Kenji moved quickly through the shadows, his heart pounding as he closed in on the raider advancing toward the woman and her child. She was huddled against a crumbling wall, shielding her child with her body, her eyes wide with terror. The raider loomed over her, his blade raised, a twisted smile stretching across his face as he prepared to strike.
With a surge of determination and fury, Kenji crept up behind him, gripping his broken katana so tightly his knuckles turned white. His pulse was deafening, a steady beat that drowned out everything but the thought of what he had to do.
Without a second thought, he lunged forward, plunging the jagged blade into the back of the raider’s skull. There was a sickening crunch as the katana tore through bone, sinking deep, the raider’s body stiffening in shock. Blood spurted from the wound, splattering Kenji’s face, hot and metallic, as the man let out a strangled, gurgling gasp.
The raider’s body convulsed, his eyes rolling back as Kenji twisted the blade, feeling it grind against the fractured bone. More blood poured down, thick and dark, staining his hands as he withdrew the blade with a wet, sucking sound. The raider’s body slumped forward, crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap, his skull split wide open, blood and brain matter pooling on the ground.
Kenji took a shuddering breath, fighting back the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him as he wiped the blood from his eyes. He turned to the woman, her face pale, her eyes filled with horror but also a glimmer of hope.
“Run,” he said, his voice rough, trembling but firm. “Get to safety. Now.”
She stared at him for a moment, then nodded, clutching her child tightly to her chest as she scrambled to her feet. She threw him one last grateful glance before disappearing into the shadows, her footsteps fading as she ran.
Kenji stood there, chest heaving, the weight of what he’d just done settling over him. He could still feel the warmth of the blood on his hands, the remnants of the raider’s life staining his skin, but he forced himself to push it aside. He’d saved her—that was all that mattered.
He looked towards the dead raider. At first he felt sickened, but knowing he couldn’t stop here he pushed it down instead drawing on another emotion. Anger, or rather fury. Fury at the horrors that were being inflicted here. These men were taking innocent lives, and Kenji wouldn’t be someone who just let it happen as he stood by.
He clenched his hand, feeling the strange, pulsing energy of the void essence swirling within him as a response to his anger. His other hand gripped the broken katana, its jagged edge gleaming in the firelight. He couldn’t fight head-on, but he could make a stand in his own way, find his own way to strike back.
He darted into the shadows, slipping behind a crumbling wall as the heat of nearby flames licked at his skin. His mind raced, recalling the tactics he’d learned playing paintball with his cousins back on the farm—striking from cover, taking the high ground, finding any advantage he could. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had.
Crouched behind a collapsed section of a house, he saw a raider pass by, his eyes scanning the area for anyone hiding. Kenji summoned a void bolt in his hand, the purple, pulsing energy crackling with an eerie light. He took a deep breath, steadied his aim, and let it fly.
The bolt struck the raider in the back, exploding in a flash of purple and black. The man staggered, clutching his shoulder as he fell to his knees, and Kenji used the opportunity to strike the man down. He jabbed the katana at the man hunched over. Striking the man in the back, more blood flowing onto Kenji. The man screamed even louder in agony as he dropped his weapon.
Unfortunately the man wasn’t weak nor was the Kenji skilled at fighting. The wounds were devastating but not enough to kill the man who retaliated using his pain as fuel to fight back. The raider shoved Kenji to the floor and reached for the rusty sword he had dropped.
Kenji attempted to raise his hand and fire another bolt of void energy but he couldn’t seem to get it to fire off as the energy struggled to hold together. He remembered suddenly the description talking about a cooldown time. Panicking as the wounded man finally got his weapon Kenji rushed forward and stabbed at the man again. This time striking him in the hip.
Falling over, and yanking the weapon from Kanji's hand the raider looks to him fear. Only for Kenji to pick the rusty blade off the floor and slam it home into the man’s gut. Vomiting blood and suffocating on the liquid the raider finally drew his last breaths.
Kenji retrieved his own weapon and stumbled forward, seeking the shadows again.
One down
----------------------------------------
He continued through the village like this, slipping from shadow to shadow, striking from behind whenever he could.
At one point, he stumbled upon three raiders cornering a villager. The man’s cries blended with the crackling of the flames, his terror piercing through the night. Kenji raised his hand, summoning another void bolt, hurling it at one of the raiders. The bolt struck the man’s shoulder, vaporizing a chunk of flesh with a sickening hiss. The man screamed, clutching at the wound, his face twisted in agony as blood poured from the blackened hole.
Kenji didn’t stop. He lunged forward, ramming the broken katana into the gut of the second raider, feeling the blade scrape against bone. The man let out a wet, gurgling gasp, his intestines spilling out as Kenji pulled the blade free. The sight and smell were nauseating, but he forced it down, forced himself to keep moving.
His movements were wild, desperate, each strike less precise than the last as exhaustion crept in. His arms ached, his breaths were shallow, and blood dripped from cuts on his hands and face. His vision swam, a haze settling over his mind as he fought, driven by the same cold fury that had gotten him this far.
But even as he fought, he could see the village was crumbling around him. The flames had spread, and the raiders were everywhere, overwhelming the few defenders left. The villagers he’d tried to save were being cut down, their screams fading into silence.
He was losing. They were all losing.
He stumbled back, gasping for breath, his body aching and bruised, cuts stinging as smoke and sweat mingled with his blood. The logical part of his mind screamed at him to run, to get out while he still could, to survive. But as he looked around, saw the faces of the villagers he couldn’t save, he knew he couldn’t live with himself if he left now. He couldn’t leave them.
Kenji closed his eyes, his body trembling, the fear and anger still there but steadied now, woven together into something almost calm. He wasn’t ready to die, but if this was where it ended, he would face it knowing he’d made his choice. He wouldn’t carry the burden of regret, wouldn’t live haunted by the faces he’d left behind.
Opening his eyes he took off yet again, seeking out more villagers trying to escape the bloodthirsty men.
----------------------------------------
Anarath sat in the observation chamber, a faint frown creasing his brow as he shifted through the various trials playing out in the system’s display. Hundreds of Earthlings, new to the wider cosmos, were navigating their first tests—simple, direct scenarios designed to make them question who they were, to understand what drove them. Earth was, after all, a world largely untouched by true violence on a daily basis. Wars, though impactful, were limited to scattered regions, and most Earthlings knew nothing of the kind of constant, relentless danger that some worlds faced.
Nearly all of the Earthlings’ scenarios reflected that reality, except for the minority of them who had the touch of violence in their life for various reasons. They were mostly dilemmas of compassion, of resilience, meant to gauge their inner convictions and show them their strengths or weaknesses in unfamiliar situations. They were what the system always chose for new recruits from peaceful worlds. But as Anarath scanned the names and summaries of scenarios coming across his panel, one caught his eye: Kenji Nakamura.
He remembered the boy who had showed up in the tutorial village covered in gore and carrying a strange broken weapon. The conversation that later came of a void essence appearing even before at the same time of the integration. The void had been known to do mysterious and usually impossible things for whatever cosmic agenda it followed.
Anarath paused from his work for a second, watching Kenji’s trial with a growing sense of disbelief. He’d seen this scenario before—or, rather, scenarios like it. They were brutal, violent, and chaotic, the kind of trial reserved for worlds steeped in conflict, where survival demanded knowing the weight of blood on one’s hands. Planets raised on the edge of war, where combat was as ingrained as breathing, were the only places where such tests usually appeared. Always given to the warriors. And yet, here was a fresh-faced farm boy, a child of Earth’s peaceful countryside, thrown into a raider attack, a situation teeming with pain, violence, and the very real threat of death.
These were one of the very rare trials where death was actually possible. Usually the system put safeguards and rules behind on what harm could befall a tester in the Essence Chamber. Even so there were those for whom death had to be an option to truly reveal the details of their inner character. As was the scenario before Kenji.
What was the system thinking?
Anarath leaned closer, studying Kenji’s reactions. The boy was clearly out of his depth. His strikes were wild, uncoordinated. Every swing of his broken katana was raw, fueled more by fear and desperation than any kind of skill. He stumbled, his movements clumsy, barely holding his ground as the raiders closed in. And yet, despite the overwhelming odds, he was fighting. Not just fighting, but pushing through the blood and pain, forcing himself to continue even as his body reached its limits.
Anarath’s gaze sharpened, his interest piqued by what he was witnessing. Kenji wasn’t numb to the violence; he wasn’t one of those warriors who’d grown up expecting to fight, trained to keep his emotions in check. Every blow he struck left him visibly shaken, the horror of it all clear in his wide-eyed stare. And yet, when the villagers screamed, when he saw those he couldn’t save, he threw himself back into the fray, his face twisting with an anger and desperation Anarath rarely saw.
The scenario, designed to test the core of warriors, was meant to uncover the darker motivations lurking within—whether a person would use violence for personal gain, for cruelty, or for compassion. It was meant to find the true nature of the warrior within, to see if they would become numb, opportunistic, or twisted by the bloodshed.
But Kenji?
He didn’t fit any of those molds. He was something different.
Anarath’s frown deepened, but a flicker of admiration touched his gaze. Kenji was not numbed by the chaos around him; he was horrified by it. He was no opportunist, nor was he driven by bloodlust. Every action, every strike, was born of a desire to protect, to save, to stand between the helpless and the monsters that hunted them—even if it cost him everything.
Anarath leaned back, taking in the broader picture. He could see Kenji’s thoughts flickering across the display, the fear, the fury, the determination. The boy wasn’t fighting for glory, nor even for survival. He was fighting because he couldn’t bear to do anything else. The struggling as much for himself as it was for those he was seeking to help. His pain and terror were obvious, but so was his resolve, the strength that refused to let him back down.
Anarath shook his head, almost incredulous. “What are you doing here, Kenji Nakamura?” he murmured to himself. A farm boy thrown into a trial meant for hardened warriors which he should not have even survived one encounter, and yet… here he was struggling on against odds he’d never win not even by skill but by sheer force of will.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Anarath started to remember one other time in his life he had seen such fervor. The time he had first seen the man who would become his role model for his life.
----------------------------------------
Kenji tightened his grip on the broken katana, gritting his teeth against the pain that coursed through him. His hands were shaking, slick with blood—his own, mixed with that of the raiders he’d somehow managed to strike. He could feel his body reaching its limit, the exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight. But as he looked at the faces of the terrified villagers behind him, he knew he couldn’t stop.
He had found the main the biggest group of survivors left being hounded by a squad of the raiders. Twelve men strong, as they took wicked glee in slowly but surely catching them. Letting them slip just far enough away to catch them again taking a village here and a villager there.
Until Kenji had stumbled into them, the survivors begging for his intervention after realizing he wasn’t one of the savages hunting them.
The raiders moved closer, their grins feral, savoring the sight of him standing alone, battered and bloodied. His body screamed at him to run, but his legs were rooted to the ground. He would not leave; he would not let these monsters destroy everything without resistance.
With a steady breath, he raised his hand, attempting to summon another void bolt. The purple energy crackled to life, pulsing with a fierce intensity that sputtered out just as quickly. He’d know he was about empty a few encounters ago and now the reserve of void he had in himself was used up.
The closest raider sneered, advancing with his weapon raised.
He took a shaky breath, his body screaming in protest, and lunged forward, aiming his broken katana at the nearest raider. The jagged edge bit into flesh, tearing a gash along the raider’s arm. The man howled, stumbling back, clutching at the wound, but Kenji didn’t have time to savor the small victory. Another raider was already on him, swinging a blade down at him with brutal force.
Kenji raised his arm, blocking the blow as best he could, but the impact rattled him, sending a sharp jolt of pain down his shoulder. He staggered back, barely keeping his footing, but before he could recover, another raider drove a fist into his gut. He doubled over, gasping, the air knocked out of him, but he forced himself to stay upright, fueled by the fury that burned through his exhaustion.
He swung the broken katana wildly, blindly, catching one raider across the leg. Blood splattered across his face, the hot, metallic tang filling his senses, but he didn’t flinch. The raider cursed, staggering back, and Kenji took the chance to aim another void bolt, barely summoning the energy to form it. The bolt sputtered to life in his hand, weak and flickering, but he hurled it forward, catching a raider in the chest. The impact left a smoldering hole, and the man dropped, screaming.
Another raider was on him in an instant, swinging a blade that sliced across his side. Kenji cried out, stumbling, feeling the warm rush of blood spilling down his ribs, but he forced himself to stand. He couldn’t stop—he wouldn’t stop. He’d promised himself he’d see this through.
The raiders circled him, sneering, amused by his defiance. He could see it in their eyes—they thought he was finished, nothing more than a wounded animal lashing out in a last, pitiful attempt at survival. But he couldn’t afford to care what they thought. All he could do was keep fighting, keep throwing himself at them, over and over, until there was nothing left in him.
They came at him again, and he swung his katana, feeling it bite into another raider’s shoulder, but his strength was fading fast. Each blow he took sent fresh waves of pain through him, blurring his vision, but he grit his teeth, refusing to back down. He wasn’t fighting for himself anymore; he was fighting for the people cowering behind him, for his family, for the promise he’d made to live without regret.
Somewhere in the chaos, he felt himself falter. His legs buckled, his grip loosening on the katana. A raider’s blade sliced across his arm, and he felt his strength slipping away, his vision narrowing as the world tilted around him. But he couldn’t let himself fall. He forced himself to stand, staggering forward, throwing himself at the raiders with the last of his strength.
Every time he was knocked down, he forced himself back up, thrashing, swinging wildly, barely able to see through the haze of pain and exhaustion. His mind started to drift, fragments of memories surfacing, flashing before him like scenes from a life he was already leaving behind. He saw his family, his father teaching him how to work the farm, his mother’s warm smile, the laughter of his siblings. The good moments, the bad—they all mingled together, forming a tapestry of everything he’d fought for, everything he’d tried to protect.
Another blow sent him sprawling to the ground, and this time, he didn’t have the strength to get back up. He blinked, his vision blurring as he stared up at the smoke-filled sky, the faces of the raiders looming over him, sneering, their weapons raised for the final blow.
This is it, he thought, a strange calm settling over him. This is the end.
And yet, as he lay there, waiting for the final strike, he realized he was okay with that. He’d made his choice, had fought with everything he had, and he didn’t regret a single moment of it.
A faint, weary smile crossed his face as he closed his eyes, ready to face whatever came next. His only sorrow being that he hadn’t gotten Ren back with the rest of his family. He hoped his brother was okay, that he’d make it back even without Kenji with him.
----------------------------------------
Anarath had watched, transfixed, as the boy fought on, his every movement wild and uncoordinated, his strikes as much the desperate flailing of survival as any real technique. Kenji should have fallen long ago, should have surrendered to his exhaustion, his pain, his overwhelming odds. Yet there he was, dragging himself up after each blow, a stubborn glint in his eye that seemed almost to defy reason.
With every passing second, Anarath felt his own confusion deepen. Why had the system chosen this scenario for him? This was a test meant for trained warriors, for those from worlds where war and bloodshed were woven into life itself. The system typically chose these trials to explore the motives and darker tendencies of the experienced killers.
Yet here was Kenji Nakamura, a farm boy with no training, no reason to understand any of this, giving everything he had, even as he clearly knew how impossible it all was. And now he would actually die for these people.
As Kenji faced the dozen raiders, Anarath’s expression softened with a strange mix of respect and sadness. He could see the desperation in the boy’s movements, the grim acceptance settling in his eyes, and the way Kenji’s strength was steadily failing. And yet, he fought, not for survival, not to conquer or triumph, but simply because he refused to leave those in need to suffer alone. There was no hesitation, no thought to his own life. He was fighting for something deeper, something that defied the very instincts the system expected a warrior to have.
The final blows struck, and Kenji collapsed, his body wracked with exhaustion, barely able to draw breath. Anarath watched as the boy lay there, staring up, his face etched with a quiet peace despite the pain that marked every inch of him. This was a child facing his own death, yet there was no fear in his eyes, no bitterness. Only the calm of someone who had given everything he had. Even now there was not a hint of regret for anything he did since he stepped through that testing door.
The raiders loomed over Kenji’s fallen form, their shadows casting him in darkness, yet still, he held onto that peace, his gaze fixed upward as though he were looking past his own end.
Anarath found himself leaning back, a strange weight pressing on his chest. It was rare for him to feel admiration or respect in these trials—they were just tests, after all, designed to measure, to assess, to reveal. But there was something in the way this boy had fought, in the principles that had held him to his impossible stance, that stirred something unfamiliar within him.
What kind of person, Anarath wondered, finds the strength to face certain death for strangers they will never know, without hesitation, without reward? Kenji’s resilience was baffling, but it went beyond that. His courage, his willingness to die on a principle rather than surrender to practicality, was something Anarath hadn’t expected to see, especially not from a young man like Kenji, no reason to believe he could make any difference.
As Kenji lay there, defeated but unbroken, Anarath felt a quiet respect settle over him. The system’s choice might not make sense now, but one thing was clear: there was something remarkable about this boy.
Which made it all the more sad that he was placed in a test with his death actually being possible.
And Kenji’s death was inevitable now.
----------------------------------------
As Kenji lay there, vision dim and body numb, he saw the raiders’ weapons descending in slow motion, ready to bring an end to his struggle. The world around him seemed to fade, sounds muffling, as a strange calm settled over him. Just as he accepted the outcome, an unexpected pulse of light flickered across his vision, washing over everything in a gentle, warm glow.
The scene froze. The raiders above him were suspended mid-strike, frozen like statues in a twisted tableau. The flames, the smoky sky, the ruined village—all stilled, like a world caught in a single breath.
A soft message unfolded in front of him, the words glowing with quiet authority, as though the system itself was acknowledging his efforts.
----------------------------------------
System Notification: Trial Concluded
Candidate Kenji Nakamura has demonstrated exceptional resolve, tenacity, and sacrifice. Parameters of trial were exceeded beyond original expectations.
----------------------------------------
Kenji blinked, struggling to process the message. The system was acknowledging his actions, somehow aware of his efforts in a way that seemed both daunting and humbling.
----------------------------------------
Reward Pending: Further rewards will be granted upon conclusion of all trials and in accordance with performance throughout.
----------------------------------------
The words shifted, a final notification taking shape before him as the soft light around him began to deepen.
----------------------------------------
Trial Complete: Candidate is now marked for continued observation and cultivation. Prepare for Transference.
----------------------------------------
The light around him pulsed again, filling his body with a soothing warmth. Kenji felt his wounds mending, the sharp ache in his muscles easing as the pain faded away, leaving a lingering sense of peace in its wake. Then, as the light washed over him one last time, the world around him dissolved into mist.
He was lifted gently, weightless, carried through a wave of brightness that filled his senses before it gradually faded.
The brightness was soothing and felt like old memories. Favorite tastes, smells, sounds, and feelings all hitting him at once giving him the greatest euphoria he’d ever felt. He felt like he was being washed in fresh spring water while also wrapped in a soft cloud.
Finally he could feel himself being set down by the invisible force his mind finally coming to full awareness. He wasn’t quite able to open his eyes. The sounds of birds and rustling leaves reached his ears, the smell of earth and greenery filling his lungs.
----------------------------------------
Anarath had seen countless trials end this way—new initiates testing the boundaries of their courage, only to be overwhelmed by the brutal reality of the scenario. For most, the trial would end here, a lesson taught, a boundary recognized. Poor Kenji would not this second chance at all.
Suddenly, a soft, ethereal light pulsed across the scene, and the raiders stilled, weapons suspended mid-air, their faces frozen in cruel anticipation. The flames, the smoky haze, the crackling sounds of the destroyed village—all of it went silent, held in a frozen pause.
Anarath leaned forward, his brow furrowing. The display screen before him, which should have been clear and precise, flickered erratically, lines of code shimmering across it like an interference. The faint glow became a steady pulse, and the system’s interface started glitching, its text and metrics blinking in and out of visibility.
The other attendees and overseers murmured in surprise, their attention snapping to Kenji’s display as they realized something unusual was happening. System intervention was rare—almost unheard of, except in the most extreme cases where a trial had gone beyond expected parameters. And even then, it was only reserved for initiates who had shown something truly extraordinary.
As they watched, the system’s control panel began to scramble, the usual steady stream of information distorting, showing rapid, jumbled lines of code that danced erratically across the screen.
“What…?” one of the overseers whispered, eyes wide as they witnessed the system itself stepping in.
Anarath glanced around, noting the shock and confusion etched on the faces of his fellow overseers. The system was an impartial force, its design precise, its assessments coldly rational. For it to intervene was a rare acknowledgment—an admission that something within this trial had gone far beyond the usual parameters.
As the scene continued to unfold, Anarath watched with a growing sense of respect, a faint smile touching his lips. He’d read about system interventions, but to witness one firsthand was an entirely different experience. It was a sign that the system recognized something profound within Kenji—a trait or potential that demanded protection, that couldn’t be lost, even to the cruelty of the trial’s design.
The pulsing light coalesced around Kenji, wrapping his battered form in a warm glow, healing the wounds that marred his body, mending his broken bones, and breathing renewed life into him. The final message blinked into view on the screen, declaring the trial’s conclusion, even as Kenji lay on the ground, caught in the soft cradle of the system’s power.
“Is it… is it truly intervening for him?” one of the overseers muttered, half in awe, half in disbelief.
Anarath nodded slowly, his gaze steady. “Yes. It’s rare, but when it happens, it’s a sign—a mark upon that person, almost as if the system itself is acknowledging their potential.”
A ripple of quiet murmurs passed through the room. Those who had studied history knew that every individual saved by the system’s intervention had gone on to do remarkable, often legendary things. To be marked in such a way meant that Kenji Nakamura was destined for something far beyond the ordinary.
As the screen stabilized, showing Kenji being gently transported to his next trial, Anarath found himself watching with a deep sense of curiosity. Whatever lay ahead, it was clear that the boy’s journey was only beginning—and that the system, in its enigmatic way, had deemed him worth preserving.
----------------------------------------
Kenji’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he lay still, feeling a strange, disorienting calm. The bruises, the cuts, the searing pain that had wracked his body—all of it was gone, replaced by a sense of clarity he hadn’t felt in days. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the cool, earthy scent of his surroundings.
As he sat up, he looked around, confusion settling over him. He was no longer in the smoky, war-torn village but somewhere else entirely. A quiet forest surrounded him, with towering trees casting long shadows across the forest floor. Shafts of soft sunlight broke through the canopy, illuminating patches of moss and wildflowers, dappling everything in a surreal, gentle light.
Kenji’s hands moved over his arms, chest, and legs, checking for the cuts and bruises he had expected to find. His fingers pressed lightly over his ribs, half-expecting a stab of pain, but there was nothing—only smooth, unmarked skin. He could still feel the ghostly echoes of his injuries, the sharp, relentless ache that had consumed him in that last fight. For a second, he even imagined the warmth of blood trickling down his side, the pulse of each wound with every frantic heartbeat. His breath came faster, chest tightening as his mind clung to the remnants of that desperate struggle. Was he really safe? Or was this just another illusion before the next attack?
He forced himself to take a deep breath, grounding himself in the cool air around him, the calm and quiet of the forest. Slowly, his heart began to settle as he looked down at his hands, flexing them, almost in disbelief. No blood. No pain. Only silence. He took another breath, this one steadier, as the reality of his safety began to sink in. He was here, whole, and alive. The battle was over, even if the images of it still clung to his mind like shadows.
He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to shake off the lingering memories of the fight. The raiders, the panic, the desperation—all of it felt so immediate, and yet now it was just…gone. His wounds were healed, his exhaustion lifted, and all that remained was a hollow feeling of confusion.
What was that supposed to teach me? he wondered. He had fought to the edge of his strength, laid himself down in the face of death, but for what? To prove he could suffer? To prove he’d fight, even when it was futile?
After a moment, he shook his head, trying to push those questions aside. This wasn’t the time to sit around and overthink. He was still in the middle of these trials, and whatever they were testing him on, he knew he wouldn’t find answers here. He’d have to finish first.
He rose to his feet, brushing himself off as he took in the forest around him. It was peaceful, serene even, a stark contrast to the violence of the last trial. Tall trees loomed above, their branches intertwined, letting only fragments of light slip through. Shadows pooled at the base of the trees, flowing like dark rivers across the soft earth.
Kenji frowned, trying to make sense of it. If the last trial had been about survival, about facing something beyond himself, then what could this one possibly be about? There was no immediate threat, no enemies waiting to attack. Just the quiet and the interplay of light and shadow filtering through the trees.