"Father, what is this?"
The voice belonged to a young, curious girl—cheerful, bright, and kind-hearted. She stood inside a traditional Japanese wooden house, its walls lined with paper screens and the soft flicker of candlelight casting shadows on the wooden floor.
In the center of the room sat her father, a stern man dressed in the robes of a samurai. His expression was calm as he carefully wiped the black blade of a katana with a cloth, its steel gleaming ominously under the candlelight.
"Saya, this is called a katana. It's a weapon—to kill. A katana is always a weapon meant to cause harm. Remember that, okay?"
The little girl smiled, her voice sweet and innocent.
"Yes, Father!"
Years passed. That cheerful little girl grew up, blossoming into a strong and promising swordswoman. Her life had been peaceful. Her family possessed everything—fame, power, wealth.
One day, in the garden of their home surrounded by blooming sakura trees, she stood before her father—no longer a child, but a refined warrior. Her hair was longer, her eyes sharper. Her voice now held command and purpose.
"Father, I want to fight on the frontlines."
She bowed respectfully, kneeling on one knee, her head lowered.
Her father looked at her, the wind rustling through his worn robes.
"If that's what you want, I won't stop you, Saya. But remember—the frontlines are the harshest part of any battlefield."
"Yes, Father."
He nodded and turned toward the house.
"Wait here for a moment, Saya."
"Sure, Father."
He disappeared into the house and returned minutes later—holding something in his hands that took Saya's breath away.
A black katana—the very one passed down through generations, from one head of the family to the next.
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
"But... Father. That katana has always been passed to the head of the family. I can't accept it."
"Why do you think you can't be the head of the family, Saya?"
"But it's the duty of men—"
"No. It's not. A woman can lead too, Saya. And you—you meet every requirement. You're commanding, strong, trustworthy, and above all... kind."
"Father... but..."
He raised a hand to stop her.
"No more. I don't want to hear another word. You will take this katana—and wield it proudly. Fight on the frontlines with the honor of our name."
Saya's hands trembled as she accepted the katana.
"Yes, Father."
She went to war.
She fought—and she won.
But when she returned, her village was already ablaze. The king's army, the very enemy she had battled on the frontlines, had torched it in vengeance.
She was just nineteen.
That night, everything changed.
In her wandering, she met her new master.
And with her—she found its twin.
The white katana.
Now, Saya lay in the dirt of a battlefield once again. Her wounds burned. Her clothes were torn and bloodied. The corpses of Lily and the boy lay behind her—defeated by her blades, severed by flame and frost.
She coughed, a small smile curling on her lips.
"I'm tired... and these memories... they're making me sick again."
She glanced up at the burning horizon, eyes half-lidded.
"Now... I must go to Master."
She planted the tips of her twin katanas into the ground and tried to rise, forcing herself upward with what little strength she had left.
But her knees buckled.
She collapsed again.
"Ugh... I can't stand... I've exhausted all my mana..."
She gasped for air, her vision blurring. Her body trembled from the strain.
"Master... please be safe..."
Even in that fragile moment, one thought remained crystal clear in her mind—not of herself, not of her wounds—
—but of Julius.
Her only worry now...
Was him.
Julius and Solvarin were already locked in a fierce battle against Wilhelm and the old man.
The clash between Solvarin and the old man was nothing short of legendary—a brutal, relentless contest of might and magic. Neither side yielded. They were equals, and their clash shook the battlefield around them.
The old man wielded wood magic—ancient and powerful. He commanded roots and branches to erupt violently from the ground and the surroundings, transforming the field into a twisting forest of deadly thorns. Vines whipped through the air like serpents, splinters launched like spears, and towering wooden pillars exploded from the soil beneath Solvarin's wings.
But Solvarin, the flame-winged beast, refused to be subdued. Its entire body pulsed with intense fire magic, each beat of its wings leaving trails of embers and heatwaves in the air. The dragon unleashed waves of flame so hot they scorched the sky, melting away the wooden constructs as quickly as they appeared.
Every attack was countered. Every advantage was quickly matched.
The battle raged on, neither side giving an inch.
Elsewhere, Julius stood calmly, facing Wilhelm. Neither had made a move yet—they watched each other with sharp, calculating eyes. The pressure between them was palpable.
"Mr. Koruto, are you not going to attack me?"
Wilhelm's tone was calm, but beneath it was a note of suspicion.
Julius gave a small smile.
"That's something for me to decide, Mr. Reign. I will—or maybe I won't. It's all about patience."
Wilhelm narrowed his eyes.
"You're planning something, aren't you?"
Julius chuckled softly, not confirming, not denying.
"Who knows? Maybe."
The wind blew between them, carrying ash and sparks from the nearby battle of fire and wood. The tension thickened.
And yet, the calm before the storm continued—the next move could decide everything.