Chapter 672 The Siege of Plum Sanctuary

There were no stars that night. The Sky of Oda was shrouded in ash and smoke, denser than any blackness the world had ever known. Only the roar of war, the smell of burning flesh, and the thunder of spells marked the heartbeat of Sanctuary Plum Blossom. In that fog, every whisper of hope had died. What remained was the sound of blood, vengeance, and human determination squeezed to its lowest point. Among the ruins, there were fragments of lost history, trapped in time like restless souls. Oda, a land once revered, now witnessed the fall of a civilization built on deceit and betrayal.

Amidst the ruins of altars and stone corridors filled with the spirits of the fallen, one figure stood—wounded but unyielding. Shigure Katsuhiro—the heir of the Yamato spirit—now the last banner of Oda, faced the Five Pillars of Dominion in a duel with no witnesses but destruction. In her heart, flashes of a vision for the future crossed her mind—a world where justice could be restored, and the fate of the people redeemed. She was a bastion of hope amidst the rubble, fighting with all that remained, not just for herself, but for all who had sacrificed on the altar of darkness.

Spells clashed in the air, stirring the hot winds and flashes of lightning. Bronn, the giant, swung the hammer "Crimson Flood," splattering stone and blood across every corner of the altar. On the other side, Lira twisted time, slowing every movement of Shigure as if the world itself rejected her existence. The shadow of darkness behind Lira, a soul ensnared in ambition and power, created tension in the air, adding layers of complexity to this clash. Those who believed in the power of tyranny belittled the strength of the spirit flowing in Shigure's blood.

Yet Shigure stepped lightly, the bow Ame no Makakoyumi already in her hands. She moved between the illusions of time, dancing in a space that was nearly frozen, her body enveloped in a deep red aura—not magic, but the weight of the oath bound to the Yamato heirloom. Each breath brought her closer to the fate woven, each second revealing the unstoppable power of spirit. Memories of her ancestors flowed in her veins, reminding her of the sacred duty embedded in the title of Yamato heir.

Gael advanced at the forefront, Oblivion Lance in hand. "End this, heir of Yamato. The world has chosen its side." Gael's voice echoed in the darkness, filled with hatred and disdain, as if nature itself responded. There was pain and despair in every word he spoke, a reflection of the grief that only he understood. That was why he stood there, facing Shigure—the light of hope that must be extinguished to solidify an unyielding power.

Shigure bowed respectfully, then drew her bow and summoned the technique that had made her a legend: A magical light gathered at the tip of her arrow, forming ancient symbols that shimmered in the dark. Behind every movement was a passion to prove that the Yamato legacy was not merely a myth, but a power capable of changing fate. Her courage was reflected in her determined gaze, still holding the pain of the past, as she witnessed so many comrades fall to injustice.

"Lux Nihilensia."

The conceptual arrow was released, invisible to the ordinary human eye. In an instant, time seemed to freeze, and all that existed was Shigure and the mission before her: to repeat the horrific history, so that future generations would not be trapped in false myths. Her arrow soared through the fog and doubt, striking at the heart of meaning: attacking not Gael's flesh, but the purpose of the general's life. Gael staggered suddenly, his eyes losing their shine, his soul momentarily engulfed in emptiness—but only for a moment, as the iron will of the Five Pillars rejected any fate other than victory.

Lira, in a state of panic, felt the wave of magic shaking her soul, forcing her to adapt. Every attack had a profound inner impact, enveloping her with guilt over the role she had to play to maintain power. Seeing the opening, she twisted the glyph of time, locking Shigure's steps in a nearly impenetrable circle of magic.

But Shigure—with the technique "Mizu no Ame: Arrow Among the Rain"—split the circle of time, her arrows breaking into a rain of light dancing around the altar. In that rain of light, she felt the flow of history connecting all the souls that fought, inspiring her to keep moving even as the burden she carried felt heavier. Each arrow was not just an attack, but a distortion of space that blinded the enemy, disrupting the paths of automatons, and forcing Bronn to kneel in the midst of his own blood.

Within the sanctuary, the remaining protectors could only hear the rumble and screams of spells. Nobuzan—half-conscious—gripped Akiko's hand, praying silently, "Let this night be the night that records Oda's name not as a beggar, but as the last resistance of a world that refuses to be buried." With every heartbeat, hope and fear intertwined within her, as if the spells spoken were the thin threads binding life and death.

But amidst the chaos, another voice suddenly echoed—not from the altar, but from the main gate of the sanctuary. A chilling feeling enveloped Nobuzan as she recalled the tales of magic taught by her master, that in darkness, even the smallest light could burn weak souls.

From behind the smoke and destruction, the red flag of Yamato—the symbol of three cherry blossoms—suddenly appeared waving. Dozens of Yamato samurai, led by the new clan head, Kazama Aratake, broke through the Earth barricade from the eastern side of the sanctuary. Behind Aratake's firm gaze lay a deep historical burden, triggered by the struggle to restore the dignity of the humiliated clan.

"Yamato will not allow its blood legacy to perish at the hands of conquerors!" Aratake shouted, his sword glowing with a cold blue aura. The sound of his cry reminded the protectors of Oda of the unspoken bond that every soul was tied to in the same journey, where the paths of blood and magic complemented each other, creating a fate they could not escape.

Yet the faces of the Oda protectors tensed, for a long history had frozen the relationship between Oda and Yamato in layers of doubt and old wounds. Many whispered, "Where were they when we fell? Why do they come now when our name is almost gone?" Among these whispers, a glimmer of anxiety was felt, a hope for an alliance long lost, with shadows of past battles looming over new aspirations.

In the midst of the deadly duel, the thunderous footsteps of the Yamato samurai startled the Five Pillars and the Earth forces. The Yamato clan charged at the Earth forces from the side, turning the battlefield into a new chaos: automatons burned, Earth soldiers were cut down by Yamato katanas, and Lira's time-holding glyph shattered due to this new power's intervention. Hovering above all was the thick metallic scent, like a shadow of memories of sacrifices made to defend this fragile world.

Shigure, now standing unsteady and full of wounds, turned to Aratake as he approached. There was heat and cold in their gazes—memories of the past, promises unfulfilled, and honor that often turned into enmity. In Shigure's heart, the fire of hope began to rekindle, tentative yet certain, even surrounded by the shadows of trauma that would not fade. She knew well how fragile this alliance was, bound by an invisible yet strong thread, which at any moment could snap due to the gaping hatred.

Kazama Aratake looked at Shigure, "I come not only for Oda but for Yamato. You are not alone, Shigure. Though blood vengeance still flows between us, tonight Yamato stands on the same side as you." His words flowed like water cooling unseen wounds, reviving the pride that had nearly faded from her soul. In her heart, Aratake struggled with the dilemma—was the bond between them still strong beyond this battle, or was it too late to mend?

Shigure did not answer. She simply raised her bow and shot an arrow at the line of Earth automatons trying to surround the newly arrived samurai. The conceptual arrow pierced the roar of machines, extinguishing the souls of automatons like candles in a storm. Each arrow released was a statement of courage, a challenge to the astonishing injustice, but also a sign of uncertainty creeping within her. Perhaps this was the time for Shigure to carve a new path, not just for herself, but for a future that might be formed from the ruins that existed.

However, amidst the brief victory, a crack was immediately felt. One of the Oda protectors shouted at the Yamato samurai, "Where were you when we fell? Why do you come now when our name is almost gone?"

Aratake held his sword in front of the altar, his face tense. "There is no victory without loss. Yamato waited until the enemy lost strength. If Oda wants to live, accept our hand, or perish with the honor that is but a name."

Behind Aratake's tense face lay a passion to change fate. He recalled his master's words, that every sword has a soul, bound to its wielder and the anger that burned within their hearts. In his view, every step was not just a strategy, but also revenge for the painful past, to save the hope that was nearly extinguished.

Tension filled the atmosphere. Amidst the sounds of war and the cries of victims, this conversation felt more terrifying than any duel: the choice between reconciling with old grudges or sinking together with history.

Shigure, standing between the two factions, chose to silence with action. She drew her bow once more, even as blood flowed from the wound on her arm, and released the Lux Nihilensia arrow towards Bronn, who was trying to charge the altar—causing the giant to lose his fighting spirit and fall to his knees, as if forgetting the reason he came to the battlefield.

In the twilight sky, the magic enveloping the battlefield like an invisible net bound every action with threads of fate. Shigure felt the surge of magic within her, vibrating in sync with the rhythm of her heartbeat. She knew that every arrow released was not only to stop the enemy but also to convey a message—that ego and honor on this battlefield are often paid with lives.

Dawn had not yet arrived. The remaining Five Pillars retreated to the outer line of the sanctuary, taking with them the automatons and the remaining Earth soldiers who could still move. They knew the war was not over—but tonight, fate changed only by the will of a handful of humans who refused to bow. In the hanging silence, Shigure felt every heartbeat resonate, as if the final moments of this battle were the last breath of the world they once knew. Every wound on their bodies was not just a physical mark, but also a symbol of the struggle against various magical systems that had divided and ensnared their fates.

Shigure fell to her knees before the altar, her breath heavy, but her eyes stared sharply at the allies and enemies. She spoke softly:

"The stars have gone out, but our will remains bright. Oda and Yamato… perhaps can only find peace on a starless night. But let the world know, tonight the will of humanity shines brighter than any light."

Every word she spoke seemed to pierce the darkness and awaken the spirit among those who heard it, as a reminder that hope still existed amidst the void. There was warmth in Shigure's voice, like a small fire in the midst of a storm, rekindling a sense of unity and courage within the souls of the wounded warriors.

Aratake approached, offering his hand to Shigure. After a long, heavy pause, Shigure accepted it—not entirely as a friend, but as a fellow survivor of the darkest night. Aratake himself felt the heavy burden of responsibility, clenching his hand tightly at the corner of the battlefield, every torn piece of fabric on his clothing reminding him of comrades who had lost their lives to the relentless winds of battle. "We will not let their sacrifices be in vain," he whispered, reassuring both himself and Shigure in a bittersweet tone of hope.

In the lower corridors of the sanctuary, Nobuzan, Akiko, and the protectors of Oda prayed silently. With every spell they uttered, waves of magical power slowly flowed around them, as if calling forth goodness from the depths of the world. Outside, the Earth forces prepared to summon new power. Yet amidst the ashes, blood, and torn flags, that night was recorded in history not as a night of victory, but as a nameless night—one where Oda and Yamato, for a moment, refused to be destroyed together. They silently vowed in their hearts that they would rebuild the world, even if it had to start from the ruins.

The sky remained black. There were no stars. But in the ruins of the sanctuary, one voice—weak yet eternal—whispered to the whole world: the resistance was not dead, even when the light had gone out. That voice belonged not only to Shigure but also to those who had fought, breaking through the boundaries that had once divided and separated them. In the dark, their spirits ignited like new stars, waiting to be discovered.