Kenji

The afternoon breeze in Kamura Village usually carried the scent of ripe rice grains and warm kitchen smoke. But this time, the air felt heavy, carrying a faint metallic odor—a scent Kenji knew all too well. In front of a small, unpretentious hut, Kenji knelt down. In front of him lay a clean white silk cloth. With hands shaking not from fear, but from determination, he placed his katana—“Kage-tsume”—on the cloth. The sword had drunk too many lives. "Let this sword rust with my past," he whispered into the silence. "The world doesn't need another murderer." He began to wrap the cursed weapon, intending to bury it deep beneath the roots of the ancient cherry blossom tree behind his house. He wanted to forget how to cut open a human body in the blink of an eye. However, the peace of Kamura Village that afternoon felt... wrong. The birdsong stopped abruptly. The laughter of children by the riverbank vanished, replaced by a purple mist creeping down from the hills at an unnatural speed. From behind the fog, a small child ran at full speed, his face pale. Behind him, a two-meter-tall black shadow with glowing red eyes began to solidify. The creature was neither animal nor human; it was a Yurei-Hei, something that should only exist in bedtime stories. Kenji squeezed his eyes shut. He hated the weight of the sword. He hated the feeling of steel clashing against it. But as the shadow's black claws nearly touched the villager's neck, Kenji's hand moved faster than his conscience. RING. "Just one more time," Kenji growled, his cold eyes now blazing with the killing instinct he'd tried to bury. "After this, I'm really going to throw you away." But deep down, Kenji knew—the world was cracking, and fate wouldn't let a legend die a peasant. The bloody adventure he'd been running from had just broken through his front door.