A Father's Final Request

The battlefield roared around them—clashing steel, dying screams, the crackling of burning tents—but in this moment, there was only Reika and the general.

He towered over her, a fortress of steel and muscle, his broad shield raised and his massive axe poised for the kill. His stance was unwavering and disciplined.

Reika stood perfectly still, her katana aimed forward, her tanto held in a reversed grip at her side. Her breathing slowed.

Her gaze met his—sharp, unblinking, predatory.

The general inched forward.

Then—

Reika moved.

She exploded forward like a released arrow, her katana slashing in a diagonal arc. The general reacted instantly, raising his shield. Steel met iron with a deafening clang.

For a moment, they were locked, strength against strength.

Then, she saw it.

An opening.

The shield had blocked her strike, but the sheer size of it left his right side slightly exposed.

She lunged toward the gap, twisting her body to drive her blade through.

Then—

A flicker in the edge of her vision.

An arrow.

It was coming fast, just outside her direct line of sight, but she saw it. Felt it.

Her muscles responded before her mind could even register the movement.

Her tanto flicked upward.

The blade met the arrow with impossible precision—splitting the wooden shaft in half before it could pierce her skull.

She exhaled sharply.

But there was no time to admire the feat.

The general had already countered.

His shield dropped, his free hand gripping the haft of his massive axe as he swung at her exposed side.

Reika pivoted, twisting her katana mid-strike. Instead of slashing, she reversed her grip and stabbed forward—her blade cutting through the thick fabric beneath his shoulder guard.

The general grunted, his body jerking from the wound. But instead of retreating, he roared and surged forward, using his entire weight to ram his shield toward her.

A normal warrior would have been crushed.

But Reika had planned for this.

She didn't resist.

Instead, she turned into the motion.

Her body twisted mid-air, using the rotation of his shield bash to carry her momentum. She spun completely, her foot snapping out in a devastating kick.

Her heel struck the face of the shield.

The combined force of her rotation and the sheer power behind her strike sent the massive shield flying from his grip. It crashed into the dirt with a heavy thud.

For the first time, the general's stance faltered.

She landed hard, rolling once before springing back to her feet.

But there was no time to recover.

Another arrow.

Reika's tanto flashed again, slicing through the projectile mid-air.

This time, the general was already moving.

His axe swung at her in a brutal horizontal arc.

She barely dodged, bending backward just enough for the massive blade to pass inches from her throat. She could feel the wind of its passing, the cold bite of steel against her skin.

She lunged forward, aiming low.

Her katana swept toward his legs, hoping to sever the tendons—

But he leapt back. 

She pressed forward, her blade slicing through the air in a relentless assault.

Slash. Block. Slash. Parry.

He was skilled. No, more than that—he was relentless. He met every one of her attacks with perfect precision, countering blow for blow, forcing her back.

Her muscles burned.

Her breathing came quicker.

He wasn't slowing down.

And she was.

Another arrow.

Another deflection.

But the momentary distraction was enough.

The general's boot slammed into her ribs.

Pain shot through her side as she was thrown backward, her vision blurring for a split second. She hit the ground hard, rolling through the dirt.

She barely had time to react before his axe came down.

She twisted at the last moment, the massive blade biting into the earth just beside her.

She scrambled back to her feet, her body screaming in protest.

Reika steadied her breath. The general had slowed—not much, but enough. His movements, once deliberate and composed, now carried the smallest trace of hesitation. A crack in his defenses.

She would shatter it.

The general took a step forward, gripping his axe tightly. His stance remained firm, his presence towering—but for the first time, she could feel the weight of his exhaustion.

She dashed in.

The first strike was a feint—her katana arcing toward his ribs. He reacted immediately, swinging his axe to intercept.

Too predictable.

Reika twisted at the last second, her tanto flashing upward. The smaller blade scraped against his gauntlet, forcing his weapon slightly off-course.

She pressed forward, her katana snapping toward his exposed shoulder.

A desperate block—his axe handle barely catching the edge of her blade.

His counterattack came swift, a vicious backhanded swing aimed at her side.

Reika ducked, rolling beneath it. The axe whistled past her head, biting into the dirt with a heavy crunch.

He had committed too much.

He was open.

Reika exploded upward.

Her katana cleaved through the air—one clean stroke, straight across his neck.

For a moment, nothing moved.

Then, with a sickening finality, the general's head separated from his shoulders.

His body collapsed to its knees before toppling forward, blood pooling beneath the lifeless corpse.

Silence.

The Mongols around her faltered, their confidence vanishing in an instant. Their eyes, once filled with ruthless certainty, now reflected something else.

Fear.

Reika exhaled, flicking her blade clean of the blood. She met their gazes and then raised her sword towards them, the battle was far from over.

The battlefield stilled, the clash of steel and dying screams fading into a tense, uneasy silence.

Both sides had suffered heavy losses. The Mongols had begun pulling back to regroup, their ranks tightening, forming disciplined lines near the heart of their war camp. The samurai, too, pulled back, their forces battered and fatigued but standing strong, ready to meet the next wave.

Reika exhaled slowly, wiping her blade clean of the blood that coated its edge. After the general she had managed to take out three more before the retreat. Her grip on the hilt was steady, but her arms ached from the relentless combat. She glanced toward the battlefield, her sharp eyes sweeping across the carnage.

It wasn't looking good.

The tide of battle had shifted with the arrival of reinforcements from the main attack force. The samurai had fought fiercely, cutting through the enemy ranks, but the Mongols were unyielding. Their numbers stretched far beyond what Reika had anticipated. For every warrior they cut down, more seemed to emerge from the chaos.

But that was fine.

They had succeeded in their mission.

Their push had weakened the Mongols, breaking their initial fortifications and making it easier for the Jitō's forces to press forward. If nothing else, they had given their allies a better chance.

Still, as she surveyed the battlefield, a gnawing unease settled deep in her gut.

The Mongols weren't retreating.

They were waiting.

A shift in the enemy ranks drew her attention. A figure on horseback rode forward, flanked by several guards. A Mongol commander.

The remaining samurai watched warily as the enemy leader came to a halt just outside the ruined barricades. His armor was heavy, adorned with darkened steel plates, his fur-lined cloak draped over his broad shoulders. A thick mustache curled above his lips, and his dark eyes, sharp as a hawk's, scanned the battlefield before settling on Haruto.

Then, he spoke.

His voice was deep, his accent thick, but the meaning was clear.

"A warrior's death," he declared. "One against one. Your strongest against me. That is your way is it not?"

Reika's brows furrowed. The Mongols had slaughtered entire villages without hesitation. What honor could they have?

Reika turned to her father, expecting him to reject the offer.

Instead, he was silent.

Then—he stepped forward.

The samurai around them shifted, their murmurs hushed but tense. None of them dared to speak.

Reika's stomach twisted. "Father—"

His sharp gaze cut to her, silencing her before she could protest.

Then, without looking at her again, he turned slightly and leaned toward the closest samurai, whispering something low and unreadable.

Reika narrowed her eyes, straining to hear.

But she couldn't.

The samurai's face remained impassive as he gave a single, sharp nod.

Her father stepped forward toward the battlefield.

Reika exhaled shakily, forcing herself to stand taller. She should have felt relieved. A duel was preferable to slaughter. Her father would win—he had to.

But something felt... wrong.

The way he hadn't looked at her again. The way the other samurai stood stiffly, as if preparing for something other than victory.

The Mongol commander stepped forward as well, his lips curling into a smirk.

The duel was about to begin.

Reika's fingers twitched at her sides.

Then—

A sharp grip seized her arms.

She barely had time to react before she was yanked backward, two samurai locking their hands around her.

"What—?!"

Her exhaustion had dulled her senses. She hadn't noticed them moving toward her. Hadn't even registered the shift in their stances.

The realization hit like a knife to the gut.

"Let me go!"

She thrashed, rage flooding her limbs, but her body betrayed her. Hours of battle had drained her strength, her muscles burned with fatigue, her movements sluggish.

"Father!"

Haruto didn't turn around.

He didn't stop walking forward.

The samurai's grip tightened.

"Why are you doing this?!" she demanded, struggling against them, her voice sharp with desperation.

One of them finally answered, his voice steady but firm.

"This was his order."

The world tilted.

Reika went still.

"What?"

The second samurai adjusted his grip as she continued to resist. "He uncovered something during this battle. Hundreds more enemy warriors lie in wait. This fight was never meant to be won. It was always a trap."

Reika's breath caught.

She whipped her head back toward the battlefield, toward the hills beyond the ruins—

And then she saw them.

Emerging from the tree line, from the ridges, from the hidden corners of the broken city—

An endless wave of enemy soldiers.

Her body locked up.

No—no, that wasn't—this wasn't supposed to—

Her father had known.

He had known all along.

And yet, he had still stepped forward.

To buy them time.

Reika screamed, struggling harder, desperation surging through her limbs.

"I won't leave! I won't—!"

A sharp whistling cut through the air.

The first arrow struck not far from her father.

Reika's heart stopped.

She knew that sound.

It wasn't the sound of a blade being drawn.

It wasn't the sound of a duel beginning.

It was the sound of death.

Her head snapped up—

A storm of flaming projectiles darkened the sky, descending in a deadly rain.

"No—!"

She fought harder, but the samurai holding her did not let go.

Her father was already moving.

Haruto surged forward, closing the distance between himself and his opponent in an instant—

Then the first arrow struck him.

Then another.

And another.

The impact sent him staggering, his body jerking as flames ignited against his armor.

His sword slipped from his grasp.

He fell to his knees.

Then—

He collapsed.

Reika couldn't breathe.

This was never a duel.

This was never about honor.

This had been the plan from the beginning.

The Mongol commander was laughing.

As if Haruto Shirakawa, the head of their clan, meant nothing.

Reika went still.

The battlefield blurred, her vision narrowing, her body trembling in the samurai's grasp.

She wanted to tear herself free. To run to her father's side. To pick up the sword he had dropped and kill every single one of them.

But she couldn't.

The samurai were already dragging her toward a waiting horse, their grips like iron.

They were leaving.