The training grounds hum with the clash of steel. Ryo's blade meets Kyou's—each strike sending sparks scattering across the dirt. Sweat beads on Ryo's forehead, but he doesn't let up. Not this time.
Kyou deflects a heavy swing, twisting his wrist to send Ryo stumbling back. His smirk is lazy, but his eyes burn with something sharper—interest.
"You hit like you're trying to split mountains." He adjusts his grip, stance shifting fluidly. "But raw power isn't enough against someone who knows how to redirect it."
Ryo exhales sharply through gritted teeth (because Kyou's right again) and lunges—faster this time.
Between strikes, Kyou's mind drifts—just for a second—to fragments of memories he usually locks away:
His father's voice: "Fire consumes… but earth endures."
His sister's smile before everything went wrong.
He shakes it off just as Ryo's next attack comes in hot (literally) —the faint glow of unstable Seishu flaring around his blade like embers begging for control...
And that's when Kyou saw it: an opening where instinct should have been reflex.
"Too Slow."
Kyou's hand closes around Ryo's wrist—stopping the blade inches from his face. The sudden stop almost throws Ryo off balance, but Kyou holds him there, gaze darkening.
"You think you can control that anger? Like you can just turn it into a power? That's not how it works."
He steps back, sword lowering almost lazily.
"Control is a lie. The fire consumes. But the stone endures."
Ryo's expression twists—half anger, half… something else. A question, burning hot, on the tip.
"Pot. Kettle."
Ryo scoffs, rolling his shoulders as he resets his stance. His grip on the sword tightens—not in rage, but focus.
"You wanna talk about anger? You get pissy when someone breathes too loud near you."
Kyou's eye twitches (because damn if that isn't true), but he doesn't rise to it this time. Instead, he exhales through his nose and flicks his blade up in a silent challenge:
"Prove me wrong then."
(And for once—they aren't just sparring. They're learning.)
International Summit – A Gathering of Nations
At the heart of Hakuto's capital, leaders from across the countries assemble in grand council chambers—each bearing the weight of their respective regions on their shoulders. This isn't a gathering for diplomacy or compromise. This is a summit of power—and the air in the room is charged with unspoken tension.
"Members of the World Council, esteemed delegates…"
President Ryūji scans the assembly with a stern, weary look. His voice carries authority from years serving as Hakuto's leader. As he speaks, the room bristles with unspoken tension; like a match ready to ignite.
Ryūji continues:
"Thank you all for coming. I know these are troubling times, so I will not waste words."
"Hakuto's Crisis Is the World's Crisis."
The voice cuts through the chamber like steel—deep, measured, carrying the weight of absolute authority. Delegates turn as President Vaal Orsted of Zirithia, the militarized superpower to Hakuto's east, rises from his seat.
His piercing silver eyes lock onto Ryūji as he speaks:
"You speak of 'troubling times' when Kaimon incursions have already breached our southern borders?" He scoffs. "Your hesitation is why we now stand on a knife's edge."
(Silence grips the room—because Zirithia does not make idle threats.)
Nation Spotlight – ZIRITHIA
Military Superpower | "Iron Law" Philosophy
Elite Military Force: Tactical Force 246 (Specialize in
SeishuSuppression Tactics)
Current Threat Level: Active War Footing
"The Time for Action Has Come."
The next to rise is President Akane Yagura of the Kodama Isles —her voice sharp and clear as the steel in her eyes. Her nation has long stood neutral amidst the bloodshed, but now she speaks with the same iron resolve as Vaal.
She looks at Ryūji.
"The Kaimon plague is not just a Hakuto problem—it is ours as well. We cannot sit idly any longer."
President Ryūji's gaze shifts between the two leaders, weighing their words. He nods, acknowledging the truth in their words.
"You speak the truth. The Hunters are unlike anything we have faced before," he admits. "But so too is the cost of confronting them. A world war cannot be fought in these uncertain times. It would leave us all vulnerable."
Vaal scoffs, his eyes narrowed.
"You are mistaken, Ryūji. Humanity is already weak."
President Aito Hirako of the Honshu Federation rises from the assembly, his gaze solemn and thoughtful. His nation's isolationist policies have always kept them at a distance from the Kaimon crisis, but now he speaks with a resolve that surprises even him.
"Perhaps the answer does not lie in weapons, nor armies… but in the Hunting Realm itself."
President Ryūji's gaze sharpens as he listens to Hirako's words. The Hunting Realm is a mystery that the Hunters themselves are still unraveling; no one knows its full secrets and scope.
"The Hunting Realm is the source of the Kaimon," Hirako explains. "If we could learn to manipulate it, we could potentially end this conflict far more decisively than any weapon ever could."
"That's Exactly What I'm Suggesting."
Hirako's voice is steady, his expression unreadable. The silence that follows is suffocating—because the implication is clear:
"If we cannot control Hunters... then perhaps we can turn the very monsters they hunt against them."
President Vaal smirks (because it's ruthless, and Zirithia respects that). President Akane folds her arms—disapproving but intrigued. And Ryūji... looks like he's just been handed a ticking bomb.
Because weaponizing Kaimon? That's playing with fire so hot even Hunters might not survive it.
"A Warning to All Hunters."
President Ryūji exhales, steeling himself. He knows this path is dangerous—but he also knows fear is the only language some understand.
"If we cannot reach them in their world… then we will send a message they cannot ignore."
The council murmurs—some uneasy, others already calculating logistics. Vaal leans forward, eyes gleaming with approval. Akane's expression remains unreadable (but her silence is agreement enough). And Hirako… nods once. A grim acceptance settles over the chamber like a shroud as plans are set into motion:
Round up the humanworld hunters.
Make an example of them.
And let the Hunting Realm hear their screams.
Ryo's frustration is tangible as he trains, his body moving through forms with nearfury precision. Beside him, Kusuri trains just as fiercely—though a different kind of determination in her eyes. She doesn't seem affected by any of this, and yet... there's a weight behind her actions—a silent understanding shared.
Even still, Ryo can't shake the feeling that he's missed something. Something... vital.
The training grounds go silent as Ryo steps forward, Kusuri's shadow stretching long under the midday sun. She stops midswing, cleaver resting against her shoulder—eyeing him like she knew this moment would come.
Kyou lingers just behind them, arms crossed but listening (because even he's curious).
Ryo exhales, grip tightening on his own blade.
"You said your Kizugami is standard where you're from." His gaze locks onto hers. "So why the hell did Yua act like mine was something special?"
Kusuri tilts her head—almost amused—before answering with a truth that slices deeper than any sword:
"Because yours isn't just a weapon." Her fingers tap the flat of her cleaver absently. "It's alive in a way most aren't."
Ryo's confusion is only heightened by Kusuri's words. "Alive"? Every Kizugami is alive, to some degree. They're bound to a hunter. That's just how it's always been. Right?
He scowls (because nothing is simple anymore).
"What the hell do you mean, 'my blade is different'?"
"Because Yours Was Never Meant To Exist."
Kusuri's words linger in the air like a blade midswing—final, irreversible.
Ryo freezes. Kyou's smirk vanishes (because even he didn't see that coming). The silence that follows is suffocating—heavy with implications neither of them are ready for.
And then, just as Ryo opens his mouth to demand answers—
(A distant explosion shakes the ground beneath them.)
(The Purging Of Nonhuman entities had begun.)
⚔️ End Of Chapter Forty Five