CHAPTER-16

Reika was just a child when the cracks in her world began to form. A small, fragile girl who could barely hold a porcelain plate, let alone the weight of the life that awaited her. She dropped it once, just once, but that single mistake was enough.

The plate hit the floor with a sharp, brittle sound, the crash echoing like the beginning of something far worse. But the sound was drowned out by another—her mother's scream.

"You ungrateful brat!" The words were like a physical blow, sharp and unforgiving.

Reika's body tensed, her arms wrapped around her knees as she sat on the floor, her small form trembling. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps, her heart pounding in her chest like it might burst. Tears welled in her eyes, but she swallowed them down, forcing them to stay hidden. She had learned a long time ago that crying only made it worse.

Footsteps, heavy and deliberate, approached from the hallway—each step a countdown to more pain. More punishment.

The slap came hard and fast, snapping her head to the side. The force was enough to make her ears ring, the sting spreading across her cheek like wildfire. She didn't dare move.

"Do you think you can do whatever you want?" her father's voice thundered from above her, dripping with venom and disappointment.

She didn't answer. She couldn't. The words died in her throat, smothered by the suffocating weight of fear.

Her mother's voice followed, cruel and biting, "We've sacrificed so much for you. Spent all that money raising you, and this is what we get? Look at those other kids—so obedient, so perfect. But you? You're nothing."

Another slap. A fresh burn across her skin.

"You're a mistake."

The words stung worse than the physical blows. Reika could feel them sinking into her chest, twisting there, pulling at her heart like a wound that refused to close. The sharp edges of her mother's words cut deeper than any knife could.

"I should have never given birth to you," her mother spat, her fingers weaving through Reika's hair, pulling her head back, exposing her neck like a blade waiting to fall.

The pain shot through her scalp like fire, but still, Reika didn't cry. She didn't scream. She had learned the hard way—screaming made them angrier.

Her father's cruel laugh echoed around the room. "You think your tears matter? Cry all you want. It won't change a thing. Nothing will."

Her mother released her hair with a final yank, stepping away from her as though Reika were nothing more than a stain on the floor.

The air was heavy, thick with the echoes of their words, their judgment. Reika's body felt heavy, like she was sinking into the floor, unable to escape.

She didn't move.

She couldn't.

There was too much pain in her chest. It was a different kind of pain, one that didn't fade. A weight that settled in her bones.

Through the small window in her room, Reika saw something she couldn't remember the last time she'd truly experienced—love.

Across the street, a mother held her daughter close. The girl was laughing, her voice light and carefree. Her mother wiped away her tears gently, lovingly, as if her child's pain mattered.

Reika's fists clenched at her sides. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands until she could feel the sting of the skin breaking.

"Why was I born into this family?" The words escaped her lips in a whisper, a question with no answer, no hope.

But in her eyes, the green depths turned cold.

"I will destroy them." Her voice was quiet, but it held a promise. "I will make them pay for this."

Her tiny frame shuddered, and for a moment, the tears that had been so carefully held back threatened to spill. But even in that moment, she didn't let them fall. She had learned. Learned that emotions were nothing but weaknesses, weapons to be used against her.

And so, she would not cry.

She would become stronger. She would become the weapon they wanted her to be.

Teenage Reika –

By the time Reika had become a teenager, the girl who had once been fragile, broken, and afraid was gone. In her place stood a cold, empty shell. The years of pain and torment had molded her into something unrecognizable. The girl who once begged for affection now wore indifference like armor.

The crack of the whip against her bare skin echoed through the room. The pain was sharp, but it no longer registered.

Her mother's shrill voice pierced the silence. "How dare you enter that competition without our permission?!"

Reika didn't flinch. Her face remained as still as stone.

Another slap. Another blow. Her mother's voice filled the air, but Reika remained silent.

"Say something!" her mother screamed, her voice high-pitched with rage. "Are you mute? Are you so pathetic you can't even defend yourself?"

Reika didn't answer. She couldn't. She had forgotten how to speak. Forgotten how to beg. Forgotten how to care.

Another slap. And another. Her skin burned, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

What once had been a girl full of hope and fear had long been stripped away.

Somewhere along the way, Reika had learned that emotions were a weakness. Every time she had cried, they mocked her. Every time she had fought back, it had only made things worse. So, she stopped.

She stopped feeling. Stopped reacting.

She didn't dream anymore. She didn't hope. She didn't care.

Her emotions had been buried deep inside, suffocated beneath layers of pain and numbness. The only thing that remained was cold, calculating control.

Control over herself. Control over her world.

One day, she promised herself, she would leave. One day, she would rise above this.

And when that day came…

She would make them pay for everything.

For every slap. For every harsh word. For every wound, both physical and emotional, that they had inflicted on her.

They had created a monster.

And that monster would never forget.

Reika tightened the wraps around her hands, the fabric biting into her skin as she adjusted the final knot. Her sharp green eyes were focused, unwavering. She was ready. She had two days—two days to prove herself, to show everyone that she belonged in this brutal world. There was no room for failure. Not now. Not ever.

With a swift motion, she stepped out of the barracks. Her boots crunched against the dirt, the sound punctuating the silence around her. The morning air was cool, the sky still dim as the sun barely peeked over the horizon.

"Reika!" Ishigo's voice cut through the air, sharp and demanding.

She barely had time to turn before Ishigo appeared, his usual scowl etched into his face. Behind him, Daigo bounded forward, his grin wide and unrelenting. The younger boy practically radiated energy, his carefree attitude as infectious as it was frustrating.

"My brother! Good morning!" Daigo exclaimed, slinging an arm around Ishigo's shoulders. His energy was like a whirlwind, chaotic and constant.

Ishigo scowled, shoving Daigo off with a dismissive grunt. "Must you always be so irritating?"

Daigo just grinned wider, unfazed by his brother's irritation. "It's called bonding. Maybe you should try it sometime?"

Reika let out a quiet breath, her expression unreadable as she walked ahead. Their bickering barely reached her ears. She had no patience for distractions. She couldn't afford to. Not now, when everything was on the line.

The three of them walked toward the massive Training Center, the scent of steel and sweat thickening in the air as they approached the large iron doors. The weight of the building seemed to press down on her as they stepped inside, the dim light casting shadows over the warriors already in formation. There were rows of swords, each one gleaming under the low light, and the floor was scarred, evidence of countless battles fought and lost.

A tall man in black armor stepped forward. His presence alone seemed to silence the murmurs in the room. His voice was low, commanding, and unwavering.

"All trainees, stand in line," he ordered, his tone echoing off the walls.

Reika and the others fell into line without hesitation, the quiet anticipation settling over them like a blanket.

"There are currently 100 Kageshiki," the trainer continued, his cold eyes sweeping over the assembled group. "Twelve died during the underwater training."

A hushed whisper spread through the ranks, tension thickening in the air.

"The number keeps dropping," someone murmured nervously.

Reika clenched her fists. The harsh truth was staring them all in the face. This was the world they lived in—a world where only the strongest survived. If you were weak, you died. There were no second chances. No room for mercy.

"Today's training will focus on swordsmanship," the trainer said, his voice hard as stone. "At the end of the session, you will be tested. Those who pass will move forward. Those who fail… will stay behind."

The weight of his words pressed down on them like an iron fist. Reika's pulse quickened, but she didn't show it. She couldn't afford to.

Wooden swords were distributed to each trainee. Reika gripped hers, the rough texture of the wood biting into her palms. It was heavier than she expected, but not unwieldy. Her body was ready for this. She'd been preparing for this moment for years. Now was the time to prove it.

Daigo, ever the show-off, spun his sword in the air with a dramatic flourish. "Ha! Watch this!" he called, almost dropping the weapon in his excitement.

Ishigo rolled his eyes and sighed. "You'll cut your own leg off before you even touch an enemy."

Daigo smirked, unfazed by his brother's sarcasm. "That's called unpredictability," he shot back.

Reika barely spared them a glance. She wasn't here to laugh or make small talk. Her focus was on the task at hand. It was all that mattered now.

The trainer stepped forward, unsheathing his own sword with a fluid motion. The way he moved was effortless—each motion honed by years of experience. He held the sword high, and the room seemed to still around him.

"Watch carefully," he commanded, his voice cold but steady.

Then, with a single, fluid motion, the trainer slashed his sword through the air. The wooden dummy in front of him split cleanly in two, the halves falling to the ground with a resounding thud. There was no wasted movement. No unnecessary force. Just precision. The very definition of efficiency.

"This is the true art of the blade," the trainer said, his voice now almost a whisper, reverberating through the silence. "A true swordsman does not swing wildly. Every movement must be intentional."

Reika's heart raced. This was what she needed. This was the level she had to reach. To become like that—to move with that kind of precision. It wasn't enough to simply swing a sword. She had to master it.

"Now," the trainer said, his eyes sharpening as they scanned the room. "Show me what you've learned."

And with that, the training began.

The Swordmaster's Path

The clang of wood against wood echoed through the hall, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of Reika's heart. She gripped her sword tightly, her hands raw from the hours of practice, but she didn't stop. She couldn't afford to.

Step. Slash. Retract. Repeat.

She moved like a machine, each motion methodical and controlled. Her breath was steady, though the effort was beginning to wear on her. The weight of the sword felt heavier with each passing minute, but Reika refused to slow down. Not now. Not when everything she had worked for was on the line.

Her stance was solid, her feet planted firmly on the ground. Her grip was firm, but not too tight—just enough to feel the weapon in her hands. Control. Precision. That's all that mattered now.

Beside her, Ishigo moved with the grace of a predator. Every strike he made was cold, controlled, efficient. His movements were flawless, every slash an extension of his will. It was no surprise—he had been trained for this his entire life. But that didn't make Reika back down. If anything, it pushed her harder.

Daigo, however, was another story.

"Hyaa!" he shouted as he swung his sword wildly, nearly toppling forward as the blade flew out of control.

Ishigo let out a long sigh, shaking his head. "You're hopeless."

Daigo just laughed, unbothered by his brother's criticism. "Or maybe I'm just making you think that," he teased.

Reika didn't have time for their bickering. Her focus was on the task at hand. Every strike, every swing, every step was a test. And she wasn't about to fail.

The trainer's voice broke through the banter, cold and commanding. "Again. Faster."

Reika exhaled, pushing the fatigue from her mind as she swung again. This time, the motion felt right. The slash was clean, sharp, and most importantly—intentional.

The rhythm of the training consumed them. Sweat dripped from their brows, their bodies screamed in protest, but the trainer's voice never wavered.

"Again."

Reika didn't hesitate. She couldn't.

By the time they paired up for sparring, her hands were raw, her muscles burning. But the fight had only just begun.

She faced Ishigo, his amber eyes locking onto hers. There was no doubt in his gaze—he was ready. But so was she.

"Don't hold back," Reika said, her voice low but firm.

"I wasn't planning to," Ishigo replied, his smirk tight, controlled.

Their swords clashed with a loud crack, the sound of wood on wood vibrating through the air. Sparks of friction flew between them as they danced around each other, blocking, countering, testing each other's limits.

The intensity in the room grew with each passing second, the sound of their fight filling the hall. Sweat mixed with dirt as their bodies moved in sync with the rhythm of battle.

The trainer stood back, arms crossed, his sharp gaze watching every move.

Good.

They were no longer just trainees.

They were becoming warriors.