The months rolled on in the Crimson Ogre Village, as steady as the beat of a war drum. The forest around them grew quieter. The beasts that once prowled nearby no longer dared approach—not after watching ogres toss trees with bare hands, or shatter stone with knee strikes. Yujiro's presence had changed everything. Not just their strength… their very way of life.
The villagers had begun to refer to him as "The Crimson Fist", not just for his brutal power, but for the discipline, precision, and fearlessness that bled into their culture.
Daily Life Under Yujiro
Every day began the same way:
Sunrise: Grueling runs through the mountainous trails, bare feet pounding against sharp gravel.
Midmorning: Weapon disarm training—Yujiro taught them how to defeat swords with empty hands, redirecting slashes, breaking wrists, and slamming the enemy into the earth.
Midday: Sparring. Endless sparring. Sweat, blood, and bruises, but no one complained. Not anymore.
Evening: Quiet meals, lectures from Yujiro by the fire, and meditation to sharpen the mind.
Sometimes, Yujiro would gather them and speak—not with kindness, but with truth.
Yujiro (standing before the entire village, arms crossed):
"The world out there doesn't care how hard you trained today. It doesn't care if you're tired, hungry, or scared. It only respects one thing—strength. The moment you stop growing stronger… you're already dead."
The once-wild tribe of crimson-skinned warriors had become something else entirely.
Young ogres, previously playful and wild, now trained in perfect lines, executing kata with sharp focus.
The elders, once skeptical, now meditated with Yujiro, mastering control over their magicules to boost their physical power with inner calm.
Female ogres, who had once merely admired him, now led squads, their strikes crisp, their balance perfect.
Female ogre (during sparring):
"Your left foot's heavy. You'll lose balance on a sweep."
Younger ogre (panting):
"H-How did you—?"
Female ogre (smirking):
"Yujiro-sama taught me."
Another female ogre (mocking):
"She dreams about him more than she trains."
Female ogre:
"So what if I do?"
They all laughed, but behind every smile was reverence. Even the ogre children had begun to mimic Yujiro's scowl when they played.
Despite becoming chief, Yujiro never changed. He never accepted the title, never wore the ceremonial robe they tried to craft for him. He preferred his scars. His silence. His solitude.
He slept alone on a flat stone slab near the cliffs overlooking the valley, training through the night when others slept. Some nights, some female ogre would approach.
Female ogre (nervous):
"Yujiro-sama… may I join you?"
Yujiro (without turning):
"You can watch. But don't interrupt."
Even when they tried to get close, he remained distant—like a lion surrounded by sheep who'd learned to roar.
He was not theirs.
He never would be.
Then, one morning, after months of building them into living weapons, Yujiro stood atop the center stone of the training field—the same place where he'd defeated Goramu.
The entire village had gathered, feeling something different in the air. Yujiro's eyes were colder than usual, yet clear—resolute.
Yujiro (firmly):
"It's time."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Yujiro:
"I've taught you everything you need. You're strong now. Stronger than you've ever been. But me…?"
He looked toward the horizon, where distant peaks and thunderous skies marked the wild frontiers of the Cardinal World.
Yujiro:
"There's more prey out there. More warriors. More power. This world… I'll conquer it. One beatdown at a time."
The children looked devastated. One little ogre girl even ran up to him and grabbed his leg.
Little Girl:
"Please, Chief Yujiro! Don't go!"
He looked down, expression unreadable. He gently patted her head.
Yujiro:
"Don't cry. You're a warrior now. Warriors don't beg—they grow."
The elders bowed deeply. Goramu, now his most loyal student, stepped forward.
Goramu:
"We will never forget you. The village is yours. Always."
Yujiro:
"No. It's yours. Protect it. Keep the discipline. Or I'll come back and beat it into you again."
Laughter broke out—sad, but proud.
Female ogre (tears in her eyes):
"Will we… see you again?"
Yujiro didn't answer right away. He strapped a tattered cloak over his shoulders, facing the wind.
Yujiro:
"You will. When I've painted this world in battle scars."
He paused, glancing back.
Yujiro (smirking):
"Don't disappoint me."
As he walked away, the villagers stood in silence, watching their monster, their chief, their Crimson Fist, disappear down the winding path toward the unknown.
Not as a hero.
Not as a friend.
But as a storm.
A storm with one goal—total domination.
The wind howled as Yujiro soared through the skies like a crimson missile, his tattered cloak trailing behind him like a war banner. Trees and rivers blurred beneath him. His destination? Everywhere. He wasn't wandering—he was hunting. The prey just didn't know it yet.
Eventually, the dense expanse of the Jura Forest gave way to open hills and dusty trade roads. Civilization was reentering the picture. Yujiro slowed his flight and landed with a thunderous thud on the hard earth, kicking up a plume of dust.
His red eyes narrowed.
Up ahead, a caravan was rolling slowly along the main road. A covered merchant wagon drawn by two sturdy drake-horses, flanked by a group of riders and walkers in leather and chainmail. The clinking of armor and idle chatter signaled mercenaries—likely adventurers hired for protection.
Perfect.
He strode casually forward, stepping into the middle of the path, arms relaxed at his sides, lips curled into his signature confident smirk.
One of the mounted guards, a Class B adventurer, noticed Hujiro and clicked his tongue in annoyance. He tugged at his reins, guiding the horse forward with practiced ease. His team was competent—he wasn't worried. The man wasn't small himself, his sword well-forged, and his eyes sharp.
But the closer he got… the more uneasy he felt.
Yujiro's body looked carved from obsidian, every muscle shaped like it had its own heartbeat. Yet, what unsettled the rider more was the unnatural silence around him. No aura. No visible energy. No weapon. Just an overwhelming, unseen presence that screamed danger.
Adventurer (with forced boldness):
"Hey. You're blocking the road. Move it."
Yujiro didn't move.
He tilted his head slightly, cracking his neck.
Then, slowly, he took one step forward.
Yujiro (smirking):
"Say that again. Slower this time."
More guards approached—four of them now, forming a loose semicircle around Yujiro. Their hands drifted to hilts, eyes narrowing. The caravan came to a stop, the driver signaling unease. Inside, the merchant, a portly man with a velvet robe and oily hair, peeked nervously through a slit in the curtain.
One of the guards (whispering):
"He might be a bandit."
Another (snorting):
"Or a thug who doesn't know how outnumbered he is."
But as they closed in, all five now surrounding the stranger, they felt it.
That pressure.
Not magical. Not spiritual. Just raw, crushing will. The kind of pressure that made your knees buckle before you realized it. It didn't make sense. There was no aura. No battle stance. He wasn't even flexing.
He was just… there.
Yujiro (calmly):
"Where are you all headed?"
Guard (barking):
"None of your business. Now move or—"
Before the sentence ended, Hujiro disappeared.
There was no flash, no afterimage—he was simply gone, and reappeared with his hand clenched around the rider's neck, lifting him clean off the saddle like a rag doll.
Yujiro (still smirking, voice cold):
"I said… where are you going?"
The rider clawed at Hujiro's arm, kicking, gasping, eyes wide in terror. The horse reared back in panic. The others froze—not a single one could react. It wasn't just speed. It was something worse.
They didn't see him move at all.
Third Adventurer (sweating, sword shaking):
"H-He's not normal. I don't sense any magic…"
Fourth Adventurer (whispering):
"What is he?"
One of them, older and grizzled, clearly the most experienced, stepped forward with both palms raised in peace.
Veteran Adventurer, after his years of experience knew that Yujiro was someone they could not defeat decide to play it safe
"Please! Let him go! We'll talk. I'll answer. Just… don't kill him!"
Yujiro (applying more pressure, making the rider gag):
"I'm listening."
Veteran:
"We're headed to Ruberios! Escort mission for this merchant—standard route. Please, he's not a fighter! We were just doing our job!"
Yujiro (pausing, then chuckling):
"That wasn't so hard."
He dropped the rider like trash. The man fell, coughing violently, barely able to breathe.
Yujiro turned without another word and strode straight toward the caravan. The guards stepped back instinctively.
Fifth Adventurer (stammering):
"Hey—HEY! You can't just—!"
Yujiro leapt and landed gracefully on the edge of the carriage. With one smooth motion, he tore the flap open and ducked inside.
Inside, the merchant's eyes widened in horror.
The man recoiled, his jeweled ring-clad hands shaking. His lips trembled.
Merchant:
"Wh-Who—Who the hell are you?!"
Yujiro sat across from him, folding his arms. His smirk never faded.
Yujiro:
"You've just hired a new escort. I'll be joining you."
Merchant (voice cracking):
"I… I didn't—"
Yujiro (cutting him off):
"You did now."
The merchant nearly pissed himself. He nodded rapidly, sweat pouring down his face.
Merchant (squeaking):
"Y-Yes! Yes! Of course! Welcome aboard! Please, anything you need!"
Yujiro leaned back, resting his massive frame against the cushions like a king on a throne.
Outside, the caravan guards stared at the wagon with wide eyes, not knowing what to do. The veteran just exhaled slowly.
Veteran:
"Just let him ride. Better that than dying in a ditch."
The wagon started moving again. None dared question the new passenger.
As the wheels rolled forward and the lands of Ruberios loomed in the distance, Hujiro stared out through the curtain.
Yujiro (thinking):
"Ruberios, huh? That holy capital everyone whispers about. Wonder what kind of monsters are playing gods there…"
He smirked again.
Yujiro:
"Time to knock on the gates."