Mud clung to the battlefield like a second skin.
Broken spears jutted from the ground, and torn banners flapped weakly in the evening wind. The sky above was a dull gray, heavy with the smoke of war.
Boots pressed into the wet earth.
The man walking across the field paid no attention to the bodies around him. His armor was dark steel, scratched and stained from battle, and a long sword hung loosely in his hand.
The soldiers behind him watched in silence.
They had won.
But no one cheered.
A young knight swallowed nervously as he looked toward the man leading them.
"…He did it again," someone whispered.
"He always does."
The man in front had shattered the enemy's line almost by himself. Wherever he went, the battle ended.
Some called him a hero.
Others called him something else.
He stopped before the command tent and pushed the flap aside.
Inside, several commanders stood around a large table covered in maps.
"We've broken their formation," he said calmly. "If we press tonight, the war ends."
No one answered immediately.
One of the commanders cleared his throat.
"Yes… that may be best."
Something about the room felt wrong.
The knight frowned slightly, though he couldn't say why.
He had fought beside these men for years. They had shared the same battlefield. The same danger.
They were comrades.
A hand rested on his shoulder.
"You've done enough," one of the knights behind him said with a polite smile. "You should rest."
For a moment, the tension eased from his body.
Rest sounded good.
Just for tonight.
Then—
A blade drove through his back.
Steel burst through the front of his armor with a sickening sound.
The knight's breath caught in his throat.
"…What?"
He looked down at the sword protruding from his chest.
Around him, more blades slid from their sheaths.
The commanders stepped back as if they had rehearsed the moment.
"You're too dangerous to keep," one of them said quietly.
The knight stared at them.
"I fought for you."
Another voice spoke from behind.
"You fight like a monster."
The knight turned his head.
The one who had spoken was a young warrior he had personally trained.
A boy he had once saved from dying on the battlefield.
The boy couldn't even meet his eyes.
"When you fight," the young knight continued, voice tight, "it feels like death is standing beside us."
The room was silent.
Slowly, a heavy pressure filled the air.
The knight's Battle Aura responded to the threat automatically.
The air trembled.
Dust lifted from the floor.
Several men instinctively stepped back.
"See?" the commander snapped. "That's exactly why!"
The knight's grip tightened on his sword.
Then… loosened.
And for the first time since the war began, something became clear.
Memories flashed through his mind.
Soldiers avoiding his gaze.
Whispers when he walked past.
Hands that trembled when he fought.
He had thought they admired him.
He had thought they trusted him.
But they hadn't.
They were afraid.
"…So that's what it was," he murmured.
The commanders raised their weapons.
"If you live," one said quietly, "none of us can sleep."
The knight let out a faint, tired laugh.
Fear.
Not respect.
That had been the truth all along.
Blades plunged toward him.
Pain exploded through his body as steel pierced his armor again and again.
His sword slipped from his hand and fell into the mud with a dull clang.
The world tilted.
As he collapsed to his knees, the knight stared at the ground.
In the end…
He had died believing he had friends.
And he had died wrong.
Darkness swallowed everything.
---
Warmth.
A faint sound echoed through the void.
A cry.
"Congratulations," a woman's voice said softly. "It's a boy."
Light returned.
The former knight blinked slowly.
A ceiling made of wooden beams came into focus.
The air smelled of incense.
Soft fabric wrapped around his body.
…A room?
He tried to move, but his limbs refused to cooperate.
Instead, a small cry escaped his throat.
"…Waaah!"
The sound startled even him.
A woman laughed gently.
"He's strong."
A tall man stepped into view.
His presence filled the room without effort.
Long black hair was tied behind his head, and he wore elegant robes that marked him as a man of status.
The man studied the infant silently.
"What is his name?" he asked.
"Kaito," the woman answered.
The man nodded once.
"Kaito."
The infant stared up at him.
Kaito.
So that would be his name in this life.
The man placed two fingers lightly against the baby's forehead.
A faint energy flickered from his hand.
Kaito felt it immediately.
It was different from Battle Aura.
Sharper.
Cleaner.
Like a blade made of air.
The energy spread through his body… and vanished.
Nothing responded.
The man's expression did not change, but a servant nearby stiffened.
"…No resonance," the servant whispered.
The room fell quiet.
The man withdrew his hand.
"…I see."
---
Eight years later.
The Kurogane clan training yard buzzed with activity.
Children stood in line before a stone pillar.
Each child stepped forward and placed a hand against it.
Bright energy flared whenever someone with talent touched it.
"Good," an elder nodded. "Strong Sword Ki."
The next child approached nervously.
More light.
More approval.
Then—
"Kaito Kurogane."
The courtyard grew strangely quiet.
A small boy stepped forward.
His black hair moved gently in the wind, and his expression remained calm despite the dozens of eyes watching him.
Whispers spread through the crowd.
"That's the clan head's son."
"The one with no talent."
Kaito placed his hand against the pillar.
Nothing happened.
No light.
No reaction.
Just silence.
The elder frowned.
"…Zero resonance."
Laughter broke out among the other children.
"Swordless!"
"A noble with no Sword Ki?"
Kaito withdrew his hand and bowed politely.
"Understood."
Inside, his thoughts were calm.
Different world.
Different rules.
In this world, strength came from Sword Ki.
And he had none.
His father turned away from the courtyard without a word.
"Kaito," he said.
The boy followed him quietly.
Servants whispered as they passed.
"…a disgrace…"
"…poor clan head…"
His father finally stopped in a quiet hallway.
"You will train outside the main estate."
"Yes, Father."
"There is a man there," his father continued. "They call him talentless."
The man paused briefly.
"But a blade does not need light to be sharp."
---
At the edge of the Kurogane lands stood a small, aging dojo.
The wind rustled through the trees as Kaito approached the wooden building.
If he had no Sword Ki…
Then he would learn how this world used a sword.
He slid the door open.
Inside sat a man in worn clothes.
The man lounged lazily against the wall, holding a wooden sword.
"…So you're the clan head's problem," the man said.
Kaito bowed deeply.
"Please teach me."
The man opened one eye.
Sharp.
Dangerously sharp.
"If you want strength to be respected," the man said calmly,
"first learn how to hold your blade."