Author's Notes:
First of all, I wish you all a Happy New Year! May it be a year full of achievements for each of you!
About the novel: it took much longer than I expected to write. I returned from my trip this afternoon (01/03) and managed to finish this initial chapter in approximately four hours (2.3 hours of writing and 1.33 hours of translation/editing). I believe I did a good job.
I had quite a bit of difficulty with the interaction, but I think the result is satisfactory. In the next chapter, I will bring some of my own thoughts, and I hope you can ask me questions and better understand some of my points.
That's all for now. Enjoy the chapter!
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In a peripheral city, on the edge of the Song Domain, near the outer walls and surrounded by vast forests, stands a discreet but resilient clan.
The Leaf Clan, though small, is recognized for its ability to thrive on the fringes of the domain. Since its founding, it has established itself in the heart of the forest, where it cultivates the famous essence plants, rare and coveted by any Awakened, valuable both in trade and in the art of healing.
Respected by the common folk for their community services and aid, and well-regarded by other Awakened, the clan built its reputation through acts of kindness, charity, and commerce. Despite holding a monopoly on essence plants, it keeps a portion of its production available to Awakened outside of commercial agreements, a gesture that reinforces its image of generosity and balance.
While they do not possess the overwhelming power of the great Legacy families, their natural wisdom and the relationships cultivated through trade and agriculture have made them worthy of respect. The true strength of the Leaf Clan lies not in its numbers, but in the connections it maintains with various clans and Awakened of the Song Domain.
At the end of a stone path that winds through the forest, passing through a large Torii gate, emerges the main residence of the clan: a mansion of architecture inspired by ancient oriental styles, built with dark wood and curved roofs. Lanterns hang from the gates, softly illuminating the path, while the sound of the nearby bamboo groves creates a constant melody, as if nature itself were guarding the place.
The mansion is vast, capable of comfortably housing all two hundred and fifty members, as well as visitors and representatives from other clans, yet it maintains an aura of simplicity. Its wide corridors and internal courtyards were designed to welcome both warriors and farmers, reflecting the essence of the clan: a balance between strength and cultivation.
Around the main residence stretch training grounds where the clan's warriors practice combat and survival techniques. There are also areas destined for various functions: craft workshops, supply depots, cultivation courtyards, and study spaces—each sector contributing to the self-sufficiency and identity of the clan.
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To an outsider's eye, the Leaf Clan seems the perfect example of a Legacy clan, demonstrating honor and altruism as Awakened who face the nightmares.
To the outside world, they are an example of resilience: a small clan of producers, responsible for the famous essence plants that are as rare as they are vital for the survival of the Awakened. With their charitable smiles and control over medicine, they bought the respect of the powerful and the gratitude of the humble.
But beneath the main mansion, in the clan's dungeons, lies a place reserved for enemies and unwanted visitors, with several cells—some filled with wails and cries, others empty.
One thing was the same in all of them: the putrid smell of blood. However, unlike the other cells, there was one that was larger and more "cozy" (?). In that cell, the silence is constantly interrupted by dull thuds. There, a young man is subjected to another of the so-called "training sessions" by his latest educator.
The air in the cell vibrates with every strike, echoing against the stone walls alongside muffled murmurs of agony. It is a scene of harsh discipline, marked by methods few would dare to question. In the center of the room, a man with long, ash-grey hair holds a whip with elegance, while on the floor, a handsome youth remains hunched over. His fragile back is a living map of scars and open wounds.
Thin and showing clear signs of malnutrition, the boy possesses a stature smaller than his age suggests. A cascade of brown hair falls in disarray, framing eyes of a deep, dark hue that reflect a lethal mixture of pain and hatred. The marks around his eyes and his short, firm eyebrows reveal that the blood of the clan's main lineage runs through his veins; however, this blood does not grant him luxury, only a refined torment under the pretext of training.
In front of the youth, the educator observes his own work with a disturbing calmness. With his intellectual air and polite manners, he could easily be mistaken for a doctor or a scholar. There is a softness in his gestures that makes the cruelty of his acts even more obscene. To him, pain is not just a teaching tool; it is a pleasure he savors like a rare spice.
However, on this night, the pleasure seemed to have left a bitter aftertaste.
Indra did not scream. He did not beg. He just waited, motionless, anticipating the next blow. The youth had already grown accustomed to that routine of "education," treating the pain like an unwanted neighbor who refuses to leave. Sensing the interruption in the rhythm of the assault, Indra slightly raised his head, staring at the man with a mute challenge.
Kabuto, noticing the gaze, returned it with an expression of almost paternal disappointment.
"See now, young master... what it has come to." He said, his voice smooth and devoid of remorse. "How I miss those days when you still cried. That time when you begged for it all to end. Now, you simply stay there, waiting. As if it were a tedious chore."
The educator stared at the whip for a moment, pensive. Then, with a slight smile, he concluded:
"That being the case, I will cancel today's training and speak with the Master to raise the level of your instruction. Enjoy your rest. After all, the world outside is much more cruel than I am... and you will need to be prepared for when your First Nightmare begins."
Kabuto smiled gently at the boy, waiting for a reaction. The response came immediately, laden with all the contempt and hatred Indra could muster:
"Go fuck yourself."
Kabuto's smile did not disappear; instead, it became something sharper, colder. For a brief second, the intellectual air and the mask of the polite master fell away, revealing the monster that dwelt beneath the pale skin.
"How rude, young master." He murmured, his voice still calm, but now carrying a promise of destruction.
The movement was almost too fast for the human eye to follow. Kabuto did not just swing the whip; he channeled a force that seemed to come from something far beyond simple training. The crack was not a sharp sound, but a heavy boom, like a falling thunderclap.
The whip struck Indra diagonally across the chest, tearing through the remainder of the fabric he called clothes and the flesh beneath with the ease of a hot knife through butter.
Indra's thin body was ripped from the ground with brutal violence. Hurled through the air, crossing the distance of the cell like a discarded ragdoll, his back collided against the stone wall on the other side. The sound of the impact was muffled by a dry snap, many things broke in that short moment, be it his bones, or perhaps the wall itself.
Indra collapsed to the floor, shrouded in a cloud of dust and agony, struggling to find the air his lungs had forgotten how to process. Blood began to pool rapidly beneath him, a vivid red that shimmered under the dim light.
Kabuto wiped a small speck of blood that had splashed onto his sleeve and adjusted his glasses, returning to his impeccable posture.
"Perhaps." Kabuto said, watching the young master cough blood onto the cold floor. "We should return to the young master's etiquette lessons. It seems the disgrace of Konoha has forgotten his place."
He paused briefly, letting out a dry, lifeless chuckle that echoed against the damp walls.
"Ah... and happy twelfth birthday, my lord."
He turned his back, the sound of his footsteps echoing rhythmically as he walked away from the cell, leaving Indra alone with the silence and the growing darkness of his failing consciousness.
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Hours passed in the sepulchral silence of the dungeon. The cold of the stone finally overcame the warmth of the blood, and Indra woke with a painful jolt. Every attempt to expand his lungs was a reminder of Kabuto's lethal strength. He coughed, the hot, metallic liquid staining the floor as he crawled into a position that wouldn't make him suffocate.
Slowly, the flames of defiance and hatred that used to burn in his eyes began to flicker and, for the first time in a long while, they went out. In place of fury, a deep and opaque sadness emerged. Solitary tears traced clean paths on his face, grimy with dust and blood.
He never fully understood why the world seemed to have been born with the intention of crushing him. From an early age, Indra realized he was different; his mind and body developed at a pace that frightened ordinary children and irritated adults. He was an unwanted prodigy, a biological error that everyone preferred did not exist.
What he did know was that there had been an engagement between the Leaf Clan and the Senju Clan.
And that his own origin was a story of betrayal and despair. His mother, an astute woman of the Leaf Clan, possessed an Aspect capable of delaying processes. For months she had vanished; some said there was an unknown Awakened(?) man with her, but no one ever confirmed it. But when she returned, she returned pregnant with him, and delayed the pregnancy with her Aspect to hide the infidelity from everyone.
Her plan, astute and disgusting, was simple: she would delay the pregnancy until the night the marriage was to be consummated, and then she would pretend that what was birthed was the fruit of the union between the two clans. She would make a fool of the Senju's son, faking a purity she had already given to another.
In anticipation of this, she used her Aspect as much as she could, but as a mere awaked, she could not sustain it forever; however, with great dedication, she held it until the month of the wedding.
But one day before the wedding, the Senju Clan, who were not only powerful but possessed many different Memories, some with the capacity to see through the lie she carried, discovered everything.
Thus, the scheme collapsed the moment the truth came to light. The fruit of that sin, Indra, was discovered before he even breathed the world's air. In a final act of desperation and cowardice, his mother challenged the Second Nightmare to escape judgment, and the Dream Realm devoured her, leaving behind only the hated child she carried in her womb, which soon became hollow.
Recalling the story, Indra let out a long sigh, which ended in a broken groan of pain. He was the living reminder of dishonor and betrayal, a prisoner of noble blood treated like trash by those who should have been his family.
As the darkness of the cell seemed to close in on him, the cold in his bones changed. It was no longer the cold of the stone, but an unnatural chill that seemed to come from within his own soul. The air around him crackled with invisible static.
A secret he had hidden from the wretched members of his so-called family: he had already been infected by the Spell, and now the feeling of drowsiness was extremely strong.
[Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your First Trial...]
Indra's eyes widened; a brief, bloodied smile appeared on his small face. Physical pain was momentarily forgotten, replaced by a glacial chill and a spark of something he hadn't felt since birth: hope.