Chapter-13 : ENEMY

A few days passed, and Ichigo's transformation was undeniable. The boy who once shivered in the river was now moving with fluid precision and silent strength. His physique had grown impressively—lean muscle traced his arms and chest, and his stance radiated confidence. The scars of effort were visible in the form of hardened palms and a steady gaze. Each swing of the wooden sword carried the weight of focus, discipline, and untapped power.

Under the early morning sun, Ichigo completed his drills. His shirt clung to him, soaked in sweat, as he controlled each movement like an extension of his breath. Mr. Kael stood nearby, arms folded, watching closely.

"You've come far," Kael finally said, walking up beside him. "Your body… your strength… it's enough. Now we shift the nature of your training. Strength without control is chaos. But you… you are ready for balance."

Ichigo looked at him, surprised. "So, no more basic sword drills?"

"You still carry the sword. From now on, it doesn't leave your side," Kael said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "It's not just a weapon. It's your reflection. Wherever you go, it goes with you."

Ichigo nodded with determination.

Kael smirked lightly. "I have to visit another village. I'll return by nightfall. No evening training today—you've earned the break."

Ichigo's eyes lit up. "Then I'll go to the temple hill. The view… it always clears my mind."

Kael gave a nod, turning away. "Go. But remember, even in peace, stay alert."

Later that afternoon, Ichigo reached the top of the temple hill, the warm wind brushing against his face. The sky glowed gold with the setting sun, and the distant chants from the temple echoed gently. It was beautiful… until he noticed movement.

Below, near the river's edge, several warriors were gathered—half dressed as samurai, the other as ninjas. Something about their formation, their silence, didn't feel normal.

The wind brushed against Ichigo's face as he sat silently atop the temple hill, wooden sword resting beside him. His training had forged his body—muscles defined, posture strong—but his mind remained calm, sharp as a blade. The peaceful scenery below him was interrupted by the sight of a small group of warriors gathering in the open training grounds.

Curious, Ichigo leaned forward slightly. A mock match had begun between some young ninja and samurai warriors. From a distance, he observed intently, his expression neutral, though his senses stayed alert.

As the duel unfolded, Ichigo noticed several figures hidden in the bushes—captains. Samurai and ninja both. Watching. Judging. Just like him. All under training, perhaps, all eager to measure the strength of their respective clans.

The match ended quickly. The ninja won. Two samurai fell. Tension surged like a brewing storm.

Voices rose. Accusations flew.

Then the captains jumped into the fray—not to stop the conflict, but to escalate it. Blades clashed, footwork blurred, a battle born not of duty but pride.

Ichigo's hand instinctively brushed the hilt of his wooden sword, but he hesitated.

Kael's words echoed in his mind: "Never reveal your identity unless it's necessary."

So he watched.

But then—

A sudden crack split the air. A strange pressure descended, thick and unnatural. Black clouds rolled in, swallowing the sun.

Everyone froze.

From the forest's edge, a cloaked figure emerged, stepping with eerie calm into the clearing. His face was hidden behind a deep crimson mask, his eyes glowing like embers in a dying fire.

Ichigo's breath caught in his throat. This aura—it wasn't normal. It was ancient. Sinister. Not ninja. Not samurai. Something… else.

The masked man raised his hand. A violent pulse of energy swept across the training ground. The earth trembled. Leaves lifted into the air. Even Ichigo, from his vantage point, felt the force—his sword vibrated as if sensing danger.

Below, warriors stumbled. One ninja, mid-attack, dropped to his knees and vomited blood.

"This is no longer a match," the cloaked figure said, voice steady, calm, yet booming like distant thunder. "This is a message."

The soldiers dared not move. Captains exchanged anxious glances.

The cloaked figure stepped fully into the light, revealing not a mysterious outsider, but a name whispered with both fear and respect—Tanjiro Nakamoto, the prodigy and under-training Chief of the Samurai Association.

Tanjiro Nakamoto stepped into the field like a god descending from the storm. Draped in a deep crimson kimono lined with black edges and a sleeveless armored haori that bore the crest of the Samurai Association, he radiated authority. His long, dark hair was loosely tied, strands dancing with the wind, and in his calloused hand rested a thick wooden sword—old, but etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with energy. His eyes were fierce, glowing faintly golden under the shadow of the darkened sky. The air shifted, heavy with tension, and even seasoned warriors instinctively stepped back. Ichigo's breath caught—this wasn't just power, this was legend incarnate.

Tanjiro Nakamoto's eyes blazed with fury as he took a step forward, his voice roaring through the valley like thunder.

"You blood-stained bastards… sons of traitorous shadows—you will die here today!"

His grip tightened on the wooden blade as black lightning coiled around him. With a sudden roar, he swung his sword through the air—not aiming at anyone, just the wind. But the wind screamed. A single, sharp wave of slicing energy burst forth, howling toward the ninja line like a storm's judgment.

The ground cracked beneath its force.

Even Ichigo, watching from the hill, felt the shockwave in his chest.

The ninjas turned, too late.

The slicing arc of raw energy rushed at them, cutting through trees like paper.

"No time to run…" Ichigo muttered, wide-eyed.

Just as the wave was about to hit—

To be continued........

"If this chapter struck your heart, honor it with a collection — your support is my sword"