The forest path was uneven, the air thick with the scent of alien flora. Ken walked with an easy, panther-like grace that belied the rugged terrain, his dark eyes constantly scanning his surroundings. The knights, clad in their clanking armor, struggled to keep pace, their initial awe slowly morphing into a wary respect. They'd seen him dispatch the Direfang Alpha; they weren't about to underestimate the strangely dressed man with the death-touch fists.
Captain Elara Vance walked beside Ken, her fiery red hair a vibrant splash of color against the greens and browns of the forest. She was trying, with admirable persistence, to glean more information from him.
"So, this 'Tokyo'," she began, her voice carefully neutral, "is it a powerful warrior nation? Known for… unconventional combatants?"
Ken smirked, kicking a loose stone off the path. "Powerful? In its own way. More of a concrete jungle where the deadliest predators wear suits and ties. But yeah, we have our share of brawlers. I just happened to be the best of 'em." He tapped his chest, where the sun pendant lay. "Five-time world champ, undefeated. They don't give out that title for knitting."
One of the younger knights, a fresh-faced lad named Torvin, choked on a laugh before quickly stifling it under Elara's stern glare.
"And this… 'tournament'?" Elara pressed. "Was it a trial by combat for kingship? Or perhaps a sacred rite?"
Ken let out a short, humorless laugh. "Sacred? Hardly. More like a meat grinder for glory and a fat paycheck. Think of it as a festival where people get their teeth knocked out for entertainment. My kind of festival."
Elara frowned. His world sounded brutal, chaotic, yet he spoke of it with a casualness that was almost disturbing. "And the means of your… arrival? You said a light consumed you?"
"Yeah, bright, flashy, then wham-o, dirt nap in your backyard," Ken confirmed, his gaze sweeping the dense canopy above. His senses were on high alert, cataloging every rustle, every snap of a twig. This world felt… raw. More alive, somehow, than the sanitized wilderness back home. More dangerous. Good.
As dusk began to settle, casting long, eerie shadows, Elara signaled a halt. "We'll make camp soon. It's not safe to travel the Whisperwood by night."
"Why's that? Bigger furballs come out to play?" Ken asked, his tone laced with a hint of anticipation.
Before Elara could answer, a faint, ethereal glow emanated from her hand. She held a smooth, grey stone, which now pulsed with soft, white light, illuminating their immediate surroundings.
Ken's eyebrows shot up. "Huh. So, party tricks are real here. Cute."
Elara looked at him, surprised by his nonchalant reaction. "Party tricks? This is a Lumina Stone, imbued with basic light magic. Essential for navigating the dark."
"Magic, huh?" Ken rubbed his chin. "So, waving your hands and saying funny words actually does something here? Back home, that just gets you weird looks."
"Magic is the lifeblood of Ignis Terra, Master Ken," Elara explained, a touch of reverence in her voice. "It flows through the land, through its creatures, and through those gifted enough to channel it. It is called Mana."
"Mana. Sounds like a fancy word for stamina, but with glitter," Ken quipped, though a spark of genuine interest lit his eyes. He'd faced opponents who claimed to use 'Ki' or internal energy, but this… this was different. Palpable.
Suddenly, Ken's head snapped up. His eyes narrowed. "Company," he stated, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Three of them. Hiding in the thicket, thirty yards, nine o'clock."
Elara and her knights tensed, drawing their weapons. "How do you—?" one began, but Elara silenced him with a gesture. She knew her own senses, honed by years of patrols, hadn't picked up anything.
"They're not very good at hide-and-seek," Ken commented, cracking his knuckles. The sound echoed ominously in the growing twilight.
A rough voice called out from the shadows. "Well, well, look what we have here! A pretty knight-captain and her tin-can entourage. And… what's this? A half-dressed savage?"
Three figures emerged, clad in mismatched leather armor, wielding crude axes and rusty swords. Bandits. Their eyes, glinting with greed, were fixed on Elara and the knights' gear.
"Your valuables, and maybe the lady, and we'll let the rest of you scurry off," the leader, a burly man with a scarred face, snarled.
Elara stepped forward, her sword gleaming in the Lumina Stone's light. "You chose the wrong patrol to harass, scum."
Before she could engage, Ken was a blur. He moved with a speed that seemed to defy the very air around him. One moment he was beside Elara, the next he was in the midst of the bandits.
It wasn't a fight; it was a dismantling.
The first bandit swung his axe. Ken sidestepped the clumsy attack with contemptuous ease, his open palm striking the bandit's wrist. A sharp crack, a howl of pain, and the axe clattered to the ground. Before the bandit could even register the broken wrist, Ken's other hand shot out, a precise chop to the side of the neck. The bandit crumpled like a discarded puppet.
The second one lunged with a rusty sword. Ken didn't even bother to look at him. He performed a spinning back kick, his heel connecting with the bandit's sternum with sickening force. The air whooshed out of the man's lungs, his eyes bulged, and he flew backward, crashing into a tree with a thud that knocked him unconscious.
The leader, momentarily stunned by the sheer, brutal efficiency of Ken's actions, hesitated. That was his mistake.
Ken closed the distance in an instant. His eyes, cold and hard as obsidian, locked onto the bandit leader. "You were saying something about a savage?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
The bandit, terrified, tried to raise his weapon, but Ken's hand clamped around his throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. The man's feet dangled, his face turning purple.
"P-please…" he choked out, eyes wide with terror.
Ken held him there for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, with a grunt of disdain, he tossed the bandit aside like a sack of garbage. The man landed in a heap, gasping for air, then scrambled to his feet and fled into the darkness, his earlier bravado completely shattered.
Silence. The knights stared, dumbfounded. Elara's sword was still half-drawn. Ken hadn't even broken a sweat. He'd neutralized three armed assailants in less than ten seconds, without a weapon, without a flicker of magic.
Ken dusted off his hands. "Amateurs. Don't even know how to hold a proper stance." He looked at Elara. "You were saying something about it being unsafe at night?"
Elara slowly sheathed her sword, her green eyes fixed on Ken with an intensity that was more than just professional curiosity. There was a dawning, almost fearful awe. "I… I stand corrected, Master Ken. Perhaps the dangers of the Whisperwood are less concerning when you are present."
The rest ofthe journey to the Citadel of Aeridor was punctuated by stunned silences from the knights and Elara's increasingly thoughtful gazes. News of the Direfang Alpha's demise, and now the effortless dispatching of bandits, clearly preceded them via some unseen network, because as they approached the towering white walls of the Citadel, the guards atop the battlements were already pointing and murmuring.
Aeridor was magnificent. Carved from pale, almost luminous stone, its towers pierced the sky like elegant spears, flags bearing a golden griffon sigil snapping in the wind. It was a far cry from the steel and glass monoliths of Tokyo, yet it possessed a grandeur, a sense of history, that Ken found grudgingly impressive.
Civilians in simple, medieval-esque attire stared openly as Ken, flanked by Elara's unit, walked through the bustling outer bailey. His modern, minimalist martial arts garb, combined with his physique and the palpable aura of power he exuded, made him an object of intense curiosity and no small amount of trepidation. Whispers followed him like a breeze: "Is that him? The one who killed the Direfang?" "Barehanded, they say!" "He looks… different."
Ken ignored them, his expression cool and unbothered. "Nice architecture," he commented to Elara. "Bit drafty, though. You guys ever hear of central heating?"
Elara, despite herself, almost smiled. "We have hearths, Master Ken. And magical warming runes in important chambers."
She led him through progressively more opulent sections of the Citadel, finally stopping before a heavy, ornately carved wooden door guarded by two knights in polished, ceremonial armor. "Master Arion, the Royal Scholar and Chief Mage, has agreed to see you. He is… eccentric, but the wisest man in Aeridor. If anyone can understand your arrival, it is he."
The door creaked open to reveal a vast, circular chamber lined from floor to ceiling with overflowing bookshelves. Strange artifacts – glowing orbs, oddly shaped crystals, star charts – littered every available surface. In the center, hunched over a massive, open tome, was a man with wild, silver hair that seemed to defy gravity and spectacles perched precariously on his nose.
"Captain Vance! And this must be the… specimen!" Master Arion exclaimed, his voice surprisingly booming. He straightened up, his bright, intelligent eyes fixing on Ken with unnerving intensity. "Remarkable! Utterly remarkable!"
Ken raised an eyebrow. "Specimen? Lady, you didn't tell me I was being donated to a museum."
Arion cackled, bustling forward. He was shorter than Ken, but crackled with an almost manic energy. "Forgive an old scholar's enthusiasm, young man! Your arrival, as described by Captain Vance, is unprecedented! A trans-dimensional traveler, appearing from thin air! And your… ah… altercation with the Direfang! Fascinating!"
He circled Ken, peering at him closely. "No visible magical enchantments on your attire… no aura of imbued weaponry… Captain Vance insists you used no spells. Tell me, young man, what is the source of your extraordinary power? A rare bloodline? A divine blessing? A pact with an ancient spirit?"
Ken smirked. "Hard work, old timer. Lots and lots of push-ups. And a refusal to lose."
Arion blinked. "Push-ups?" He then waved a hand dismissively. "Figurative language, no doubt! Allow me to conduct a small diagnostic." He picked up a crystal rod that shimmered with faint, internal light. "This is a Mana-Scyer. It will allow me to read your innate magical signature, your affinity, your reserves…"
He waved the rod over Ken. The crystal, which had been glowing faintly, sputtered and dimmed. Arion frowned, tapping it. He tried again. The crystal remained dull, almost lifeless.
"Curious…" Arion muttered, his brow furrowed. "Is the Scyer malfunctioning? Let me try the Resonance Orb." He gestured to a nearby pedestal where a fist-sized sphere of polished obsidian rested. "Place your hand upon it, if you please."
Ken, intrigued despite himself, placed his palm on the cool, smooth surface. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, tiny, almost invisible cracks began to spiderweb across the orb's surface. A low hum filled the room, growing in intensity. The cracks spread faster, glowing with an angry red light.
CRACK!
With a sound like shattering ice, the Resonance Orb exploded into a thousand glittering fragments.
Arion stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock. Elara gasped. The two guard knights at the door flinched.
"By the First Flame!" Arion whispered, staring at the smoking remnants. "Impossible! The Orb is designed to measure even the most potent magical outputs! It should resonate, not… not disintegrate!" He looked at Ken, a new, profound bewilderment on his face. "Young man… you… you have no discernible mana flow. None! It's as if magic simply doesn't exist within you! And yet… the sheer physical energy… the raw vitality… it's… it's off any known scale! It overwhelmed the Orb!"
Ken looked at his hand, then at the shattered pieces. "So, I broke your toy. My bad. Guess I don't know my own strength." A cocky grin spread across his face. "Does this mean I fail the magic test?"
Before Arion could reply, a young woman, perhaps an apprentice, rushed in, drawn by the commotion. She had mousy brown hair tied back neatly, spectacles similar to Arion's, and an armful of scrolls. She stopped short, her eyes wide as she took in the scene – the shattered Orb, the stunned scholar, the imposing figure of Ken, and the formidable Captain Vance.
"Master Arion? Is everything…?" she began, her voice trembling slightly as her gaze fell on Ken. Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink.
Ken gave her a casual nod. "Just a little light breakage. Nothing to see here."
Just then, a commotion was heard outside the chamber. A stern voice barked orders. The heavy doors were thrust open with force, and a richly dressed, pompous-looking man with a meticulously trimmed goatee and an air of self-importance strode in, flanked by two heavily armed guards.
"What is the meaning of this disturbance, Arion?" the man demanded, his eyes narrowing as they fell on Ken. "And who is this… ruffian? Captain Vance, explain his presence in the Royal Scholar's chambers!"
Elara stiffened. "Lord Valerius, this is Ken. He is the one who… assisted us with the Direfang Alpha. Master Arion was examining him."
Valerius scoffed, his gaze sweeping over Ken with disdain. "Assisted? I heard tales of a wild man. Likely exaggerated. This Citadel has protocols. He should be in the dungeons for questioning, not cluttering the halls of wisdom." He puffed out his chest. "I am Count Valerius, Royal Chamberlain. And I demand to know by what right this… commoner…"
Ken's eyes, which had been lazily observing the newcomer, sharpened. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. The playful smirk vanished, replaced by a look of utter, chilling indifference.
"Commoner?" Ken repeated, his voice dangerously soft. "Buddy, you have no idea who you're talking to."
Valerius, oblivious to the sudden shift in atmosphere, sneered. "I am talking to an unkempt vagrant who clearly doesn't understand his place. Guards, seize him!"
The two guards with Valerius moved forward, hands reaching for their swords.
Ken didn't even flinch. He didn't move a muscle. He just looked at them.
And in that look, there was a universe of controlled violence, an abyss of fighting experience that dwarfed their entire lives. It was the look of a predator sizing up particularly inept prey.
The guards, veteran soldiers though they were, froze mid-stride. Their hands faltered. Sweat beaded on their foreheads. They felt an instinctual, primal fear, a certainty that if they took one more step, they would cease to exist.
Valerius, nonplussed by his guards' hesitation, blustered, "What are you waiting for? I said—!"
"I wouldn't," Ken interrupted, his voice still quiet, yet it cut through Valerius's tirade like a razor. "Unless you want to see how quickly your fancy armor can be turned into a modern art sculpture. With you still in it."
The air crackled with unspoken threat. Elara placed a hand on her sword hilt, ready to intervene, though she wasn't sure who she'd be protecting. Arion watched with wide, fascinated eyes, his earlier shock replaced by keen academic interest in this display of non-magical intimidation. The young apprentice looked like she might faint.
Just as the tension reached breaking point, another voice, calm and authoritative, echoed from the doorway.
"That will be quite enough, Lord Valerius."
All heads turned. Standing framed in the entrance was a figure of regal bearing, older, with a neatly trimmed grey beard and eyes that held both wisdom and weariness. He wore simple but rich robes, and a golden circlet rested on his brow.
King Alaric Thorne of Aeridor had arrived. And his gaze was fixed squarely on Ken Ryugasaki.
"So," the King said, his voice resonating with quiet power, his eyes scrutinizing Ken with an intensity that matched Arion's, but held far more weight. "You are the Otherworlder. The man who performs impossibilities without magic." A pause, then, "We have much to discuss."
Ken met the King's gaze, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Took you long enough. I was starting to think this world didn't have a final boss."
Goosebumps prickled Elara's arms. This man… this Ken… he was either completely insane, or he was something so far beyond their understanding that the very foundations of their world were about to tremble.
And she had a sinking, thrilling feeling it was the latter.