MASTERS OF THE ETERNITY
Prologue: The Blade That Waited
They say the blade chose its master.
They say it sang in silence, waiting across generations.
They say its edge never dulled — not by steel, nor time, nor blood.
The Blade of Eternity was not forged in legend — it carved legends into existence.
Its last known wielder was Master Aiyama Renshiro — a warrior whose strength did not lie in his fists, but in the way he walked through death without ever becoming numb to life.
He disappeared over forty years ago, along with the blade. Some said he died. Others said he transcended.
But the truth was simpler.
He hid it. Somewhere no man, no warlord, no empire could touch it. Not until the world was worthy again.
And so the wars came and passed. The stories turned to myths. And the blade waited.
Until two boys — one burning with reckless hunger, the other haunted by stillness — stepped into the tale.
The wind rolled across the hills like it was trying to remember something.
At the edge of Kyouka Village, beneath a crumbling watchtower long since abandoned, a boy with green eyes stood barefoot on the gravel path, fists clenched at his sides. The morning sun burned against his skin, but his thoughts were elsewhere — beneath it all, a quiet frustration sat like a weight in his chest.
His name was Izek Kurashira. Sixteen years old. Lean, quick on his feet, and always the last to leave the training yard.
He had no power.
Not in a world where strength was everything.
The system known as Renkai — the Way of Motion and Force — governed their way of life. It wasn't magic. There were no sparks, no spells. Renkai was the manipulation of internal flow — breathing, pressure, movement — all harnessed to strike harder, move faster, resist longer. Only those who had awakened to it could stand in real combat.
Izek hadn't awakened.
Not yet.
Not ever, according to most.
He'd trained harder than anyone in the village. But no matter how many hours he drilled the Renkai forms, no matter how many punches he threw until his knuckles split, the spark refused him.
And today, like most mornings, his rival had arrived before him.
Raian Tsukihara stood on the other side of the path, tossing a stone into the air and catching it lazily. Tall, broad-shouldered, hair long straight down hair— Raian had awakened to Renkai when he was just ten. A prodigy. The son of the village's most respected trainer, and its most likely successor.
He caught the stone again, looked up, and grinned.
"Took you long enough, Kurashira."
Izek didn't respond. He dropped his sandals, tied them around his shoulder, and stepped onto the practice platform. Dust kicked up beneath his feet.
Raian's grin widened. "No warm-up? Brave."
"No time for warm-ups," Izek muttered. "Only time for catching up."
They stood still for a breath. Then two.
Then they moved.
Raian lunged, fluid and confident — his shoulder twisting just before the punch, the Renkai force humming visibly through his joints. Izek ducked beneath it, twisted sideways, and countered with a clean uppercut. It landed on Raian's ribs, light as a breeze. No force.
Raian's body absorbed it and retaliated with a precise backhand. Izek barely blocked it, stumbling backward.
"Still can't channel," Raian said, stepping forward. Not mocking. Not gloating. Just a fact.
Izek's teeth clenched. His green eyes burned, not with anger — but with the ache of wanting.
They'd fought like this for years. Dozens of mornings, dozens of defeats. But Izek always came back. He had to. Because deep down, something inside him whispered that he wasn't finished.
Not yet.
Not like this.
After the spar, both boys sat in the shade of the watchtower, sweat dripping from their brows.
Raian passed him a bottle of water. "You know, most would've quit by now."
Izek accepted it in silence.
"I mean it," Raian said, leaning back. "You don't have Renkai, but you fight like someone who does. Your eyes… they never blink when you swing. It's kind of unsettling."
"Then maybe you should start blinking."
Raian barked a laugh. "That's the spirit."
A long silence followed, broken only by the sound of the wind and distant birds.
Finally, Izek asked the question he'd buried for weeks.
"Raian… do you believe in it?"
"The Blade?" Raian raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah. The Blade of Eternity."
Raian thought for a moment. "My father said it was real. Said the last master disappeared when the world wasn't ready. Said the sword waits."
"Waits for what?"
Raian's expression turned distant. "For someone who doesn't want it for power. Someone who needs it for something else."
Izek's green eyes narrowed. "Then we should find it."
Raian turned to him slowly. "You and me?"
"We both want something," Izek said. "I want to prove I'm more than just the kid with empty fists. You… want to test yourself against something real."
Raian looked at him a long time. Then, with a smirk, he stood up.
"Fine. We find it. First one to lay a hand on it gets to keep it. Deal?"
Izek stood too. "Deal."
They shook hands — not just as rivals, but as brothers bound by something older than victory.
Neither of them knew that within the next seven days, their world would change.
That one of them would awaken.
That their bond would be tested by flame, betrayal, and the blade that never chose wrong.
But for now, the green-eyed boy looked ahead.
And for the first time, the wind didn't feel so heavy.
TO BE CONTINUED