The icy tip of Violet's scythe hovered a few centimeters from Ritsuki's throat. Stella squeaked in fear, but Ritsuki stayed calm, his sharp eyes meeting the exile's without a flicker.
"Pleased to meet you," he said, voice cutting through the swamp's hush. "My name is
Ritsuki Koutarou. And this is Stella."
Violet narrowed her eyes. "I didn't ask your name. I asked how you pierced my illusion."
"That part was simple," Ritsuki replied. "Your illusion bends light and sound to hide this forest, but you can't hide scent. Stella can smell human life from miles away. Once she pointed the way, I searched for the place where each reflection felt least natural—then stepped through."
The logic, delivered without pride or panic, made Violet lower her scythe a fraction. This boy… was dangerous—not for raw power, but for his mind. "Clever enough," she admitted. "Now the only question that matters: what do you want here?"
"I want you to teach me," Ritsuki said, without circling. Violet let out a rough, bitter laugh. "Teach you? Boy, look around you. Does this look like a dojo?" "I want you to teach me your Shadow Technique."
The specificity drew Violet back to full alert. "And what will you offer in return?"
"Help," said Ritsuki. "I know your situation. You're alone, sheltering refugees, resisting the four other Guardians and the kingdom's full might. You're strong, but outnumbered. You need an ally."
"And you think a child like you is useful to me?" she sneered.
"I can do what you can't," Ritsuki answered, eyes gone cold. "If the price is King
Viorrno's head, consider it already yours."
His absolute confidence silenced Violet. "You don't know what you're saying," she hissed. "Viorrno is a Divergent. His Potential neutralizes the Potentials of everyone around him. Before him, even the strongest Knights are only ordinary people."
"I take it as a challenge," Ritsuki said simply.
"Ritsuki-sama is amazing!" Stella whispered from behind him.
Violet exhaled long, sheathing the scythe until it dissolved into shadow. The boy was mad, or a genius, or both. But in his eyes she saw no arrogance—only a terrifying emptiness, the emptiness of one who does not fear death. Perhaps… perhaps that madness was exactly what she needed.
"Very well," she said. "I accept. But don't expect mercy. In my training there is none."
"All my teachers say the same, Violet-sensei," Ritsuki answered, bowing slightly.
Violet's hut was clean and tended despite its size—one main room that served as kitchen and parlor, and a narrow bedroom. After Ritsuki and Stella washed in turns, they gathered in the main room.
"First problem," Violet said, pointing toward the single bedroom. "There's only one bed." "Not a problem," Ritsuki answered at once. "I can sleep anywhere. This sofa is plenty."
Violet studied him, trying to read the mystery seated before her. "Before we go further, tell me how much you know."
"Ellies the Sun Knight—brutal, pure physical force," Ritsuki recited, as if reading a report. "Amethyst the Water Goddess—manipulates water and ice. Artemis the Heart-Hunter—ranged archer with impossible accuracy. And you, Violet the Black
Illusionist—master of shadow magic and ambush."
Violet nodded, grudgingly impressed. "You also know I'm not alone." "You brought refugees with you—Targon's people who refused to kneel to a tyrant," Ritsuki added.
"And your former comrades… they aren't brainwashed."
"What do you mean?" Violet asked, startled. "There's no trace of Mind-Control magic on them. Every choice they've made—their 'betrayal'—was their own," Ritsuki said flatly.
The truth struck Violet harder than Ellies's blade. The hope that her friends were victims shriveled, replaced by the weight of true betrayal.
"Then… there's no saving them," she whispered.
"There's always a way," Ritsuki cut in. "I'll bring them back—starting with the easiest." "Nothing is 'easy' against a Guardian." "Then give me everything on my first target: Amethyst."
Violet drew a slow breath, her role shifting from hermit to commander. "Amethyst is the Water Goddess. She controls water and ice absolutely, without drawing on Mana. Never try to match her head-on. Her support spells—healing, reinforcement—still need Mana and focus. Break her concentration and you'll find a gap."
"Understood," Ritsuki said, flipping open his journal and jotting notes.
"One more thing," Violet added, eyes narrowing. "I can see the Mana flow within every living thing. But you… I see nothing. You're empty. How?"
"Because I have none," Ritsuki said without looking up. "No Mana. No Potential. Since birth."
Violet fell silent. The child was a paradox—someone who should be the frailest of humans, yet radiated a threat greater than any monster she had faced.
At that moment Stella came out of the washroom in only a towel. "Ritsuki-sama! My clothes…"
"I'll handle it," Violet said, rising. She stretched out a hand; threads of shadow gathered from the air and knit themselves into a simple, comfortable dress sized for a child.
"Whoa—Magecraft!" Ritsuki grinned. "Useful for small things," Violet replied, helping Stella into the dress.
—
In that tiny hut—in a triangle of a wounded Knight, a child who had lost everything, and a killer without a past—an impossible alliance took root. Their first mission had been set. That night Ritsuki did not sleep. He sat on the sofa, polishing steel in the moonlight while his mind ranged ahead to the battlefield, sketching a hundred ways to break a Goddess.
Deep night draped the swamp. Strange calls of Targon's nocturnal beasts made a wary music outside; inside, the warmth of a small hearth wove a fragile safety. Ritsuki was asleep by then, breath slow and even, as though no weight in the world could touch him.
In the lone bedroom, Violet and Stella lay side by side on the narrow mattress. Violet had offered the bed entirely to Stella, but the girl had insisted they share, as if afraid to be alone. For a long time they lay listening to the other's heartbeat.
"I forgot to ask this," Violet murmured at last. "How did you two meet?"
Stella was quiet, as if dredging memory from a dark well. "Ritsuki-sama… saved me," she said softly. "Just yesterday."
"Yesterday!?" Violet's surprise was genuine. "Seeing you two together, I thought you'd known each other for years." She hesitated, then asked gently, "Saved you… from what?"
The small body started to tremble. "I was… captured… and sold," she whispered, voice breaking. "But because I'm mixed-blood and 'defective', buyers wouldn't take me. So they kept me underground as a lesson to others."
Violet's heart sank. She said nothing—only let the girl speak.
"I was so scared, Sensei. Every day I watched my friends tortured. Killed for trying to run, or for asking for a little food. O-only me… only I survived, because I was too afraid to fight."
Tears welled on Stella's cheeks. "One day a guard dropped the cell key. My bravest friend took it and pressed it into my hand, told me to run when I could. But the guards… they noticed. They tortured her to death in front of me to make me say where the key was."
"When they realized it was me, they took me to the deepest room. They hung my hands and feet… and they cut off my tail so I would look more 'human' and sell for a higher price…" She touched her lower back, flinching at the ghost pain of what was gone.
"When I heard they would cut off my ears next… I didn't want to live. I only wanted it to end."
Violet had no words. She pulled Stella close. "Is the world on the other side truly this rotten?"
"But at that moment," Stella said, voice lifting as she remembered, "when I had given up… the door opened. A shadow stood there. For the first time, I wanted to run—to fight. He came toward me slowly and I could only scream."
"But… he didn't hurt me. He unfastened every shackle. Wrapped me in his warm cloak, cleaned my wounds, gave me water. He treated me like a person. Like his little sister."
"That person… was Ritsuki-sama."
Violet looked toward the main room, toward the boy sleeping on the sofa. The empty, dangerous boy who had offered to kill a king… was the same as the angel in Stella's story.
"Without him… I…" Stella's sobs spilled free, raw and shaking. "I wouldn't be here. I would have died in that dark place. My friends' sacrifice would mean nothing. I would never have felt freedom. I… I'm so grateful…"
Words were useless. Violet only held the child tighter, letting her empty all the pain and thanks into Violet's shoulder. Under twin moons, in a swamp of shadows, an exiled Knight soothed the crying of a child saved by a boy with no past. And in that stillness, Violet began to understand that the sleeping boy was far more complicated—and perhaps far kinder—than she had imagined.
That night, Stella finally slept in Violet's arms, exhausted after pouring out her grief.
Violet watched the child's peaceful face and felt a warmth she had long forgotten. The boy in the other room… Ritsuki… he was not just a weapon. He was the small miracle who had carried this guiding star to her door.
—
Morning came sharp and clean. Ritsuki stood in the clearing before the hut, posture straight, breath steady. Violet approached, her great scythe vanished, replaced by the aura of a merciless teacher.
"Lesson one," she said evenly. "I want to see your true ability. No weapons. No tricks.
Only bare hands."
"Understood, Sensei," Ritsuki replied, dropping into a low stance Violet had never seen.
The fight began without a cue. Ritsuki shot forward, his attacks flowing like water. Palm strikes of silat melted into a karate side-kick, then into a low kung-fu sweep. It was fluid, unpredictable—an original style woven from the mosaic of a hundred teachers.
But Violet was a Guardian. To her, it was only an elegant dance. She moved with deadly economy, shifting inches to make blows slide past, brushing aside kicks with the back of her hand, as if she already knew where every strike would land.
"He's fast and varied, but he has no core," she thought, analyzing even while moving.
"He owns an armory without a favorite blade. I only need one gap…"
As if reading her, Ritsuki broke his rhythm. He snapped a kick that Violet caught—but at the instant of contact he pulsed his Inner Power. A small shockwave burst from his shin, forcing Violet a step back for the first time.
"Inner Power? This child… keeps his surprises close."
He gave her no time to reflect. He came again, feint within feint. But she was waiting. When his twin punches flashed for her face, she saw the seam she wanted. A quick elbow split the wedge between his hands, breaking his form; an invisible sweep took his legs. He hit the ground hard.
The match was over.
"You have the knowledge of a thousand men and the experience of a child," Violet said, offering a hand to pull him up. "But your Inner Power—its flow is clean and strong. We'll begin there."
She focused. From the soil, two black shadows rose and sculpted themselves into perfect replicas of her. "Watch closely," she said.
"The one on my right is made purely of Mana. It can move and 'think' within the bounds of my orders. A soldier. The one on my left is made purely of Inner Power. It links directly to me—every motion is my motion, every thought my thought. A puppet."
Ritsuki studied them. "Since I have no Mana," he said, "I can only make puppets."
"Exactly," Violet said. "And that's far harder. A Mana shadow needs only an initial command. An Inner-Power shadow demands your focus every second. Lose concentration and it vanishes. Now—try."
Ritsuki sat, legs crossed, eyes closed, drawing Inner Power from his whole body to a single point before him. Slowly a dense black clump formed, swirling like an unstable little galaxy.
"Even without a full model, he can copy the process," Violet thought. "He's a monster."
After five minutes the clump was still a clump—no shape. "How do I shape it, Sensei?" he asked. The clump popped out at his first distraction.
"No instruction," Violet said, smiling thinly. "Keep going until you can."
While he wrestled with shadow, two teenage girls came cheerfully up the path. Agnes—sunny, blonde—carried a basket of food. Beside her, Flora, the blacksmith's daughter, chattered nonstop.
"You really found it!?" Agnes cried. "Yup! Dad gave it to me—the sequel to that
'other-world' book we found in the ruins!" Flora beamed. "There's something called a 'car'—a metal carriage that moves by itself and carries lots of people!" "Wow! Sounds like magic!" "And they have a box that shows moving pictures "and" sound!"
Three years had passed since they fled the kingdom. Within the illusion forest they had built a living village—fields, herds, mines, trade. They had made a home under the protection of the Shadow Knight they revered.
At the hut they saw a strange sight: an unfamiliar boy sitting cross-legged, a black clump blooming and collapsing before him.
"Violet-sama!" Agnes sang, ignoring Ritsuki. "We brought lunch!"
Their arrival broke the silence. Ritsuki opened his eyes, slightly annoyed, while Violet greeted them with her rare warm smile. Watching them together, Ritsuki realized something: Violet wasn't merely a fighter in hiding—she was a pillar, a protector, a hope.
The weight on her shoulders was far heavier than he'd guessed.
Morning slid toward noon in the Refuge. Ritsuki was still in place, drenched in sweat, breath ragged from the mental strain. Before him the black clump throbbed, barely stable. He could hold it for minutes now, but giving it solid form felt impossible. Each attempt at a sphere or cube made it shudder and blow apart.
From the porch, Violet watched, eyes missing nothing. Stella sat beside her, legs swinging, glancing anxiously at Ritsuki.
"Violet-sama!" Agnes and Flora called again as they arrived with a fragrant basket. The breeze of their presence sweetened the intensity.
"Today I cooked!" Agnes said proudly. "Guaranteed tasty—unlike Flora's always-burned disasters!" "H-hey!" Flora flushed.
They chatted as Ritsuki fought the shadow. At last—success. A nearly perfect black sphere held for three full seconds before it shattered. "Sensei! Three seconds!" Ritsuki crowed—exhausted but proud. "Good," Violet called back. "Now make it hold for one minute." "O-one minute!?" he groaned, eyes squeezing shut again.
Violet brought the girls and Stella inside to eat. Ritsuki refused to rest. When the meal was done, he caught Agnes and Flora at the door.
"Thanks for bringing food every day," he said with an easy smile. "Sensei's protection must mean a lot to the village." "Of course!" Agnes said. "Violet-sama is our hero.
She keeps out the monsters that sometimes slip past the illusion."
Seeing how flushed they were from walking, an idea struck Ritsuki. "You must be thirsty. Wait here."
He disappeared and returned with a strange device from his bag, along with oranges and ice. Bewildered, the girls watched as he fed everything into a small battery-powered spinner. With a soft buzz, it transformed fruit into a bright yellow drink. "Orange juice," he said, pouring it into two cups. "A drink from my world."
They sipped, then their eyes went wide. "Waaah! So fresh!" "How do you make this!?"
As Ritsuki explained "blenders" and the concept of "juice," Agnes and Flora traded whispers. "Do you think…" "He's from that outside world in the book!"
"Um… Ritsuki," Flora ventured. "Are you… from another world?" He paused, then smiled. "Yes." "Then—have you seen a 'car'!?" Agnes burst out.
Their conversation ran on into midday—Ritsuki's tales of technology and daily life punctuated by their wonder.
When they left, Ritsuki returned to the yard. He didn't brute-force the exercise. He thought back to Violet's hint: "A shadow is a mirror of the soul." He stopped trying to "force" a form and started pouring intention into the energy. He pictured a replica of himself, an extension of his will.
Slowly, the clump stretched—arms, legs, a wavering human outline. Unstable, trembling—but a shape. He had done it.
Violet and Stella felt the shift and stepped outside. "Good," Violet said, true admiration in her tone. "You've built a vessel. Now the real lesson begins: make it dance."
"You're advancing faster than I expected," she went on. "We can't just wait. An opportunity may be near."
She returned with a hand-drawn map of Targon. "My last informant said that at every full moon, Amethyst goes alone to an ancient library. There's a sacred mirror-lake there."
Ritsuki's eyes sharpened. "The best time to tag her—apart from the others." "Exactly," Violet said. "Your trial: not to kill her, but to plant this tracking rune without her noticing. If you succeed, we can watch her movements—and perhaps learn how to break the king's grip on her. If you fail…"
"…I die," Ritsuki finished, calm.
Training ended. The mission began. Ritsuki checked his kit—katana, kunai, knives, smoke bombs, chain-karambit—cleaning and honing each with a professional's focus.
Violet stood outside, eyes closed, senses stretching far, preparing long-sight surveillance. When Ritsuki stepped out geared for war, Stella ran up with a charm she'd made of dried flowers and thread.
"For luck," she whispered.
He tucked it carefully into his pocket and patted her head. "I'll come back," he promised.
Teacher and student reached the forest's edge—two shadows poised to step beyond their refuge. Enemy territory lay ahead. Their first move to reclaim Targon was about to begin.
—
Targon's night felt heavy and strange. Two moons hung in the indigo sky, their pale light washing the sleeping Refuge. In Violet's hut, a single candle burned—the flame dancing above the table where Ritsuki sat.
He did not sleep—the hours before a mission were a sacred ritual. His weapons lay in perfect order: the slim killing katana; dozens of kunai and shuriken tipped with a sleeping poison; twin knives; and his signature chain-karambit. He wiped each one with a soft cloth, eyes checking every detail for the slightest flaw.
Above them all lay something new: a small dark-violet rune-stone, Violet's gift. It throbbed with a faint energy. This mission was different.
"Everything's ready," he thought.
He let the night's silence sharpen him. In the underworld of killers and clients, a reputation had formed—a whisper about a ghost who never failed.
"Whatever the request, Ritsuki Koutarou never fails at assassination."
He had carved that truth with blood and steel across three continents. Contract by contract, life by life—until he was a perfect, efficient, emotionless machine. Even so, this mission felt strange, almost awkward.
"This time the goal isn't to kill… It's been a long while since I took a 'please help' over a 'kill.'"
He brushed away the old memory of his mother's voice asking him to buy cherries—minutes before his former world shattered. Focus.
He studied the map again. A red circle marked the sacred Mirror Lake—Amethyst's destination, alone and unwary.
"Water Goddess, Amethyst," he thought, a thin confident smile cutting across his mouth. "Welcome your rescuer."
He reached for the door, but Violet's voice stopped him. "Already leaving?" She stood in the doorway, eyes clear despite her nightclothes.
"Now is best," he said. "Border wards are slackest at first light."
"Remember, Ritsu. Amethyst isn't evil—just lost. Bound by an oath to a rotten throne.
Don't kill her unless there's no other choice."
"My mission is to plant the rune," he said. "Her death would only be a bonus if she blocks my path too long."
Violet sighed. The boy was a double-edged sword—priceless and perilous. "Be careful," was all she could say.
Ritsuki nodded, glanced at the bed where Stella slept curled around her flower-charm, and for a heartbeat the emptiness in his eyes softened. Protecting the child had given him a purpose sharper than survival.
He opened the door and stepped out—not walking but merging into dark. He flowed through the Refuge, crossed the illusion's border, and entered Targon's wild, unforgiving green.
Beneath the twin moons, a hitman with no past set out on a hunt—not to take a life, but to save a Goddess's soul.
[TO BE CONTINUED]