For Four years, Renjiro Kurogane trained relentlessly under the guidance of the spirit within the sword, Zukio. Every day, from dawn until the moon hung high in the sky, his body was pushed to its absolute limits.
He ran up steep mountains, his legs burning as he pushed forward, refusing to stop. He walked barefoot across sharp rocks, his soles bleeding but never faltering. He hunted wild animals with nothing but his hands, learning patience, precision, and instinct. Under waterfalls, he meditated, letting the crushing weight of the water harden his body and mind.
His strength grew as he tore trees from the earth with his bare hands, his muscles aching but never giving in. Over and over, his body endured pain—his bones ached, his muscles burned, his skin bruised—but he never stopped. Each time, he rose stronger, faster, more resilient than before.
Then, one day, he sat atop a mountain, gazing at the vast sky above him. His body, once battered and exhausted, now felt renewed—stronger than ever. A surge of energy rushed through him, and he let out a powerful scream that echoed through the valleys. A smile stretched across his face, and beside him, Zukio, the spirit of the sword, smiled as well.
When they returned to the cave that had become Renjiro's training ground, Zukio spoke words that shook him to his core.
"This is where we part ways, boy."
Renjiro's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
Zukio let out a deep sigh. "I have trained you well, but it is time for me to give you everything I have left. My spirit... my power... it will all be yours."
Renjiro shook his head. "No! I don't need it! I just need you to keep guiding me!"
The sword spirit chuckled. "For the past two years, I have felt something I had long forgotten... something I lost centuries ago."
Renjiro furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"
Zukio's voice became distant, almost nostalgic. "It has been hundreds of years since I became this sword... but before that, I was a man. A warrior. A samurai."
Renjiro listened in silence as Zukio told his story.
A hundred years ago, I was among the strongest warriors of my time. I trained endlessly, never resting, believing that strength alone would protect my family. I had a wife and a son whom I loved deeply, but I never showed it. I thought my duty as a warrior was enough…"
Zukio's voice darkened.
"But I was a fool. One day, I discovered that the king had taken an interest in my wife. I was blinded by rage and confronted him, but my own comrades—men I had bled beside, men I had called my brothers—stopped me. They captured me, tied me up, and threw me in a dungeon to rot."
His voice wavered, the old pain still lingering.
"A month later, my wife came to visit me. I thought she had come to set me free… but instead, she told me that this was my fault. That if I had just been there more, if I had focused on my family instead of my training, none of this would have happened. Then she left, leaving me alone in the dark."
Renjiro clenched his fists, anger swelling in his chest.
"But I didn't care about her anymore. I only cared about my son. I broke free from my cell, killed every guard in my way, and searched every room in the king's palace… until I finally found him."
Zukio's voice grew hollow.
"He was gone. My little boy."
Renjiro felt his breath catch in his throat.
"I held him in my arms and wept. But my sorrow turned into rage. I took up my sword, and that night, I did not stop. I cut through them all—soldiers, nobles, generals, anyone who stood between me and vengeance. Their screams filled the palace, but I felt nothing. I was no longer a man. I was a storm of blood and steel."
He took a deep breath.
"My wrath did not stop there. I marched through the kingdom like a reaper, taking an entire army with me. One by one, cities burned, castles fell, and by the end, I had slaughtered over a million people. I didn't care if they were guilty or innocent. They were part of his empire, and so they would fall."
The cave was silent, but Renjiro could almost hear the echoes of screams from a century past.
"When I finally reached the king, I saw her."
Zukio's voice became cold.
"My former wife. She looked upon the destruction with wide eyes. And I asked her—Why? Not for me. Not for our broken vows. But for our son. Why did she let them take him? Why did she let him die?"
His voice trembled, not with grief, but with something far darker.
"She said nothing."
Renjiro felt his heart pound in his chest.
"I did not care anymore. I turned to the king, and that coward laughed. 'You are strong, Zukio,' he said. 'You had everything—power, respect, and even a beautiful family. And I hated that. I am the king. I should have had that, not a lonely, poor peasant like you.'"
Zukio's breath became ragged, as if even in death, his fury had not faded.
"Then he clicked his fingers, and the three strongest warriors of the kingdom stepped forward. The Witch of Death, the Iron Fist, and the Heavenly Sword. Each of them had defeated armies on their own. They stood against me. But I did not speak. I simply fought."
The silence in the cave grew heavier.
"For hours, the battle raged. My body was torn, my strength failing. I lost my arm, but I did not stop. One by one, I cut them down. The Witch fell first, her black flames extinguished. The Iron Fist shattered beneath my blade. And then, the Heavenly Sword… I ended him last.
I turned to the king. His face was pale. He tried to run, but I grabbed him and threw him against the wall like the filth he was. He begged for his life. 'You want her, right?' he pleaded. 'You can have her! Just let me go!'"
Zukio's voice was empty.
"I cut him down where he stood.
Then, I turned to my wife."
Renjiro's breath was shallow, his hands trembling.
"'You failed as a mother,' I told her. 'What did our boy do to deserve this?'
She cried. But it was too late for tears.
And then—pain. A sword through my back."
Zukio exhaled.
"The Heavenly Sword had survived. My vision blurred, my body numb. But I did not scream. I simply turned. I punched him with everything I had left… and he died.
And then, I fell.
I looked at my sword, stained with the blood of an empire. My rage, my hatred, my
I just glared as I stood up, I walked I didn't know where until I reached this cave, he looked around and just sat down I cried.
Renjiro looked at Zukio with a pity look
But my hatred ran so deep that even in death, I could not rest. My soul clung to my blade, and I became the sword you hold now."
Renjiro stood frozen, unable to find the words.
Zukio's voice softened. "For years, I have been nothing but a weapon... but then, I met you. And for the first time in centuries, I remembered what it was like to have a son. I could not save my own boy... but I can save you. Take my power, Renjiro. Become someone worthy of your father's dream... and mine."
Renjiro trembled. "Sir... nothing... Sir... nothing..." His voice cracked.
The sword's spirit smiled one last time.
"Live, Renjiro. Live for yourself."
And then, Zukio's presence vanished.
The sword was now silent.
Renjiro clutched it tightly, but no words came. Tears streamed down his face, but he did not wail. He did not scream. He simply stood there, gripping the weapon with renewed determination.
He had lost his father. He had lost his guide.
But he would not lose himself.
From this day forward, he would walk his own path.
And he would become someone they both could be proud of.