Several months had passed since their triumph in the "Forest of Screaming Spirits." The fame of the Kagetori-Kuroi duo thundered throughout the academy. They were the living embodiment of the strength and hope of a new generation. But even legends have their anxieties.
Sorato, alarmed by Reiden's week-long absence, headed to the director's office. Keiden Fujibayashi, not yet the silver-haired elder but an energetic and ambitious leader, sat at his desk, his face clouded with worry.
"Kuroi," he began, setting aside his pen. "Have you seen Kagetori? He hasn't been in contact. Usually, his absence means he's found himself some 'entertainment,' but this time... something's off."
Sorato, standing with impeccable posture, allowed himself a slight, reassuring smile.
"Director, don't torment yourself. Reiden can handle himself. If something had happened to him, we would have heard about it in the loudest way possible. He's probably just immersed in his training."
"Perhaps..." Fujibayashi didn't look convinced. "In any case, there's an urgent mission. The Yamabuki clan, known for their dark rituals, has kidnapped several students from a border village for some rite. We need to intervene. Quickly and quietly. Since Kagetori is unavailable..."
"I'll take it," Sorato declared without hesitation. "Have no doubt."
Bowing, he left. He knew where to find Reiden. Their place wasn't a training ground or a noisy hall, but a quiet, hidden grove at the very edge of "Tenran's" territory, where an ancient sakura tree, blooming year-round, bent its branches over a small pond.
It was there he found Reiden. He was sitting, leaning against the sakura trunk, intently reading an old, battered scroll. His face was serious, his golden eyes scanning the lines with an unusual focus.
"Where have you been hiding?" Sorato asked, approaching.
Reiden didn't look up.
"Reading bedtime stories. Listen: 'Akatsuki Magoro... a villain, a fictional deity of monstrous power. They say he had a two-faced head and shot fiery arrows that incinerated villages. Brought chaos until a brave warlord, Akifusahiko, sent by the Imperial Court, gathered all Kokuro masters and barely scattered his spirit, but could not destroy him.'"
Sorato laughed, his violet eyes flashing with mockery.
"Two-faced? Fiery arrows? Scary stories to frighten naughty children. The Empire always loved creating cardboard monsters to justify its might and unite clans against a common, non-existent threat."
Reiden finally looked up at him and grinned.
"Maybe. But a good story." He nodded at the scroll in Sorato's hands. "A mission?"
"Another cleanup. The Yamabuki clan kidnapped students. Fujibayashi is worried."
"And you, as always, volunteered for the boring stuff instead of me," Reiden huffed gratefully. "Be careful. Don't let those shadow-rats dirty your pretty kimono."
"Don't worry," Sorato turned, his black hair flowing in the wind. "I'll simply return what they stole."
The Yamabuki clan's lair was in a cave labyrinth hidden behind a waterfall. The air was thick with the smell of sulfur and decay. Sorato moved silently, like a ghost. His first opponents were two guards using shadow Kokuro to merge with the stone.
They attacked simultaneously from the darkness. Sorato didn't even draw "Yami-No-Hara." His body, trained by years of sparring with Reiden, reacted on its own. He dodged the first strike, caught the second guard's arm, and using his own inertia, dislocated his shoulder with a crunch, then kicked the first one powerfully in the chest, slamming him against a wall. The fight lasted three seconds. Pure, refined physics.
Deeper in the caves, he faced a real challenge. The Yamabuki senior master, a man with a face covered in ritual scars, activated his technique: "Iron Chains of Damnation." Black, tentacle-like energy bands carrying the Scar of petrification rushed at Sorato from all corners of the cave.
Here, Sorato used his power for the first time that evening. "Yami-No-Hara" slid from its sheath with a quiet hiss.
"Kokuro: Bottomless Swamp. Absorption," his voice was calm.
The blade didn't deflect the attack. It absorbed it. The black tentacles, as if drawn by a magnet, rushed toward the blade and vanished into it without a trace. A dull gray pattern momentarily surfaced on "Yami-No-Hara"—the Scar of petrification, now forever sealed within.
The Yamabuki master recoiled in horror.
"What... what is that?!"
"Your technique," Sorato answered simply. "Now it's mine. Thank you."
And before he could recover, Sorato was beside him. With the katana's hilt, he delivered a lightning-fast blow to the temple, and the master collapsed silently.
It was then, in the heat of battle with the last and strongest defender—a fanatic using Kokuro of bloody sacrifices—that something happened. Sorato parried his attack, a bloody blade, and "Yami-No-Hara" worked again. It absorbed the technique.
But this time, it was different.
A torrent flooded his mind. Not pure energy, but filth. He felt the fanatic's soul-chilling hatred for all the "uninitiated." Saw flashes of images—tortured captives, their fear, their agony. He felt the perverse pleasure this man derived from their suffering. This wasn't knowledge. It was touching the very darkness.
Sorato recoiled, his violet eyes wide with shock. He still mechanically neutralized the opponent, knocking him out, but his mind was in turmoil.
He completed the mission. Freed the students. But as he returned to "Tenran," his view of the world was no longer the same. He looked at the sleeping children and saw not innocence, but fragility. At his fellow students and saw not potential, but... weakness.
He had always thought he absorbed only power. But now he understood—he absorbed the intent behind that power as well. And the seed of dark thought gifted to him by the Yamabuki master fell on the fertile soil of his brilliant but proud mind. The path of shadow began not with a loud fall, but with a quiet, almost imperceptible step away from the light.