedience tonight. Only submission."
That was when Ichigo knew what type of martial artist he was.
He had tricked all his opponents. He kept showing that they had chance and then abruptly killing them.
Her next strike came lower, faster. The impact traveled up her arms as he blocked it, but she stayed close, denying him space.
For the first time, he took a proper stance.
"Oh?" he murmured.
They exchanged blows in quick succession. Ichigo felt the gap between them. Not overwhelming, but real. His technique was cleaner. His control sharper.
Every time she overextended, he punished her just enough to remind her.
A shallow cut along her ribs.
He used a martial technique to instantly redirect his strike to another direction which she barely blocked. Her wrist was burning. Her fingers numbed.
"See?" he said calmly. "You learn quickly. That's good. You'll need it."
Something cold settled in her chest.
His eyes. The way he fights.
This wasn't a duel.
...This was a hunt.
Fucking bastard.
Ichigo attacked again, harder now, refusing to give ground. Her breathing grew uneven, but her grip didn't falter. She never took the bait each time he showed weakness.
The noble frowned.
"You're making this unpleasant," he said. "Most women understand when resistance no longer serves them."
She answered with steel.
Her blade slipped past his guard and drew blood from his cheek.
He was actually caught off guard this time.
The courtyard gasped.
The noble touched his face, staring at the blood on his fingers.
Not anger.
Offense.
"That was unnecessary," he said quietly.
His next attack was decisive.
He drove her back with precise, relentless strikes. No flourish. No theatrics. Just certainty.
All of a sudden, his blade phased and turned into three, freezing her in place as she didn't know how to block all strikes.
She blocked one—an illusion. The other one phased through her, also an illusion.
The last one was real and it was too late to block.
Luckily, the Noble pulled back at the last second a disarmed her with a twist of his wrist and kicked her legs out from under her.
Ichigo hit the ground hard.
The noble's blade hovered at her throat.
"Enough," he said. "Stay down, darling."
She looked up at him.
Up close, his eyes were bored.
Not cruel. Not lustful.
Just convinced she was already his.
Ichigo smiled.
She stood up, ignoring the noble's blade on her neck, causing her to bleed.
The noble hurriedly pulled back in shock, "What's wrong with you?"
She calmly walked a few paces away and picked up her weapon.
The noble, still confused "Have you gone mad? I'm talking to you!"
She finally looked at him and said, "Shut up. You dishonor me as I'm here giving my all. You're a clown."
The noble was visibly ticked.
"...I've changed my mind. You're dead."
He lunged at her.
Ichigo held her katana in front of her. Her shoulders slackened. Her grip loosened. Her breathing calmed.
In her eyes, time went slowly. His enraged, charging state slowly morphed into a monstrous boar with deadly tusks.
For a second, she faltered.
Still, she swung a deadly strike toward his head.
"Predictable!" he yelled, dodging easily and countering.
However, his attack passed through her.
The image he tracked lagged half a step behind as her foot slid across the stone.
Sword Style: Mirage. Her sole technique.
Her blade passed low and clean.
The noble screamed as both calves gave way beneath him. He collapsed forward, shock chasing the pain.
Ichigo was already behind him.
She raised her sword, aiming to behead the monstrous beast once and for all.
The cut would have been final.
But her swing stopped abruptly.
The impact numbed her arms. Her blade was held in midair by the squire's bare fingers.
He hadn't moved until now. He hadn't even unsheathed his weapon.
"Enough," he said.
Ichigo froze, then stepped back, breathing hard. The beast had disappeared, and in its place, an injured noble.
The squire glanced at the noble on the ground, then at the severed tendons, then back to her.
"Good misdirection technique," he said. "Immobilized thoroughly in a single cut."
The courtyard erupted.
Whispers. Disbelief. Sharp intakes of breath.
The squire reached into the noble's robes as the man writhe in pain and removed a duel tag.
He held it out to Ichigo.
"By the rules of the duel," he said, "victory is yours."
The noble groaned as medics rushed in, feeding him potions. His face was pale, but when he looked up, his expression smoothed into something practiced.
"An wonderful fight," he said, forcing the words. "Your technique was truly impressive."
Ichigo said nothing.
The noble gestured sharply, and a servant stepped forward.
"See her to the clan's administrative office," he said. "Ensure her registration is handled properly."
The servant bowed.
As Ichigo turned to leave, she felt the weight of dozens of eyes on her.
Not desire.
Not pity.
Recognition.
For the first time since leaving Owari, it felt like a weight had lifted from her shoulders.
Her Martial Path—Deferred Resolution, felt validated.
She would never let anything deny it again.