The road to power was long—and unforgiving.
For five years, Naku Hizusuki had walked it alone, guided only by the quiet wisdom of Buddha Mong, the monk who had taken him in when the world turned its back. Pain became his daily companion, discipline his only comfort. In the stillness of the shrine, he learned to listen—to the wind, to the movement of his own body, and to the fire that never stopped burning in his heart.
Now, that fire led him here.
The 7th Kagavata Kingdom.
Even in distant villages and forgotten corners of the world, the kingdom was known as the proving ground for those who dared to chase greatness. A brutal forge where only the worthy emerged whole. Fighters, sorcerers, beastmen, and assassins—all came here to test their limits. All came seeking transformation.
Naku stood at the threshold of the great stone gates, carved with symbols of ancient warriors and forgotten gods. Massive towers loomed on either side, casting shadows that swallowed the path behind him. His travel cloak whipped around him in the wind, and beneath it, he could feel his heartbeat pulsing like a war drum.
He inhaled.
You've come too far to stop now.
He stepped forward.
The moment he crossed into the kingdom, the world changed.
The air here was alive—buzzing with magic, humming with tension. The streets were wide and paved with black stone, etched with faintly glowing lines that pulsed beneath his feet. The scent of sweat, metal, and incense filled the air. Voices called out in dozens of tongues. Every direction he looked, there were warriors—young and old, armored and robed, laughing or training or locked in sudden, violent duels that the crowd barely reacted to.
Some wore blades as long as their bodies. Others bore tattoos that shimmered like starlight. He saw a man summon lightning into his palm to light a cigarette. Another meditated in the center of the street while six swords floated in a circle around him, spinning slowly like planets.
Naku tried to stay calm, but he could feel the weight pressing down on him.
They're all so powerful… and I'm just—
His eyes drifted to the cloth wrapped tightly around his right forearm.
No. Don't think like that. You didn't come here to measure yourself against them. You came to grow.
Still, the nerves clung to him. His shoulders hunched. His steps were quick, purposeful, as he made his way through the crowd, trying not to draw attention. Whispers still followed him.
"A new one…"
"Small. Young."
"Only one hand. He won't last long."
He found a quiet alleyway to catch his breath. Leaning against a wall, he closed his eyes and focused. Breathe. Just like the shrine. Inhale… exhale…
After a moment, he composed himself and pushed on, following a series of signs marked with glyphs he had studied before arriving. Eventually, he came to a narrow street lined with food stalls and supply shops. In the middle sat a weathered old inn—the kind easily overlooked by the crowd.
Its name was etched into a swinging wooden sign: The Roaring Lantern.
The lanterns around it flickered with a warm, orange glow that pushed back the evening gloom. It wasn't much to look at—plain walls, creaking windows—but it had something the grander inns lacked: quiet.
He stepped inside.
The air was thick with incense and old wood. Behind the counter stood a woman with graying hair pulled back into a tight braid. A jagged scar crossed her lips, and a black patch covered one eye. The other eye watched him closely—sharp, analytical, as if she could read his entire past in a single glance.
"First time in Kagavata?" she asked.
Naku nodded.
She didn't blink. "Looking to become strong, huh?"
Another nod.
She tossed a wooden key onto the counter. "Third door upstairs. Don't scream if you hear fighting in the halls. And don't leave your door unlocked."
Naku blinked. "Understood…"
As he climbed the stairs, the old floorboards groaned beneath his feet. The hallway smelled of dust, blood, and oil. His room was simple: a bed with a thin mattress, a desk with a cracked lantern, and a window overlooking the city.
But through that window, he could see it.
The Trial Arena.
Massive. Circular. Built from dark stone and wrapped in banners from dozens of clans. Its towers burned with eternal flame. Even from a distance, Naku could feel the pressure it radiated—a force that stirred the fire in his chest and whispered of destiny.
He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his wooden training spear from his pack. It was old, worn smooth from years of practice. The same weapon Buddha Mong had handed him on his second day at the shrine.
Naku traced his fingers along its shaft, remembering the long mornings of silence, the endless drills beneath the cherry blossoms, the calm voice of his teacher saying, "Do not fight to destroy. Fight to remember who you are."
He glanced once more at his wrapped arm.
"Everyone here is stronger than me," he whispered.
The city beyond his window roared with ambition. He could hear it—clashing blades, distant cheers, spells exploding into the sky like fireworks.
"But I didn't come to compare."
He tightened his grip on the spear.
"I came to surpass."
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To Be Continued.