The sun dipped low, bleeding golden light over Castle Town's southern plains. A breeze stirred the posters plastered across wooden walls and tavern signs—each one bearing the same name in bold red ink:
WANTED – SAKURA HARASEN. FIRE DRAGON BEARER. BOUNTY: 500,000 GOLD. ALIVE ONLY.
Juichi tore past the city's eastern gate, boots hammering the dirt road as anger and confusion warred inside him. The world had turned against his comrade—and he couldn't accept it. Not without answers.
A figure stood silently atop a weathered outcrop ahead. Cloaked in tattered robes, a broken blade strapped to his hip, and a wide straw hat casting a shadow over one sharp eye.
Sakata Buddha.
"You're charging toward a trap," he muttered, hopping down with the grace of a falling leaf. "You planning to scream her name and hope the assassins offer directions?"
Juichi skidded to a halt, hand instinctively reaching for the sword on his back. "Who the hell are you?"
Sakata smirked. "A guy who's been where you are. Only difference? I learned to listen before charging."
"Out of my way."
"No."
Juichi growled. "Then—"
But before he could finish, the trees erupted.
A shriek of steel. Wind slicing. Shadows moved like ghosts.
Three assassins. They struck in coordinated silence—deadly, perfect, and lethal.
The first descended from above, twin daggers aimed for Juichi's neck.
He leapt back, barely dodging as the daggers dug into the dirt. He drew his sword in one breath and swung in the next—only to clash mid-air with the second assassin, who dual-wielded crescent scimitars. Sparks exploded between them.
Juichi ducked a slash, spun under a second, then kicked the attacker in the ribs. The man staggered.
But the third—he was the real threat.
Invisible steps. No sound. Just death.
"Behind you!" Sakata barked.
Juichi pivoted just in time—steel whistled inches from his throat.
He parried, Martial Aura flaring across his body in a brilliant crimson wave. The sheer force knocked the attacker off-balance.
But Sakata was already there.
He moved like flowing water—no hesitation, no flourish.
One step.
One slash.
Sckk—
The broken blade sang through the air and sheathed again before the man realized he'd been cut.
Then—his torso split in half, bloodless for half a breath before it sprayed the ground.
Juichi's eyes widened. "What are you?"
Sakata didn't look back. "A relic."
The second assassin recovered, sprinting at Juichi with a furious cry. The boy met him head-on, their blades crashing again and again—like thunder cracking through a war drum.
Juichi gritted his teeth. "I don't have time for you!"
He ducked, letting the scimitar graze his shoulder, then drove a flaming fist into the man's jaw.
Boom—
The assassin flew back, unconscious before he hit the tree.
The last man turned to run.
"Too late!" Juichi yelled, dashing forward. His boots dug into the earth as he tackled the man, driving his elbow into the assassin's gut. The thug collapsed, coughing blood.
Sakata crouched beside him. "You're going to answer us."
"You'll get... nothing," the man hissed, blood on his lips. "She's already gone. Taken east... to the Deadwind Fortress."
Juichi froze.
Sakata's eyes darkened. "Crimson Syndicate?"
The man nodded.
"Then it's worse than we thought," Sakata said. "They're not after her blood. They want what's inside it."
Juichi clenched his fists. "I won't let them touch her."
Sakata stood, voice calm but sharp. "Then keep up. Because this hunt? It's just getting started."
Together, the monk and the warrior vanished into the twilight—leaving behind broken bodies, burning questions, and the scent of war on the wind.
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To Be Continued...