Flaming tongues of fire rose in the heart of the Vargrim Forest, their black smoke billowing toward the high heavens and the crowded clouds.
Beside the towering pile of fire lay a small, unconscious boy. Looming over him was a creature a meter tall, possessing four legs that carried a pale human head. It stared at the boy with crimson-red eyes, panting heavily. This monster is known as a Revarge.
The beast bared its razor-sharp fangs, suddenly lunging at the boy's face, tearing through the body with elongated claws and crushing his visage with stained teeth.
"I have failed miserably..."
***
"A dream—no, just another nightmare..."
Golden threads of sunlight drifted from the sky, piercing the high clouds to overlook Vargrim, which sat nestled within the heart of the autumn land, Orival.
Takeshi woke from his sleep after yet another nightmare had haunted him. Yet, looking only at his cold features, which made him resemble a statue, one could tell he had grown accustomed to such terrors.
He adjusted his posture and pushed the blanket aside, gripping a sword resembling a katana inside a dark red sheath with his right hand. He stood up, revealing he was inside a small, dilapidated cabin where sunlight leaked through prominent cracks in the walls.
The cabin was entirely empty, save for Takeshi and some tattered old books tossed into a far corner. Among them, one book stood out with a vibrant blue cover; its title was: The First Generation.
Takeshi stood and walked toward the cabin door, his features and physique becoming more distinct. He was a young man of seventeen, though his sharp features and superior physical build suggested otherwise.
His eyes were a hollow grey, filled with malice mixed with a hint of despair. His grey hair was spiky and disheveled, having gone unshorn for several years. He wore worn-out grey clothes that emitted a foul stench—or rather, the stench belonged to the clothes, for his body was clean and clear.
He stood before the door, staring at engravings and numbers he had carved previously. Five numbers, specifically, starting from 973 to 976, marking the years he had spent alone in the forest, isolated within this narrow, decaying shack.
He wiped those engravings with his hand, then leaned his forehead against the door, staring downward. He whispered:
"One month remains, and I will have finished my fifth year without achieving anything..."
Takeshi had spent five years, minus two weeks, in this isolation. His heart, his eyes—even his voice—trembled with despair. He felt an abyssal void of longing, hatred, and regret.
However, he had indeed grown used to these negative emotions. Staying in isolation for a single month is enough to turn someone into a completely different person; the idea of remaining alone for five years is enough to drive a person truly insane.
Yet, the realization that he was truly isolated never fully settled in Takeshi's mind, for he considered his sword to be the last member of his family and his first and final companion on his path.
Takeshi raised his hand, struck the door slowly, then pushed it open, saying:
"Five years of cowardice, without doing a single thing..."
He stepped out of the cabin with hurried strides, overlooking the vast forest and the towering trees surrounding the shack. Beside the cabin sat a massive pot in front of an extinguished fire pit.
Even though the sun's rays had bypassed the dense clouds, the forest remained dark and deeply gloomy. Without hesitation, Takeshi set off directly toward the west, plunging into the deep woods.
***
Minutes later, Takeshi reached a clear, shimmering lake that reflected the golden sunlight, radiating tranquility and peace. In truth, this lake was the only thing that redeemed the forest's gloom.
The source of this lake was a medium-sized, flowing waterfall connected to a river that cut through the entire forest, securing water for all the creatures living within its darkness.
Takeshi approached the lake and knelt slowly before it. He washed his face several times and finally drank some water.
Before turning back, he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye on the opposite bank: a massive bull, drinking from the lake in complete peace and comfort.
The moment Takeshi saw it, he moved from his spot and vanished from sight, stalking the unsuspecting bull.
Swooooosh!!
The bull froze in place for a moment, then collapsed to the ground as blood sprayed from its neck.
Its blood mingled with the soil and flowed toward the lake, spoiling its inviting clarity and turning its transparency into a bright red hue.
The bull thrashed in place, trembling, as its wide eyes stared at Takeshi, who stood before it, gripping his blood-stained sword firmly.
"My intention was to end your life with a single strike so you wouldn't suffer. I am sorry..."
Takeshi said this before raising his sword high and ending the bull's life with a final blow, staring at the carcass with a deep frown.
The bull's movements ceased, the flame of its life extinguished. Takeshi stepped toward the bull and hoisted it onto his shoulder despite its immense weight.
Deep within the dark forest, Takeshi noticed a female bull staring at him with intense trembling. Beside her was a small calf that had just witnessed its father's death.
Without waiting, as soon as the female bull realized Takeshi had seen her, she fled, leaving her son behind. The calf froze for moments until its small mind processed what had happened, then it ran after its mother, driven by the instinct for survival.
Takeshi smiled faintly as he stared at the spreading bull's blood. His smile was artificial, attempting to hide his regret, and then he wiped the blood from his sword using the soil.
Suddenly, he spoke in a faint voice, barely audible, closing his eyes in despair.
"Why must I remember all of this? Why do these memories always haunt me?"
The regret gathered over the years seeped through his trembling tone.
What distinguished Takeshi was not just his extraordinary physical ability, but his cursed photographic memory, which allowed him to remember every day he had lived in vivid detail. He remembered every nightmare that came to him, every suffering that pursued him, and the face of every creature whose blood he had spilled.
Along with his sword, his memories were his constant companion throughout his life.
***
Takeshi returned to the cabin, carrying the bull's carcass over his shoulder, muttering to himself in a low voice.
"This is the cycle of life... kill so you aren't killed. It isn't a mistake I should regret... but why do I always have this feeling..."
As soon as he stepped in front of the cabin, he dropped the bull's body on the ground.
"I should roast it—"
He stopped speaking the moment he noticed the position of the pot had changed. As he turned toward his cabin, he noticed heavy human footprints in the muddy earth.
Takeshi drew his sword and pointed it toward the threshold of his cabin door, shouting:
"Show yourself!"
Takeshi felt his reaction was overly hostile, especially since he hadn't met a human in years, which sharpened the edge of the regret wounding his heart.
The sound of heavy, steady footsteps echoed from inside the cabin, accompanied by mocking words in a thick, irritating voice:
"Who called for me? Oh, it must be the owner of this lovely cabin!"
A tall man in his thirties emerged from the shack. His green eyes stared directly at Takeshi. His brown hair and trimmed beard moved slightly with the creeping breeze.
He wore a white robe that wrapped around his body, fastened by a golden insignia shaped like a bare skull.
Takeshi did not budge from his spot; instead, he leveled his sword, saying sharply:
"Who are you?"
A wide grin appeared on the man's face. He tilted his head, pointing a finger at Takeshi.
"I am Yamikaji, of the Royal Skull Gang—"
He moved his hand, gesturing toward Takeshi's sword, and continued:
"And I have come for that piece of scrap metal!"
Yamikaji raised his hand slightly toward Takeshi, and the ground suddenly trembled. Several black wooden branches erupted from the earth, surging toward Takeshi with lethal speed. Takeshi reacted instantly, dodging most of them with sharp precision and skill, but one managed to graze his cheek. A single drop of blood fell, signaling the beginning of the battle.