It was late night in a kingdom ravaged by war and strife, brought about by the heinous crimes of the djinn—a race with extraordinary abilities far exceeding those of the average human. This nation had once stood as a bastion of hope and a shield against these off-world invaders, before it finally fell after a long struggle that lasted several generations. In those days, it was known as the Kingdom of Damestiya.
A wind swept over the decimated capital city of Ravan. Thugs scattered throughout the city looked up as a strange sensation crawled along their spines, but they quickly scoffed it off as nothing more than a chill.
Then, atop a partially broken tower beneath the light of the luminous crescent moon, a figure appeared. He wore a sleeveless black robe that fell heavy against his frame, stark and unyielding. Beneath it, wide white sleeves flowed freely, rippling in the wind like pale banners against the dark. A white sash bound the layers at his waist—simple, precise, and unbroken.
On his back, a single white kanji stood in bold defiance—clean, deliberate, and impossible to ignore. The kanji meant honor: a silent oath to live by one's own code. It was not pride or reputation, but the weight of doing what must be done, even when no one was left to witness it.
He had a head of black hair, with a single streak of white running from the center of his scalp down toward his right eye.
Secured at his waist by the white sash was a katana with a black sheath, a black-and-white hilt, and a white hexagonal guard etched with black patterns along its edges. His eyes were cold, his face expressionless, as he took a single step forward—then vanished.
That same night, three newborn children were marked for execution.
The first was the daughter of Kara, princess of the fox djinn clan. Her father could not accept a daughter as his successor, so he fabricated accusations against his wife, claiming she had borne a child out of wedlock. Through influence and deceit, he ensured the infant's disposal.
The second was the daughter of Maya, princess of the wolf djinn clan. Unlike the first child, this girl truly was born out of wedlock—to a human father no less. Among the djinn, such unions were deeply despised, and even suspicion of one brought overwhelming shame. Her fate was sealed the moment she was born.
The final child was the son of Shiro, princess of the monkey djinn clan, and Draxon Dracon—the crown prince of the dragon djinn clan and heir to the djinn empire, Rozearion
. His sentence was perhaps the most unreasonable of all. Among djinn nobility, intermarriage between clans was considered a grave offense, seen as a corruption of bloodlines. The imperial family could not allow such a disgrace to stand.
The children and their mothers were held captive within the ruins of a castle at the heart of the city. They were to remain there until the executions were carried out.
Aside from the severity of the punishment, another detail stood out: the location. Contrary to expectation, the executions were not to take place in the djinn realm, but in the Damestian city of Ravan—now the base of operations for the djinn campaign against the human realm.
This decision came from a high-ranking djinn commander, who argued that the executions might incite riots if performed openly. Instead, he proposed they be conducted in secrecy, in the last place anyone would expect—on the front lines.
A sudden gust blew open the window of the room where the mothers and children were confined. Without warning, the man appeared within.
"Are you mad, human?" Kara demanded. "Why would you come here of all places? Just who the hell are you?"
"My name is Tsushiro Yamada," he replied calmly. "I am on a reconnaissance mission for the Ashura Samurai Corps. I sensed an unusual spiritual presence here and came to investigate—but this was not what I expected."
Silence filled the room as tension mounted.
"So what now?" Maya asked at last. "Are you going to kill us?"
They watched him closely, awaiting his answer.
"I was sent to observe and report," Tsushiro said. "Not to kill helpless people."
Shiro suddenly stood, clutching her child tightly. "Then we beg you—please take our children and run. It's only a matter of time before they sense you. You are their last hope. Entrusting them to a stranger may be reckless, but we have no other choice."
Tsushiro remained silent for a moment before responding. "It isn't that simple. I cannot abandon my mission so easily. And what makes you think I would even agree?"
"Please!" they cried. "We'll do anything!"
He sighed. "Fine. Calm down." Raising his right hand toward the children, he said, "Stand back."
The room flooded with light as glowing marks appeared on the infants' chests. The children floated briefly before three spheres of light formed in the mothers' arms, each transforming into a perfect replica of a child.
"You're smart enough to know what happens next," Tsushiro said, gathering the real children into his robe.
"Don't worry," Kara said softly. "Leave the rest to us."
As Tsushiro prepared to leap from the window, Shiro stopped him. "Thank you. We won't forget this."
"Don't mention it," he replied.
He vanished into the night, racing across the ruined city at tremendous speed. It wasn't long before his presence was detected. Djinn soldiers quickly mobilized, and soon more than a hundred were in pursuit.
Tsushiro halted briefly, adjusting the children secured within his robe. Holding two close and one in his left arm, he drew his sword with his right.
"Release—Shinka!"
The blade darkened instantly, turning pitch black as crimson flame-like patterns spread along its edge. With a slow downward swing, smoke poured from the blade. From within it emerged a man clad in a crimson robe embroidered with gold. A massive sword—an alloy resembling carved stone—hung at his waist, secured by a thick golden belt. The weapon bore no sheath.
"Don't let them reach us, Shinka," Tsushiro said before turning away.
"You worry too much," the man replied with a grin. "Go. I'll handle the rest."
Tsushiro leapt away, vanishing into the distance as Shinka stepped forward.
It wasn't long before the pursuing djinn soldiers surrounded him.
"Stop right there!" Shinka shouted, settling into a battle stance. "This is where your chase ends."
"You talk big for someone wielding a sword that couldn't cut paper," one djinn sneered.
Shinka smirked and took a single step forward. In the blink of an eye, he was behind the speaker. The djinn collapsed before he could even scream, his throat cleanly severed.
"Seems it cuts just fine," Shinka said as another attacker rushed him.
He cut the second down just as easily. The remaining soldiers faltered, fear spreading among them, but before they could retreat, Shinka engulfed himself in flame. A massive explosion followed, leaving most of them dead or grievously burned.
One djinn alone remained unscathed. He was scrawny and malnourished, yet an unsettling strength radiated from him.
The blood seeping from his wounds began to glow, converting into raw energy. It gathered before him, shaping itself into a bow.
"It seems I'm forced to stop you myself," he said coldly. "How unfortunate."
He aimed the glowing weapon. "Blood Manipulation: Blood Arrow Rush!"
Arrows of energy streaked toward Shinka. He dodged narrowly as more followed, forcing him on the defensive.
Blood manipulation was an extraordinary djinn ability—one that allowed them to convert blood into spiritual energy and wield it for offense or defense. The efficiency of the conversion varied between individuals, as did the techniques they mastered.
Unable to close the distance, Shinka shouted, "Hiding behind arrows? Fight me properly!"
"As if I'd fall for that," the djinn replied.
Shinka vanished.
"You just did," he whispered.
He stabbed the djinn through the shoulder before retreating.
"Not bad, kid," Shinka said, leveling his blade. "Against someone else, you might have stood a chance. But I am Shinka—one of Master Tsushiro's Ikkion blade spirits. I don't lose. Not to anyone."
"That's unfortunate for you," the djinn spat back. "Because today, you lose to me—Zagan! A mere foot soldier of the Rozearion army!"
Shinka surged forward, aiming for a finishing blow, but Zagan blocked it just in time with his bow. Their clash sent shockwaves through the ruined streets as steel and energy collided, tearing through buildings and setting the surroundings ablaze.
They exchanged blows relentlessly until both leapt back, putting distance between themselves. Zagan was visibly exhausted, his breathing ragged, while Shinka remained steady.
Cornered, Zagan resorted to his final technique. He leapt backward as his blood gathered into a glowing sphere between the horns protruding from the sides of his head.
"Blood Manipulation: Horned Rebellion!"
The sphere erupted, launching a torrent of blood-energy that struck Shinka head-on, engulfing him in a massive cloud of dust.
As the dust settled, the sound of dripping blood echoed through the ruins. Zagan looked up in shock.
Shinka stood where he had been, his right arm gone, part of his lung destroyed—leaving a gaping wound in his torso.
For a brief moment, shock crossed Shinka's face. Then he heard a faint ticking sound and smirked.
"Don't get too cocky because I'll definitely kill you next time," he said calmly. " And remember this—Shinka never loses."
His body dissolved into smoke, what remained of him scattering into the air and flying back toward Tsushiro's blade.
—
Elsewhere, beyond the capital, Tsushiro stood beneath a large tree at the edge of a cliff as the smoke returned to his sword.
"Only ten minutes," he thought as he sheathed the blade. "I must be losing my edge."
He looked down at the infants cradled in his arms.
"Now then," he murmured, "what should I call you? Your mothers didn't exactly tell me your names and now that i think of it using your real names wouldn't be a good idea.Instead I'll give you new names."
He pointed gently at Kara's daughter. " You'll be Yuriko."
Turning to Shiro's son, he said, "You will be Izumi."
"And you," he said softly to Maya's daughter, "will be Takae."
The children chuckled softly, as though sensing the weight—and warmth—of their new names. At that moment, the first rays of dawn broke across the horizon.
Tsushiro sat down in the grass, resting his sword before him.
"It pains me to think of the world you were born into," he said quietly. "But don't worry. I'll carry some of the burdens placed upon you. I promise to keep you safe—until you can stand on your own in this godforsaken world."
He gazed toward the rising sun.
"I can only imagine the chain of events this will set in motion," he murmured.
After a long silence, he tightened his grip around the children and spoke once more.
"You'd better be right about this, you damn bastard," he said to no one in particular. "Because if not, the backlash may be too much to handle—even for you."