Chapter 12 – Blood and Honor

The sun beat down heavily on the underground arena, where the air reeked of sweat, dust, and death. Reiji, Donyoku, Chisiki, and Aika had arrived only recently, and the murmur of the crowd grew more tense with each passing moment.

Donyoku, bound in symbolic chains, stepped forward with firm strides toward the center of the arena. He knew his opponent, Renjiro, was no ordinary fighter—renowned for his brutality and strength. But more than that, Donyoku felt this fight would be a trial between life and death.

Reiji watched in silence, a mix of anxiety and resignation brewing within him.

These children aren't ready for the real world… but they must face it, he thought. If not now, then when?

---

Renjiro struck first, aiming a vicious blow at Donyoku's stomach. The impact was devastating—air burst from his lungs as searing pain radiated from his ribs to his spine. He felt some of his ribs crack under the sheer force of the punch.

Meanwhile, in the cell, Chisiki clenched his fists in anger, hearing the sounds of Donyoku's grunts and the thudding blows.

I have to do something… but I'm trapped, he thought helplessly.

Aika, tears brimming in her eyes, sat in a corner, praying desperately for her friend to endure.

Please… don't die…

Donyoku staggered, but stayed on his feet, gritting his teeth. He tried to counterattack with his left arm, but the pain was unbearable; his right arm was partially immobilized from a previous fracture, leaving him with only one functioning limb. Even so, he didn't back down.

A dark and powerful wave surged from within him—his Soukei pulsed with an intensity it had never reached before. Energy began to radiate from him, wrapping his body in an irregular aura, like glowing dark cracks spreading across his skin—signs of a new layer of power awakening.

Renjiro scowled at the transformation.

"So you want to play with fire," he growled, doubling down on his attacks.

In the midst of the fight, Reiji couldn't tear his eyes away—from the battle or from his thoughts.

Did I really do the right thing by bringing them here? They're still just kids, innocent in a cruel world that shows no mercy. But they have to learn. They can't live inside illusions or false hope…

Nearby, Bokusatsu and Seimei exchanged uneasy whispers.

"They're slaughtering that slave. Do you think… this is what they wanted?" Seimei asked with a grimace.

"We have no right to watch and do nothing," Bokusatsu replied, clenching his fists.

The fight became a brutal storm. Powerful strikes, frantic dodges—each move charged with the intent to kill. Donyoku took a blow to the side, followed by a kick that knocked him to the ground for a few seconds, breathless and trembling from the pain.

But the evolved Soukei energy showed in strange flickers—every time Donyoku seemed on the verge of collapsing, his body recovered faster, his muscles tensed, and his mind sharpened with almost superhuman clarity.

Renjiro, feeling the tide turn, attacked with desperation, trying to break Donyoku's defense. Punches to the face, kicks, elbows. Donyoku dodged and blocked, but the damage was piling up—his left arm moved sluggishly, his stomach burned, his broken ribs throbbed, and his vision began to blur.

I can't afford to fall, he thought with determination. To protect my friends… I must endure.

And so the battle continued: tension, growth, and Donyoku's struggle—not only for his life, but for his honor and his friends' future.

Finally, with one last effort, Donyoku landed an upward punch to Renjiro's face. The impact was heavy. Renjiro staggered before collapsing, unconscious.

---

But the crowd did not cheer. Instead, they screamed in outrage:

"Kill him! If you don't kill your opponent, this victory means nothing!"

Donyoku, his voice steady but exhausted, responded:

"It's worth far more to save a life than to feed your bloodlust. What value does a victory have if it's stained with needless death?"

The nobles were furious, shouting threats.

"An insolent slave has no right to speak to his betters!" the guards barked as they advanced, spears in hand. "Remember your place!"

As the spear tips neared Donyoku, shadows burst forth—figures cloaked in a dark aura that radiated pure terror. The shadows struck the guards, who fell back with deep wounds and fear etched on their faces.

Kagenami appeared, eyes glowing with Shinkon energy, standing protectively over Donyoku.

He lifted Donyoku firmly, and with swift, precise movements, led him out of the arena. The crowd roared behind them, but only silence filled the corridor that led to a secluded room.

"He'll be safe here," said Kagenami, gently laying Donyoku onto a makeshift bed. "Aika, it's your turn now."

Aika stepped forward, hands trembling but resolute. She focused her Shinkon into her palms, a soft golden light beginning to glow. But the severity of Donyoku's injuries and the fear within her made it difficult to control—her healing energy flickered with instability.

"It's okay, Donyoku… I'll do what I can," she whispered sweetly, her fingers gently tracing the bruises, deep wounds, and fractured ribs.

Donyoku barely opened his eyes, and though weak, he tried to smile.

"Thank you, Aika… we… we did it," he murmured faintly. "But there's still… so much left to do."

---

The arena tensed once more as Seimei, the slave who had joined Bokusatsu, was called to fight.

He emerged from the shadows—slender, with a piercing, almost mystical gaze. His Shinkon, born from the enigmatic Nibanku Frontier, emitted an aura that merged with the air itself, a mix of blue and green shadows swirling around him like liquid flame.

His opponent was a brutal mercenary, known for crushing foes with sheer strength. But Seimei didn't intend to win with brute force—he would use something far more dangerous.

The match began with a clash of gazes. Seimei, seemingly calm, assumed a stance that resembled a dance—ethereal, flowing. His Shinkon manifested like an invisible wind that warped reality: impossible movements, glowing trails from dodges, and attacks that struck from impossible angles.

The mercenary threw furious punches, but they passed through Seimei as if he were fighting shadows. Each failed strike sent vibrations through the air, distorting the view of the crowd.

Seimei raised a hand, and from his Shinkon, luminous threads emerged, intertwining into a strange pattern before him—an intangible energy cage. The mercenary became trapped in this invisible prison, his movements slowed, his strength gradually drained.

Then the true beauty—and horror—of Seimei's power appeared: he began to manipulate the boundary between the physical and the ethereal. With a twist, he momentarily dematerialized one limb and passed it through the mercenary's body, leaving behind what looked like spiritual burn marks.

Each strike was a cruel poem, a deadly dance where space bent and time stretched. The crowd fell silent, transfixed by the deadly ballet that defied understanding.

The mercenary fell to his knees, gasping, unable to continue.

Seimei returned to his original stance, his gaze calm, almost melancholic.

"The boundary between life and death is just a veil," he said softly. "And I've learned how to walk within it."

The crowd remained in strange silence after Seimei's battle. Some stared, unsure whether to applaud or fear what they had just witnessed. Others murmured anxiously among themselves. That Shinkon was no ordinary gift. That technique was not just strength—it was art and curse. Magic and abyss.

From the reserved seats, Bokusatsu watched his companion approach after the victory. A light, sincere smile crossed his face.

"You did well, Seimei. You didn't just win… you showed them a world they'll never understand. One they'll never reach," he said, offering a damp cloth to wipe his face.

Seimei didn't respond with words. He simply gave a small nod, wrapped in the same distant calm that always surrounded him.

---

Meanwhile, Reiji observed from above, studying each slave who had fought so far—not their techniques, but their eyes. Their gestures when they thought no one was watching.

Then he saw it.

The noble who had threatened him the night before was walking toward a nearby cell. Inside, a young boy with frosted white hair and pale blue eyes like ice was being beaten with a staff. The noble's expression was one of irritation.

"I told you to make him suffer! Not kill him so quickly! You're entertainment, not a tool for pity!"

The boy didn't scream. He took every blow with open eyes, unmoving.

"No food for you today either. And if you keep this up… I'll cut out your tongue. Maybe that'll teach you to follow orders."

The noble walked away, muttering curses.

Reiji descended slowly to the lower level, approaching the boy, still sitting in the corner of the cell, covered in bruises and dust.

"Why don't you fight back?" Reiji asked seriously, without reproach. "I saw your match. You're one of the strongest here."

The boy barely looked up. His face was pale, almost sickly, but there was no fear—only emptiness.

"Since I was born, I've been a slave. So was my mother…" he began, his voice devoid of emotion. "A noble raped her over and over until she got pregnant with me. My father was a monster. All he knew how to do was hit me, scream at me, spit on me. She… she used to hold me at night, even though she shook more than I did. One day… she killed him while he slept. And the next day… she sold me. Like meat."

He paused. Not from emotion, but because he no longer seemed to have the strength to speak continuously.

"She said she did it to survive. That it was the best for both of us. I loved her… I truly loved her. But after that… I didn't know what love was. Or hate. Just cold."

The silence became suffocating.

"And do you feel okay like this?" Reiji asked in a whisper, almost a lament.

"I got used to it. My master always looks for any excuse to punish me. Sometimes he makes me fight without rest… and doesn't feed me. I survive on scraps. Waste. Once… he forced me to eat horse shit for fun in front of his friends."

Reiji clenched his fists.

The young man looked him in the eyes for the first time. But there was no light, no soul. Just a coldness as deep as his name:

"My name is Kōri no Seita. But it's been years since I had an identity. Here… I'm just a tool. There's no point in having strength if you don't know what to use it for."

Reiji didn't respond. Because for the first time, he didn't know what to say.

He only thought of what Kagenami had told him.

Of what The Night of a Thousand Eyes truly meant.

It wasn't a spectacle.

It was a mirror.

A cruel mirror where the world revealed its most honest face.

"If I become strong…" the boy said with an empty gaze, "will anyone want me to live?"

Reiji simply watched him in silence. He didn't know what to say. He could only think:

I came here searching for answers… but I'm watching those who need them most can't even ask the questions.

___

In a world where the soul only has value if it bleeds, sometimes, the bravest thing isn't to fight… but to keep breathing without becoming a monster.

Thank you for reading this chapter of Chi no Yakusoku.

If you enjoyed it, don't forget to follow for the next step in this dark blood oath.