The sky burned.
The echo of lightning and fire still rang in the ears of the survivors. Smoke curled into the heavens like serpents fleeing a dying battlefield. Among the ash and twisted metal, silence lingered—for just a moment.
Then came the sound of footsteps.
Two shadows walked forward through the ruin. From opposite ends of the chaos, they advanced—one cloaked in fire, the other cloaked in thunder.
Ichigo's katana sparked with crackling blue energy, the storm still dancing along its edge. His eyes, lit like twin moons, locked onto the panicked remnants of the Mongol army. He did not speak. He didn't need to. His steps were enough—the sound of judgment coming closer.
Tanjiro, meanwhile, emerged from a veil of smoke, fire licking off his shoulders like wings. Each step left scorched footprints in the dirt. His eyes burned darker than any flame, focused only on one thing—finishing what they had started.
Together now, the two warriors broke into a run—silent, deadly, unstoppable.
The Mongol soldiers—once so full of bravado, of torches and shouts and songs of conquest—saw them coming and froze. Some dropped their weapons. Some fell to their knees. Others turned and tried to flee.
None succeeded.
Ichigo moved first—he leapt into the air and spun once, sending a spiral of lightning arcing out in a wide circle. It whipped through the ranks, slicing weapons in half and shattering shields like brittle leaves.
Tanjiro followed—he spun his dual blades in a searing arc, and from them burst a wall of flame that danced like a living beast. The fire roared forward, swallowing those who dared to run. The screams were short.
They were no longer fighting to win.
They were cleansing a battlefield.
Within ten minutes, Ichigo and Tanjiro had wiped out the remainder of the Mongol forces. They moved like falling stars — Ichigo blazing with crackling blue energy, Tanjiro burning like a living inferno. The sky seemed to split open under their fury. Slashes of light and fire painted the battlefield until not a single soldier stood.
When they reached the border gate, their presence felt inhuman — their skin scorched with raw energy, their eyes no longer calm. Ichigo's blue aura flared like a storm trapped inside a man. Tanjiro's burning crimson glow made the rain sizzle off his shoulders.
Tanjiro raised his blade. His voice, low and heavy, echoed:
"Let me end him."
Ichigo raised a hand and stepped forward. "No," he said calmly, though his eyes were anything but. "Killing him without warning… that's not justice. It's slaughter."
Tanjiro's flames flickered — not extinguished, but slowed.
Ichigo turned to the trembling Mongol general, who was still on his knees. "Tell Zar Tier…" Ichigo's voice boomed with authority. "This was mercy. Next time, there won't be any."
The general nodded with a pale face and scrambled up, running toward the dark path that led to Luciar — the Mongol capital.
As the general vanished, the rest of the team gathered. Raiden watched the flaming city with a cold expression.
"It looks like a junkyard," he muttered. The once-mighty fortress now collapsed into embers and ash. The rain finally began to fall — first as a drizzle, then as a steady downpour. The smoke sizzled and rose to the heavens.
They all turned, weapons sheathed, bodies exhausted, and made their way back toward the hidden ninja palace — the last sanctuary where the dual kings of Japan awaited the news.
Meanwhile, elsewhere on the approach route—
Hyro and the other generals ran in full gear, dashing through forests and mountain paths. As they reached the edge of the city, they came to a sudden stop.
There was no city.
Only scorched earth. Rubble. Ashes. Dead bodies — thousands. The Mongol banners, burnt and half-buried, flapped weakly in the wind.
The group stood quietly at the edge of what was once a city — now a ruin of burning wreckage, ash, and blood. Hyro, Yueri, Kyra, and Akemi had finally arrived. But instead of the bustling city they expected, they saw nothing but the remains of a battlefield.
Hyro's eyes widened as he scanned the scorched land. "This… this was a city?"
Yueri stepped forward, her mouth slightly open. "I didn't expect the fight to be over so quickly."
Akemi crossed her arms, clearly surprised but hiding it with a smirk. "Short? It looks like a damned apocalypse hit this place."
Kyra stood silently, staring at the destruction. Her thoughts raced — not just at the scene, but at the power behind it. Ichigo and Tanjiro had done this. Just the two of them.
Hyro looked toward the smoldering horizon. "There were 200,000 soldiers here."
Kyra replied without turning her head, her voice barely a whisper. "I didn't think they were that powerful."
Akemi's smirk deepened. She leaned closer to Kyra and said, "If Ichigo were mine, I wouldn't let him sleep. I'd keep him busy all night… every night."
Yueri added with a teasing grin, "Forget that — I just want to eat him."
Kyra's face turned bright red. She glared at them, then quickly looked away, trying to hide her flustered expression.
Akemi chuckled, clearly enjoying the reaction. "Aww, getting jealous already?"
But Kyra remained silent, her eyes fixed on the blackened city ahead — and the two monsters who had burned it to the ground.
Hyro and the others laughed, though Kyra stayed stoic — his thoughts too tangled in everything he had seen, and everything he feared might come next.
The general's weary eyes scanned the horizon as he approached Zar Tier Palace, the heart of Luciar. The city of Luciar sprawled out before him like a dying beast, its once vibrant streets now deserted, the remnants of war scattered across the cobblestones. The air was thick with a heavy, suffocating silence, the kind that weighed down on the soul, as if the city itself had been drained of life.
Luciar, the capital of Mangol, once stood as a beacon of power, a testament to the empire's might. But now, it was a shadow of its former glory. The grand stone structures, adorned with intricate carvings and gold inlays, were now crumbling and abandoned, their facades weathered and cracked. The city walls, once pristine and imposing, were marred by the scars of conflict—cracks running deep, like the city itself was struggling to hold its form. The streets, once bustling with merchants and citizens, were eerily empty, littered with debris from the battles that had taken place. Burned carts and broken statues lay in the gutters, forgotten in the aftermath of the city's downfall. The faint smell of smoke still lingered in the air, a reminder of the recent chaos that had swept through.
As the general moved closer, the oppressive weight of the palace loomed larger, towering over the broken skyline. Zar Tier Palace was a monument to the past—dark, jagged, and foreboding. Its architecture was unlike anything else in the city, with spires that reached for the heavens like blackened claws. The palace's stone was the color of deep obsidian, absorbing the weak light from the dying sun. There were no banners, no heraldry fluttering in the wind, only the haunting stillness of a place long abandoned.
The gates of Zar Tier Palace were immense, wrought from blackened iron and covered in intricate, twisted patterns that seemed to come alive in the dim light. They stood at the end of a long, desolate path, lined with decaying statues that once honored the greatest rulers of Mangol. Their faces were chipped and worn, expressions twisted by time and neglect. The ground beneath the general's feet was cracked and uneven, the path leading to the gates overgrown with weeds, as though nature itself was trying to reclaim the land.
As he finally reached the gates, the general paused, his breath shallow and uneasy. The once-magnificent entrance, now a cold and unwelcoming threshold, seemed to whisper of the palace's fall from grace. The gates, once a symbol of power and dominance, now stood silent and oppressive. The air was thick with an eerie stillness, and for a brief moment, the general felt a shiver crawl up his spine. The city, the palace, and the very earth beneath him seemed to mourn, as though they too had suffered defeat. With a deep, shaky breath, he stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the heart of Luciar, knowing that whatever waited beyond these gates would mark the end of an era for both him and the kingdom.