Hiroko dismissed the last of his advisors. The doors of the council chamber closed with a dull thud, leaving him in silence. He walked back to his quarters, each step heavy as though his sandals dragged chains.
He sat on the edge of his bed, palms pressed to his knees, staring at nothing. The words of the meeting echoed in his skull: strategies, formations, casualty projections. None of them mattered when the truth gnawed at him.
How many will die because of my decision?
His reflection stared back at him in the lacquered armor stand across the room. A general, a genius, a man once hailed as a hero of the Ashigawa Clan. Yet in the dark solitude of his chamber, Hiroko was only a man wrestling with himself.
"Is this truly worth it?" he whispered. His voice sounded foreign, brittle. "To throw the lives of my men against a giant… or is this just an excuse to chase the thrill I've long lost?"
🗡️ Memories of a Prodigy
Once, he had burned like a comet. At ten, the youngest jōnin in clan history. At fifteen, chief ninja. At twenty, slayer of the demon-worshipping Tenkuro Clan, his name cheered by peasants and lords alike.
Back then, he was unstoppable. The strongest. The most handsome. Women crowded just for a glimpse of his face; rivals envied his height and poise. He had been a symbol of what the clan could be.
Now? He chuckled bitterly, rubbing his temples.
"How pathetic. I, Hiroko Akujin, once a hero, reduced to wagering all my troops on a fool's hunt. If the other clans knew, they'd think I'm preparing for war."
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling beams, trying to lose himself in the familiar woodgrain. But memories seeped in — memories of comrades, of laughter, of a friend long gone.
His eyes closed.
Sleep took him.
🌙 Dream of Kijirama
He woke within a dream. Music. Laughter. The scent of sake. He found himself in a familiar meadow where his friend Kijirama once camped. Torches burned, shadows danced, and there was Kijirama himself — alive, smiling, surrounded by men singing and drinking.
"Milord, welcome! Come, sit!" Kijirama called.
"Stop calling me that," Hiroko said, approaching. His throat tightened at the sight of his friend, the memory made flesh. "It's just a title. Call me Hiroko."
Kijirama's grin widened. "Haha! If you insist."
They drank together. Laughed. For a while, it was like old times. Then Hiroko wandered toward a cliffside tree, sitting beneath its branches to gaze at the endless sky.
Kijirama joined him, two cups in hand. He passed one over.
"So, what happened after my… incident?" he asked with that same careless smile.
Hiroko clenched his jaw. "You should've signaled. If an enemy approached, why didn't you call for aid?"
Kijirama laughed, sheepish. "You always wore that gloomy face, Hiroko. I thought, hey, if I bring him a giant's head, maybe it'll make him smile. I thought my experience was enough. I miscalculated."
"What did you miscalculate?" Hiroko asked.
"You'll know soon."
And then, with a playful grin, Kijirama shoved him off the cliff.
Hiroko fell, screaming, as his friend's voice echoed: "Be careful…"
⚔️ Awakening
He woke drenched in sweat, chest heaving. A pounding on his chamber door jolted him further.
"Milord! Are you alright?" a servant called.
Hiroko straightened, wiping his face. The vision clung to him like a second skin, but there was no time to linger. He donned fresh robes, opened the door.
"I'm fine. Gather the others. Prepare for the hunt."
The order spread like wildfire.
🛡️ The Muster of the Clan
The courtyard blazed with torchlight. Rows upon rows of warriors assembled, armor polished, blades gleaming. The air buzzed with anticipation and dread. Hiroko arrived clad in his ceremonial armor, forged from metals mined in the Ashigawa mountains and hardened with secret arts. His helm gleamed, etched with the clan's sigil.
Every eye turned to him. The silence was suffocating. Then Hiroko spoke.
"Brothers!" His voice rang clear. "Today we face a battle unlike any other. Against a foe greater than any man, beast, or demon we have slain before. Some of us will not return. Many may die. But hear this: I will be the first to step into battle and the last to leave it. I swear upon my name as your chief."
He raised his blade high. Firelight caught its edge.
"If we die, let us die with honor. If we triumph, let it be sung for a hundred generations. Are you ready to carve your names into heaven itself?"
A roar thundered back:
"For the clan!"
The night trembled with their voices. Drums beat. Banners unfurled. The Ashigawa Clan marched.
🌲 Ymir, the Giant
Meanwhile, far beyond the village, Ymir scratched his ear.
"Hmm? Why do I feel like someone's talking bad about me?" he muttered. He shrugged. "Anyway… that chief's kinda cool. The way he organizes his forces, I'd bet he'll throw everything at me. Bold move."
His stomach growled like thunder.
"Damn it. Starving again. Right… the system sealed my passive skills." He rubbed his belly and sighed. "Guess it's food time."
He wandered into the vast forest. Strange beasts lurked here, things he hadn't seen in the training hall. Smaller foes, tricky and swift — not worth a giant's notice, yet dangerous in swarms.
Then he spotted it: a mountain bull. Quite literally — a bull the size of a mountain. Its bellow shook the trees.
"Oh, great." Ymir cracked his knuckles. "Dinner."
The bull charged. The ground quaked. Birds scattered. Ymir grinned, bracing himself.
The clash was thunder and stone. When it ended, the giant sat beside the carcass, gnawing on a roasted haunch like a man chewing ribs at a festival.
"Not bad," he said through a mouthful. "Could use salt, though."
But as he licked his fingers, a voice cut the air:
"I finally found you… monster!"
Ymir turned, lips curling into a smile.
"To be continued…"