The world opened before him in endless roads and nameless faces.Dust rose with every step Rinz took. He carried no flag, no companions, just a sword with a white ribbon that fluttered quietly in the wind. Wherever he went, eyes followed, not because he sought attention, but because he didn't.
His presence was strange: a calm that felt heavy, a stillness sharper than steel. The villagers whispered as he passed. "That man's no ordinary traveler," some said. "Look at his eyes, like he's seen the end of the world and kept walking."
Rinz barely noticed. His mind was set on one thing — the Grand Tournament. The event that gathered the strongest in Majinwa, where one would stand as the kingdom's mightiest warrior. For Rinz, it was not pride or fame that called him there. It was a purpose, the next step in his path.
Days before reaching the capital, he stopped at a small village near the northern pass. The streets were lively, filled with banners and traders. At the inn, people spoke excitedly about a name that echoed across the region.
"The young warrior with the black eyes and a katana, they say he defeated the country's strongest swordsman!"
Another added, "He's from the Izen Clan! Like the old heroes of legend!"
At that, Rinz looked up from his cup of tea. Another Izen? he thought. His clan had been scattered long ago, their bloodline nearly erased by centuries of war. If this rumor were true, then somewhere, another descendant of the same cursed line still fought.
He listened quietly, but his heart stirred. The idea of facing another from his lineage, someone who shared the same blood, maybe the same pain, ignited a spark in him.
But he said nothing. He only stood, paid for his drink, and continued walking.
The capital of Majinwa was a fortress of gold and stone. The streets vibrated with life, vendors calling, banners flapping, soldiers in armor patrolling every gate. Everywhere, people spoke of the tournament that would decide who would represent the kingdom's might in the wars to come.
At the registration hall, Rinz joined a long line of fighters, hulking men, armored knights, and mages with glowing sigils across their arms. He stood silently, his cloak drawn low. When it was his turn, the clerk behind the desk barely glanced up.
"Name, please," he said, voice clipped from hours of repetition.
"Rinz Izen."
The clerk froze mid-motion. His head snapped up, eyes wide. "Izen?" He straightened. "Then it's true! Two warriors of the Izen bloodline, it's been generations since one appeared, let alone two!"
Rinz frowned. "Two?"
"Yes," the clerk said quickly, pushing a small glowing crystal across the counter. "The other competitor, also Izen. Perhaps a relative of yours. How fascinating." He smiled nervously, unaware of the small chill that passed through Rinz's eyes. "Place this crystal near your chest. It will bind to your mana and track your condition during battle."
Rinz pressed it against his chest. The crystal pulsed faintly and dimmed."Good," the clerk said. "May the gods favor your strength."
As Rinz turned to leave, he caught himself wondering: Who is this other Izen? And why does the past never stay buried?
Later that night, the tournament match list was revealed. The names glowed across the large board in the plaza. When Rinz found his, he froze.
The crowd around him erupted into murmurs."The princess herself is competing?"She's known for her swordsmanship, but this is madness!"A noble can't be killed, the match will be stopped, surely?"
But everyone knew the rule. The Majinwa tournament was sacred. Once the bell rang, no fight ended until one side fell. It was a cruel test of will and endurance, where blood earned respect.
Rinz studied the name quietly. He didn't understand why a princess would step into a death match, but he wouldn't underestimate her. A true warrior could come from anywhere, even a gilded palace.
The afternoon sun blazed above the coliseum. Thousands filled the stands — nobles in silks, soldiers in armor, children waving banners. The King himself sat on the high throne, his expression unreadable as he raised his hand to silence the crowd.
"Today," his voice boomed, "we witness the first clash of this sacred tournament! The pride of Majinwa, Princess Marline, and the wandering swordsman, Rinz Izen!"
The gates opened.
Rinz stepped into the light, the crowd's roar washing over him. His prosthetic limbs gleamed under the sun, his ribbon fluttering faintly. Across the field stood Princess Marline — young, poised, her golden armor shining, her eyes sharp with pride.
She saluted him formally. "Rinz Izen," she said, "I will not go easy on you."
"You shouldn't," he replied calmly.
The bell rang.
Marline dashed forward, her blade flashing like lightning. But Rinz didn't move; he simply breathed. His eyes shifted and activated UI; his body relaxed. And in a heartbeat, he vanished.
The crowd gasped. Marline stumbled, and before she could turn, Rinz was behind her, the edge of his blade resting against her neck.
"Match over," he said quietly.
Silence filled the arena. Then, as realization spread, the crowd erupted into cheers.
"Unbelievable!"He moved faster than sight!"An Izen warrior indeed!"
Marline stood frozen, stunned, and humiliated. She turned sharply and left the arena, her pride wounded deeper than any cut.
Rinz sheathed his sword. The ribbon tied around the hilt fluttered gently, catching the light, a reminder of the mountain and the girl who had given it to him.
He didn't smile, didn't bask in the cheers. He only bowed once toward the king and left the field.
He found lodging in a small inn near the market square. People there recognized him immediately.
"You're the one who defeated the princess in a single move!""Unbelievable speed! How'd you do that with metal limbs?"
Rinz only gave small nods, too tired to answer. That night, as he sat by the window, he thought of the fight. It had been too easy. There was no satisfaction in defeating someone who didn't understand the battle's depth.
He unwrapped the white ribbon from his sword and held it in his hands."Hana," he murmured, "I hope you're waiting. I'll find a fight worth all this walking soon."
He tied the ribbon back and closed his eyes.
Morning arrived with a roar of drums. The crowd filled the arena once again, chanting his name before the battle even began.
When the announcer's voice rang out, the cheers turned into a stunned silence.
"Next match, Rinz Izen of the Izen Clan versus Arnold of House Livero!"
Even the nobles leaned forward. The House of Livero, famed for their weapon smiths and combat mastery. The family that forged weapons even the royal army coveted. Arnold was not only their heir but the kingdom's warrior, undefeated in close combat.
The gate opened, and a mountain of a man stepped out, carrying twin axes engraved with runes that glowed faintly red. His arms were bare, scarred, and built like carved stone.
Arnold looked across the field at Rinz and grinned. "You're smaller than I expected."
Rinz's voice was calm. "Size doesn't matter when your balance is off."
Arnold laughed, a booming sound that echoed across the arena. "You've got spirit. Good. I'd hate to crush a coward."
The bell rang.
Arnold lunged forward, axes spinning in a deadly blur. The ground split with each swing, dust and debris flying. The sheer force of his strikes made the arena tremble.
But Rinz was already gone.
He moved like wind, silent, impossible to track. Each step was light, each motion effortless. Arnold's attacks met only air, his swings growing slower, heavier.
"Show yourself!" Arnold roared.
Rinz appeared behind him, not attacking, just watching."Your weapons are loud," he said softly. "You mistake noise for strength."
Arnold growled and twisted his axes, colliding mid-swing. A blast of mana exploded outward, shaking the stands. For the first time, Rinz drew in a deeper breath, focus, center, release.
The world slowed. His senses expanded. He felt the rhythm of Arnold's heartbeat, the tremor in his footing, the opening in his defense. His eyes gleamed faintly silver, the first trace of the Ultra Instinct.
In one movement, Rinz slid forward, his blade striking with no hesitation, no thought, just instinct.
Arnold's axes flew from his hands. He fell to one knee, staring at the blade resting at his chest. Rinz didn't kill him, but he knew that after this fight, his death was certain.
The crowd was silent.
Then, slowly, the roar began, waves of awe and disbelief.
"Unbelievable!"He defeated Arnold, the House of Livero heir, in seconds!That speed… that grace… It's not human!"
Rinz sheathed his sword. His breath was steady, his eyes calm. Inside, he felt it, the quiet hum of something awakening, something beyond mere reflex.
As the announcer declared his victory, he bowed once again and walked toward the gates.
Above him, banners waved in the wind. From the royal balcony, the king watched, his expression unreadable, but behind those eyes was something sharp, calculating. He leaned toward his advisor."Find out where this Rinz Izen came from," he murmured. "No man fights like that without a ghost behind him."
That night, Rinz sat again by the window of his inn. The capital glowed in golden light, laughter echoing from the streets below. He could still feel the pulse of the fight in his veins, but beneath it was a quieter sound, the whisper of the wind, the faint chime of memory.
He looked at the ribbon on his sword and smiled faintly."One step closer," he said. "One step further from peace."
The wind outside answered softly, carrying the scent of distant mountains, and perhaps, of someone waiting.