An uneasy feeling prodded through Genjiro's chest. Standing behind a shabby, wooden door, he could already sense the bloodlust shrouding from the opposite side of it. It couldn't possibly be from a single individual, it came from multiple trained swordsmen that were thirsty for blood. His blood. Resting his callused palm of his right hand on the surface of his sword's snowy white handle, Genjiro was in a position to slice anyone that proved to be a threat to him. However, he maintained a casual posture as to not provoke whoever that were to open the door. He knocked the rickety door twice, still maintaining his rigid stance.

Almost instantly, someone pulled the door fully open. It shifted slowly, creaking on its every movement. Towering over Genjiro, was a fully-bearded man, his physique, even when it was hidden behind his oversized green kimono, had reflected an ox-like bulkiness to it. He was simply huge. Unarmed and opening himself to any attacks that might come, he stood with a squared footing, directly facing Genjiro. Genjiro was aware that the man before him was trying his hardest to mask his killing intent. Although his bloodlust was overflowing, Genjiro felt no threat from him. He was weak. With a booming, deep voice, he spoke.

"Could you possibly be the one who came to challenge this dojo? We're glad to be able to face such a-"

"Cut the formalities. I'm sent by Ryugyu Takeguchi to speak to your master. Bring him out."

"How fierce... With that shitty attitude, I might just beat the living fuck outta ya."

Genjiro read his movements. Too easy. The man proceeded to throw a straight cross towards the space between Genjiro's eyes and although the move was non-telegraphed, his size and weight slowed him down. At any second, Genjiro was more than ready to slip past the punch, causing him to overextend his arms and fall flat onto the ground.

"Ah... Sorry about him. He sometimes can be an asshole, I heard you called for me?"

Before the punch had travelled in the expected trajectory, a hand had caught it. Its grip increasingly tightened almost immediately. Cutting blood flow in just a matter of seconds, the man that attempted to strike Genjiro kneeled down, his face contorted in sheer pain as he struggled to break free of the crushing force of the grip. It was not too soon before his arm was discoloured and the immense crushing force had burst his blood vessels. The man groaned at first, until he couldn't take the pain anymore and began shrieking like a madman. Using the entire weight of his hulking figure, he attempted to escape the grip only to realise that his bones were about to be shattered as well.

"What are you doing! Stop! You're going to break his hand!"

"Oh... And what are you gonna do about it?"

Genjiro stayed quiet. His pitch black eyes coldly fixated on Sakurai's neck. He wished that he could take it off his body. If he were to cut down anyone from the Sakurai school, the public would lose respect for the Takeguchi school for assaulting its own affiliate and the reputation of Ryugyu, the representative swordsman of the East who uses the style, would definitely be tarnished.

"Ahahahah! Wipe that look off your face. What are you supposed to be, Ryugyu's dog? Sending you here to speak to me on his behalf... Can't that pretty boy come here himself?"

Unlike the aggressive, large man that met Genjiro, Sakurai was medium built. If he were to stand in the middle of a crowd in the market, no one would know that he was a trained swordsman. His facial hair was all trimmed except for a thick moustache that grew messily above his top lip. Releasing his left hand, the man beside him rolled on the ground, screaming uncontrollably. Every blood vessel, bone and tissue had been brutally torn apart by Sakurai's freakishly strong grip. His presence gave off a dangerous aura, as though there were crimson red smoke looming all over his entire being. Genjiro realised this and took a step back. His movements were swift and unnoticeable to most due to his relentless training but Sakurai seemed to have noticed it.

"You're afraid aren't you? You should just leave then. All pampered and soft. All the training you do dosen't seem to help you at all!"

"I don't think you get it... I'm not afraid, I'm excited. The duels I get into usually end pretty quickly in the dojo, I don't even get to put a fraction of my effort into it. With you here, I feel like I could go all out and kill you right now."

"Kill? Did you just say kill? Ahahahah! You could be a court jester with your jokes! Now don't waste my fucking time... What does he want?"

"Whatever messed up shit you have in mind, don't do it. Settle it with an honourable duel. If you kill the challenger in the way you're thinking of, you'll only sour the name of the Takeguchi school!"

"Tell Ryugyu this. If he wants to stop me, he'll have to do it himself. Now, as for you, if I ever see you again near my place, you'll end up as a corpse on that very same day."

Bang! Sakurai slammed the door shut and his footsteps began to fade away. Genjiro, worried about the situation at hand, clenched his jaw hard. There was nothing he could do to prevent what was going to happen to the lone swordsman that had proposed a challenge the entire dojo. As much as his frustration continued to boil deep in him as he returned with Sakurai's message to Ryugyu, Genjiro felt that the challenger who had sent the letter to a brutal sword school like Sakurai had it coming for him. There was no way a lone swordsman, no matter how strong he was, could beat 50 swordsmen all aiming for his neck. If it was Ryugyu, then surely it would be plausible but clearly, that wasn't the case.

"Damn... Just how far is Nozoru from here? It feels like it's been hours since we took the carriage."

"Hmm. If I were to take a guess, probably a 3 hour journey from Chiho. Our city is pretty darn secluded. Anyways, deliver this letter to the address on the front page and don't forget to wear this mask when we reach the city."

"Huh? That shit looks creepy... Why am I wearing it anyway? You've been acting really strange since this morning. First you tell me to bring my father's sword along now it's to wear that demonic mask. Am I delivering a letter or scaring off villagers?"

"That's a Noh mask. It's what actors wear during theatre performances... Look, you're gonna be fighting in the tournament with that mask on. No way are you gonna enter the arena and show your opponents your broken nose, those bastards will target your weakness. So now, get used to moving around in that."

Arakan's nose bridge was dislocated from Shougo's powerful knee strike from 2 days before and the pain wasn't subsiding. During random points in time, it would begin to ache and clamp hard into Arakan's skin. The worst part of it all, was that the fracture obstructed the air flow into his nose, making it difficult for him to breathe. Resting his arms against the window ledge of the horse driven carriage, he thought hard about Kouji. His words that morning was whirling around his head. He knew that if he probed further, Fyodor would still continue to be secretive.

"If you feel like you're life is at stake any point of time, run. There's no point giving your life away in battle when you're still so young."

Those were the first words that Kouji had muttered to Arakan when he met him in the morning. His life at stake? Arakan had no idea what Fyodor was planning but he knew that at some point, he needed to fight against dangerous opponents. Adding to the suspicion, the carriage that they were boarding didn't belong to Kouji or Mr Takazura, it was that of a stranger unknown to both of them. He shuddered at the thought of having to kill another person with a real sword and not the heavy, blunt wooden swords that he often practiced with. Arakan shattered the silence in the air with a question. His long gaze redirected from the vast, green grasslands with small villages that were separated by great distances from the edge of the window, to the deep, blue eyes of Fyodor.

"Fyo... Is visualisation unique to your style of fighting?"

"Wow, that's a surprisingly smart question. Here's the thing about visualisation, every sword school across Nippon has their own version to it. For us, we use it to predict the movements of the opponent, and find the most accurate combination to counter it. This is of course done, after taking mental notes of their battle tendencies. However, other schools seem to have other ways around it..."

"You mean every school has a different way of visualising?"

"Yeah, most of the time. However, there's still the small possibility of swordsmen who use the same method as us. After all, anyone can develop their own version of visualisation. What they learn from their master is simply a guide. That includes you. Mend it, shape it into something that suits you."

Stumped at Fyodor's answer, Arakan simply nodded. He never once imagined visualisation to be that complex. Before he could return to his position before, Fyodor had outstretched his hands towards him, a meat bun in his hand. Letting out a wide grin, he offered Arakan some of his food. As Arakan bit into the bun, consuming it slowly, his mental hunger never really diminished. The suspense and ominous feeling that perforated holes in his chest as the 2 of them neared Nozoru. His senses whispered to him that something dark was about to unfold in that city. He felt amiss. Throughout the journey, the duo occasionally conversed with one another. Whenever he sensed the premonition of an imminent disaster foraying into his mind, he eased the tension by telling Fyodor to explain certain sword techniques. Arakan felt like it was a rare occasion for him to be able to sit face-to-face with his mentor and obtain great knowledge of the sword. He made full use of his time in the carriage.

"There's no negotiating... Those bastards won't even listen to what you have to say, master."

"This is troubling. I can't think of any way to stop them from killing their guest. Genjiro, hang around the entrance at the west. If you see any swordsman entering the gate, stop and question his intentions of his visit. I'll guard the entrance at the east."

"What do I do if it's actually the Sakurai dojo's challenger?"

Ryugyu's sharp eyes peered into space. He had long internalised Genjiro's question but stayed silent, his mind, attempting to find the possible reasons why anyone would even challenge the Sakurai dojo when the regional swordfighting tournaments were to begin in a few days time. There were none. The idea was simply illogical. If he wanted to prove his strength, why not just enter the tournament?

"Bring him over to the Takeguchi school. I'll teach that idiot a lesson. Pulling this stunt... Sakurai would surely kill him if we don't stop that fool."

Wrapped in an elegant maroon kimono, Ryugyu stood tall at the entrance of the entrance. His hair was tied up in a bun and resting on his left hip was a sheathed sword. Its handle was gripped by leather obtained by the underbelly of a Cowtail Stingray, the granular material allowing him to tightly keep his weapon within his palm and comfortably swing it at any angle without it slipping off his hands. Putting on his wooden slipper, he made his move. Every time his foot landed on the hard ground, his aura increasingly enshrouded his silhouette. Those who were skilled enough with the sword could feel the brutality that his spirit exuded. Genjiro, noticing that his teacher had left the place, followed suit shortly. His mind set on stopping the Sakurai dojo challenger.

Meanwhile, in a cart that was expected to reach Nozoru in about an hour, Arakan had closely observed Fyodor's actions. Ever since he bombarded him with questions about fighting, he seemed to be more and more agitated. Once every few seconds, he would silently mutter something indecipherable and alternated between his index and middle knuckle, nervously drumming against the side of the walls. It came to the point where the man controlling the horse-driven care ended up berating Fyodor when the drumming got too loud. All these added on to the peculiar smile Fyodor obviously put on when he noticed that Arakan was staring at him. Arakan heaved a deep breath.

"So what's the real agenda behind today's trip?"

"Agenda? Well, you just send the letter and I'll pick you up after-"

"Who is it that I'm fighting this time?"

"Hmm... Maybe you don't quite get it. You're just running an errand. The tournament is right around the corner, now should be the time for rest-"

Throughout the conversation, Fyodor's face was smeared with anxiety while his right leg was bouncing up and down against the floor of the cart. There were small beads of sweat running down the sides of his forehead which he rapidly wiped off with his palm, attempting to conceal his nervousness. Arakan had realised Fyodor's unsteady nerves and replied with a bored look on his face, tired of his pathetic act.

"Your acting skills really suck. who am I up against this time?"

"Ah... You got me. You'll be facing the Sakurai school, their style is quite similar to the Takeguchi. In fact Ryugyu's uncle is their founder!"

"So I'll be up against a student of the style?"

"Well. The school actually. The entire school."

Ending the sentence with a wide grin and thumbs up gesture towards Arakan, he slightly backed away from the boy. Perceiving Fyodor's answer as a joke, Arakan begun laughing and so did Fyodor.

"Hahahah! The whole school? How many people are there? Like 40? If I could wipe off an entire school, I think I'd definitely be crowned as some sort of a legend!"

Fyodor who had been chuckling away with Arakan stopped abruptly. Both his eyes arrowed straight at Arakan, his demeanor reshaped into a concerning look.

"50 of them. You're gonna have to fight them for real. Not a duel or a practice round. They're out to kill you so you'll have to do the same. It's harsh but this is the path you need to take to be the strongest."

Those were the last words that reverberated in the small carriage. Ryugyu's monotonous yet stern voice flipped the atmosphere in the space. No one spoke for the rest of the journey. Not even the cart owner. What had been said by Ryugyu seemed like it had stopped the flow of air, the flow of time and locked the atmosphere in place. For Arakan, it had almost stopped his pumping heart. In less than an hour, he was about to fight a number of men that resembled that of an entire village. He leaned his back against the carriage walls and shut his eyes. Every second of rest would be valuable for him now. Stabilising his breathing, he cleared his mind and every thought he generated previously dissipated immediately. The battle was drawing near.

"You sure you still wanna wait here at the post? It's getting dark."

"It's fine. I'm waiting for someone, an idiotic swordsman to be precise."

"Oh, alright then. By the way, have you heard about Shougo Hoseki's disappearence? Rumours say that he sailed northwards along with a group of traders. I bet he's afraid of losing to you again!"

"The north... He's probably heading for the Maray Archipelago, I've read that their sword techniques are of a high-level. He'll definitely come back stronger."

Ryugyu stood stiffly beside the guard post, his head facing the road leading to the entrance while his life arm drooped over the edge of the guard post. The guard beside Ryugyu seemed happy to be able to chat with him, setting up conversation topics every once in a while. On the other hand, Ryugyu was giving one-lined answers and was more focused on catching the Sakurai school challenger, forcing a multitude of questions to everyone who had entered through the gate.

"Hmm... I don't feel too good about that cart. I've never seen it before and I also don't recognise the driver. This could be the one you're searching for."

Ryugyu remained stoic and continued observing the cart despite the warning given by the guard. As it moved closer and closer to the gate, he too stepped towards it. In his mind, he was more than certain that the Sakurai challenger was seated in it based on the guard's words and his instincts. Ryugyu positioned himself right in front of the advancing cart, just inches away from it. It halted to a stop.

"Where are you 2 headed to?"

"That's weird... I didn't know the great Ryugyu was a guard. Did he retire from being a swordsman?"

"Answer the question."

"We're here to run some errands, nothing much. I'll be leaving once its done."

"And the both of you need swords for that? Turn around and go back. You amateurs would be killed by Sakurai... Those barbarians have no honour. I can't believe you dragged a kid into this. Go home."

Arakan and Fyodor both directly faced Ryugyu, both with different thoughts in their minds at the same time. Fyodor clicked his tongue at the remarks made by Ryugyu and slightly grimaced. He felt insulted, being called an amateur and was pressing his whole body down on his seat. It would be a waste of energy for him to explode and cut down the man facing him. Fyodor did not want to make a scene. As for Arakan, he glared deeply into Fyodor's eyes, trying to find a crack in his psychological armour, hoping to leverage on that for the upcoming tournament. Fyodor still did not instruct the man driving the cart to turn it around. Instead, he leaned back and sipped the water from his canteen.

"Did you not hear me? Turn around and go back. I can't have those Sakurai ruffians killing you."

"Let's make a deal."