The march to the battlefield was a somber affair, the soldiers moving in near silence as they made their way through the forest.

The trees stood tall and imposing, their branches swaying gently in the breeze, as if whispering secrets of battles past. Katsuo kept his gaze forward, his thoughts on the impending conflict, the weight of his sword a constant reminder of what was to come.

When they finally arrived at the battlefield, the sight that greeted them was one of devastation.

The ground was littered with the bodies of fallen soldiers, their armor stained with blood and dirt. The once-proud banners of Milix lay torn and trampled, a grim testament to the ferocity of the battle that had taken place.

Katsuo’s heart raced as he surveyed the scene, the reality of war crashing down on him with a force that left him breathless.

He had seen death before, but never on this scale—never with such brutality.

Kazaki, who had walked beside him, scanned the area with a critical eye.

“It looks like the front lines were overwhelmed,” he said, his voice grim.

“This isn’t just a defeat; it’s a massacre.”

As they moved deeper into the battlefield, they came across the remnants of the enemy camp. The sight was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

Mages, clad in robes of various colors, moved with an eerie grace, their staffs crackling with mana. The air around them shimmered with magic, and for a moment, Katsuo felt as though they had made a mistake.

One of the soldiers, a young man with wide eyes, spoke up, his voice trembling.

“Who are they? What are they doing in Furashima!?.”

“They’re mages,” Kazaki said, his tone low and serious.

“The city of Omaproz has become a stronghold of magic. They’ve advanced their defenses far beyond what we expected.”

Captain Kurozawa’s voice cut through the murmurs, commanding attention.

“Form up and prepare for engagement. We’ll take them by surprise.”

The soldiers moved into formation, their movements practiced but tense. Katsuo gripped his sword tightly.

As the signal was given to advance, he plunged into the fray, his blade moving with a speed and precision that had been honed through years of training.

But the mages were formidable opponents. Their spells lit up the sky with mana, the mana crackling and hissing as it clashed with steel. Katsuo fought with a raw intensity, his instincts guiding him through the chaos.

But even his considerable skill was tested by the sheer number and power of the mages.

Beside him, Kazaki fought with a blend of anger and strategy, his every movement deliberate.

“We need to push them back,” Kazaki shouted over the din.

“They’re not just fighting us; they’re trying to overwhelm us!”

Katsuo’s frustration grew as he struggled to find a breakthrough. The mages’ spells were more sophisticated than anything he had encountered before, their magic weaving a mix of offense and defense.

He managed to cut down a few mages, but the relentless onslaught left him feeling as though he were fighting a losing battle.

In a moment of reckless abandon, Katsuo charged toward a group of mages, his sword swinging in a wide arc.

He cut through their defenses, but a powerful spell from a mage sent him sprawling to the ground. The pain was unbearable, but his resolve remained unbroken.

As he struggled to regain his footing, Kazaki appeared at his side, defending him from a series of incoming spells.

“Fall back!” Kazaki shouted.

“We need to regroup and retreat!!”

But before they could fully retreat, a tall figure cloaked in dark robes emerged from the shadows.

The figure raised a hand, and an icy blue light enveloped the battlefield.

Katsuo, caught in the spell, felt his body start to freeze, immobilizing him.

Katsuo’s breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled against the icy grip. The robed figure’s eyes glowing with a menacing light as they prepared to fire an icicle shard directly at him.

“Katsuo, look out!” Kazaki’s voice cut through the chaos, filled with urgency.

Without hesitation, Kazaki leaped in front of Katsuo, taking the full brunt of the icicle shard. The impact sent Kazaki crashing to the ground, his body limp and motionless.

Katsuo’s eyes widened in horror as he watched Kazaki fall. The spell that had frozen him began to crack under the strain of his desperate movements. As the ice shattered, Katsuo was freed, but the sight of Kazaki’s body left him stunned, his mind reeling with shock and grief.

He rushed to Kazaki’s side, his heart pounding in his chest. Kazaki’s breath was labored, his face pale and defeated.

“Why?” Katsuo managed to choke out, tears stinging his eyes.

“Why did you save me?”

Kazaki’s eyes, filled with a mixture of pain and resolve, met Katsuo’s.

“Because… you’re not alone in this. You need to fight for something greater

With a final burst of effort, Kazaki used his remaining strength to break the remaining ice that encased Katsuo’s right arm. His voice was barely audible as he spoke his last words

“Don’t waste this chance. Make a difference.”

Katsuo’s heart ached as he watched Kazaki’s eyes close for the last time, the weight of his friend’s sacrifice crashing down on him like a wave.

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He felt grief, anger, and a deep sense of loss—all of it swirling inside him, fueling a newfound resolve. The battlefield around him was a place of death and despair, but within Katsuo, a fire had been ignited.

The mages had begun to regroup, their numbers overwhelming. Katsuo knew he couldn’t stay; the battle was lost, and his chances of survival were slim. But he couldn’t die here—not now, not after everything Kazaki had done for him.

With one last look at Kazaki’s body, Katsuo turned and ran, his heart pounding as he fled into the dense forest that bordered the battlefield.

The sounds of the pursuing mages echoed behind him, but Katsuo pushed himself to keep going, to keep fighting. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts—of Kazaki’s sacrifice, of his own reckless nature, and of the dreams he had dismissed.

The forest was dark and oppressive, the trees closing in around him as he raced through the trees. Exhaustion threatened to overtake him, but Katsuo fought through it, his senses heightened by the urgency of his escape.

He stumbled into a small clearing, only to find himself surrounded by mages.

Cornered and desperate, Katsuo fought with everything he had left, his movements a blur of fury and skill. But despite his efforts, the overwhelming numbers proved too much.

A powerful rock spell struck him, sending him crashing to the ground, his vision fading as darkness closed in.

When Katsuo awoke, he found himself lying in a small, modest hut by a waterfall.

The gentle sound of the water was soothing, and for a moment, he allowed himself to simply breathe, the pain from his injuries dulled by the care with which they had been tended. The scent of herbs and freshly brewed tea filled the air, with the scent of the waterfall.

As he blinked away the remains of his unconsciousness, he noticed a figure sitting near the campfire—a man with striking red hair, his presence calm and composed. The man glanced over at Katsuo, his expression one of mild curiosity and amusement.

“You’re awake,” the man said with a nonchalant smile.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Katsuo struggled to sit up, his muscles protesting with every movement.

“Where am I? What happened?”

The man’s eyes were serious but kind as he replied,

“You were knocked out during the battle. I managed to rescue you and get us to safety. We’re in the north-eastern part of Furashima.”

Katsuo’s mind raced with the implications of the man’s words.

“What happened to Milix? What about the battle?”

The man’s expression grew somber, and he stirred the fire absently as he spoke.

“The Kingdom of Milix suffered a brutal defeat. The mages of Omaproz have proven their strength. Your comrades are gone, but there’s still hope for you at least.”

The realization of the kingdom’s defeat hit Katsuo like a physical blow.

He had failed—failed his comrades, failed Kazaki, and failed himself. The weight of it was almost too much to bear, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, trying to block out the overwhelming sense of loss that threatened to consume him.

But as the days passed, Katsuo found himself drawn to the man who had saved him.

The man introduced himself “My name is Takehiko Higashi or you can call me Taka for short”

Taka was unlike anyone Katsuo had ever met—nonchalant and keen, with a sharp wit and a disarming smile. But beneath his easygoing exterior, there was a depth to Taka, a quiet strength that intrigued Katsuo.

Taka spent his days training by the waterfall, his movements fluid and graceful as he practiced a series of complex sword swings.

Katsuo watched him with growing interest, the discipline and focus of Taka’s training a stark contrast to the chaos and bloodshed Katsuo had left behind

Intrigued, Katsuo approached Taka one morning, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

“What are you doing?” Katsuo asked, his voice breaking the quiet stillness of the morning.

Taka glanced at him with a smirk, not pausing in his movements.

“Training in the 3rd Form of the 8 Swordstyles of Musashi. It’s a style that demands both skill and understanding.”

Katsuo’s eyes widened, the name striking a chord deep within him.

“Musashi? I’ve heard of that name before, but I thought his teachings were lost.”

Taka’s eyes narrowed, his tone turning serious.

“Musashi was one of the greatest swordsmen ever. The styles are not lost, but they are rare. I’m a practitioner of the 3rd Form. If you’re interested, I can teach you.”

Katsuo’s heart leaped with both excitement and apprehension. The chance to learn from someone as skilled as Taka, to understand the legendary techniques of Musashi, was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.

He had nothing left to lose, and perhaps, in learning these skills, he could find a way to honor Kazaki’s memory.

“Teach me,” Katsuo said, his voice steady with determination.

Taka smiled, sheathing his sword as he turned to face Katsuo fully.

“Then let’s begin.”

The days that followed were grueling. Katsuo threw himself into the training, determined to master the techniques Taka taught him.

The 3rd Form of the 8 Swordstyles was unlike anything Katsuo had ever encountered. It required not only physical prowess but a deep understanding of balance, timing, and the flow of energy.

Under Taka’s watchful eye, Katsuo practiced each movement until it became second nature, his mind and body working in unison to execute the complex forms.

But the training was more than just physical. Taka was sharing with Katsuo the wisdom and philosophy behind the Swordstyles. They spent long hours discussing strategy, the nature of combat, and the importance of understanding one’s opponent.

Taka’s approach was methodical and patient, his lessons often delivered with a touch of humor that lightened the intensity of their training sessions.

As the days turned into weeks, Katsuo began to feel a shift within himself. The grief and anger that had consumed him after Kazaki’s death were still there, but they were no longer the driving force behind his actions. Instead, he found a new sense of purpose in the discipline of the Swordstyles and in the growing bond between him and Taka.

One evening, as they sat by the campfire, Taka spoke of the world beyond the waterfall, of the cities and lands where the other Swordstyles of Musashi were still practiced in secret.

But he also spoke of Rokatheryl, a nation to the west of Furashima, known for its famous Colosseum and the capital city, Gosapor.

“Rokatheryl is our next destination,” Taka said, his gaze distant as he stared into the flames.

“In Gosapor, there’s a branch of the Aegis Guild—a place where adventurers, warriors, and Vanguards gather. You’ll need to prove yourself there if you're to avenge your comrades.”

Katsuo looked into the fire, his mind racing with the possibilities.

“The Aegis Guild? What do we gain from going there?”

Taka’s expression turned serious.

“The Vanguards are more than just adventurers; they are protectors of order outside the army and government. If we’re to continue our journey, we’ll need allies and resources. The guild is equipped with everything a warrior might need—supplies, information, even commissions that could lead us closer to mastering the Swordstyles.”

Katsuo nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of what Taka was saying. The thought of venturing into Rokatheryl filled him with excitement. He had come so far, but the journey ahead seemed even more daunting.

Yet, he knew he couldn’t turn back now. There was too much at stake, and too much he still needed to learn.

“We’ll leave at first light,” Taka continued, his tone resolute.

“The journey won’t be easy, but it’s one we must take if we’re to be ready for what’s coming.”

“Don’t chicken out on me” He said with a joking expression

Katsuo nodded, feeling a sense of resolve settle over him.

The fire crackled as they sat in silence, the weight of their upcoming journey heavy in the air. But for the first time in a long while, Katsuo felt a sense of purpose, a reason to keep moving forward. The road to Rokatheryl would be long and fraught with danger, but it was a road he was ready to travel.

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, Katsuo and Taka packed their belongings and prepared to set out on their journey. The sound of the waterfall faded into the background as they made their way through the forest, the path ahead unknown but filled with promise.

Katsuo glanced at Taka, his mentor and now his friend, and felt a renewed determination.

Together, they would face whatever lay ahead, and in doing so, they would honor the memories of those they had lost. The journey to Gosapor, the capital of Rokatheryl, had begun. Along the way, they would seek the knowledge and power they needed to confront the challenges ahead, and perhaps even find their place among the Vanguards of the Aegis.