The harsh wind carried the stench of rotten rain between the village's crooked huts. Takeru's small, frost-bitten fingers clenched tightly around the stolen piece of bread buried deep inside his tattered coat.
From afar, the defeated vegetable vendor's voice pierced the night:
— "Thief! Where are you, you son of a bitch?!"
But Takeru had already vanished into the narrow alleys, his bare feet silent over the wet mud. He climbed onto a low rooftop with the ease of a seasoned thief, then leapt into the darkness behind a burnt-out house. There, in a corner untouched by light, he devoured the bread with desperate hunger.
— "Just a piece of bread?" whispered a rough voice behind him.
Takeru spun around, rusty knife in hand before even seeing who it was. Ryu, ten years his senior, leaned casually against the wall with a crooked smile.
— "Rough day, huh?" Ryu said, reaching out to take half the bread.
— "Buy your own bread with your own damn money," Takeru snapped, but he didn't resist when Ryu snatched the piece from his hands.
Ryu laughed.
— "You know the gang boss takes everything. If I had a single coin, I'd have run from this hell long ago."
Takeru didn't answer. He knew. Everyone knew. "The boss" was nothing more than a madman named Ginzo — a hulking brute with a face ruined by smallpox, who sold children to Chinese ships for enough money to drown himself in sake.
— "Heard something today," Ryu said suddenly between bites. "A deserted shrine in the forest. Word is, it holds the Black Samurai's treasure."
— "Old crone's tales," Takeru spat.
But Ryu persisted.
— "Ginzo's heading there tonight. If he finds anything, we'll be starving for another damn month."
---
The moon was blood-red when Takeru tailed Ginzo and his men into the forest. The towering trees made the night darker than pitch, but Takeru had learned how to walk without sound.
He watched as Ginzo shoved open the rotting wooden door of the shrine and disappeared inside, cackling under his breath.
He waited. Minutes passed. Then came the scream.
Ginzo's voice howled like a wounded beast—then was abruptly silenced. The other men fled like rats. Takeru almost followed them, but his curiosity pulled him forward, step by step, toward the broken doorway.
Inside, the heavy scent of blood blended with old incense. Ginzo's corpse lay torn apart like a rag doll. On the floor, amidst pools of blood, lay a sword.
It wasn't like ordinary swords.
Its black blade drank in the light, and its hilt was wrapped in what could only be human flesh, shriveled and dried.
Takeru had never learned to read, but the sword's name echoed inside his mind, as if calling to him:
Kuroyami no Tsurugi.
The Blade of Black Darkness.
He touched the hilt.
In that instant, visions erupted behind his eyes—
Mountains of corpses, a sky raining ash, and a faceless figure whispering from within the blade:
— "At last... someone worthy."
Then came the pain.
A thousand knives stabbed into his skull. He dropped to his knees, the sword now fused to his hand, as if it had always belonged there.
The laughter inside his head didn't stop until he blacked out.
---
When he awoke, the sun had risen.
Ginzo's body was gone. The sword still rested in his hand, though now it looked... almost ordinary.
Except for his left eye—
which now burned crimson.
Back in the village, the first thing he heard was screaming:
— "Ginzo's dead! Takeru killed the boss!"
But this time, as they chased after him—
he didn't run.
For the first time in his life,
he smiled.
The sword in his hand pulsed like a living ember.