The cold morning air stung Kaizen's skin as he pulled himself up from the dusty ground, blood trickling from a cut above his eye. Across from him, Gete stood tall and imposing, arms crossed, watching his student with narrow eyes.
"Get up! You can just heal later," Gete barked, his voice sharp and grating.
Kaizen coughed, blood spilling from his lip, yet a smile still played on his face. His body trembled, barely able to stand—but he did. Always. That smile made Gete click his tongue in irritation. He preferred students who cried or broke under pressure. But Kaizen? He was too calm, too quiet. No matter how brutal the training, he never cracked.
Again and again, Kaizen was thrown to the ground, forced to endure blow after blow. His bones ached, his muscles screamed, and his mind teetered between fatigue and fainting. Yet each time, he rose. Slowly. Painfully. Silently.
After the grueling day-long Taijutsu session, Gete dismissed him with a grunt. "Rest. Kenjutsu training tomorrow."
And so the days passed. Kaizen immersed himself in the repetition—each punch, each kick, each form burned into his body. When the others rested, he trained. When they mocked him, he endured. And as new children were brought in—fresh blood baptized into the Jashin faith—Kaizen slowly faded into the background.
The newcomers, ranging from four to ten years old, quickly took the spotlight. Stronger, louder, and more expressive in their faith. Unlike Kaizen, who no longer spoke the endless praises he once did, the new children glorified Jashin with fervent screams and rituals. Kaizen understood—acting too devout would only make him a target now.
The cult valued strength. Weakness was to be culled. And while Kaizen made himself appear mediocre, he trained relentlessly in secret. He memorized every corner of the settlement, every hidden exit, every path leading to the surrounding towns. His eyes weren't set on being a follower.
He was planning his escape.
But the whispers followed him everywhere.
"Tsk tsk, Kaizen," a sneering voice said one afternoon, as Kaizen finished his solitary exercises. "If I were you, I'd bash my head on a tree and save Jashin-sama the trouble."
Kaizen turned to see Ei, the arrogant ten-year-old prodigy, flanked by two other children. Ei was a product of Liro's own training, and it showed. He had a knack for cruelty, honed with permission and even encouragement from the instructors.
"You shouldn't be so harsh," another added, grinning. "You'll make the trash cry."
Kaizen simply stared at them, his golden-brown eyes flat and unreadable. Then, he returned to his training without a word. He had nothing to prove. Not yet.
A year passed in this silence.
In that time, the Jashin cult sent the children on minor missions—petty banditry, scouting, and minor thefts. Nothing major. With the world still on edge from the recent war, the villages remained vigilant, making it too risky to deploy children for true chaos.
Kaizen used those missions to memorize the terrain further. He drew mental maps of roads, town gates, natural shelters, and river crossings. Every detail mattered.
The cult itself housed a fair number of fighters—six Genin-level combatants, three Chunin, and one who stood between Chunin and Jonin in strength. It wasn't enough to take on a village, but it was more than enough to keep them hidden and protected from weak attackers.
By now, Kaizen had been almost completely forgotten. Priest Jaron no longer looked at him with interest. The boy he once believed would carry Jashin's flame now seemed like a dull ember. And Liro, ever the sadist, ordered the instructors and children to ignore him.
"He'll break if no one acknowledges him," Liro had said.
But Kaizen didn't break.
While others were praised for their strength, Kaizen silently mastered his. He maxed out his Prayer and Blood Ritual techniques, unlocking the passive skill [Undying], which increased his HP by 200.
He also unlocked the subclass [Tokushu Sentōin – Combat Specialist], now at Level 2.
His core class, [War Orphan], had reached its max level of 10.
Taijutsu: Level 4
Kenjutsu: Level 2
Ritualist(Novice): Level 2
EXP Gained: 301,702
But he remained quiet. Hidden. Waiting.
Elsewhere, in the shrine, Priest Jaron knelt before the altar, hands clasped as he muttered a long prayer in the ancient tongue of Jashin.
Blood trickled from his palms where nails dug in, and the silver bowl before him boiled with black ichor. The smell of rot and metal filled the air.
Moments later, Jaron rose slowly, his eyes glazed over in holy ecstasy.
"He has spoken," Jaron said aloud. "Jashin-sama desires a vessel."
Liro raised a brow. "A vessel?"
Jaron nodded, his voice trembling. "Kaizen is to be sacrificed. His body will serve as the medium for Jashin-sama's descent."
"Kaizen?" Liro asked, startled. "You always thought he was—"
"It is Jashin-sama's will," Jaron interrupted. "And I am but His servant."
A long silence followed.
"…Very well. When shall it be done?"
"Soon. But not before the boy understands that his only value is in death."
Jaron turned, his expression cold and unfeeling. "Now, how are the other children?"
"They're showing excellent progress," Liro answered. "Ei in particular. The boy has learned the Body Flicker technique. He's still weaker than the instructors, but with another year, he may surpass them."
"Good. Focus on him. We will need strong vessels if Kaizen's body fails."
"Yes, Priest," Liro bowed.