"One thousand nine hundred ninety-seven…"
"One thousand nine hundred ninety-eight…"
"One thousand nine hundred ninety-nine…"
"Two thousand."
Klaus exhaled deeply, but to his surprise, his arms didn't feel like lead. His breathing, though heavy, wasn't labored. No aches.
He blinked.
"Was this... Ryōki?"
The rush of exhaustion that usually followed rigorous training was dulled—muffled by something deeper, internal. A will burning brighter than his muscles could match.
Klaus finally lowered his blade and leaned it against a nearby tree stump. He sat back, sweat dripping, heart steady, as he waited for Tatsuki to return.
That's when he saw it again.
The black figure the one from the night before—stood silently at the dojo's edge. Half in shadow. Half in reality.
Klaus immediately stood up, his instincts on high alert.
"You again…" he growled, stepping forward. "Who are you?"
The figure only grinned. A sharp, jagged smirk.
"Finally… someone worthy."
Klaus narrowed his eyes. "Worthy? Of what?"
No answer.
The figure turned, its form flickering like smoke caught in wind, and began to drift away deeper into the woods.
"Hey! Get back here!"
Klaus chased after it.
Through overgrown paths and moss-covered stone, the air grew colder. Denser. Older.
Then, through the thick mist and twisted trees…
He saw it.
Senpou Temple.
A forgotten sanctuary swallowed by nature, its stone lanterns cracked, its stairs consumed by moss, its gate still standing like the last breath of an ancient civilization.
Klaus stopped in front of the wooden sign, faded but legible: "Senpou Temple"
He hesitated. His gut screamed to turn back. His mind was unsure.
But then
"Ah, fuck it," he muttered, and stepped in.
Inside was worse.
The ancient interior was decaying, cobwebbed, and lifeless. Floorboards groaned with every step. Rats scattered into shadows. The air was heavy with history… and something darker.
Klaus walked slowly until he saw it—a single katana hanging on the far wall, placed above an altar of stone. Dust and roots surrounded it like nature had tried to bury it, but failed.
He looked around.
Silence.
Cautiously, he stepped up and took the blade from the wall.
A crimson-red sheathed katana, wrapped in black and red, with steel fittings simple, yet eerily regal.
Klaus turned it in his hands, awestruck. "What is this thing…?"
Then
A whisper.
"Un…sheath it."
He whipped around.
Nothing.
Only silence… and the distant chirp of unseen birds.
He looked back at the blade.
"…Was that you?"
Suddenly, the room chilled.
That thing that figure was behind him again.
This time… it didn't just stand there.
It loomed, spreading like a living shadow around Klaus, wrapping the walls, ceiling, and floor in oppressive pressure.
Klaus couldn't move. His limbs felt frozen in air.
The figure spoke again
"I have waited a millennia for a god… to yet again wield this blade."
Klaus's heart pounded.
He couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
The voice continued
"Wield this blade… and you shall see your enemies fall… Klaus Aetherion."
Klaus's eyes widened. "What the hell—how do you know my name?"
No answer.
Only darkness.
And then silence.
Klaus dropped to one knee as the pressure lifted. He panted, his body free once more.
The figure had vanished.
His eyes drifted back to the blade.
"Wield this blade and you shall see your enemies fall…"
He gritted his teeth.
"If this sword really has that kind of power… then I'll—"
BAM!
A sudden, blinding kick smashed into his chest, sending him flying through the air and crashing into the old stone steps outside the temple.
"YOU DAMN IDIOT!!"
Tatsuki's voice.
She stormed in, eyes blazing with fury.
"I've been looking everywhere for you! And you're at the one place NO ONE is allowed to be—AND HOLDING THAT BLADE?!"
Klaus stood up slowly, pissed and coughing from the blow. "I didn't even do anything yet!"
"YOU WERE ABOUT TO!"
Klaus's own Ryōki flared.
Red. Violent. Raw.
The pressure blew back the nearby trees, covering the entire clearing in his rage.
Tatsuki's eyes widened for a second—then narrowed.
"That's enough."
She unleashed her full Ryōki.
The air turned silver-black.
The world dimmed.
Klaus's eyes rolled back as he dropped like a rock—foam bubbling from his mouth.
---
A soft breeze swept in from the open window. The faint sound of wind chimes echoed somewhere beyond the walls. Klaus stirred, groaning under his breath as a dull ache wrapped around his ribs. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open.
The ceiling was unfamiliar.
But the face beside him wasn't.
Tatsuki sat cross-legged next to his futon, arms folded, eyes closed—until they snapped open the moment he moved.
"Finally," she muttered.
SMACK!
Klaus's face twisted sideways from the sudden blow to his head.
"Using your untrained Ryōki to try and best me?" she scoffed, voice rising. "Bold of you to do that, kid."
Klaus didn't respond. He just sat up straight, his back rigid, gaze locked on the floor. His lips were pressed into a firm line, still seething with frustration—not just from the pain in his body, but from the humiliation of earlier.
A heavy silence settled in the room.
Tatsuki exhaled, glancing away with an annoyed sigh. "Listen... no one can wield that blade."
He didn't react.
She clicked her tongue. "Tch… you're not even gonna look at me, huh?" Her voice softened, just barely. "Look, I don't know everything about it… but what I do know is this."
Her tone turned serious.
"It's called the Fushigiri."
Klaus's eyes twitched, but he still didn't meet her gaze.
Tatsuki continued, slower now. "It's an ancient blade. Forged from the blood of a long-forgotten god. And they say... that whoever draws it will die."
That got his attention. He looked up, finally, eyes narrowed in cold focus.
Tatsuki nodded. "Yeah. That's what the legends say. But... the truth is more complicated." She looked at her hands, then back at the hilt of the katana resting near the wall. "When it's drawn... the blade doesn't just kill. It feeds. It draws power from the life force of the wielder, draining their vitality to fuel itself. It uses your soul to cut through the world."
Klaus was silent, but his gaze sharpened. He was listening now.
Seeing that, Tatsuki gave a half-smirk. "There's only ever been one person who survived drawing it."
Klaus's eyes flickered.
"Who?"
She exhaled. "My grandfather."
"I want to meet him."
Tatsuki blinked, surprised.
Klaus leaned forward, his voice firm. "If he's the only one who's used it, then I need to learn from him. Please."
"I don't know about that…" she replied, crossing her arms.
Klaus didn't care. "Please."
He was relentless, repeating it with quiet determination.
Tatsuki groaned, scratching her head again. "Alright, alright! I get it, damn… You really don't give up, huh?"
Klaus looked up, fire in his eyes.
She stared at him for a beat, then rolled her eyes.
"Fine. I'll take you to meet him."
---
The path to his quarter's was long and winding, nestled deep in the hills beyond the training grounds. Klaus walked beside Tatsuki, his steps light, almost bouncing with excitement. There was a rare glow in his eyes—a gleam like a child heading to meet a hero.
"You're acting like you're going to see Santa," Tatsuki teased, glancing sideways at him.
Klaus chuckled nervously. "More like… a legend."
They finally reached a wooden door nestled in an old hallway. It was well-maintained but had a certain weight of time hanging on it. Just before she pushed it open, Tatsuki paused and turned to him.
"Before we go in," she said seriously, "you should know he's not just some old man. He's one of only two people alive who bear the title... Sword Saint."
A bead of sweat rolled down Klaus's temple.
Tatsuki slid open the door, and they stepped inside.
The room beyond was simple yet dignified. Tatami mats stretched wall to wall. A flickering candle gave off a warm glow. On one side of the room stood a folding screen painted with serene mountain scenery.
Various traditional furnishings were arranged neatly, including racks of swords and a low table with two cushions. A single blade sat on display beside a pot of incense.
And sitting there, slouched like a dragon in sleep, was Isshin.
His presence was overwhelming. Dressed in a faded robe, his body looked weathered, hardened by countless battles. Yet his eyes burned with life. A katana rested nearby, but even without it, Klaus felt the weight of the man's Ryōki pressing against the room like a mountain.
"Isshiiiiin!" Tatsuki cried out as she stepped forward.
The old man's eyes lit up like fireworks.
"My little lotus!" he shouted, suddenly springing to life.
He rushed over and wrapped his arms around her in a tight, warm hug that looked almost too strong for his frail frame. Tatsuki squirmed, face turning red.
"Geez! Stop that—you're embarrassing me in front of my disciple!"
Isshin blinked and turned to look at Klaus for the first time.
The moment their eyes met, Klaus's breath hitched.
"What… what is this pressure?" he thought. His Ryōki… it's like a thousand storms crushing my lungs.
Klaus staggered, struggling to stay upright.
Before the pressure could flatten him, Tatsuki smacked her grandfather on the head.
"Old man! Stop scaring him!"
"Hah!" Isshin burst into laughter, the sound deep and wild. "I was just teasing! Wanted to see what my baby granddaughter's disciple was made of."
Klaus, still panting slightly, blinked in disbelief.
"I am Isshin," the old man said, bowing slightly with a smirk. "So, what do I owe the pleasure of this rare visit?"
Tatsuki stepped forward, holding something wrapped in cloth. She unwrapped it slowly, revealing the Fushigiri.
Isshin's playful face immediately stiffened. He stared at the blade, eyes narrowing, his breath catching.
"…Where did you get this?" he asked, his tone low and almost reverent.
"It wasn't me who found it," Tatsuki said, her voice suddenly softer. "It was Klaus. He found it… and he wants to draw it."
Isshin stared blankly at her—then suddenly burst out into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. It rang through the chamber like an old war cry.
But then… he coughed. Hard.
A splash of crimson stained his sleeve.
"Grandpa!" Tatsuki shouted, panicking as she rushed to grab his medication. "You idiot, you haven't been taking your meds again!"
Isshin waved her off with an annoyed grunt, wiping the blood from his lips.
"Bah…," he muttered.
Then, turning back to Klaus, he gestured to the cushion across from him. "Come. Sit."
Klaus obeyed, lowering himself across from the Sword Saint.
Isshin poured them both a cup of sake with steady hands, as though none of what just happened had occurred.
He raised his cup.
"Ahhh… Fushigiri. How long has it been…"
He stared at the blade.
And the room fell into silence once more.