Chapter Five

The scent of burning incense filled the dimly lit tent as Old Man Ketun traced his fingers over the carved wooden table. Across from him sat a young couple, hands entwined, eyes brimming with hope.

"The child in your womb," Ketun murmured, "will be strong, a warrior of great renown. Healthy in body, unbreakable in spirit."

The couple exchanged a glance, their joy evident. "Then we must find the perfect name," the husband said, squeezing his wife's hand.

Ketun nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "I have one for you," he said, whispering the name as if it carried a sacred weight.

The couple gasped, delighted. "It is perfect," the wife said. They reached for their coin purse, but Ketun raised a hand.

"No need," he said. "Fate has already been paid in full."

They hesitated but eventually bowed in gratitude. As they left, they brushed past a hooded figure—a swordsman, or so it seemed. The stranger's posture was rigid, deliberate.

Ketun's lips curled into a wry smile. "You don't need a disguise," he said without turning. "You forget—I am blind."

Ki, beneath the hood, grinned. She pulled down her mask. "You always see too much, old man."

Ketun chuckled. "I am blind, but you are far worse if you think that outfit serves any purpose."

Ki shed the disguise, taking a seat across from him. "Much better," Ketun said. "Now, what do you want?"

"You're not going to try and kill me?" she asked, tilting her head.

Ketun scoffed. The weariness in his hands, the lines on his face—he was aging. "If I wanted you dead, I would have done so the moment you stepped inside."

His eyes flickered gold.

"I want those eyes!" Ki snapped.

Ki reacted instantly, her blade flashing out in a silver arc.

Ketun blocked it with nothing more than his wooden staff.

"You seek to take my eyes," he said. "But that desire is not truly yours."

Ki hesitated.

The scent of burning incense mingled with the crisp night air, carrying the whispers of spirits that lingered in the old shrine.

Paper lanterns cast shifting shadows across the wooden pillars, their soft glow illuminating the delicate ink paintings of dragons and tengu that adorned the walls.

Ki's breath was slow but measured, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her blade. The scent of aged wood and damp earth filled her nostrils.

Across from her, Old Man Ketun—his blind eyes unreadable, his aged face like weathered stone—stood motionless, his gnarled wooden staff pressed against the tatami mat floor.

A breeze from the open shoji doors rustled his tattered robes, making them flutter like the remnants of a forgotten age.

Ki shifted her stance, the flickering candlelight catching the edges of her blade. Her aura darkened. She could feel the hate welling up.

"This is it."

Her blood hummed, the path of destruction she had chosen demanding to be fulfilled. With a sharp inhale, she invoked her second path.

"Bushimura—Golden Mirage!"

A shudder passed through the air as if the world itself had flinched. Shadows stretched unnaturally.

Then, in an instant—Ki multiplied.

Ten, twenty, thirty. Figures of her emerged in a seamless, synchronized ripple, each one stepping forward with the same perfect precision, the same deadly intent. Their eyes burned with the same malice, their movements echoing her every breath.

From above, golden dust rained like fireflies, spiraling in mesmerizing patterns before fading into the air.

Ketun's expression remained unreadable. His head tilted slightly, as if listening to something only he could hear. The worn beads around his wrist clicked against each other.

"You believe illusions will deceive me?" His voice, calm and steady, seemed almost amused.

Ki smirked, her clones speaking in unison. "They are no illusions. They are 99% me."

For the first time, Ketun hesitated.

Ki saw the opportunity. She struck.

A single cut. Swift, precise. A thin line of crimson appeared on Ketun's arm, staining his robes.

Ki grinned. A hit.

But before she could savor the moment, Ketun moved.

His staff spun faster than the eye could track, the wind from its swing howling through the chamber. It smashed into one of her clones—no, it tore through it, shattering the golden mirage into a flurry of dust.

Then another. And another.

Ki's clones flickered and collapsed, one by one, as Ketun danced through the storm. Each movement of his staff was precise, each attack a devastating answer to her assault.

Yet Ki did not relent.

She unleashed everything.

She poured her very soul into her next series of strikes—every hate path ability she possessed, every skill she had honed through blood and suffering.

The room crackled with dark energy, the wooden beams groaning as her presence warped the very space around them. Her movements blurred—an onslaught of slashes, stabs, and feints executed with deadly precision.

Ketun, despite his age, responded with effortless grace. He was ahead. Always two steps ahead.

The air itself seemed to whisper his name, guiding his strikes. His wooden staff was no mere weapon—it was an extension of fate itself.

"I am blind, yet you are far more lost than I."

His voice cut through the chaos like a temple bell.

Ki ignored it.

She lunged, twisting her body mid-air, blade aimed straight for his heart.

A perfect strike.

But Ketun...

He parried with no difficulty.

Her sword met nothing but empty air.

Before she could react, pain exploded in her ribs.

Ketun's staff struck her side with bone-crushing force, sending her crashing into the wooden floor. She tumbled across the tatami mat, gasping, her vision flashing white.

Ketun stood over her now, wounded and breathing heavily, but undeniably victorious.

His once-worn robes now bore streaks of Ki's blood, yet his expression remained unchanged—calm, knowing, sorrowful.

"You came seeking what was never the answer." He exhaled, turning his sightless gaze toward her. "I am afraid... you have been deceived."

The words barely registered before she felt it—

A sudden, cold piercing sensation through her chest.

Ki's body went rigid.

The blade had come from behind.

She gasped, her fingers twitching as blood dripped onto the floor, pooling between the woven patterns of the tatami.

She turned her head, her dimming vision landing on him.

Hilde.

The man who had fed her lies. The man who had whispered about Ketun's eyes—the legendary power they held.

And now, he stood there, his sword lodged in Ketun's back.

Ketun did not cry out. He did not move.

He simply sighed.

Ki's lips trembled. "You snake—"

Hilde grinned, his golden eyes gleaming in the flickering candlelight. "Thank you, Ki."

And then—

Pain.

More pain than she had ever known.

Hilde's hand reached for her, fingers brushing her forehead, and in an instant, her very essence began to drain.

She gasped, her body convulsing as she felt her demon energy ripped from her core. It was as if her soul was being peeled away layer by layer.

Her hate path, her skills, her very existence—devoured.

She tried to scream, but only a strangled breath escaped.

The world blurred.

Her body weakened.

She fell to her knees, barely holding onto the last flicker of herself.

Hilde stepped past her, his gaze turning back to Ketun.

The old man knelt, blood spilling from his lips, his breathing ragged. Yet, he smiled.

A tired, knowing smile.

Hilde crouched, fingers brushing Ketun's closed eyelids.

"These eyes..." he whispered, reverence lacing his voice. "Just another item on my list."

The last thing Ki saw was his hand pressing against Ketun's forehead—

And then, darkness.

The paper lanterns flickered. The shrine grew silent.

Outside, the wind carried the rustling of leaves, the whispers of ancestors long past.

And somewhere, far beyond, the gods wept for what had been lost.