As they drew closer to the city of Shinkou, the demon attacks grew more frequent. The group fought tirelessly, blood and sweat mingling beneath the heavy fog. The flash of swords, Kurotaka's shimmering light, and Rei's fierce determination cut through the demonic darkness—until finally… the fog began to lift.
The sight that unfolded before their eyes was both haunting and devastating. The oppressive silence of the battlefield had silenced even the sounds of nature. Scorched patches of grass still smoked, marking where demons had fallen. Hooded warriors and city defenders lay scattered and collapsed, as if their battle continued even in death. The city walls were damaged in several places, one section completely collapsed, yet the main gate still stood—behind it, people hurriedly lifted stones and carried wood, desperately trying to restore the defenses.
The city guards spotted the figures emerging from the fog and sounded the alarm. Bells rang out once again—this time not to warn of demons, but as a warning against the newcomers. The city seemed to recognize no saviors, only enemies.
Yet the four figures—Haruki, Rei, Kuroda, and Jinzou—did not falter. They crossed the battlefield, and Haruki stopped suddenly. He bent down, noticing a sword… a familiar shape, a familiar symbol. It reminded him of Daiki's sword. And not just one—at least twenty to twenty-five similar blades lay scattered, abandoned. Nearby, they also found eight or nine swords like the one Kuroda carried—strange blades adorned with demonic runes.
They discovered an abandoned, bloodstained rug. They flipped it over and piled the blades on top, then began dragging them behind themselves, as if hauling the memories of war toward the city gate.
As they approached, the city defenders finally saw their faces. Not demons. Not hooded figures. Humans.
"Stop!" one guard shouted. "Where did you come from? How did you get through the fog?"
Rei stepped forward and drew Daiki's sword. The dragon runes at its tip still glowed faintly. Jinzou raised his own weapon as well, and the defenders took a startled step back.
"These marks…" one murmured. "They still work…?"
"We fought our way through the demons with these," Rei said. "That's why we drag them behind us. They're usable… but not all for the same purpose."
"And the others?" a commander asked. "Those strange swords you brought with you?"
Kuroda answered quietly, "Maybe they're not only good against demons. Maybe against everything else too."
It wasn't long before they found themselves facing the city council around a long, dark wooden table. The leaders' eyes measured them warily.
"Who are you? How did you get through the fog?" asked a deep-voiced, stern man. "And how do you know about the swords?"
Haruki nervously leaned on the table. His gaze was dark, nearly glowing with anger.
"You knew about the bells…" he said quietly. "You knew what was coming. Yet you let villages and cities burn to the ground."
The hilt of the dragon sword trembled in his hand as he slammed it on the table in fury.
"Why?!" he shouted. "Why did you do nothing?"
His voice still echoed through the room when the tension suddenly became palpable. The state of alert had not passed unnoticed—soldiers immediately drew weapons, blades sliding from sheaths, bows strung tight, and several arrows aimed directly at Haruki's chest.
Kuroda and Jinzou stepped forward almost simultaneously, swords ready. Rei instinctively stood in front of Haruki—but fighting was not needed. The tension exploded from a different source.
The proximity of the dragon spirit affected Kuroda's sword like sparks on dry leaves. The demonic runes along the blade flickered with a pulsating dark light, as if they had a will of their own.
Kuroda spoke quietly, but chillingly:
"I wouldn't," he said to one guard who was already raising a spear. "If you get close… you'll be dead."
The soldiers froze. The runes vibrated, and for a moment the air turned icy cold.
"Enough!" barked an elderly council member, slamming his palm on the table. "Calm yourselves! All of you."
Slowly, the tension eased, weapons were lowered. The chamber fell silent, broken only by the sound of blood dripping from the blades—reminding them how close they had come to devastation—once again.
One of the senior leaders took a deep breath and looked Haruki in the eyes.
"The bells…" he began slowly. "We ourselves never understood their secret. There was no secret library or magical council, only stories. Legends. The elders told them… but most of them are no longer with us. The hooded hunters… they hunted them down."
Another leader, a thin, stubbly man, spoke up:
"One old man remains. Perhaps he knows something. But he is weak now, and his mind often wanders."
Haruki clenched his fists.
"And Aokiri?" he asked. "As far as I know, there should be a bell there as well. What happened to it?"
The men's faces tightened, and a flicker of shame passed over the council.
"The bell… it was taken from there a hundred years ago," one answered quietly. "The leader at the time believed it would be sacrilege if a simple rural town bore the same symbol as Shinkou, the capital of the province. He would not tolerate it… so we took it from them."
Haruki's face hardened. His eyes gleamed darkly, like the edge of his sword.
"And they let them remain defenseless," he whispered. "Right where it all began."
The silence was heavy, as if the past itself weighed upon them.
Suddenly, a voice shattered the stillness—not a human voice, yet everyone heard it. The air began to vibrate, and the ancient inscriptions on the walls—unread for centuries—glowed faintly with golden light.
Kurotaka appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the chamber, half-floating, half-touching the ground. His gaze pierced every soul present. The dragon spirit's form was neither comforting nor wise this time. It was raging. The air around him seemed to burn.
"We are not legends," his voice boomed, causing the plaster on the ceiling to tremble gently. "We are not fairy tale figures told about around fires. What you have forgotten is now crashing down upon you, and you yourselves have opened the door!"
The council members stepped back, some sinking down in fear. They had never seen him wield such power and wrath—not even when they first met.
"Gakurō is already working to free Akumaru," the dragon spirit continued, his voice quieter but ominous. "He hides beneath the ruins of Aokiri. The city was not only wiped away… it was sealed. A prison. And now they will open it."
Haruki nearly reeled from what he heard.
"Akumaru…" he repeated. "The Prince of Darkness?"
"The one to whom Gakurō swore loyalty. The one who will move again once the bells fall silent. If he is freed… he will only be the first."
Silence fell over the chamber, but it was no longer the silence of shock — it was the silence of inevitable realization.
One council member asked with a trembling voice:
"What must we do?"
The air seemed to freeze after Kurotaka's last words. The roar of the dragon's wrath still echoed between the walls when a soft, bitter growl silenced everything.
"It's already too late," he said quietly, his words cutting to the bone. "Akumaru cannot be sealed again. You delayed for too long. Now you must live in fear… until it destroys you."
For a moment he closed his eyes, his voice deeper than ever before:
"And I can only hope… that the others — the real ones — will never be freed. Those we locked away… with our own blood." He hissed, then vanished in a single flash, like smoke, leaving only fear behind.
A silence filled the room, broken only by a soldier who pointed to the swords leaning against the wall.
"Why… did you bring these?"
Jinzou stepped forward. "We used them against the demons. Some bear runes… symbols that can somehow wound them. That's why we gathered them. We could only pass through the fog with these."
Kuroda emerged from the dim light, partially drawing his sword to reveal the dark blade and crimson hilt.
"And these…" he said quietly, "…were gifts from the demons to mankind. Given in ancient times so humans could turn against the dragons. The swords were born in betrayal… but they still hold power today. Not only against dragons, but demons too. Perhaps even against Akumaru… and Gakurō."
The leaders watched the weapons frozen in shock. One stepped closer and cautiously touched a black blade — tiny red sparks flared at the contact.
"These are weapons… but also reminders," he whispered. "Of the times when humanity sold itself. And now they return… to ask: what is your life worth?"
After the council meeting, Haruki approached the wall where the swords collected from the battle were displayed. He raised the dragon sword high and spoke in a deep, determined voice:
"I want to see every sword in the city… at least four hundred years old. Not one shall remain hidden. Each blade must be inscribed with the dragon's runes. These weapons will be your last defense."
The council hesitated for a moment, then the leader nodded. Orders went out to the city: blacksmiths and scholars searched for and studied old swords for days — hundreds of rusty, worn but still dangerous blades born in the wars of the past. The dragon runes, guided by Kurotaka, were inscribed one by one with glowing chisels and sweaty hands.
Haruki gestured at the swords. "These can protect you from demons… but not from the hooded ones. They already walk among you."
A tense silence followed. Jinzou, whose gaze was always sharp, noticed one council member — an older man deeply hooded, retreating from the light — flinch when he glanced at Haruki's sword. His hand instinctively slid to his own blade but did not draw it.
"Who… are you?" Jinzou stepped forward, danger vibrating in his voice. "Why are you so silent? And why do you hide yourself?"
The man staggered back, then suddenly turned and fled. The guards immediately pursued him, and Jinzou followed. At the end of an alley, they managed to bring him down.
From beneath his fallen cloak emerged a sword — a crimson hilt, black blade… exactly like Kuroda's.
"Another hooded one…" Kuroda growled as he bent over him. "And now we know how those who knew the secrets of the bells died. This man… was a planted demon-worshipper."
The council listened in stunned silence. The traitor had spent months, perhaps years, paving the way for demons to enter the city — from within. He had power, influence, and likely controlled others. The defenses had long weakened… not because of demons, but because of human betrayal.
Haruki spoke quietly, angrily:
"You can fight against swords. But against betrayal… it's much harder."
Then Haruki requested to speak with the last elder who might remember the secrets of the bells. The townsfolk led him to a dim room where a fragile, wrinkled man sat, his gaze seeming empty — until Haruki entered. As Kurotaka's presence touched the space, the old man's eyes cleared, and ancient memories shone bright.
"I know this power…" he whispered, trembling. "You come from the blood of the ancestors…"
The dragon spirit throbbed quietly within Haruki, and the elder recognized in him the power of old times. With shaking hands, he pulled out a worn box filled with yellowed scrolls sealed with stamps — all rescued from the temple catacombs before the hooded ones began exterminating the bearers of knowledge.
He separated four scrolls from the rest. "These… these are the most important," he said. "Three hold the names of legendary dragon swords and the dragons they were bound to long ago. The fourth…" he paused, then looked at Haruki more sharply — "…shows where the most dangerous demons are locked away. If freed… no living world could survive."
The council members listened in stunned silence, but the scrolls the elder carefully unrolled spoke for themselves. The ancient dragon script glowed as Haruki touched them. The runes heated up as if rejoicing to be awakened by a dragon's fiery heart after centuries.
"These…" Haruki whispered, running his fingers over the first three scrolls, "…are not just sword names. They are destinies. They once were the world's protectors."
The first scroll: The Flame of the Dragon's Soul. A sword gifted by a fire dragon, wielded only by one forged with courage and sacrifice.
The second: The Shadow of Power. The water dragon's weapon, used only by one who has learned that the greatest power is born from silence.
The third: The Ice Canopy. The legacy of a northern dragon who despised humanity until a mortal saved him. The sword is truly sharpened only by memory and loyalty.
The fourth scroll, however, cast a darker mood. Dark runes spiraled on it, and as Kurotaka approached, the parchment seemed to tremble.
"This is it," Kurotaka whispered into Haruki's thoughts. "The map of seals. The prisons where my brothers and I sealed the demon lords with our blood. Akumaru is only one of them. If he is freed, the others will follow."
The elder nodded slowly. "The first seal has already cracked. I felt it when the bell tolled and the sky turned to blood over Aokiri. If we do not act, the other prisons will not hold much longer."
Haruki clenched his fist. The sword at his side seemed to respond, growling softly as the dragon fire awakened within it.
"Then we must find all three swords. All three heirs…"
The elder raised a hand. "The swords do not rest in one place. They are lost, like Kurotaka's shrine."
"One is enough," Haruki replied, turning to the council. "We must find out who knows more about them. And if needed… we will break walls at the demon prisons as well."
The council members nodded silently. The world was no longer the same. The past had returned, and with it the responsibility that could no longer be postponed.