Prologue

– Sengoku Era, Year 1574 –

"The world is dim. No matter how brightly you try to burn, this darkness will swallow you all the same."

– ???

Since childhood, Daiki dreamed of becoming a renowned swordsman—respected, noble, and a protector of the weak in a harsh world. He believed that honour, justice, and good deeds could change everything, that a single blade could stand against the darkness. Ryohei, his childhood friend and the brother he never had, was beside him, holding his spear tightly. Together, they had trained, gone hungry, and had beliefs of becoming truly honourable swordsmen.

Now, that belief had become a vow—to stand as justice in a world that had forgotten what it meant.

The Kuroame Legion moved like a plague through the lands, doing the dirty work others feared—extortion, smuggling, brutal killings that left villages trembling in silence. And now, they had come to Hasakura.

Daiki stood with Ryohei at the broken gates, his sword shaking in his hands as the cold wind howled around him. Smoke coiled from burning huts while dawn broke with the cries of starving children clinging to hollow-eyed mothers. Daiki had promised them safety, believing he could protect them.

This was the moment everything he believed in would be tested—and Daiki would discover if a single blade could truly carve a path through the darkness.

Ryohei forced a crooked smile and said, "Hey… Daiki, let's head to the capital once this is over." Perhaps we can guard a merchant's caravan and find a real job.

Daiki laughed, his face smeared with ash and sweat. "Stupid, we'll protect a daimyo's palace. You will be present when I am bowed to as the greatest swordsman in the land.

"Roger that," Ryohei replied, although his gaze wavered.

Flames crept up and rose as an elderly woman who resided in the village sobbed and cried as to why such cruelty was happening. Moreover, the thin, despairing cries of a child echoed across the despairing village. Making Daiki tighten his hold on his sword.

"We cannot allow them to destroy this place, Ryohei. We assured these folks that we would keep them safe."

"Yes," Ryohei muttered.

The army's boots trampled on the muddy ground, and their black banners flapped in the stormy winds as the Kuroame Legion advanced. Arrows struck flesh and splintered wood as they fell like rain. The villagers attempted to escape; however, screams rose along with the smoke.

"Hold the line!" yelled Daiki. Keep them at bay! For Hasakura!

With a vigorous cry, he slashed down a soldier as the enemy charged, his blade flashing. And then there was another. Sparks flew, steel rang, and blood sprayed the mud.

"There are too many, Daiki!" Ryohei yelled, his voice breaking with fear.

"A little more time! We can hold—

—Then there was nothing.

When the person he trusted the most thrust a blade between Daiki's ribs from behind, his eyes widened.

His lips were bubbling with blood as he turned. "Hey, Ryo."

Ryohei's lips were quivering, his eyes were cold, and she flickered with guilt. "I... I'm sorry, Daiki. And I just didn't want to die.

Daiki fell into the mud as he ripped the blade free, and the Legion marched forward. In an attempt to get away, Ryohei stumbled backward while holding a blood-stained coin pouch and glancing toward the gate.

With his eyes like polished obsidian and his black armour, General Ishida emerged from the smoke.

"I did what you asked me to do!" Ryohei stumbled and dropped to his knees. "You promised me I would live!"

General Ishida nodded his head in sympathy. "And I don't need a traitor anymore."

"Wait—please, don't—"

Blood spattered.

The glimmering hope of life was abruptly shattered in the entire village, as the only people that could protect them and the people they led have now died.

Blood flooded the ground as the Legion poured into Hasakura, trampling Daiki's body as he layed in the mud, his hand reaching for the sword he was no longer able to lift.

Daiki's justice and nature lead to nothing but pure black... No glorification. Daiki died while pursuing a dream that was unattainable in this world, like a fool. Only the strong survive in the Sengoku Era, and Daiki's way of thinking was too optimistic for this cruel world.

The chains rattled.

With the iron collar digging into his neck, a sixteen-year-old boy named Hikari raised his head. As the Kuroame Legion dragged prisoners past the bodies, he was one of them.

Smoke continued to rise from Hasakura's ruin.

He had witnessed it all: the brutal death of idiots who believed honour could endure in such a world, Ryohei's treachery, Daiki's pointless stand, and the general's cold execution.

"Hmph... What a fool." Hikari thought to himself.

"The world is dim. No matter how brightly you try to burn, this darkness will swallow you all the same."

There was no honour here.

Only survival.