A faint rustle broke from the thickets.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, figures emerged from between the trees.
They held their everyday tools—scythes, pickaxes, wooden spades—their hands wrapped tight, knuckles pale against the worn handles.
Nobody spoke.
They closed in with quiet, hesitant steps, forming a wide arc around us. For a long moment, the only sound was the heavy rustle of dry leaves underfoot as their grip on the iron slowly loosened, the tools lowering toward the dirt.
Then they began to kneel. With their heads bowed, they started to weep.
I looked at them—I just stood there, staring. I turned my head toward Renji to gauge his reaction. He was watching them too, but his gaze was entirely different from mine. He was no stranger to a scene like this.
I didn't know what to do. Were they begging for mercy, or were they hoping for something more?
I looked around in every direction. Everyone was bowing to us. These people... the very ones who had saved me, who had nurtured me, were now bowing before me. They had given me far more than I could ever hope to repay.
'Why are you bowing?' I thought, a lump forming in my throat. 'I'm the one who should be bowing. I'm the one who should be crying.'
I just stood there, frozen, staring.
I desperately wanted to shout at them. 'Don't bow! Don't cry!' But not a single sound escaped my throat.
Old hunter Yuzuru was the first to rise, and the others soon followed. They slowly walked over, forming a quiet circle around us. It was Aunt Natsuki who bridged the distance between us, gently reaching out to place a hand on my shoulder. She warmly smiled to me. The rest followed her lead, though some approached Renji with hesitation, touching his arms timidly.
Aunt Natsuki... she was the one who had made soup for me every single day. Despite all my objections, despite my cold demeanor, she never stopped. I wanted to make soup for her too. But I couldn't cook—I was terrible at it. I knew she would have drunk it for my sake anyway, but I couldn't bring myself to force my awful soup upon her.
The villagers insisted on dragging us to the town healer—especially Renji. His fierce protests fell on deaf ears as they gently but firmly pulled him along. They were relentless, refusing to leave him be. Although Renji had been that fearless man who did not hesitate to draw his sword even in the face of his most dangerous enemy, faced with these people's unwavering love and gratitude, he found himself in the midst of a siege that no enemy force could ever have imposed upon him.
I refused to let them drag me. I told them I could use Flame to heal my wounds.
"You shouldn't use Flame that often, Hayato," Renji said softly. "One day, it could turn against you."
I met his gaze, offering a faint, knowing smirk. "You once told me, 'Control is worth far more than raw power.' Perhaps you should follow your own teachings."
Renji let out a brief, wry laugh, shaking his head. "You're right. But don't get ahead of yourself. I'm still your sensei."
A faint smile passed across my lips.
"'Sensei'..." I murmured under my breath. "That word still hurts."
As we walked further into the village, we began to come across more and more children and young people.
"They were so fast!" one of the onlooker kids gasped in awe.
"'We actually witnessed a sword fight between two Fifth Flames!'" another added, excitement thick in his voice.
"Hayato-aniki won!"
"No, the blonde one won!" a voice countered from the back.
"The blonde one fought without honor!"
"Who said that?!" Renji barked bitterly.
As the villagers gently ushered Renji toward the healer's house, the noise of the crowd began to fade. I tried to slip away. With a gesture, I indicated to the villagers that there was no need for them to follow me.
As the sounds faded away, the howling of the wind grew louder.
My boots were heavy against the dirt as I headed toward the quiet cabin at the edge of the settlement.
With every step, I felt a little better.
I slowed as I approached the cabin. The front door creaked open and the old man stepped out, as if he'd known I was there and had been waiting for me, and let me in. He clearly had no intention of letting me leave without coming inside. We sat quietly side by side on a single cushion.
The pale winter sunset streaming into the cabin left the dust particles in the room suspended in the air.
"Your hands are shaking," I remarked softly.
"Forgive me," the old man replied, his voice trembling. "I'm a little afraid."
"Of me?"
"No. It's simply the nature of farmers. We are afraid of everything—lords, warriors, the emperor... even the weather. Every day, we rise as the sun wakes up. We work hard, and we eat little. Then, we give half of what we reap to our lord. A single misfortune could mean going hungry until the next harvest. If we don't stick together, we won't live to see another spring."
"Do you still need me?" I asked, looking out over the landscape. "I mean, it's winter. You two ne—"
"You've helped us far more than you realize," the old man interrupted gently. "The meat you brought will keep us fed, and the wood you chopped will keep us warm."
"I wanted you to be my son," the old man said, his voice soft with emotion. "By marrying Yumiko, you would have become my own blood."
"Yumiko would make a wonderful wife and mother," I replied quietly. "But not to someone like me. Not when I'm bound to the path of—"
"I know," the old man interrupted gently. "I know that. But still, I wished for you to be my son."
"I'm sorry," I murmured, lowering my head.
"Alright," the old man sighed softly. "If you ever change your mind... or if you bear wounds you can no longer carry... promise me you'll come back. This home will always be waiting for you. Promise me."
I paused for a long moment before answering, "I... promise."
The old man nodded silently, his gaze lingering on the window ahead.
"One last thing. Don't forget that you're a warrior," the old man said, his voice firming up. "They should fear you. Then, perhaps, they'll learn to respect you."
"I don't want to be feared," I replied softly. "Nor do I care for their respect. I won't bother anyone, and I certainly won't try to control how they think."
The old man scoffed lightly. "Well, I'm just an old, grumpy man, and I'm angry with you. If you stay, I'll just keep cracking bitter jokes at your expense." He quieted for a beat, looking at the young warrior. "So... you really won't stay?"
"I can't leave them," I said.
"But you can leave us?"
I hesitated, stammering, "Uh..."
The old man offered a faint, weary smile. "I'm just messing with you, lad. Don't feel bad. Will you come back later, then?"
"Maybe," I murmured, gazing into the distance. "When it's all over."
"Why?" the old man frowned. "If this rebellion succeeds, you could be living in the palace."
"The palace isn't my place. I just want to build a quiet cabin. That's all I've ever wanted."
"I hope this old man lives long enough to see that happen," he sighed. "That blondie... Is he your leader?"
"Yeah. He is. We're fighting against the lords for the sake of the empire."
"A futile effort, if you ask me."
"Maybe."
"There is no 'maybe,'" the old man shook his head sternly. "You two are formidable warriors. But even legendary figures like Red Lion Kazuma, Smiling Flame Renji, and the Nakano Brothers fell along this very path. And that was only in the last two decades."
I sincerely hoped he was wrong about Renji.