The room grew still as the old man stared into the flickering flame of the candle, his hand gently resting near the Fushigiri, his weathered fingers trembling ever so slightly—not from fear, but from the weight of memory.
Isshin exhaled slowly, the scent of sake lingering in the air. Then, his voice broke the silence.
"Long ago… there existed a demon," he began, his tone deep, solemn. "A creature not born of hell… but of man's hatred. It was called—the Demon of Hatred."
Klaus's eyes widened. "Demon of Hatred!?"
Isshin nodded. "Yes… a Shura gone rogue. A shinobi named Sekijo. He was a failed Shura, but he retained enough clarity to harness what others feared—the fires of chaos. The hatred of mankind."
Klaus tilted his head slightly. "What's a Shura?"
Isshin turned to him, eyes grim. "A Shura… is one who has lost themselves to bloodlust. Someone who kills not for duty, not for defense—but for pleasure. For the ecstasy of violence. Their Ryōki becomes distorted, corrupted by endless slaughter. They become something less than human—or perhaps more."
The candlelight danced across the steel of the Fushigiri.
Isshin took a sip of his sake and let out a deep sigh. "That shinobi, Sekijo… was my brother."
Klaus froze.
His eyes darted to the framed photos on the wall. One showed a younger Isshin with a stern but kind-eyed man beside him—both dressed in warrior robes.
Isshin's voice was low, heavy. "My brother… he lost everything. His wife, Aneko, was famed across the land for her beauty. A feudal lord wanted her for himself. When she rejected him and chose my brother instead… he retaliated. Slaughtered their family. Even the children…"
Klaus clenched his fists. "That's… horrific. But what kind of revenge would justify that!?"
Isshin turned and met Klaus's gaze, his eyes sharp as a blade. "It wasn't justice. It was power. Obsession. My brother's grief twisted him. He didn't stop with the lord. He burned villages, cities, anything that reminded him of what he lost. And worse… he couldn't die."
Klaus's heart stopped. "Immortal…?"
Isshin nodded. "The fires of hatred kept him alive. His Ryōki… became chaos incarnate. I fought him. Again and again. But he rose every time."
Isshin's hand reached toward the Fushigiri.
"Until I drew this blade."
Klaus looked down at the weapon with new understanding.
"I died the moment I drew it," Isshin said, voice steady. "But I came back. And it was only then I understood… I carried the Dragon's Heritage."
Klaus blinked, confused. "Dragon's Heritage?"
Isshin chuckled hoarsely, then burst into loud laughter—only to suddenly cough violently, spitting blood into his hand.
"Grandpa!" Tatsuki shouted, running to him with a bottle of pills and a glass of water. "I told you, stop forgetting your meds!"
"I didn't forget!" he snapped, wheezing. "I ignored them!"
Klaus watched the chaotic but oddly heartwarming scene. Even in pain, Isshin was grinning.
"I'd choose death over immortality any day, kid," he said. "But now? I'm dying because of this so-called gift. The Dragonrot has eaten away at me. Each time I came back… it cost me something. And now the toll's due."
Klaus sat in stunned silence.
This man hadn't just died once. He'd died dozens—maybe hundreds—of times.
And yet he still smiled.
Then Isshin's expression turned cold. The atmosphere shifted.
"…Kid." His voice cut through the stillness.
Klaus sat up straight.
"The Fushigiri can only be used by an immortal. When first drawn… it will kill you. If you can't come back… that's the end."
He let the words hang heavy.
"Many have tried," he continued. "Most died simply by gazing too long at its crimson edge. Their souls… weren't ready."
Klaus's throat tightened. His hand trembled slightly.
"What's your call, kid?"
Klaus thought for a long moment. Then, he looked up.
"Master Isshin… how do I attain the Dragon's Heritage?"
Isshin leaned back, stroking his chin.
"There's no known method," he said. "But there is a myth. In the northern highlands—Mount Yorei—they say the Divine Dragon slumbers. To gain its tears, you must sever its eye… and drink from its sorrow."
Klaus stood up, excitement in his eyes. "Then I'll go."
Isshin raised an eyebrow. "Remember this, boy: the one who seeks the Dragon's power may become a Shura. If that time comes…"
He stood up slowly, releasing half his Ryōki.
The room darkened. Pressure bore down like a thundercloud.
"…I'll be the one to strike you down."
Klaus didn't flinch. He stared straight at Isshin and said, "If that happens… there's someone who'll stop me."
Isshin's brow lifted. Then he smiled and chuckled deeply.
"Hah. You've got guts, kid."
With that, Klaus stepped forward, his hands hovering over the Fushigiri. He picked it up carefully, reverently. The blade pulsed in his hand like a sleeping beast.
Tatsuki opened the door.
"Let's go," she said with a small smile.
And together, the two walked out, leaving the Sword Saint behind in the candle-lit room, sake in hand, staring into the past.
---
The sliding door creaked softly as it closed behind them.
Moonlight spilled across the wooden walkway outside Isshin's quarters, casting long, solemn shadows.The silence that followed was not awkward, only weighted. Heavy with things left unsaid.
They walked side by side beneath the quiet eaves of the ancient compound.
"You satisfied now?" Tatsuki finally asked, her voice low, unreadable.
Klaus didn't look at her. His gaze stayed forward, unblinking. "Do you carry the Dragon's Heritage?"
Tatsuki blinked, taken slightly aback. She shrugged, eyes trailing the dark tiles above them. "Even if I did... I'd never want to use its power or whatever."
Klaus gave a quiet nod. He didn't press further.
"Let's go find Sofie," he said after a pause. "Then I'm leaving for Mount Yorei tomorrow."
Tatsuki stopped in her tracks for a moment. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched his back ahead of her.
"I'll come too," she said.
Klaus glanced over his shoulder. A flicker of warmth touched his expression—a small, knowing smile.
The moon watched quietly as the two figures disappeared into the night, their steps steady, shadows merging under the weight of what tomorrow would bring.
---
The morning sun crept softly over the horizon, gilding the distant peaks in gold. The air outside the estate gates was crisp, dew still clinging to the grass.
Klaus stood silently, arms crossed, the wind tugging gently at the hem of his cloak. Sofie stood beside him, bouncing slightly on her toes, her eyes narrowed in mock suspicion.
"You're really not gonna tell me where we're going?" she asked for what had to be the fifth time in the last hour.
Klaus didn't look at her. "You'll know in due time."
Sofie groaned dramatically, grabbing his arm and tugging. "Klaaaus! I followed you through burning ruins and assassins and deadly storms, and I don't even get a hint?"
Without a word, Klaus turned toward her, leaned down, and kissed her. Just a brief press of warmth, enough to cut her rant short and freeze her in place.
Sofie blinked. Then melted.
"…You're not playing fair," she mumbled, cheeks flushed, before reaching up and pulling him back in for another kiss—longer this time.
From behind them, a few stationed guards tried not to stare… and failed.
"Heh… looks like the little brat's got himself a girl," one of them whispered with a snort.
"Yeah, and she's way too cute for that stone-faced bastard—"
KRRRRRCK.
A soundless pressure cracked across the air like a hammer against glass.
The moment Klaus released a fraction of his Ryōki, nearly half of the watching soldiers dropped instantly. Some collapsed with eyes rolled back and frothing mouths. Others staggered, gasping for breath, clutching at their chests as if drowning in airless fear.
The rest wisely chose to shut up.
Sofie blinked. "…That was a little much, don't you think?"
"They'll live."
A gust of wind scattered the fallen leaves—and from the sky above, a figure landed with a sharp gust, sending dust and petals swirling.
Tatsuki.
Wearing her usual black shinobi garb with her sleeves loosely tied, she landed in a crouch and grinned as she stood up, brushing invisible dust off her shoulders.
"Yikes. You guys sure know how to make a scene," she said, gesturing to the unconscious bodies littering the area. "Careful, boys—this one's mine. If you're gonna gossip, at least wait till I'm not around."
She pointed a thumb toward Klaus. "My star pupil—practically a walking natural disaster."
Klaus turned toward her with a nod. "Ready to leave."
Tatsuki smirked and stretched her arms with a long yawn. "Ready when you are, disciple."
Sofie glanced between the two of them, then sighed and finally gave in.
"Fine, no more questions. But this better be good."
With that, the three figures Klaus , Sofie, and Tatsuki stepped beyond the gates and began their journey.
Toward Mount Yōrei.