The morning broke with gold, spilling across the Kagutsuchi home and the deep forest beyond. Mist clung to the cedars, and dew jeweled every blade of grass. The world looked calm, but Haruto felt the weight of the day in his bones.
Renga Kagutsuchi stood in the courtyard, a battered katana balanced across his palms. Its scabbard was cracked, its hilt frayed from countless grips, its blade dulled with scars. No shine remained on it, edges broke in spiderwebbing proof of a thousand battles survived.
He extended it toward his son.
"This sword is not pretty," Renga said, voice low and rough. "It is not sharp anymore. But steel is not what makes a weapon deadly. It is spirit. The spirit of the flame that wields it."
Haruto hesitated, then reached out, taking the katana with reverence. The weight surprised him — heavier than the wooden practice swords, heavier than he expected. His palms, already blistered from weeks of training, stung as he wrapped them around the worn grip.
"Today," Renga said, "you will strike one thousand times."
Haruto swallowed. "One thousand?"
"Not for strength," Renga said, eyes narrowing. "But for resolve. A warrior is forged not by sharp steel, but by an unbreaking heart. Each strike is a promise. Each swing will carve discipline into your bones. Each strike will shape the path of your spirit. Do not rush them. Do not slacken. Let each cut carry intent. Let each motion teach you what it means to wield fire. If you cannot make a thousand promises, you cannot wield flame."
Haruto bowed his head. "Yes, Father."
Haruto drew a deep breath, steadying the trembling in his arms. He raised the katana, the steel catching the faint morning light. His first swing sliced through the air—an arc of motion, imperfect but earnest. The sound of steel rushing through the wind rang sharp, followed by the dull impact as he halted the motion. His father's eyes followed, noting every mistake, every hesitation.
"One," Renga said, softly.
Haruto exhaled, stepped again, swung again. The repetition began.
By the hundredth swing, sweat already clung to his brow, dripping into his eyes and stinging them. His arms felt leaden, each lift heavier than the last. The sword seemed to grow heavier by the minute, biting into his shoulders and wrists. Yet Haruto gritted his teeth, refusing to falter.
His father's words drifted into him like sparks feeding a flame.
"Do not let the sword control you. You control it."
"Your spirit fuels the blade. Your intent sharpens it more than any whetstone."
"Every strike should be a promise. A vow."
Haruto repeated those mantras with each swing, syncing his breathing with the rise and fall of the steel. The world narrowed into a rhythm: inhale, lift, exhale, cut. Over and over, until the air itself seemed to crackle with the effort.
By the five-hundredth swing, his hands were bleeding. The frayed wrapping cut into his skin, leaving streaks of red across the hilt. His shoulders screamed, his knees shook. His body told him to stop. But in his mind, a fire refused to die.
If Father could fight for years with his illness, then I cannot fall here. If Mother can smile through pain, I cannot let weakness rule me. Every cut… is a step toward protecting them.
Renga stood silently, watching. His eyes softened for a moment, though his voice did not waver. "Pain is a teacher sharper than any blade, Haruto. Do not run from it. Face it. Let it temper you."
And so the boy endured.
When the thousandth swing finally came, the sun was already dipping toward the horizon. Haruto's arms quivered uncontrollably, the katana slipping dangerously in his grip. He swung the final time, his breath ragged, his body collapsing to his knees immediately after. The sword stabbed into the earth before him, quivering as if alive. His vision swam, his chest heaved, and his hands could barely close anymore.
He had done it. One thousand.
Renga rose slowly, walking over with the quiet dignity of a man whose presence commanded silence. He crouched beside his son, placing a hand on Haruto's shoulder. The weight of it was grounding, steadying.
"Well done," he murmured. "You did not surrender." His voice was calm, but his eyes shone with something rarely seen—pride.
Haruto lifted his head weakly, sweat and blood running down his face, yet his lips curled into the faintest smile. "I… won't give up. Not… ever."
Renga nodded. "Good. Remember that fire. You will need it."
That night, the house was quieter than usual. Akane tended to Haruto's hands, wrapping them in clean bandages. She hummed softly as she worked, her voice a gentle balm against the pain. Haruto winced but did not complain, letting his mother's touch soothe the raw skin.
"You push yourself too much," she said gently, though her smile betrayed her pride. "But… that's who you are, Haruto. Stubborn like your father."
Haruto chuckled faintly, though exhaustion pulled at him. "If I want to protect you… I have to keep pushing."
Her eyes softened. She pressed her forehead to his briefly, whispering, "Then let the fire guide you, my son. But don't burn yourself out too quickly. Flames that burn too fast… vanish too soon."
The moon rose high above the forest. Its silver light bathed the land in a pale glow, shadows stretching long across the ground. The village lay still down the mountain, peaceful in appearance, but Renga felt something else in the air. Something colder, heavier, wrong, in the mountain, coming towards them.
He stood outside, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. His chest rose and fell, his breath slow, controlled, but his brows furrowed deeply.
They've come, he thought. So soon…
Behind him, Haruto stirred, sensing his father's unease. The boy stepped outside, gripping his battered katana tightly. "Father…?"
Renga's eyes narrowed toward the forest, where the trees swayed unnaturally despite the calm night air. His voice was low, grim.
"They're here."
The silence shattered. A howl split the night, inhuman and guttural, followed by the crashing of branches. Shadows slithered between the trees, too many, moving too fast. The stench of blood and decay rolled in like a foul wind.
Haruto's heart hammered in his chest, fear clawing at him, but he did not run. He raised his sword, legs trembling yet firm.
The first demon burst from the treeline—its body hunched, claws gleaming, eyes burning red. It lunged for him, jaws wide. Haruto's instincts screamed, his training flashing in his mind. With a desperate cry, he swung his katana.
Steel met flesh.
The blade cut shallow, but true. The demon shrieked, stumbling. Haruto screamed again, driving forward, finishing with another desperate slash. The monster collapsed, twitching, before dissolving into black ash.
Haruto stood frozen, his chest heaving, staring at the ashes drifting into the night wind. His first kill.
But there was no time to breathe. More shapes emerged—five, six, a dozen, crawling out of the shadows. Their eyes gleamed hungrily as they encircled him.
Haruto's grip tightened. His arms still ached from training, but he raised the sword once more.
I won't back down. I can't.
The demons screeched and rushed him all at once.
And then—fire.
Renga moved like a storm, his blade a streak of crimson light as Flame Arts erupted into being. His strikes were clean, final, absolute—each motion carving through the night like molten fury. All those demons fell in an instant, their bodies reduced to cinders before they even touched the ground.
But as the flames danced, Renga coughed—blood splattering against the earth, dark and heavy.
Haruto's eyes widened. "Father—!"
Renga ignored the pain, his eyes locked on the deeper darkness stirring beyond the trees. The air grew colder, heavier, suffocating.
From the forest's edge, a voice rumbled—deep, mocking, dripping with malice.
"So… this is the guardian who is protecting this valley.
A powerful demon stepped into the moonlight. His body was towering, grotesquely elongated, draped in skin that shimmered like scales of molten obsidian. A single, jagged horn twisted upward from his forehead, curved like a broken scythe. His mouth stretched far too wide for a human face, lined with needle like fangs, each coated in black saliva that hissed when it dripped to the earth. His arms were long, ending in claws that gleamed like polished onyx, sharper than any blade. But it was his eye—his single, luminous, golden eye—that dominated everything. It glowed as if it contained the furnace of hell itself, burning with cruel intelligence.
Markings twisted across his body in patterns that seemed almost ritualistic—crimson sigils etched into his flesh, pulsing faintly as if alive. His very presence pressed down upon the clearing like a suffocating weight, making the weaker demons cower at his heels.
Haruto felt his stomach twist, his legs almost buckling under that aura. He had fought one demon. Just one. And barely survived. This creature was something altogether different. His breath came ragged, the katana trembling in his hands.
That demon inhaled deeply, like savoring a meal before the first bite. "So this is the place," it said, voice smooth yet grating. "For years, demons who wandered into this valley never returned. How curious.… But now I see." Its grin widened, eye glinting with delight. "It was you all along. A fragile old man. On his death bead."
Renga's expression darkend. "A High Rank Demon."
The demon's voice rumbled, carrying disdain and hunger in equal measure.
"Oh you recognised me. You have sharp eyes. Seems like you are not that useless old man. I am indeed one of the Fourteen High Rank Demons.
Haruto staggered back a step, his breath hitching. His father, however, did not move.
Renga stood straight, scarred katana sliding from its sheath with a hiss. The steel was worn, pitted by countless battles, yet when his hand gripped it, the night itself seemed to recoil. His chest rose with steady breaths, though Haruto could see the faint tremor in his arms.
The demon tilted its head. "Hah. Look at you.... How irritating. Sickly. Weak. Barely a coal left glowing in the ash. How pitiful, yet still you stand."
Renga's face did not flinch. His expression was calm, even as his cough racked him silently. He rested his crimson blade against his shoulder, its surface etched with faint cracks, but still pulsing faintly with flame.
"If I am but a coal," Renga said, his tone quiet yet piercing, "then even dying embers can still set the forest ablaze."
Renga's gaze sharpen. His voice was calm, resolute. "Fire exists not for itself. It burns to protect. For those who cannot fight. For my son. For my wife. For this land. For humanity." His blade caught the faint moonlight, trembling faintly with the heat rising from its edge. "Flame does not bow to hunger. Flame resists."
The High Rank's grin twisted into something sharper, almost joyous. "Resists? Good. Let me see it, then. Show me your flame before I snuff it out."
And in a blur, the demon lunged.
Claws slashed down like guillotines, tearing through the air.
"Flame Arts — First Technique: Scarlet Slash!"
Renga's katana carved a crimson arc, fire exploding outward. Steel met claw with a resounding crack — sparks and flame showered the clearing, the shockwave shaking the ground. The demon skidded back, its forearm burning where the flame had seared it.
Haruto's eyes widened. His father, frail and coughing blood hours before, now blazed with terrifying speed.
The demon glanced at the faint scorch, then laughed — not in fear, but delight. "Yes…! That's it! Burn hotter! Let me taste the flame that slaughtered my kin!"
It blurred forward again, faster, heavier.
Renga's blade ignited brighter, his stance firm.
"Flame Arts: Second Technique – Burning Fang!"
He thrust like lightning, piercing through the storm of strikes. Heat shimmered with the thrust, each blow precise, unyielding. The demon snarled as the blade grazed deep across his ribs, smoke hissing from the wound.
But he only laughed louder. "Yes… yes! Show me that fire! Let me watch it die!"
But Renga staggered too, a tremor running through his legs. Haruto saw it — the brief catch in his breath, the hand that clenched tighter to hide the pain.
The High Rank's grin widened. "Ahh… there it is. The crack in the ember. Your fire is strong — but your body betrays you. Can you endure, old man?"
Renga exhaled slowly, katana steady despite the blood at the corner of his lips. "Haruto," he said, voice firm, "watch. This is the way of flame."
The demon surged again, faster than before, claws flashing in a whirlwind.
Renga's body blurred to meet it.
"Flame Arts — Third Technique: Flame Cyclone!"
His blade spun in a blazing circle, fire erupting outward. The clearing became a furnace — claws struck against the storm of flame, screeching as sparks and embers blinded the night. The demon was driven back, burned, its grin twisted into exhilaration.
"Yes… yes! That's it! That's the fire I wanted!" it roared, voice shaking the trees. "Burn brighter! Show me until your body collapses! Struggle until you break!"
Haruto stood rooted, heart pounding as his father clashed again and again, each strike a dance of fire and death. But he could see it now: every technique cost Renga more. His shoulders trembled. His cough threatened to tear through his chest. The fire burned brilliantly — but it was eating him alive.
And then the others came.
Shadows darted at the edge of the clearing — lesser demons drawn by the High Rank's call. Eight demons at least, snarling, their eyes glowing in the dark. Rushed towards Haruto like pack of hungry wolves towards there prey.
Haruto raised his sword, chest heaving. This is it. I can't falter.
The first demon lunged. Haruto sidestepped, recalling his father's lessons—control the breath, guide the motion, cut with intent. He swung with everything he had, his blade slicing across the creature's neck. Blood sprayed, black and foul, before the body dissolved into ash.
The second came immediately. Haruto roared, stepping forward, thrusting his blade straight into its chest. The impact jolted his arms, but he twisted, ripping the blade free as the demon shrieked and dissolved.
His chest surged with exhilaration—his first true battle. I can do this—
The third and fourth came at once. Haruto slashed wildly, catching one across the shoulder, but the second swiped its claw across his side. Pain seared through him, and he stumbled.
"Haruto!" Akane's voice cried out.
But Haruto gritted his teeth, ignoring the sting. He pivoted, slamming his sword upward in a desperate arc. The blade cracked through bone, severing the demon's jaw. He followed with another slash, ending it. His body screamed in pain, his hands raw and trembling, but he refused to fall.
Yet more came.
Five, six, seven—circling him. Their eyes gleamed.
Renga was locked in his own battle, his flame clashing against the high-rank's monstrous strength. Fire roared with each strike, yet Renga's coughing grew harsher, blood dripping onto the dirt. The high-rank laughed through the battle, mocking every strike.
One of the demons broke past Haruto guard, rushing at him with claws raised. Haruto braced—too slow, too weak—
And Akane moved.
She threw herself forward, shoving Haruto aside. The claws tore across her side, sinking deep. Blood burst from her body, her scream piercing the chaos.
"Mother!" Haruto screamed, catching her as she fell. His vision blurred with tears, his heart cracking open in terror and rage.
The demon snarled, raising its claws again—
Haruto roared, swinging his katana with all his fury. The blade cracked, covered in flames, splintering against the demon's body, but he did not stop.
"Flame Arts — First Technique: Scarlet Slash!"
Strike after strike, wild and furious, until the monster collapsed in ash. His arms shook, his sword chipped nearly to breaking, but he stood trembling over his mother's bleeding body.
Akane's breathing was shallow, her lips pale. She reached up with a trembling hand, brushing his cheek. Her voice was faint, a whisper beneath the roaring flames and battle cries.
"My son… live. Burn… brighter than both of us."
Haruto's tears fell onto her hand, his throat burning with a scream that refused to leave.
And a few paces away, Renga fighting with that Demon.
Steel clashed against claws, sparks of flame ripping through the night. Renga's katana blazed as he forced the high-rank demon back, a storm of heat erupting with every strike. With a guttural roar, he pushed his body past its breaking point, unleashing a burst of power.
"Flame Arts – First Technique: Scarlet Slash!"
A sweeping arc of crimson fire erupted, Collide with the demon's claw. Shockwaves errupted outward. Renga screams. His flame errupts. Throwing the demon backward with the sheer pressure. That demon feet struck on ground slides backward before stopping himself. The monster staggered, surprised by the sudden ferocity.
Renga's chest heaved. His vision blurred. Blood welled in his throat. Yet for one brief moment — silence fell.
Renga's head snapped to the side of Haruto's voice. His heart stopped.
There, in the glow of moonlight and flames, he saw them — Haruto on his knees, clutching Akane in his arms. Her body trembling, her kimono soaked red, her lips faintly moving as if whispering his name.
Time itself seemed to fracture. The roar of fire, the demon's snarl, the sting of his own wounds — all of it faded. All that remained was that sight.
His wife bleeding in their son's arms. His son trembling with fury and grief.
The fire within Renga surged violently, his katana trembling in his grip. His eyes, usually calm, burned with something Haruto had never seen.
Renga's voice was low, breaking. "Akane…"
The High Rank chuckled, licking the burn along its arm. "Ahh… beautiful. The flames sputter. The humans break. This is the taste I came for."
Renga's body swayed, coughing blood, yet his eyes locked on Akane and Haruto, wide with devastation. The flames at his feet began to stir again, darker, hotter, fed not by will — but by grief.
Renga's blade ignited, brighter than ever before. His breath came ragged, his illness clawing at him, but in that moment, his fury drowned it all.
The fire roared.
To be continued....