"GIVE ME ONE HUNDRED more!" bellowed Mikamoto at the group of prospects. Kasaki had just emerged from the illusion, where they had all been pushed to their limits. They were now tasked with five hundred pushups immediately upon regaining consciousness. Kasaki's arms quivered, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Nevertheless, he lowered himself to the ground to begin his final hundred pushups. His mother's image, etched with pain, lingered in his mind, far outweighing the physical discomfort he now endured.
"Eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven..." Kasaki counted aloud, using the numbers as motivation to push through. His arms moved slowly, his chest aching with each exertion.
"Come on, you weakling!" Mikamoto's voice cut through the air, aimed squarely at Kasaki. "Did you see what awaits if you fail? Is that the future you desire?"
"No, sir," Kasaki replied, his voice strained as he fought back tears.
"Then finish those damn pushups!" Mikamoto's tone was uncompromising. "How can you hope to free your family from slavery if you can't even endure a few pushups?"
With a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, Kasaki summoned every ounce of strength to push through the final one hundred repetitions. Miraculously, his arms began to move with renewed vigor, almost as if he were starting afresh.
"Done," he declared, rising to his feet immediately after completing the last pushup. Glancing around, he observed that some of his fellow prospects had already finished their sets, while others still labored to complete theirs. "Damn, I'm exhausted," he thought wearily.
Mikamoto, meanwhile, berated those who had yet to finish their series, his voice echoing across the training ground.
"So that's who you are? A group of weaklings who can't even endure a few pushups? You deserve slavery. You deserve to wither away in the clutches of Misuki, collapsing on the ground after carrying the last oil barrel your feeble bodies can handle," Mikono sneered. Standing beside Kasaki, he was the first to complete the final series. Kasaki pondered whether Mikamoto’s harsh words were simply the way of the warrior.
"What's your name, soldier?" Mikamoto demanded, addressing a young man, pallid and slender, who struggled to maintain the pushup position, soaked in sweat on the ground.
"Tinoue, sir," the boy responded weakly.
"What? Speak up, like a man!" Mikamoto barked.
"Tinoue, sir!" The boy exerted himself to shout, nearly collapsing to the ground in the process, but managing to lift his torso once more.
“Tinoe, huh? So tell me, Tinoue, are you happy with Misuki taking your family members as slaves?”
“No, sir, I’m not happy with it.”
“What did you see in the illusion?”
Tinoe's arms strained against the invisible bonds, his muscles screaming in protest. He couldn't lower them, not even an inch, but the tremors wouldn't stop. He squeezed his eyes shut, the image flashing behind his lids.
"Amane," he choked out, his voice thick with despair. "My little sister. In the kitchen... Misuki's men... they were..." He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, the memory too raw, too painful.
"Those guards are despicable, you understand that, don't you?" Mikono's tone was intense.
"Yes, sir. I understand," Tinoue replied, his voice heavy with emotion.
"Are you going to leave your sister alone with them?"
"I swear to God I don't want to, sir. She means everything to me." Tinoue's tears began to fall.
"Then give me those remaining twenty pushups, or I'll finish you myself. I won't let you live with the regret of being too weak to help your sister."
"I'm just not used to this kind of exercise," Tinoue gasped, his muscles straining as he attempted another repetition.
"That's life. We're not accustomed to a lot of things, but when they become our only option, we push through. It's necessity that births miracles."
With a surge of determination, Tinoue completed the repetition successfully, his expression marked by intense pain.
"You've got nineteen left, Tinoue. Are your arms too weak for it? What about driving a sword into the stomach of your sister's exploiters? Could you manage that? Or will you tremble, as you are now?"
"I think... In that case, I could, sir."
"Do you? Prove it then. I'll believe you if you finish the set."
“I’m too tired.” Tinoue broke. He began to cry without control.
"Just one more," Mikamoto said.
"I can't, sir. If I flex my arms, I'll collapse to the ground."
"You are a disgrace, to your family and to humanity. Beg me to end it for you, son. I want to grant you mercy. Spare yourself the shame of knowing your sister is a slave and you did nothing to help her."
"No!" Tinoue exclaimed, his voice charged with determination. "Amane is the only thing that matters to me in this world. We're orphans; we only have each other."
"Give me one more, then. Just one more."
With sheer willpower, Tinoue flexed his arms and completed another repetition.
"Are you angry, Tinoue?"
"I'm furious, sir."
"Channel that anger," Mikamoto urged. "Anger is a potent force. It's not as detrimental as some believe. You can harness it for good. If your sister's enslavement by Misuki's men infuriates you, then finish this damn training. Arm yourself to free her, or I swear I'll kill you right here!"
With determination, Mikamoto drew his sword. Despite tears, trembles, and cries of pain with each repetition, Tinoue persevered and completed the final set, before collapsing exhausted on the ground.
"You see?" Mikamoto's voice resonated with conviction. "Strength lies within you, waiting to be tapped. But you must push yourself beyond your limits. Embrace desperation, embrace despair. Leave no room for failure, no alternative but success. Only then will you triumph."
Kasaki extended a hand, helping Tinoue to his feet.
The master stepped into the center of the yard, his presence commanding attention. "In exhaustion, you discover your true selves," he remarked calmly, taking a sip of tea from a delicate white cup. "You'll find that your limits extend far beyond what you believed possible. Now, Mikamoto, please enlighten these gentlemen about the new world order. I believe it's time they understand."
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
"It would be my pleasure, sir," Mikamoto responded with a smile. Kasaki sensed that something formidable lay ahead.
In the dim light of the yard, the three samurai under the master’s command emerged, leading a figure cloaked in chains. The man was a towering presence, his muscles taut with restrained power, his eyes ablaze with a fierce determination. Clad in crimson robes that billowed around him like the flames of a raging fire, he exuded an aura of defiance.
As the chains fell away, revealing the glint of a deadly blade clasped in his grip, an air of anticipation gripped the onlookers. The master's voice cut through the silence like a whisper in the wind.
"This man before you," he began, his words carrying a weight of gravity, "is a spy in the service of Misuki. Discovered lurking amidst the canopy of the forest just yesterday, he remains steadfast in his silence regarding his master's nefarious schemes. Yet, there is something peculiar concealed upon his person—a secret that may unveil the depths of Misuki's treachery."
The man instinctively moved to conceal the object nestled in his forearm beneath the fabric of his sleeve, but the master's sharp gaze caught the movement.
"What is he concealing, master?" Mikono inquired, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
"It's a chip," the master replied cryptically, his eyes narrowing as if deciphering an enigma. "Its exact purpose remains elusive to us, though I have formulated a theory. I suspect Misuki has implanted these chips within his operatives, akin to a digital currency in a virtual realm. They may serve to regulate their very lifespan, like players in a perilous game."
Mikono's eyes widened in anticipation. "What kind of currency could it be?" he mused aloud.
The master's smile remained enigmatic as he took another sip of his tea. "That, my young friend," he replied, "is precisely what we're about to discover. Mikamoto, it's time to unravel this mystery. Dispatch this man, and let us see what unfolds. Perhaps only in death will the secrets of this chip be revealed."
Mikamoto nodded solemnly, his gaze steely with determination, and swiftly closed the distance between himself and the captive man.
The clash between Mikamoto and the guard was a whirlwind of flashing steel, each move executed with precision and speed that left Kasaki in awe. He had heard tales of the legendary swiftness of the samurai, but witnessing it firsthand was a revelation. Mikamoto's skill was evident as he deftly maneuvered around the guard, launching attacks from every angle. Despite the guard's efforts to defend himself, he could barely keep up with Mikamoto's relentless assault.
"You'll regret this," the guard spat defiantly. "My master will crush you all."
"Your master?" Mikamoto retorted, his voice tinged with disdain. "That tyrant is no master of mine, or of anyone who values freedom."
"He is my master, and yours too, whether you acknowledge it or not," the guard sneered, a malicious glint in his eyes. "Soon enough, you'll realize the truth. We're all just pawns in his game, slaves to his will."
Mikamoto's expression darkened at the guard's words, but he remained composed. "We'll see about that," he replied, his resolve unwavering. "But for now, prepare to face the consequences of your allegiance."
Mikamoto pressed forward with unrelenting determination, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. The guard, caught off guard by the ferocity of Mikamoto's attack, failed to block in time, and with a swift motion, his arm was severed, the limb tumbling to the ground in a gory display. Despite the excruciating pain, the guard refused to yield, launching a barrage of kicks with remarkable speed and accuracy.
For a fleeting moment, Mikamoto was forced to retreat, momentarily thrown off balance by the guard's relentless assault. But with unwavering resolve, he pressed on, closing the distance between them once more. With a swift, decisive strike, Mikamoto's blade found its mark, piercing the guard's stomach and bringing him to his knees.
Despite the loss of his arm and the blood gushing from his mouth, the guard's laughter echoed through the air, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Kasaki's spine.
"You have no inkling of what awaits you," the guard grimly warned, his voice laced with a mixture of menace and resignation. "Each day will demand bloodshed for survival."
Mikamoto's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?" he pressed, seeking clarity amidst the guard's ominous words.
"My master has orchestrated everything," the guard continued, his voice tinged with both bitterness and amusement. "There's no escaping his grasp. This world belongs to him, and we're all bound to his merciless dictates..." Despite his agony, the guard's laughter rang out once more, punctuated by pained moans.
Mikamoto, deciding he had heard enough, swiftly severed the guard's head from his body with a lightning-fast stroke of his sword. The guard's head tumbled to the sand below, frozen in an eerie expression of laughter. Then, a peculiar phenomenon unfolded before their eyes. The guard's body, along with his severed arm and head, began to disintegrate as if reduced to mere dust. All present, including the master, watched in astonishment as this unprecedented event unfolded.
As the last remnants of the guard's body vanished into thin air, a mysterious golden numeral accompanied by a symbol materialized out of nowhere: "10.5 BG." Hovering in the air, the number seemed to defy gravity, leaving everyone bewildered. After a brief moment, the numeral transformed into a golden line that struck Mikamoto squarely in the chest before dissipating within him. A surge of electrifying energy coursed through Mikamoto's veins, eliciting a low groan from him before his eyes snapped open once more. In that moment, he sensed a newfound strength coursing through his body.
"Master," Mikamoto inquired, his voice tinged with curiosity. "What just happened?"
"I believe my suspicions were warranted," the master mused. "It seems '#BG' is the currency established by Misuki to exert control over the populace. What's particularly intriguing is that, evidently, you acquired this currency by killing the guard, who was its previous bearer. Quite thought-provoking indeed." The master stroked his chin, lost in contemplation.
"So, master," Mikamoto inquired, his brow furrowed with curiosity. "What does all this mean? What am I supposed to do with this 'currency'?"
"I'm not entirely certain yet, Mikamoto," the master responded thoughtfully. "But I suspect you will need it in the future."
"Again? How so?" Mikamoto pressed, his interest piqued.
"I believe Misuki has ensnared us in a potent spell," the master explained. "One that he intends to use to exert control over the entire kingdom. Sending the spy was no accident; it was deliberate. By inciting us to kill him, Misuki ensured that the one who delivered the fatal blow would now fall under the influence of his spell as well."
“Sorry, master,” Mikamoto admitted, his head bowed in embarrassment. “I still don’t understand.”
The master let out a weary sigh.
"The currency you've acquired functions like life points," he explained. "It's probable that they will diminish under certain circumstances—perhaps if you sustain injuries or become fatigued. And if you fail to acquire more currency when needed, I fear the consequences could be dire."
"Is that even possible?" Mikamoto inquired, his concern palpable.
"Keep in mind, gentlemen, we're not the sole wielders of magic," the master cautioned. "Misuki is a cunning and malevolent leader. I suspect he's delving into the realm of magic as well. With his vast power and resources, he likely has access to some of the most skilled magicians."
"Forgive the interruption, master," Mikono interjected. "But why would Misuki enact this scheme now? What does he stand to gain?"
The master's smile accompanied another sip of tea.
"He's preempting war," he explained. "Seeking to catch us off guard. I suspect he anticipated the rebellion of the samurai army upon his recent announcements. However, he also knew we needed to bolster our ranks with new recruits. Thus, his aim is to expedite our preparations. Now, Mikamoto is compelled to eliminate more guards if he wishes to survive."
"I understand now. Misuki's a coward. But why's he so afraid of us?" remarked the tall prospect.
"Because we're the only threat he faces," the master replied calmly.
Stepping closer to the master, the prospect inquired, "So what's our next move, master? Why don't we head to the oil wells and confront Misuki now, before Mikamoto dies?"
"You're not ready," the master asserted. "I believe Mikamoto will be fine. The currency he's acquired should last a few weeks. However, Mikamoto, I advise caution. You'll serve as my advisor and coach during this training period, as a precaution."
"Understood, master," Mikamoto acknowledged.
The samurai prospects stood motionless, anticipating the master's next words.
"Very well," the master spoke up after a moment of silence. "That concludes our morning session. Mikamoto, please guide our guests to their quarters. We'll resume intensive training tonight. Time is of the essence as we prepare to confront Misuki."
“Yes, master,” Mikamoto turned to all the other guys. “Now, all of you, follow me inside.”
As Kasaki moved with the others toward the entrance of the house, the master called out to him.
"Hey, what's your name?"
Feeling a surge of nerves, Kasaki bowed respectfully. "Kasaki, sir."
"You're just a kid," the master remarked, his voice filled with compassion. "Where are you from?"
"I'm from Tiger Valley, sir," Kasaki replied.
The master's eyes widened at the mention of Tiger Valley.
"Is there an old man known as the oracle in Tiger Valley?" he inquired.
Kasaki nodded. "Yes. Do you know him? He was the one who told me about The Golden Bridge and the samurai recruitment."
"I see," the master smiled, briefly closing his eyes, as if shielding his thoughts from Kasaki. "Now, you should join the others."
With that, Kasaki resumed his walk, quickly catching up with the rest of the group as they entered the house.