The silence in the director's office of "Tenran" during its heyday was different—not saturated with fear, but heavy with responsibility and ambition. Not five, but seven patriarchs representing the great clans of that time sat at the table. Their faces, not yet scarred by the wars to come, were focused and stern. Before them stood two youths.
Reiden Kagetori, not yet wearing his black-and-gold jacket, but already possessing the same indomitable gaze of golden eyes. His posture betrayed not arrogance, but calm confidence that the ground beneath his feet would bear any step.
And Sorato Kuroi. His long, raven-black hair, some of it tied in an elegant bun, the rest cascading down his back, seemed like a living embodiment of night. His violet eyes, the color of a pre-storm sky, swept over the assembled elders with cold analytical clarity. His dark purple kimono with silver-embroidered snakes devouring each other made him resemble a young aristocratic conspirator.
"Kagetori. Kuroi," began the head of the Council, the silver-haired patriarch of the Himeji clan. "What we entrust to you is not a routine mission. It is... the liquidation of the consequences of a monstrous error."
He pushed aside a scroll stamped "Top Secret."
"Ten years ago, the Morohashi clan, in an attempt to create a perfect defender, conducted an illegal experiment. They tried to 'stitch' several combat Kokuro into a single artifact—a scroll known as the 'Heart of the Storm.' The experiment spiraled out of control. The scroll didn't just activate. It... evolved. Gained primitive consciousness and escaped, hiding in the 'Forest of Screaming Spirits.'"
Shiori of that time, a young archivist with the same piercing gaze as her future heir, added:
"The 'Heart of the Storm' is constantly evolving. It absorbs the forest's natural Scars—Scars of hurricanes, earthquakes, lightning—and spawns autonomous guardian golems, each wielding one of the techniques woven into it. The forest has become inhospitable even for our best scouts. The instructors... do not guarantee success. Too many variables."
"Why us?" Reiden asked, his voice even, without a trace of arrogance.
"Because you are the only ones whose strength is flexible and powerful enough to oppose something so chaotic," the patriarch answered. "You are the strongest students of 'Tenran' in the last century. Perhaps in its entire history. Legends about you two begin today."
Sorato smiled almost imperceptibly, and the excitement of a hunter flashed in his violet eyes.
"An interesting challenge. We won't let you down."
The "Forest of Screaming Spirits" lived up to its name. The air here was filled with a howling that wasn't wind—it was the very Scars of pain and madness left by ancient battles. Trees were twisted into unnatural poses, and from the cloudless sky, blind lightning periodically struck.
They encountered the first line of defense at the entrance to the thicket. Three golems of compacted earth and stone, with shards of earthquake Scars burning in their chests. Their presence made the ground beneath their feet vibrate.
"My turn," said Reiden.
He didn't even draw a weapon. He simply charged forward. His body was momentarily enveloped in a golden glow. He struck the first golem with his palm to the center of its chest. Not a dull thud sounded, but a clear, ringing crunch—the earthquake Scar within the creature was not suppressed but turned inward. The golem exploded from within, scattering into pieces. He simply smashed the heads off the second and third with crushing kicks, moving with such speed they had no time to react.
"Always such a crude solution," Sorato shook his head, but his voice held familiar condescension.
"It works," Reiden retorted, brushing off his hands.
Deeper in the forest, the second line awaited—golems of condensed air, invisible to the ordinary eye, slashing with blades of wind. This is where Sorato's genius manifested.
When the first invisible blade cut the air centimeters from his face, Sorato didn't leap back. His hand rested on the hilt of his katana—"Yami-No-Hara" (Plain of Darkness). The blade slid out of its sheath by half a centimeter, and a quiet, wet sound was heard, as if something had been severed.
"Kokuro: Bottomless Swamp. Minor Devourer," he whispered.
The invisible golem froze, then dissipated like smoke. Sorato turned to Reiden.
"Technique of 'Cutting Wind.' Now it's mine. An interesting construct... primitive, but effective."
He snapped his fingers. And the same "Cutting Wind," but dozens of times more refined and sharp, sliced through two other air golems before they could approach.
Reiden snorted.
"Show-off."
"Efficientist," Sorato corrected him with a slight smile.
They advanced deeper like a perfect mechanism. Reiden was the hammer, crushing any direct threat, his brute force overwhelming the evolving defenses of the "Heart of the Storm." Sorato was the scalpel, analyzing and neutralizing the trickiest traps and techniques, replenishing his already bottomless collection. They weren't competing. They complemented each other like two halves of a whole. They were a legend creating itself before their eyes, and they believed this legend would have no end.
And in the very heart of the forest, in a clearing where the air trembled with pure might, they found it. The "Heart of the Storm." A scroll that was no longer just paper. It hovered in the air, covered in pulsating glowing lines, and energy streamed from its center, forming the final guardian—a golem that had absorbed all the forest's elements simultaneously. The battle that would determine whether two geniuses could stop a creation gone out of control was inevitable.