The morning air was heavy, gray clouds pressing down like a shroud.
Kuro pushed open the broken door of their house, the wood groaning under his hand.
For days, the six children had clung to the fragile safety of their ruined home, but now curiosity and a cautious courage drove them outside.
"Come with us, Kuro," Benjiro whispered, his voice barely audible.
"We… we need to see our village and our people"..!
The streets of Nanmoku were unrecognizable.
Blackened beams leaned precariously, smoke still curling from shattered rooftops.
But the stench that hung in the air was worse than smoke: the scent of decay, of bodies left to rot under the sun.
The children flinched as they moved past them men, women, even children, unmoving, half-buried in the dirt.
The enemy had left them exposed, a warning carved into the village itself:
resist, and this fate would follow.
"They didn't bury them…" Kaede murmured, voice trembling.
"They want us to see," Kenta said softly, his jaw tight.
"To know what happens if we flee."
They stepped carefully, staying in the shadows.
Some villagers were still alive, gaunt and hollow-eyed, bent under baskets of tools and forced labor.
Soldiers in dented armor walked among them, shouting orders, driving them to tend the fields.
Once-proud farmers now worked like animals, their strength siphoned for the enemy's gain.
Near the old granary, a soldier thrust a sack of ration toward an elder woman.
It spilled open.
Gray, worm-eaten grains tumbled to the dirt. She lifted handfuls with trembling hands, glancing at the soldier, whose face bore no mercy.
A child cried softly beside her, the sound swallowed by the harsh rhythm of commands.
"They… they starve them while they make them work," Benjiro whispered, clenching his fists.
With him Ryu also said softly farmers grow for them gold in return they give us poison !!!
Kenta placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "This is how they break people. Alive, but not living.
They feed hope just enough to make the pain sharper."
The children's eyes widened at the fields, at the skeletal figures laboring under the enemy's watch. Every step revealed more cruelty: twisted bodies, exhausted faces, a village stripped bare of dignity.
They wanted to look away, but fear and fascination bound them.
At the edge of the village, near a collapsed shrine, they saw him.
An old man sat against the stone wall, his robe tattered, beard wild, hands trembling as they clutched the hilt of a sword that now seemed too heavy for him.
Yet his eyes burned like coals, alive with a fury that refused to be quenched.
"You step too freely," he said, voice hoarse but sharp. "Even among the dead, the living are watched."
Kuro stepped forward. "Sir… are you alone?"
Glad you are alive !!!
The man's gaze swept over them, lingering on Kuro's scarred face.
"Alive? Hah.
This is not life.
This is waiting for death while the dogs of the Four Nations trample everything we hold dear."
His hand jabbed toward the fields. "They mock us, starve us, leave our kin to rot.
Our emperor abandoned our village because he couldn't protect us only he saved his soldiers and wealthy landlords .
And what do I do? Nothing. These old arms cannot lift the blades that once carried honor."
He lowered his gaze to the children, fury mingling with grief.
"I was Masanori, samurai of Nanmoku.
Now I watch weak and poor peoples suffering
I can't do anything with this Weak wrinkled hands...
Kuro bowed slightly, sensing the storm behind the man's words.
"Even if you cannot fight, your anger… it matters.
We want to survive, to protect each other.
Teach us, even a little."
The old man studied them, lips curving in a grim line.
"Children of ashes… perhaps I am too broken to lift my blade again.
But I can show you the meaning of endurance, of patience, and of fire that does not die.
If you are willing to bear it, I may shape at least one more sword."
Benjiro said in deep voice not one old man seven blood thirsty blades against our enemies.
A silence fell over them.
Around them, the village wept in silence, yet within the ruins, a spark flickered.
The children pressed closer to Kuro, and for the first time, a fragile hope whispered among the decay: perhaps, even in this rotten world, someone could teach them to stand tall...!