The cries of the helpless were swallowed by the mud, the cold, and the ruins that had once been homes. A figure in uniform, bearing the royal army's shield engraved on his armor, gripped a thin old man by the collar, the man wrapped in a torn and filthy cloak.
"I told you not to stay here! Rats like you only bring plague and misery!"
Two other soldiers watched without intervening. Most of the villagers preferred to look from afar, eyes downcast, rage choking in their throats.
Then they saw him. Walking barefoot, with his pants rolled up and a shirt buttoned poorly. He had a somewhat lost expression, as if he'd taken a wrong turn while looking for bread. His dark hair, streaked with red, was tousled by the wind, and a sword wrapped in cloth hung across his back.
"Excuse me…" he said in a gentle, almost awkward voice. "Could you please let him go? He's old, and I don't think this is good for his heart."
The soldier spun around with contempt, clicking his tongue.
"And who the hell are you? Another useless stranger?"
"Maybe…" the man replied, scratching the back of his neck. "But it seemed wrong to me to hit the weak. Could you stop?"
"How about I plant my boot in your face and make you eat dirt, huh?"
The stranger's tone shifted. His eyes, a deep amber, hardened like glowing hot metal. He stepped forward.
"Then choose," he said without raising his voice. "A duel. If you win, I'll surrender, chain myself up, and help you burn this village if you want. But if I win… you'll donate everything you own to rebuild these people's homes. Every last coin."
The soldier burst out laughing. He sized him up from head to toe and noticed his left arm was amputated at the elbow.
"Are you fucking crazy? A one-armed man challenging me?"
"I only use one hand. Seems fairer that way, doesn't it?" the man smiled calmly.
The crowd began to murmur. Some, horrified, shouted at the stranger:
"How dare you bet with our lives?!" "Who do you think you are?!" "We don't need more useless martyrs!"
He looked at them and nodded understandingly.
"I get your anger. But… trust me. Just a little."
The soldier drew his sword with a metallic whistle and took a stance. The tension sliced through the air like blades.
"When I'm done with you, I'll make you crawl begging for mercy."
"Oh, and one more rule," the man added, unwrapping the cloth from his sword, revealing a dull, unadorned blade. "I won't use my Shinkon. But you can use whatever you want: skills, traps, dirty powers… whatever makes you feel better."
The soldier's laughter doubled.
"I'll bury you with your nobility."
On a hilltop, Reiji watched silently, arms crossed. In the shadows of an alley, Kagenami sharpened his gaze like a curious hawk.
A few meters away, Donyoku's siblings ran to wake him.
"Brother! Brother! They're going to fight! The stranger is facing a soldier for us!"
Donyoku jumped up, frowning.
"What kind of idiot bets a village that isn't even his…?"
Nearby, a fire sparked.
The duel was about to begin.
The square quickly filled. Elders, merchants, children, refugees, and travelers clustered with uneasy eyes. Some looked at Hikaru suspiciously, others with curiosity… but all sensed something strange in the air. As if something sacred was about to break.
The soldier twirled his sword arrogantly, raising an eyebrow.
"You said you wouldn't use your Shinkon, right? Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," Hikaru replied, twisting his right wrist to adjust his sword grip. His voice was soft, calm. His feet were bare on the earth.
"Perfect." The soldier smiled maliciously. "Because I'm going to use mine."
His body began to blur. As if the air absorbed him, his silhouette became hazy… then disappeared.
"Huh? Where did he go?!" a woman from the village shouted.
The murmurs grew. Many stepped back, others held their breath.
On the hill, Reiji watched in complete silence.
"Invisibility Shinkon…" Chisiki whispered beside him. "But his soul is restless. It's unstable."
In the center of the square, Hikaru didn't move. He closed his eyes. The sword rested loosely in his right hand.
Nothing. No step. No turn. Just waiting.
In his mind, Hikaru had already decided.
"If I can't see him… then I must smell him. Feel the cut. Sense his rage."
The silence became unbearable. Then, a faint crack: a shifted stone, a change in air pressure.
The soldier's sword descended from his right flank.
Clang!
A metallic flash. Sparks flew. The soldier's blade was blocked with surgical precision by Hikaru's sword, without him even opening his eyes.
The soldier cursed, stepped back, then vanished again.
"How… did he block me…?"
"Too thirsty for blood," Hikaru murmured. "There's no silence in you. Only noise."
This time, he let the enemy's sword reach him. A thin cut grazed the palm of his hand.
Blood dripped to the ground.
A smile formed on his face.
"Now I can find you."
The soldier attacked again, each strike more violent than the last. Changing angles, positions, even faking false steps. But Hikaru moved like he was dancing: every time something grazed him, his sword intercepted it half a second later. Almost always with the flat side, not the edge.
The village was stunned.
The soldier's face tightened. His Shinkon flickered, his body uncontrollably reappearing. His energy churned like fire in a storm.
"Why not…?!" he shouted, frustrated.
"Because you fight for nothing but your pride," Hikaru replied sternly.
The soldier's Shinkon broke. His body fully reappeared, covered in sweat, sword trembling.
There were no more tricks. Just two men.
One fought for his ego. The other, for the hope of many.
Hikaru raised his sword and whispered:
"Four strikes."
"What did you say?" the soldier spat.
"With four strikes, this will end."
The first was so fast few saw it: a descending diagonal slash the soldier barely blocked. The impact stunned him, making him tremble.
The second, a horizontal cut, disarmed him. His sword flew several meters and lodged in a wall.
The crowd screamed. Some cried. Others laughed nervously.
The soldier staggered, breathless. But he didn't fall.
Hikaru looked at him… and sighed.
"I didn't want to do it."
The third strike didn't come with the blade, but the hilt. A precise blow to the stomach, enough to knock him down… but the soldier refused to fall.
"Not… lost… yet!" he growled.
Hikaru's eyes narrowed.
"Your soul has already surrendered. Only your body keeps lying."
Then, without anger or hatred, with the precision of a surgeon… Hikaru moved in for his fourth and final strike.
A single slash.
Silence.
The soldier's arm fell to the ground. Screams. Cries. Some vomited.
The soldier's eyes went wide. His arm… wouldn't respond. The weight of the weapon overcame inertia, and the metal hit the ground with a hollow sound.
What…? What's happening to me!? That damn nobody… can't be stronger than me! This makes no sense! MY arm shouldn't—!
"Ready to surrender?" Hikaru said, voice as soft as a falling leaf.
The soldier fell to his knees, drenched in blood, moaning silently.
Hikaru crouched beside him and whispered in his ear:
"I could have killed you from the start. But I thought you might learn something. What a shame."
Hikaru slowly stood and asked,
"Does anyone know healing Shinkon or how to stop bleeding?"
From afar, Aika stepped forward, trembling.
"I can stop the bleeding… though my Shinkon isn't stable…!"
"I'd appreciate that," Hikaru said, returning the kind smile he'd lost during the fight. "I don't want him to die. It was a good warm-up."
The soldier could only think of his defeat as he felt near unbearable pain.
So this is what it feels like… when power no longer answers you? Impossible. I always won. I was always feared. Why now… why him?
An old woman approached Hikaru—not with gratitude, but with fear.
"More will come now… do you know what you've done?"
"I was just defending the rights of poor old men who were being abused. If the village doesn't act, no one else will," Hikaru answered.
He walked away calmly toward a street food stall.
"Do you have rice balls?"
For him, it was just practice. For the village… a miracle.
The elders who had been abused by the soldier earlier rose up and began beating him mercilessly. Others spat on him, many insulted him. Until Hikaru told them to stop—that this wasn't the way to seek justice. All they would do was invite more violence. The best course would be to imprison him, and once he recovers, decide what to do next.
Some weren't happy with Hikaru's idea, but they understood that to change the kingdom, they first had to change themselves.
The commotion died down, but tension still hung thick in the air. The injured soldier had been taken away, and the square returned to its slow, dusty rhythm as if nothing had happened. Yet everyone remembered those four blows.
Reiji descended the hill with a carefree stride, hands in his pockets and an almost childish grin.
"Hey, stranger," he called to Hikaru, who was still savoring a rice ball, sitting on a stone curb. "How about some beers and a decent meal? My treat."
Hikaru turned, a piece of rice stuck to his cheek, blinking.
"Huh? Free?"
"Yeah. Unless you want to pay me for enjoying that little show."
"No, no! Free sounds good," Hikaru scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Thanks…"
They walked toward a modest tavern, and before they reached it, two figures joined them, wearing teasing smiles.
"You really think you can bribe him with beer and food to tell you his story, sensei?" Donyoku asked with a mocking laugh.
"Such a great mentor we have," Chisiki added, crossing her arms in mock disdain. "And you said we were the impulsive ones."
"Haha…" Hikaru let out a nervous laugh. "Are these your students? They seem like good kids."
As they sat at a wooden table under a rustic pergola, Hikaru accidentally spilled some beer while pouring.
"Oh! Sorry… again!"
Reiji looked at him with a half-smile, resting his chin on his hand.
"I can't believe someone as clumsy and kind as you could take down a soldier with four moves."
"I guess… I practice a lot," Hikaru said, trying to fix the spilled foam.
"Guys," Reiji turned to his students, "go help with the repairs. Part of the warehouse roof collapsed during the commotion."
"How rude!" protested Donyoku as he stood up.
"Wasn't this supposed to be a celebration?" Chisiki added, pouting.
"Come on, come on," Reiji pushed them along. "Get to work, you lazy bums! I'll treat you to food afterward."
Left alone, Reiji poured himself another drink and looked at Hikaru more seriously.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why didn't you use your Shinkon? Were you afraid of losing control? Or… is there another reason?"
Hikaru was silent for a few seconds. The atmosphere grew heavier.
"If I used my Shinkon every fight… it would be like corrupting it. Staining it for reasons it doesn't deserve." He lifted his gaze, calm but determined. "I don't fight for glory or to be feared. I just want the people around me to be safe."
He paused, then smiled awkwardly.
"And… well, I also wanted to show off a bit of my simple swordsmanship."
Reiji chuckled shortly.
"You're interesting, stranger. I like you."
He poured another drink.
"Chisiki and Donyoku… they're good kids. They have big ideals, sometimes naive. They want to change this kingdom, build something better. But they still have a long way to go."
"I know," Hikaru said. "Their souls… are strong. Different."
Hikaru had been watching them closely. There was something strange about Reiji. His Shinkon didn't reveal itself, but it vibrated with dangerous intensity. Chisiki was different: a dormant potential, sharp, that seemed like it could set the world on fire if fully awakened.
But from Donyoku, he felt no danger. His soul seemed… duller. Like something covered it, like a bottomless well that gave off no reflection at all. And that was even more unsettling.
Hikaru finished his meal in silence and stood slowly.
"Thanks for the food. That was kind of you. But I have things to do."
"One last question," Reiji said. "What kind of Shinkon do you have?"
Hikaru hesitated, then replied:
"One that could be a deadly weapon. That's why I don't like to use it."
With that, he walked away.
As Hikaru left the tavern, Reiji began to think and whispered under his breath:
"That guy… isn't like us."
Hikaru walked toward the forest path at the edge of the village. His shadow stretched long, like a wound over the red earth.
No one followed him.
Only the wind. And the lingering smell of ash.
---
The sky was turning purple as Hikaru ventured into the forest bordering the village. The breeze smelled of wet wood and wildflowers. Among the trees, a figure waited—a shadow that didn't want to be seen.
Kagenami.
"Your aura…" Hikaru murmured, stopping a few steps from him. "It's strange. Like your thoughts are drowned in something darker. You try to hide it, but the soul can't be concealed."
"And you," Kagenami replied calmly. "You're a monster disguised as kindness. Someone respectable… on the outside. But rotten inside. You're just pretending. I don't like that."
Hikaru grew serious; his expression changed.
"You'd better leave the Kingdom of Hokori. People like you won't be accepted in what's coming."
Kagenami took a step closer, eyes narrowed.
"Did you really buy that nonsense about a just world, without discrimination, without injustice? Do you believe in Donyoku and Chisiki's dreams?"
"Sometimes," Hikaru answered. "Sometimes, it's okay to dream."
Kagenami scoffed disdainfully.
"The world won't change. Humans destroy everything. They're greedy, lustful, proud, selfish. Evil won't disappear because it's part of who we are."
Hikaru listened quietly. Then he took a step deeper into the dark forest.
"So… what is justice to you?"
Kagenami fell silent. The wind whispered through the trees.
"It depends on perspective. In a war, both sides think they're right. What's good for some is evil to others. We're arrogant. We think we're the best. But in the end… we're nothing."
"And you?" Hikaru asked calmly. "Which side are you on?"
Kagenami was silent for a few seconds.
Which side, really? Not the heroes'. They shine too brightly, and I've always been a shadow. But I don't belong to the executioners either. That arrogance disgusts me. I want to destroy everything, but part of me still hopes… still doubts. What's the point of choosing a side if we all end up stained? Maybe that's why I can't stand Hikaru. Because he still believes. Because his faith in justice reminds me I have none.
Kagenami lowered his gaze and muttered:
"The side that doesn't exist yet," he whispered. "The one without a name. The one waiting in the shadows for someone brave enough to create it… or destroy it."
The silence stretched. They looked at each other as if one soul tried to decipher the other's.
"So, we're not so different," Hikaru finally said. "But I prefer to build… even if everything ends up crumbling. I prefer to try, even if I fail. Because in that attempt… there's truth."
Kagenami didn't answer right away. He slowly walked to a tree, leaning his back against it and crossing his arms.
"Just be careful, clumsy swordsman. Sometimes building with stained hands ends in temples of blood."
"I know," Hikaru admitted with a serene smile. "That's why I still don't use my Shinkon. If I do, I want it to be for something worthy of the soul I was given."
The wind whistled through the branches.
"I'll be watching your steps," Kagenami murmured.
"And I'll watch yours," Hikaru replied. "Not to judge you… but because, deep down, I think you're searching for more than destruction."
Kagenami looked away, uncomfortable. Then he melted into the shadows of the forest without saying goodbye.
Hikaru was left alone.
Night fell gently like a heavy cloak.
And as he walked under the dark trees, his silhouette looked less like a warrior… and more like a penitent. One carrying something sacred… and dangerous, sealed inside.
One who doesn't seek to be a hero.
But to remind the world that even the clumsy…
Can change history.
Hikaru left the forest, heading toward Hokori's capital.
The starry sky covered his path like a silent shroud.
And as his figure disappeared among the trees, the village forgot his name…
But would never forget the four blows that woke them from their fear.
__
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.