The Blade of Fate

Aiki finished the entire run without breaking a sweat, returning with only the faintest signs of exertion.

Meanwhile, Akemi and Hiritsu stumbled back, gasping for air, their bodies barely holding up.

As soon as they collapsed onto the grass, desperate for rest, Takuma's voice cut through the silence.

"Training isn't over. Get up."

Their exhausted faces twisted in disbelief.

Hiritsu groaned while Akemi looked on the verge of tears.

Aiki, still composed, asked what the next task was.

Takuma crossed his arms.

"You need to fire your magic at a precise target—a single 'X' mark."

Relieved, Akemi and Hiritsu exchanged looks, thinking this would be far easier than running for hours.

"Where's the target?" Hiritsu asked.

Takuma smirked.

"On the far side of the island. By the beach."

Their expressions dropped instantly. Hiritsu frowned in frustration, and Akemi's shoulders slumped in defeat.

Before they could even complain, Aiki moved without hesitation.

With a flick of his wrist, he unsheathed his katana and hurled it straight through the dense forest, cutting through the trees in a perfect line—his aim unwavering.

Aiki's katana cut through the air, slicing past trees and foliage in a flawless, unerring path.

It vanished into the distance, perfectly aligned with the unseen target.

Takuma Sensei smiled, a glimmer of pride in his eyes.

Aiki had done it again.

Akemi and Hiritsu, however, stared in disbelief.

"What was that for?"

Hiritsu muttered, eyes darting toward the trees where the katana had disappeared.

Aiki said nothing.

Little did they know, the blade had landed exactly on Point X.

Akemi and Hiritsu had no way of pinpointing the target themselves.

They could only trust Aiki's precision.

Tracking the faint mana signature the katana left in its wake, they followed its path and unleashed their own magic toward the target.

It wasn't perfect, but it reached.

Takuma's pride swelled.

Endurance, intelligence, power—he had tested them in all three, and they had surpassed expectations.

But the day wasn't over yet.

"One final challenge,"

Takuma announced, his voice calm yet commanding.

"All of you, fight me. The first to land a single touch on me wins."

The three exchanged uneasy glances. They knew the truth.

This wasn't a battle they could win.

But that didn't mean they wouldn't try.

Aiki stretched out his hand, summoning his katana back through his space magic.

The blade reappeared in his grip, and in the next breath, the battle began.

Akemi and Hiritsu struck first, unleashing a relentless storm of magic.

Flames, stone, lightning—waves of destruction crashed toward Takuma.

But he didn't move. He simply stood his ground, blocking and deflecting every attack as if they were nothing more than an afternoon breeze.

Aiki, meanwhile, lurked in the gaps between their attacks, waiting for an opening.

He struck with his katana, his blade a flash of steel aimed at any vulnerable spot he could find. Yet every time, Takuma was one step ahead, countering each slash with ease

They weren't working together.

Takuma sighed internally.

Akemi, growing frustrated, unleashed the full force of her mana.

The sheer pressure of it cracked the earth beneath her feet, her raw power surpassing even some of the greatest mages in the world.

But it wasn't enough.

Moments later, her energy drained completely, and she collapsed.

Hiritsu, exhausted and out of mana, crumpled beside her.

Only Aiki remained.

He faced Takuma alone.

Unlike the others, Aiki never hesitated.

He fought on instinct.

He never planned ahead—he attacked first, strategized later.

A dangerous approach.

But sometimes, it was the most effective.

Aiki charged, slashing with his katana.

Takuma deflected.

Another strike—another parry.

Aiki's attacks came faster, but Takuma defended them all.

Then, Aiki shifted his approach.

Summoning his space magic, he conjured dozens of katanas mid-air.

Fifty—no, more than that.

They rained down like a storm of blades, each aimed precisely at Takuma.

Takuma countered effortlessly, his movements fluid, his reflexes perfect.

But as he batted away the final katana, something unexpected happened.

Aiki was gone.

No—he was right beneath the last falling blade, concealed within its shadow.

His hand shot out, fingertips mere inches from Takuma's foot.

Takuma's breath caught.

For the first time in the entire fight, surprise flickered in his eyes.

But before Aiki could make contact, his body faltered.

His strength gave out.

And he collapsed.

Takuma sighed, staring down at the unconscious boy.

He knelt beside him, brushing away strands of black hair from Aiki's face.

His expression softened.

This child… this boy who saw him as a father… had no idea.

No idea that the man who had raised him, trained him, protected him—

—was the same man who had slaughtered his family.

The Assassin's Legacy

Many years ago, Takuma had been assigned a mission.

A task that only he could complete.

Eliminate the assassin clan.

They were phantoms.

Shadows.

Killers without name or trace.

They struck without warning and disappeared without a whisper.

Their targets never saw them coming.

No one knew their enemy, so no one knew how to fight them.

Except Takuma.

And so, he did what no one else could.

He found them. And he wiped them out.

Aikis' parents—renowned assassins, feared even among their own—were the last line of defense.

Stronger, perhaps, than even Takuma himself.

The battle against them was the longest, the bloodiest.

But in the end, they fell.

The mission was complete.

Or so he thought.

As he stood amidst the ruins of the clan, the scent of blood thick in the air, a small voice called out.

"Papa! Papa! Come tell me a bedtime story!"

Takuma turned, his heart freezing.

A child.

Aiki.

The boy had been too young to understand the horrors that had unfolded around him.

Too young to grasp that his parents' bodies lay lifeless mere steps away.

Takuma knew what had to be done.

Kill the boy.

End the bloodline.

Finish the mission.

But as he looked into Aiki's innocent eyes, his hand refused to move.

Instead, he knelt, shielding Aiki's view from the bodies, and whispered,

"Your parents… have gone on a long journey. Until they return, I will take care of you."

Aiki smiled, oblivious. He believed him.

And from that moment forward, Takuma raised him.

Not just as a student.

But as a weapon.

Because Takuma knew the truth.

One day, Aiki would learn the truth.

And when that day came, Takuma hoped—no, prayed—that Aiki would strike him down.

Because only then… would the cycle be complete.