"Micah's perspective."
Micah had never been someone extraordinary.
Not by birth, nor by strength, nor by fate.
He was born the fourth son of the Arkwell family, a noble family in the Western Territories of Achmernia, known for nobility or wealth and for battle. Every generation, without fail, produced warriors of staggering renown—generals, champions, protectors of borderlands—men and women whose names were etched into the battlefield like signatures on old stone.
Micah was a quiet boy, always with his nose in books or watching the older siblings from behind door frames. He didn't cry when he was pushed down, didn't shout when overlooked. He simply… watched. Observed. Tried to understand why he felt like a guest in his own family.
"Strength is proof of your right to live," his father once said, standing over the training yard where Micah's elder brothers clashed with blunted swords. "Without it, you're nothing but dust on someone else's boot."
Micah had nodded—then quietly gone to practice alone with a wooden stick behind the granary, afraid to be seen failing. Again.
He was ten when his brother Kaien died. The family didn't speak of it. Not directly as normal families do.
The Arkwells grieved like soldiers, they buried the dead, then sharpened their blades. But Micah remembered the sound of his mother's sobs behind her locked door, the scent of the rain that day, and the feel of the ground as he knelt before the shrine alone.
Kaien had once carried him on his back and whispered:
"You don't have to be strong the same way I am. There's more than one kind of strength, you know."
That was the last thing he ever said to him. And Micah hated it.
Because after Kaien died, no one remembered those words. Only the legacy he left. The way he fought. The way he won.
The way he belonged.
Micah started to train harder. Not in secret anymore. His swings turned from practice into punishment. His hands blistered, his bones ached, and his body began to change. But the feeling inside him, the sinking crawling doubt, didn't.
Even when he succeeded, he felt like he was impersonating someone else. Mimicking a version of himself that had never truly existed.
He laughed when praised.
He nodded when congratulated.
But every time he was told "You've grown into a real Arkwell,"
a small voice inside whispered:
"Then why does it feel so wrong?"
He was conflicted between, the boy who used to dream of drawing maps and writing stories…and Micah Arkwell, the man he was told he must become.
Years later, when he left home to join the swordsman corps, when he began to see other kinds of strength, weakness, loss, and grace. It became harder to ignore the rift inside him.
Because if strength wasn't everything…
If there were other ways to belong…
Then who had he been killing himself to become all this time?
Part 2
Micah was standing in the garden almost blending in with his green kimono into the bushes behind him.
"Ah, there you are Micah, come join us." Yatsu gestures for him to come.
Tatsuya still high in spirit turned around.
Curiosity felt over him as he noticed the young man coming towards him.
Tatsuya judge his age to be just above 18.
His demeanor was calm, Tatsuya didn't found any malice or judgment in his eyes.
"Nice to meet you, my name is Micah Arkwell."
Tatsuya offered a slight nod, "nice to meet you two, Tatsuya Fukushū."
"Fukushū??" He questioned, "like the Fukusha company?"
What?? What does that mean.
"Wha… no." Tatsuya stumbled over his words, like regaining himself after being knocked unconscious. "My family doesn't own a company. Only a small bakery."
"Oh, that cool." Micah replied. "In the county Achmernia there is this company that copies, armory and stuff. And then sells it for cheaper."
"Isn't that illegal?" Tatsuya asked.
"I am not proud to admit it but in Achmernia their are a lot of things going on that you would call illegal."
The county of Achmernia is located Western of Montisora and in the middle of the East continent.
This was the first time Tatsuya had even heard of the county, their was nothing recorded in the history book or in the language learning guide.
"Do your people have their own language?" Maybe it was a little bit out of place to ask that question but Tatsuya's curiosity got the best of him.
Micah didn't seem surprised by the question, maybe he gets it often.
"Well, we don't have a native language but we speak a kind of dialect called Achmernian. It's a combination between Deity and Pyronica."
Pyronica is a country located in the Southern part of the Western continent, the biggest kingdom is called Ifaisteio, they are commonly referred to as the fire-volk because they live next to a volcano. Soryn was their emperor back in the day.
As for Yatsu's mansion, it is located in the Southwest corner of Montisora, so it Achmernia is pretty close.
"The country is also really young, around 200 years ago. It was founded after two kings couldn't come to a agreement on who would get ownership over it. And then a man named Achmer Arkwell decided to claim it."
"Both of the kings had no objection so he got it. It was probably because there were no natural resources or healthy soil for agriculture."
"Than why didn't Achmer what it?" Tatsuya asked.
"I guess, Pride but I'm not sure."
"Arkwell." Tatsuya repeated. "As in your.."
Micah nodded, and let out a small sign. "Yes he is my great, great, great, grandfather."
"So your basically royalty?"
"In theory that's correct but we don't really have what you call a castle. We do thought have a big house, we are noble but you can't compare us to Deity of Ifaisteio."
"Yeah, that right Mike." Tokagame said
"I told you not to call me that."
"Well I am happy you're friends."
Friends?? Tatsuya thought, more confused then surprised. Wait.. so this is what you call friends? Is it that easy?
Micah smiled and stretched out his hand offering a hand shake.
Tatsuya accepted his offer and they shook hands. "Friends."
"Yeaaaah friends!!!!" Tokagame's booming voice cracked through the moment like a peal of thunder made of joy.
The next thing Tatsuya knew, there were arms everywhere.
Strong, calloused, overly enthusiastic arms wrapping around him from one side while simultaneously dragging in Micah from the other.
Tokagame's grip had the force of a well-honed bear hug.
"Wha—?!"
Tatsuya tensed instinctively, his spine locking up like a poorly strung bow.
But Tokagame didn't notice.
His heart didn't flinch.
Their was no threat.
Just a loud man, a quiet apprentice, and him. Tatsuya caught in between, breathing the same afternoon air and feeling.
Warmth.
Real warmth.
It wasn't just body heat, or the stupid force of the hug, or the scent of sweat and steel oil.
It was something deeper. Something that settled into his chest and unfolded like fingers uncurling after a long time gripping nothing.
His breath caught. His throat tightened.
"…Hah…"
He let his arms rise, slowly.
He didn't fight the hug.
He didn't try to pull away.
He let himself be pulled in.
Let himself exist, here, with them. And then he smiled.
Not the forced, corner-of-the-mouth smirk he used to hide things.
Not the thin-lipped expression he wore to survive.
But a real one.
Part 3
"Sword Art of Wind—Tempest Gale!"
A gust of wind burst forth from his blade, kicking up dirt and leaves.
Tokagame didn't need to explain how to use Manaflux. Paul had already explained it to him.
Manaflux is essentially someone's battle aura. It's a type of mana manipulation used by swordsman that works to drastically improve their own bodies physically capabilities.
If it is Strength, stamina or speed, pretty much every physical aspect of their body is enhanced to unnatural extremes.
is that it requires conscious control at all times. Unlike a defensive barrier that passively absorbs attacks, you have to apply Manaflux yourself in response to every action. Every movement. Every attack. Every defense.
You can reinforce your weapon while you wield it. But if you drop it? The effect vanishes instantly.
Through Manaflux spells can be cast directly from the wielders weapon acting like a staff.
That's why mage's are rare, you can better train in sword arts and simultaneously learn spells then only focus on the spells alone.
But only attack magic can be cast through Manaflux. That why most mage's are healers.
In this world there are 5 Sword Arts.
——— First, Sword Art Of Fire ———
Sword Art of Fire acts like offense is the greatest defense. This Arts emphasis on attack the opponent and not giving them time to defend and overwhelm them.
If you fail to hit the opponent, then just 'hit away' until you do.
But it doesn't mean there is no technique behind it. They are also known for wearing two blades.
——— Second, Sword Of wind ———
The sword Art of Wind emphasizes speed, precision, and fluidity, rooted in the idea that the sharpest cut is the one the enemy never saw coming.
Rather than brute force, the practitioner of The Sword Art Of Wind aims to move like the wind, swift, elusive, and untouchable.
Cutting through their enemies with refined finesse and momentum.
Where other sword styles clash and resist, Sword art of Wind, flows, seeking the path of least resistance, slipping past defenses, and striking at the most vulnerable angle.
——— Sword Art Of Water ———
This Art is the complete opposite of the Sword Art Of Fire.
A defensive art that specializes in parrying and countering. Users of the art are rarely seen taking initiative as it comes to attack.
It is said that masters of it can counter any attack, including magic and projectiles.
This art is mostly master by knights or nobles who's duty is to protect someone.
——— Sword Art Of Earth ———
This Art is the most rare to teach and also the most difficult.
Rather then saying this art uses sword techniques, it is better to describe it as a way of fighting.
No special technique. Merely react based on the situation. Even though it's reaction based, it still relies on feints and usage of one's surroundings.
The Sword Art Of Earth also includes being able to battle when afflicted with disabilities.
——— Sword Art Of Lightning ———
This Sword art relies on striking down your opponent in one strike, acting before your opponent knows what's going on.
The Sword Art Of Lightning is the only sword art that relies solely on magic.
As its goal is to strike down your opponent in one clean strike, it's mostly used by assassin.
There are people who have mastered all 5 Sword Arts but it is really rare. Tokagame suggested that you could tell all of them on one hand.
He didn't know anyone personally.
So there is no one in the swordsman corps who have mastered all 5 arts?
Tokagame is a master in the Sword Art Of Water, so naturally that was the one that Micah and Tatsuya started to learn.
Micah of course had an head started because he had been Tokagame's apprentice for 2 years, so he was acting like an assistant.
The sword art also had a ranking system.
Beginner,
Elementary,
Intermediate,
Advanced,
Master and Grandmaster.
Right now there is no one recorded to be a Grandmaster in all 5 Sword Arts but long ago Emperor of mankind, Valerian was.
Most people stop when they reach master rank because in able to move up a rank you need to defeat someone with an higher rank then you.
For example, when a Intermediate rank defeats a advanced rank that person gets promoted to advanced. And because Grandmasters are rare these days they just stop at master rank.
There are Grandmasters of each individual art but finding them is like looking for a needle in a haystack.
We started to practice the basics of the arts, these aren't the same practices that Paul told him to do, perhaps he didn't use the Sword Art Of Water?
That reminded Tatsuya of a technique Paul did use.
"Tokagame," Tatsuya said ever finishing his practice swings. "Do you know a spell called Velocity Surge?"
Tokagame looked a little surprised. "I'm surprised you know that one, it is a technique almost no one uses anymore."
His gaze was focused on the ground, like piecing together an impossible puzzle.
So it's old? But it did seem really effective, that time when he killed that dragon. I was amazed. Maybe Paul is fan of the old fancy stuff?
"Surge is a intermediate technique in to Sword Arts Of Lightning. I think I know how to do that." He said. "But Velocity Surge…."
"I think that has to be a Master technique for sure."
His gaze return to Tatsuya's, "tell me, how did you came to know that technique?"
Tatsuya felt a little panic fill in his chest. Could he tell he saw it from Paul? Yes, why not. I assume they don't know him.
"My old mentor had shown it to me, But I was never able to do it."
Tokagame nodded, "I see, well I know some one in the swordsman corps who is a prodigy in the Sword Arts Of Lightning but…"
He paused for a second, "right now he is still advanced but I think he can teach you a lot."
Part 4
The bushes rustled again.
Tatsuya's sword dropped ever so slightly, the metal tip grazing the damp grass as his eyes narrowed.
Okay, this time I'm not hallucinating.
A glint of pink hair caught in the sunlight, betraying the poor attempts at stealth. Whoever this was had the observational skill of a sleep-deprived squirrel and the subtlety of a fireworks festival in a cave.
I knew someone was watching.
Without a word to Tokagame or Micah, Tatsuya stepped away from the training grounds, sheathing his sword. His boots crunched softly over the gravel path, down past the hedges and into the garden proper.
This place was surprisingly peaceful, a little overgrown, like it had been forgotten by the rest of the manor. The rose vines reached greedily over the stone walls, and morning dew clung to petals like tears that refused to fall.
But behind one set of particularly bulky bushes…
"Gah!?"
A girl flinched violently, practically leaping backward as if he had jumped out of a horror novel.
Tatsuya blinked.
She was shorter than him by a head, with shoulder-length pink hair and sharp violet eyes that cut like daggers. Her arms were crossed over her chest like a defiant cat pretending it wasn't just caught clawing the curtains.
"…Misuki?" he said, surprised.
"W-What? No. You're hallucinating," she snapped, instantly looking away. "I wasn't watching you train or anything."
Wow. That was fast.
"Yeah, right" Tatsuya said flatly. "So you weren't crouched in the bushes for the last twenty minutes, poking your head out like a curious raccoon?"
She scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself. I just came here for the flowers."
She wasn't even trying to sell it. Her entire posture screamed guilty, but her voice delivered indignation with Oscar-worthy precision.
The girl spun on her heel, nose pointed upward, arms folded with military intensity.
"Besides," she added icily, "I wouldn't waste my time watching someone like you."
Tatsuya blinked again.
There it was—the hostility. Cold and sharp.
But it didn't feel like normal hostility. No, this was the kind people saved for someone who'd really messed up.
He narrowed his eyes.
"This is about Luna, isn't it?"
She flinched.
Just barely. But enough.
Tatsuya sighed and lowered himself onto a nearby stone bench, resting his arms on his knees.
"I messed up. I panicked. I… I thought I had more time to warn the others and come back."
Misuki didn't answer immediately.
Her eyes narrowed, jaw tight. A breeze played with her hair, but she didn't move.
Then, like someone slowly letting go of a balloon, she exhaled.
"So you admit it."
"I do."
"You left her there," she continued, her voice lowering but not softening, "alone, injured, and in the middle of the forest."
"I know."
"And you want me to just forget that because oops, my bad?"
"I didn't say that."
She crossed her arms again, glaring.
"You're such an idiot."
"That's fair," Tatsuya muttered.
"Not just an idiot," she added, pointing at him. "A reckless, dumb, walking disaster of an idiot who probably thinks 'strategy' is a seasoning."
Tatsuya blinked.
"It's not?"
Misuki's lips twitched.
For a second, just one second, it looked like she might smile. But instead she huffed and turned away, sitting down next to the bench, but not on it—because that would be too friendly.
"I just don't get it," she said after a moment, voice quieter. "You came here out of nowhere, and suddenly you're getting everyone hurt."
The words hit harder than expected.
But Tatsuya didn't flinch.
He looked down at his hands. Dirt-streaked, blistered from training. Not the hands of a hero. Not even close.
"I know I've caused a lot of trouble," he said. "But I want to make it right."
"At least you're not trying to make excuses," she muttered, arms still folded.
"Not anymore. Doesn't really work on people like you."
She looked at him sideways.
"'People like me,' huh? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Terrifying tsundere with verbal knives?"
Her eyes widened.
"Tsundere what's that supposed to mean?"
She eyed him sideways, suspicious but less hostile now. The way a cat might regard a dog that had, for once, not tried to eat its food.
"Why are you even here?" she asked after a beat. "You've been training all morning and yet you come over just to talk to me. I didn't ask for that."
Tatsuya leaned back with a smirk.
"Well," he said, stretching a bit, "I did think you looked a little lonely hiding behind those bushes."
"I wasn't hiding!" she barked, staring up her immediately, face flushing with offense. "I told you I was looking at flowers!"
"Oh, right. The very suspicious flower patrol. Always operating in the exact direction of my training."
"Tch!"
She turned her head sharply, but she didn't move away.
Instead, she sat down again—this time a bit closer to the bench, resting her arms on her knees and staring at the ground with narrowed eyes.
Tatsuya watched her for a moment, then reached down and casually plucked a flower from the overgrown patch beside him. It was a pale violet bloom, the kind with too many petals and no fragrance.
He held it out.
"Here. For the commander of the Flower Observation Unit."
She stared at the flower. Then at him. Then at the flower again.
"Are you mocking me?"
"Obviously."
"You're the worst."
She took it anyway.
Holding it between her fingers like it was mildly radioactive, she gave it one final scowl before lowering her gaze. The edge in her tone had dulled.
"But thanks," she added under her breath.
He almost didn't hear it.
Almost.
Tatsuya grinned.
"You're not that bad, you know," he said, rising to his feet.
"Don't push it."
"I'm serious. It's kind of refreshing."
She narrowed her eyes.
"What is?"
"Talking to someone who isn't trying to walk on eggshells. You actually tell people when they're being stupid."
"That's because you are being stupid."
"Exactly."
Misuki looked at him like he had grown a second head, then sighed through her nose and stood as well.
"You're weirder than I thought."
He dusted off his sleeves, then looked at her with mock seriousness.
"Alright, Commander Misuki. Interrupting your very important flower mission…"
She blinked.
"…I would like to formally invite you out on a date."
Silence.
A butterfly passed between them.
The wind whispered through the garden.
Misuki tilted her head.
"A what?"
Tatsuya paused.
"A… date?"
Her eyebrows drew together like tectonic plates ready to cause an earthquake.
"A what?"
"You know, a date. Like… you and me, together. Going to the market. Maybe some sweet buns. Light banter. Soul-crushing tension. All that cute stuff."
She stared at him like he was speaking in another language.
"I don't get it," she said flatly. "What do plants have to do with sweet buns?"
"That's daisies, Misuki."
She squinted harder.
"I've never had a 'date' before."
Wait...seriously?
Tatsuya blinked.
She said it with such calm deadpan sincerity that it took him a second to realize she wasn't joking.
"You've really never been on a date?"
"Why would I want to go somewhere with an idiot?" she said, looking confused by the question itself. "Is that supposed to be fun or something?"
"Well… yeah?"
She looked him up and down, skeptical.
"So let me get this straight. You go to the market. With someone else. You buy food. You talk. And then… what, stare at each other awkwardly?"
"I mean, that's a terrible date, but yes, basically."
"That sounds dumb."
"Most things are," he agreed with a shrug. "But sometimes dumb things are worth doing."
Misuki paused.
Then turned away sharply.
"Hmph. Fine. I'll go."
Tatsuya blinked. "Wait, really?"
"But not because you asked me."
"Right."
"And not because I want to."
"Of course."
"And if you try anything stupid, I'll beat you into the ground."
"I'll remember that."
She stomped away, leaving the garden with rigid, dramatic steps that betrayed how flustered she was. Tatsuya watched her go, still grinning.
As she disappeared around the hedge, he heard her mutter something under her breath.
"Sweet buns better be really good…"
Part 5
Tatsuya stood in the same spot for a moment, wind brushing the sweat-stuck hair on his brow, sunlight glinting off the steel still sheathed at his waist. His hand still held the violet bloom he'd picked earlier. The one he jokingly gave to Misuki.
She hadn't kept it.
Somehow, the flower had ended up on the bench after she stormed off. Either she forgot it… or decided it wasn't worth taking.
He looked down at it.
Thin stem and faded purple. Too many petals in awkward layers. A little wilted now from being handled. It wasn't beautiful. Not like the flowers Itsuki picked for the vases.
But it was a flower. It was something.
I want to thank Ruza, for that day.
She was there when he needed someone to be. She stood in front of him, her voice quiet, her eyes filled with more concern than he thought anyone could have for him.
He didn't deserve it.
But she gave it anyway.
Why?
The question hadn't left him since.
Ruza didn't owe him anything.
Wasn't like Tokagame, bound by his duty to the Swordsman Corps. She wasn't like Misuki, who barely tolerated him on the best of days.
Ruza had seen him at his weakest.
And still, she reached for him.
She didn't walk away when he admitted he was afraid. She didn't accuse him like Sora did. She didn't mock him like the people in his old life did.
Why? The question floated inside his mind again. But he understands it now, after experiencing Luna's cries for help.
It was just out of pure kindness, out of concern for him. She just wanted to help.
And that's why Tatsuya felt the need to give his life to her.
The be her knight in shining armor, the light in the tunnel. He wants to do that for her and devoted himself to be that person for her.
He wants to thank her.
However, there was a part of him that told him. If she saw the mess, the damage, the terrible choices, and the self-loathing stitched into his spine.
She'd see what everyone else sees. And leave.
Tatsuya let out a breath, and something in him softened.
Slowly, carefully, he tucked the bloom into his hand and turned toward the manor.
His steps were slower, deliberate. Gravel crunching beneath his boots as he passed under the tall arch leading out of the garden path.
His hands curled slightly as he walked.
The hallway stretched long ahead of him, polished wooden floors bathed in light from the stained-glass windows. The scent of lavender from the corridor flowers mixed with distant baking spices from the kitchen.
It felt like it shouldn't belong to him.
I don't deserve her kindness.
That truth pressed against his chest like a blade.
But he still held the flower.
And he still walked forward.
Because even if he didn't deserve it. Even if she changed her mind one day. Even if it all burned to ash in the end.
He wanted to thank her.
Not just for saving his life.
But for proving, in that quiet, aching way of hers, that not everyone in the world saw him as something broken.
He turned the last corner.
Stopped.
There it was.
Her door.
He stared at it.
His feet had brought him here, but his heart hadn't caught up yet.
He didn't move. Frozen in front of a door that had no locks but a thousand unspoken fears behind it.
His hand clenched the bloom.
He closed his eyes.
Took a breath.
And reached for the handle.