Seventy-Two: Ryu Kageyami

Lamentias

Lamentite Star system

Divine Federation

Colony Planetary Region

Y-1908

Planet Lamentias was going through the wringer. That much was clear as a lone figure emerged from a half-constructed building, wiping blood from his palms with a handkerchief. The blood belonged to the bodies left behind—small-time gangsters who had made the mistake of thinking they could trap him. They had dangled information about the Fallen Star as bait, hoping to ensnare him, but the plan had backfired spectacularly.

The fight had been dull, uninspiring, a tedious encounter with pests unworthy of his full attention. He had granted them swift, merciful deaths—except for their leader. With him, he had taken his time, peeling the skin from his body and watching as the life slowly drained from his eyes.

Before leaving, he made an anonymous call to the GDP, the local law enforcement agency, reporting the massacre of a local gang. Then, without a second thought, he turned away, seeking out a bar to wash away the lingering taste of boredom.

As he walked through the streets, the signs of unrest were everywhere. A group of protesters gathered outside a government building, holding up holographic images, their voices rising in anger. Lamentias had become the loudest voice among the many planets protesting against the Federation. The fallout of the recent uprising had left many dissatisfied with the Federation's rule, and accusations of apartheid governance had only fueled the dissent.

Lamentias was home to an Od-sensitive species, yet the Grey—so common in Terra—was absent here. Pleiadians were rare among the planet's native population, which was largely composed of humans and other members of the nine races. The planet had only secured its place in the Federation because of its rich deposits of Gallium crystals, a vital resource for the Federation pocket. It hadn't taken long for the Pleiadians to establish themselves in positions of power, gradually becoming the dominant race while the native inhabitants were pushed into the margins of their own world.

A sudden movement caught his eye—a protester broke from the crowd, hurling a gas bomb toward the government building. A GDP officer in tactical armor reacted instantly, blasting the device out of the air with a mana-blaster before subduing the protester with a mana collar. The officer moved with the cold efficiency of someone who had done this many times before.

The onlooker barely spared them another glance. The unrest was not his concern. He stepped into Greyhorn Club, one of many establishments that had expanded from Terra to planets across the Federation and neutral zones. It had the same familiar atmosphere as its counterpart on Terra—he would know, being a regular patron.

Tonight, however, business was slow. The tensions outside had thinned the usual crowd. He made his way to the bar, where an old man with a graying beard and a scruffy brown leather jacket tended to the counter. The air smelled of aged liquor and desperation, a fitting backdrop for the night ahead.

"What can I get you?" the bartender grunted.

"Limeworm," Leon replied, barely paying attention. As he waited, he pulled out his Zodiak, scrolling through the missed transmissions from Emily. She had tried to contact him multiple times. No doubt she was furious that he had slipped away from their command post in the Vega star system. He had taken a transport ship and made his way to Lamentias without a word. There hadn't been time for explanations—not when the trail he was following was growing colder by the second.

The bartender returned with his drink and left him to it. He was halfway through the glass when a familiar presence entered the bar. Leon looked up, mildly surprised to see Lance Al'Roth stepping into the dimly lit establishment. The man was hard to miss, dressed in a silver-gray suit, his presence radiating a subtle hint of power. Lance had plenty of clubs scattered across the Neutral free zone—so why did he choose this place of all places to meet?

"Leon, always a pleasure," Lance greeted smoothly, a charismatic smile playing on his lips. "I heard you were in town and thought I'd drop by."

"Do you have what I need?" Leon asked, cutting straight to the point.

Lance clicked his tongue. "Tch, always so impatient," he said with feigned disappointment, sliding onto the seat beside him and signaling for a drink.

Leon's fingers tightened around his glass. "If you don't have anything, then why waste my time?"

Lance chuckled, leaning in slightly. "Beating up a couple of street rats won't get you any closer to the Fallen," he whispered, his voice carrying just enough amusement to be irritating. "But this might."

With practiced ease, he slipped a small data disk into Leon's pocket, the movement so casual it was as if they were old friends sharing a joke. Leon had the sudden urge to break his nose but restrained himself.

"Why you're so desperate to find them, though," Lance mused, swirling his drink, "now that is a mystery."

Leon said nothing. Instead, he drained the last of his glass and rose from his seat, already prepared to leave.

"It's on him," Leon said to the barkeep before turning away, leaving Lance Al'Roth and the bar behind. As he stepped into the night, he pulled the disk from his pocket, rolling it between his fingers. His Zodiak could scan and extract data from it instantly, so he wasted no time. The moment the information was uploaded, he snapped the disk in half and burned the remains, ensuring no traces were left behind.

The data pointed him toward a weaponsmith in Louver Village. Located far beyond the city and well away from the ongoing protests, the village was a small settlement northwest of Camaris. Camaris itself was one of Lamentias' primary mining cities, home to one of the largest reserves of Seriphium ore. The Federation-backed corporations had made the city a hub for laborers, attracting immigrants seeking easy work in the mines. It was no secret that the corporations preferred hiring outsiders over the local population—it was cheaper, and there was less resistance. That exploitation was one of the driving forces behind the planet's unrest.

Leon's gaze drifted to the horizon. Thick plumes of smoke curled into the night sky. The protests were intensifying. He exhaled through his nose, deciding it was best to leave before the city descended further into chaos. Fortunately, Louver Village seemed untouched by the turmoil. According to the data, the village was home to merchants and vendors rather than activists or corporate interests.

He boarded an air shuttle, reclining in his seat as it carried him toward his destination. By the time he arrived, the sun had set, and the three moons of Lamentias bathed the landscape in a neon glow. Despite the distant sight of rising smoke, the village itself was eerily silent. The streets were empty—no pedestrians, no groundships ferrying goods or people. The stillness put him on edge.

Leon made his way to the weaponsmith's shop. The owner was already closing up, his hands busy packing away his wares. He was clad in a traditional kimono robe, his long black hair tied in a topknot. Strapped to his back was an array of swords—katanas, broadswords, and other finely crafted blades. Leon noted the weight of the weapons and the ease with which the man carried them. He was strong.

"Are you Ryushima?" Leon asked.

The man's response was immediate—a blade cutting through the air toward him. Leon's instincts kicked in, his body moving before his mind could fully register the attack. He dodged by mere inches.

Ryushima came in again, his katana flashing in a precise, disciplined arc. Leon instantly recognized the form—Itto-Ryu, a deadly sword style originating from the Land of Wa. He parried the strike, adjusting his stance. This was unexpected, but not unwelcome.

Leon had trained extensively in various sword arts, even those from isolationist planets like Wa. The Land of Wa was a world deep in the Charlie Quadrant, an independent power that had long resisted Federation influence. The two had a fragile pact—one that neither dared to break, as a conflict with Wa would be a declaration of war. And Wa was a force the Federation did not want to provoke.

Ryushima finally discarded the basket of swords from his back, focusing entirely on his katana. Leon could feel the man's Odic force, his internal senses flowing through the man and his blade, a testament to his skill.

Leon smirked, drawing both of his Seriphium blades—the same ones he had used to cut down the gang members earlier. Perhaps this man would finally offer him a worthy challenge. His bloodlust wasn't sated yet.

He struck first, a reckless move considering he did not know his opponent's full abilities. But to Leon, it didn't matter. He was the best. And this man wasn't going to outshine him.

His blade aimed for Ryushima's throat, but the swordsman moved, narrowly evading the strike. Recovering quickly, Ryushima countered with a downward slash, his katana slicing through the air with deadly precision. Leon met the attack head-on, deflecting it with practiced ease.

Their fight became a dance—thrusts, parries, slashes—each of them testing the other's skill with relentless exchanges. Leon's grin widened as the battle stretched on. Ryushima was good. No, more than that—he was exceptional.

The only swordsman Leon had ever faced who could rival him was Rex. But Ryushima's skill was something else entirely. If they were to incorporate Reinforcement techniques, Leon knew he would crush the man in an instant. He was just that superior.

Yet, for twenty exhilarating minutes, they fought as equals. When they finally stopped, both were breathing hard, their bodies slick with sweat.

Ryushima sat near his basket of swords, exhaling sharply. "He told me you were good, but I didn't expect you to be this good," he admitted. His expression was unreadable, but there was a glimmer of respect in his eyes. "I don't know how this fight would have ended if you had used your full power."

"I would have killed you," Leon said simply. Ryushima let out a short grunt, but he didn't argue. It was the truth. Leon was the best for a reason.

"So," Leon continued, sheathing his weapons, "are you Ryu?"

"Yes," Ryushima confirmed. "I am Ryushima of the Clan of Kageyami." He bowed slightly, a sign of respect. "Your skill is worthy of admiration."

Leon said nothing.

"Can I bother you with an invitation for tea?" Ryushima asked.

Leon hesitated for a brief moment but shrugged it off. He had no reason to refuse. "Fine."

Ryushima led him through the quieter part of town, where a few shops were still open, though nearly deserted. They stopped at a small teahouse with an outdoor patio, the warm glow of lanterns flickering in the evening air.

As they sat down, the shopkeeper—a short, wiry man with a large nose and brown hair—rushed over. He wore a white long-sleeved shirt and matching pants, though sweat stains were visible beneath his arms.

"What can I get for you, gentlemen?" the shopkeeper asked, his voice chipper. "Perhaps our special of the day—"

"Just two cups of jasmine tea," Ryushima interrupted. The shopkeeper nodded and hurried away.

Leon studied the man sitting across from him. Ryushima looked young, but his skill with the blade spoke of extensive battle experience. A scar ran across one of his eyes, the pupil cloudy and white—a sign of blindness. He had fought with a handicap, yet he had nearly matched Leon in swordsmanship alone.

Impressive.

Leon could feel the distinct presence of Odic force from him, confirming what he already suspected—Ryushima was a Pleiadian. But he wasn't like the Pleiadians of the Federation.

In the Land of Wa, Pleiadians like Ryushima were known as Tenshukyo, descendants of a group of Celestial beings. Unlike the Lumasis faction of Celestial which the Federation's Pleiadians traced their lineage from, the Tenshukyo followed an entirely different path.

Leon leaned back slightly, waiting for the tea to arrive, but his mind was already considering the possibilities. This meeting had proven far more interesting than he had anticipated.

"What's a samurai doing all the way out in Lamentias?" Leon asked, watching the man carefully.

"I was a samurai in my old life," Ryu corrected. "Now, I'm just a weaponsmith. Though not for long." He patted the baskets of weapons beside him as if to emphasize his point.

Leon's eyes flickered toward the weapons. He had always been intrigued by Nihonian craftsmanship, especially their katanas. He had wanted one for a while.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before the shop owner returned, balancing a tray of tea. He moved carefully, setting it down between them with practiced precision. First, he handed Ryu a cup, then turned to Leon, offering a steaming ceramic cup filled with fragrant liquid.

Leon took a sip. The taste was bland, not even worth describing. He had never been a tea lover, and this only reinforced why. It did nothing to indulge his pleasures. For a fleeting moment, he considered spitting the tea out of his mouth, but Leon resisted the urge. Ryu had invited him to a drink. The least he could do was tolerate the experience. Begrudgingly, he continued sipping the disappointing drink.

"You're packing up your shop," Leon noted as the shopkeeper scurried away.

"Business is no longer profitable," Ryu replied, his gaze shifting toward the smoke rising in the distance. He sipped his tea, looking entirely at ease as if the chaos in the city was nothing but a distant storm.

"So you're leaving," Leon surmised. "I had information that you could lead me to the Fallen Star. Is that true?"

Ryu studied him for a moment, his dark eyes scanning Leon from head to toe. Then, he nodded and returned to his tea.

"As a weaponsmith, I've forged weapons for various organizations throughout the Federation," Ryu said. "It's not uncommon for certain… information to find its way to me."

"And this information has to do with the Fallen Stars?" Leon pressed.

Ryu nodded again, taking another unhurried sip.

"There will be a transport vessel in two weeks," Ryu said. "It's carrying an important object."

"An object? "Leon echoed. "I assume it has information about the Fallen stars, you mean."

"Hai," Ryu confirmed.

Leon's gaze narrowed. "What's the catch?"

He didn't trust Ryu—not completely. The man seemed decent enough, but Lance Al'Roth had introduced them, and that alone made Leon wary. That Beastman was a shady bastard, always dealing in half-truths and personal gain. The last time he had introduced Leon to someone, it had been that useless witch back on Terra. He wasn't keen on another disappointment.

"I take it trust doesn't come easy to you," Ryu observed, his tone amused.

Leon ignored the remark. "Why give me this information? What's in it for you?"

Ryu placed his empty cup down. "I also seek something from the vessel," he admitted. "But for me to get to it, I need a crew that can help me. Lance was the one who suggested you. He said he knew someone stupid enough to risk their life. We can help each other get what we seek"

Leon considered his words. He could be lying. It could be a setup. But then again, it could also be the break he'd been waiting for. He had to be careful. And yet, his mind was already racing ahead. He had finally found a lead—a real one. The path to the Fallen Stars was right in front of him. His goal, the desire that had burned in him for so long, was finally within reach. There was no choice. He had to take it. But he couldn't do this alone. He needed Emily.

"So," Ryu said, setting his cup aside. "Do we have a deal?" Leon exhaled sharply, then downed the rest of his tea in one go, barely flinching at the heat.

"Fine. We do," he said. Ryu gave a satisfied nod. Then, after a brief pause, he awkwardly cleared his throat.

"So… uh… can you pay for the tea?"

Leon froze the cup halfway to the table. "Huh?"

Ryu offered a sheepish chuckle. "Business has been slow, so… I'm kind of broke."

Leon's eye twitched. "You invited me for tea. You should be paying."

"Yeah, well," Ryu said, rubbing the back of his head, "the way my finances are set up—"

"Why, you fucking—" Leon growled, yanking credits from his pocket and slamming them on the table.

He couldn't believe he was paying for terrible tea.