The night burned red.
The heavens themselves seemed to bleed. Ash and sparks rained over the courtyard as I stood alone among the corpse of my comrads.
The wind carried the scent of blood and charred wood, and beneath it, the silence of extinction.
My arms were heavy, my sword slick, but I did not lower it.
The battle had been lost hours ago.
But I hadn't fallen yet.
Flames climbed the shattered walls of the Hayato clan. We had been invaded by the enemy. I had slain so many yet their numbers only grew.
Five figures broke through the smoke ahead, moving at incredible speed. Their swords raised with murderous intent.
Their faces filled with confidence. They were grinning as they laid eyes on me. They thought I was just a wounded man clinging to pride. An easy prey.
They thought wrong.
Well...they weren't fully wrong.
Yes, I was clinging on to my pride and fighting even though my clan had already fallen. And yes, I was wounded.
All my muscles ached of exhaustion and fatigue. There was deep cut on my lower calf and a shallow slash across my back still burned with pain.
To top it off, an arrow had pierced through my left shoulder.
But I was far from being an easy prey.
In a swift motion, I dashed forward and drew a perfect arc with my blade.
A precise slash met their necks. There was no sound to it. Only a faint breeze. Their heads fell like apples from a tree.
The Crimson Veil Swordstyle was never meant for war. It was art — motion made perfect, emotion turned to steel.
My father once told me that true mastery was when the blade cut not flesh, but fate itself.
If that were true, then fate had already been severed tonight.
I stepped over the fallen, my hand steady despite the blood dripping down my wrist. The courtyard was an ocean of fire.
The petals of the old cherry tree — once symbols of renewal — now drifted as ashes in the wind.
Our banners burned.
Our name, our art, our honor — all of it would die with me.
Another wave of soldiers advanced. Dozens this time. Their armor glinted like wet stone under the firelight. I could hear their commander shouting from behind.
I raised my sword and rushed forward. Every breath, every step, fell into rhythm- quick, steady, absolute.
And most of all,... Perfect
They fell like wheat beneath the scythe.
One strike, one death.
Each motion precise, silent, inevitable.
But perfection came with a cost. My body couldnt keep up. I was a second too slow to react. A sharp sword had pierced my waist.
Striking my abdomen and the lower part of my stomach.
Without a second thought, I spun with a slash and severed the man standing infront of me. I staggered, breath hitching.
Blood seemed to pour out of me. The bleeding didnt seem to stop. The pain seemed unbearable but I had to manage.
Through the haze, a figure emerged — black armor, iron mask, sword drawn. A samurai.
Much like myself.
I could tell he was well-trained. He had been studying me. My every move up till now.
Damn it!
How cowardly of him to send his minions first.
Got to admit, it is smart but still. Not honorable in any way.
He stepped through fire and ruins, silent as death itself, and raised his blade toward me.
I exhaled. The wind trembled against the steel.
"Come," I whispered.
We met in the middle of the inferno.
Our blades clashed, sparks blooming like fireflies in a storm.
He was strong. Younger. Quicker. I found myself on the defensive at first. He was striking with brute strength and precision.
Mostly to put enormous pressure on my injured left shoulder.
However, I parried perfectly. Shifting the weight of every blow and using his center of gravity against him.
Then i saw it. His pattern.
I cut through his rhythm. Countering every strike. For a heartbeat, I saw the opening — the path to victory — the thin line that drew across his neck.
There it is!
However, for some reason. I couldn't move.
I felt my heart skip a beat, then two.
Blood splurted out my mouth and my knees gave out.
I glanced at my left arm. There it was. How did I miss it ? Poison.
The arrow that had hit me before had been dipped in wolfsbane. My body fell completely knumb.
It was checkmate.
The foe at my front didnt hesitate.
The world tilted.
I felt the cold edge of a sword slip through my neck, crushing skin and bone with a loud sickening sound. My head fell, my body following a moment later.
It was death.
...
A dead samurai, thats what I've become. I wasn't able to protect my clan.
My people, all the children... dead.
Am I even worthy of being called a samurai?
Right now, even when surrounded in never ending darkness ,i cant shake off this guilt. I had failed, both as clan heir and as a samurai of the crimson veil sword style.
Guilt and regret clung to me.
My consciousness floated adrift. The darkness empty and dreadful.
"I hope... in my next life, I dont turn out to be a failure"