Morning beneath the hull did not come with sunlight.
It came with motion.
The training deck was already alive when Raizen arrived. The vast circular hall curved along the inner structure of the ship, its ceiling reinforced with iron beams and glowing runes that hummed softly with contained energy. Wooden floors bore scars from countless clashes, each mark polished smooth by time and repetition.
Six figures waited for him at the center.
Retainers.
Not soldiers.
Not guards.
Chosen blades of the Kingdom of Kurogane.
They stood in a loose half-circle, hands resting near sword hilts, expressions serious but not hostile. Each carried themselves differently, their stances shaped by culture, experience, and personal philosophy.
Senji had been right.
This ship was built for wars that never ended.
⸻
The Six Retainers
Closest to Raizen stood Liang Zhen, tall and lean, his long sword resting against his shoulder. His eyes were sharp, calculating—someone who fought not for glory, but efficiency.
Beside him was Wei Jun, broader, heavier build, blade shorter and thicker. His stance was grounded, immovable, like a wall waiting to be struck.
The third from the eastern lands was Shen Rui, calm and unreadable, fingers loosely wrapped around twin short swords. His breathing was slow, deliberate.
Across from them stood three from Kurogane proper.
Takemori Jiro, scarred and thick-necked, his katana worn but meticulously cared for. A veteran.
Kawahara Ren, younger, quicker, blade angled low, eyes burning with something close to excitement.
And finally—
Saito Masanori.
Older than the rest. Calm. His sword remained sheathed.
Raizen noticed him immediately.
That was the one.
⸻
Terms of the Match
"No killing," Masanori said, stepping forward. His voice was steady, unforced. "Blunted blades. All techniques allowed."
Raizen nodded once.
Aoi had already claimed a seat at the edge of the deck, legs crossed, a small tray balanced in her lap. She lifted a dumpling with her chopsticks, steam curling upward.
"Man," she muttered around a bite, eyes half-lidded, "these are good."
She watched lazily—until the swords were drawn.
⸻
The First Clash
The signal sounded.
They moved together.
Liang Zhen struck first, blade flashing toward Raizen's neck in a clean, efficient arc. Wei Jun followed half a breath later, angling to crush Raizen's balance from the side.
Raizen stepped back—not reacting, but anticipating.
The strike passed inches from his throat.
He pivoted, tapping Wei Jun's blade aside with the flat of his own sword, redirecting force rather than opposing it.
Shen Rui was already behind him.
Twin blades aimed for the spine.
Raizen ducked, rolled, and came up inside their formation.
The floor cracked as Takemori Jiro brought his katana down like an executioner's strike.
Raizen raised his blade just enough.
Steel rang.
The impact jolted through his arms—but he'd expected it.
⸻
Prediction Over Power
Raizen retreated three steps.
Not because he was overwhelmed.
Because he was counting.
Liang attacks first.
Wei commits second.
Shen waits for overextension.
Takemori finishes.
Ren hadn't moved yet.
Neither had Masanori.
That was the real danger.
Ren blurred forward suddenly, blade flashing toward Raizen's ribs. Raizen twisted, letting the strike skim past, then hooked Ren's ankle with his foot and sent him sprawling.
Wei roared and charged.
Raizen sidestepped at the last instant, planting his blade into the floor and using it as a pivot to spin behind Wei, striking the back of his knee.
Wei dropped with a grunt.
Liang adjusted immediately—too quickly.
Raizen smiled faintly.
You adapted. Good.
Their blades clashed again and again, movements blurring, rhythm accelerating. Each retainer pushed harder, faster, more aggressive.
Raizen was losing ground.
On purpose.
⸻
Aoi Watches
Aoi paused mid-bite.
Her eyes followed Raizen—not the swords.
His feet.
His breathing.
The way his gaze flicked, not at blades, but at shoulders, hips, weight shifts.
"…He's not reacting," she murmured.
She took another dumpling, slower this time.
"He's deciding."
⸻
The Turning Point
Raizen suddenly advanced.
Not with strength.
With certainty.
He disarmed Shen Rui with a sharp twist, sent Liang stumbling with a shoulder check, and swept Takemori's legs out from under him in a single fluid motion.
Ren scrambled up, only to freeze as Raizen's blade stopped a hair from his throat.
Wei tried to rise—
And Masanori moved.
For the first time.
His sword flashed from its sheath, aimed not at Raizen's body—but his shadow.
Raizen stepped aside before the blade even moved.
Masanori halted.
Silence fell.
Raizen exhaled slowly.
"Your turn," he said.
Masanori smiled.
⸻
The Final Exchange
Their blades met once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each clash rang deeper than the last.
Masanori was precise, experienced, calm.
Raizen was faster.
But that wasn't why he won.
Raizen stepped into Masanori's space, tapped the man's wrist, and gently—but firmly—knocked the sword from his grasp.
The blade clattered across the floor.
The match ended.
⸻
Aftermath
The retainers lay scattered across the deck, breathing hard, sweat-soaked, shocked.
Raizen immediately lowered his blade.
He moved to Wei first, offering a hand.
Wei stared—then laughed as he accepted it.
One by one, Raizen helped them up.
"Seriously," Raizen said, scratching the back of his head, smiling sheepishly, "you guys did great. I enjoyed every moment."
Aoi's eyes widened.
Her grip tightened on her chopsticks.
Woah.
She watched him laugh with them. Encourage them. Respect them.
"…He's kind," she whispered. "I've never seen him like this."
Her eyes sparkled.
⸻
Elsewhere on the Deck
Far above, Senji leaned against a railing, surrounded by neatly arranged devices.
A wrist-mounted Pulse Tracker pulsed faintly.
A coin-sized Echo Listener hummed softly.
A folded Thread Mapper glowed with shifting symbols.
He smirked.
"Tracking systems calibrated. Investigation tools online. Tactical response… optimized."
He glanced down at Raizen.
"…This voyage might actually be fun."
The ship sailed onward.
And with it, their futures sharpened.