Chapter Twenty-Two:

“Through Corruption and Steel”

The wind howled through the trees flanking the coastal road, their branches clawing at the storm-darkened sky like skeletal fingers. Beneath the thick canopy, the carriage rattled over uneven terrain, its frame groaning under the strain.

Inside, John’s HUD pulsed with an urgent warning:

[POSSIBLE HOSTILES DETECTED.]

The red glow sharpened against the dim interior, flashing in steady intervals. Too steady. Too precise.

Across from him, Haru and Kei—the Nekomijin scouts—exchanged fleeting glances, their tails flicking in quick, coded signals. A silent conversation. A language of instinct. John didn’t need to understand it to know one thing:

They were being hunted.

Beside him, Akira sat motionless, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his katana, eyes fixed on the road ahead. He hadn’t spoken since they left the last outpost—so still he could have been carved from stone. But then, without shifting his gaze, he finally broke the silence.

“The blade doesn’t protect.”

John frowned. His new twin katanas, Moonlit Echoes, rested against his hip, their weight still unfamiliar.

“What?”

Akira’s voice was calm, yet edged with quiet certainty. “Your grip betrays your hesitation. The blade doesn’t protect—intention does. Form without intention is just movement. Movement without form is just chaos.”

John opened his mouth to respond, but the words never came.

A wet, gurgling noise slashed through the night—like breath snagging on a blade.

The horses shrieked in terror. The driver barely had time to cry out before something heavy crashed onto the roof of the carriage.

Blood seeped between the slats above them.

The driver’s body.

“Move!”

Akira’s command shattered the moment’s hesitation, and before John’s mind could fully catch up, his body was already reacting. He kicked off the seat, twisting just as the carriage lurched violently to the side. Akira’s foot slammed into the door, splintering it outward.

John hit the ground hard, rolling through the mud. He came up with his hands already gripping Moonlit Echoes. RW hovered beside him, her flames flaring with an intensity that sent shadows writhing across the trees.

Haru and Kei landed with a predator’s grace, their claws extending with a soft snikt as their ears flattened, lips curling back in silent snarls.

John’s HUD flickered to life.

[AMBUSH DETECTED: LEVEL 2 HOSTILES — CORRUPTED ENTITIES.]

The air thickened, pressing into his chest like unseen hands. Shapes peeled away from the darkness between the trees, stepping into the moonlight. Their armor, jagged and black, shimmered with sickly violet energy, distorting at the edges as if struggling to exist. Their weapons pulsed with the same unnatural glow.

But it was their movement that twisted John’s stomach.

They didn’t walk—they snapped forward in jagged, erratic bursts, like figures in a lagging game, their bodies dragged forward by invisible hands.

John tightened his grip on his swords. Every instinct screamed at him to run. But there was nowhere to go.

Akira moved first. His katana slid from its sheath in a single, fluid arc—blue light flashed across the rain-thick air, illuminating his silhouette for the barest instant before the blade settled into its ready stance.

“Kei, on the left. Haru, with me.”

Kei’s tail flicked, ears angling forward. Haru let out a low, throaty mrrrowl before responding, “Understood.” The growl in her voice was unmistakable—half battle-ready, half instinct.

John forced a steady breath through his nose. The weight of Moonlit Echoes no longer felt foreign—it was responsibility, sharp-edged and waiting to be wielded.

He thought of Yumi. Of Akira and Rai. Even RW.

And for the first time since waking in this world—despite the memories lost to him—John knew, deep in his soul, that he wasn’t alone.

RW’s flames coiled, flickering with a meaning only he could fully grasp.

No turning back now.

John lowered his stance.

The Corrupted surged forward.

And the battle began.

"Corrupted," Kimiko announced, curved blades catching what little light remained. "Once men, now just vessels."

The corrupted advanced with terrifying coordination, their attacks seamless, as if guided by a single will. John barely got his blades up in time to intercept a strike [-50 SP]. The impact rattled through his arms as his HUD flashed:

[Stamina Low - Adjust Guard Stance.]

Hideo darted between three corrupted warriors, his strikes calculated and lethal. Kimiko’s movements were effortless, her blades slipping through gaps in twisted armor that John's HUD hadn’t even detected. Together, the Nekomijin fought with a rhythm that made combat look like an intricate performance—not just a battle, but something instinctual, something practiced.

Akira flowed through the fight, a force of nature, his blade catching corrupted weapons with a timing so precise it felt inevitable. John tried to track the samurai’s movements, to decipher the flow of each strike—but the technique was a world beyond him.

[TECHNIQUE OBSERVED: "Flowing River Form - LOCKED: Requires mastery of basic sword forms."]

"Their attack patterns suggest a hive-mind configuration," RW noted, her flames illuminating weak points in corrupted armor. "Though the hive movements are fascinating I’m curious if-"

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A corrupted blade sliced through the air where John's neck had been a moment before [-10 SP]. He barely dodged, feeling the rush of displaced air as the strike whistled past. His arms burned from the weight of the Moonlit Echoes, his twin katanas feeling heavier with each block. More figures emerged from the trees, their armor pulsing with that sickly bruise colored glow.

"Stop thinking!" Akira called out, his katana cleaving through a corrupted warrior [-200 HP]. "The blade knows. Trust it like you trust your next breath."

Something clicked in John's mind. Not memory—those were now completely lost—but understanding. He’d been trying to remember how to fight instead of simply fighting.

He didn’t resist the motion this time—he let it happen. Let the blade guide him.

The corrupted warrior’s strike came down, but instead of bracing for impact, John shifted—just enough, just at the right time. The attack barely grazed past his shoulder, his movement effortless. His sword arm responded before he even finished the thought, the Moonlit Echoes carving into the gap his HUD had already highlighted.

[TECHNIQUE AQUIRED: "Flowing Strike Level 1."]

His twin katanas tore through the corrupted warrior [-500 HP], its form dissolving into acrid smoke. But more figures prowled forward from the tree-line, their coordination tightening. John’s breathing became more rapid as his SP drop to dangerously low levels, the weight of the air pressing against his lungs.

"Something's coming," Akira warned, his voice edged with urgency. "Something bigger."

The first sign wasn’t movement—but sound.

The trees trembled and cracked. Not from wind. Not from an unseen force. Something massive was plowing it’s way through the forest, its sheer weight making the ground vibrate in pulsating rhythmic beats.

Then the first trunk splintered—not cut, not broken, but crushed.

A hulking form shoved its way into view, shouldering through the trees like they were brittle sticks. Its armor had fused with flesh, veins bulging with that same sickly light, pulsating as if something still alive, still human, festered beneath the surface. The corrupted energy coursing through its body radiated an oppressive heat, distorting the air around it.

It was nearly twice the height of a man—and still hunched, as if it barely fit inside its own existence.

The sword in its grip was no longer a blade—just a twisted, rusted mass of broken edges, barely retaining the memory of what it had once been.

John’s HUD flared red:

[ELITE ENEMY DETECTED — CORRUPTION KNIGHT LEVEL 15.]

"The concentration of corruption energy in this one is astounding," RW exclaimed. "Though I must say, its skeletal structure is rather—"

The Corruption Knight lurched forward, shoving past the last of the trees—then moved faster than something that size had any right to.

The ground cracked beneath its feet. Twisted metal and corrupted flesh groaned with unnatural force as it lunged, closing the distance far too quickly.

John’s HUD screamed warnings in red.

The Corruption Knight’s blade met John’s with a force that nearly drove him to his knees [-50 SP]. His arms trembled under the crushing weight, his HUD flashing CRITICAL STAMINA WARNING. But something was different now. The blades didn’t feel foreign anymore.

Moonlit Echoes no longer felt like a weapon borrowed from another life. They responded—not to thought, not to memory, but to intention.

Kimiko and Hideo moved in perfect synchronization, their strikes finding weak points in the knight’s armor [-100 HP] [-100 HP]. But the monster refused to fall. The damage they dealt was being undone almost instantly, the jagged runes across its armor pulsing brighter each time a wound closed.

"The blade knows," John whispered, remembering Akira’s words. He stopped trying to match the knight’s raw strength. He let the blades guide him.

His movements shifted—not learned, not remembered, but understood. His katanas found gaps his HUD highlighted, carving into weak points with effortless precision. But something else stirred within him—Yumi. Then, without conscious thought, Foxfire bloomed along his blade’s edge.

A spectral flame, flickering between reality and something beyond, ignited in the air around Moonlit Echoes. The Corruption Knight’s armor recoiled, the corrupted steel writhing away from the pure fire. John’s blade found its mark.

CRITICAL HIT! [-1000 HP]

[NEW TECHNIQUE DISCOVERED: "Foxfire Blade Flow."]

The knight staggered, its massive frame wavering for the first time. But the wrongness in the air only grew heavier. Beyond the clearing, more shadows moved.

"Luna Bay lies just beyond those hills!" Kimiko called out, her blades slicing through the darkness.

"If we don’t reach it—"

"The corruption spreads," Hideo finished, his claws rending through another twisted warrior.

The Corruption Knight lurched forward instead of falling. The rune on its chest, now exposed, pulsed erratically. Then its entire body convulsed.

Its jagged blade snapped in half, and the broken shards lifted into the air, hovering around its form like spinning, living weapons. A sickening pulse of corrupted energy surged outward, and John’s HUD flashed warnings as every corrupted soldier in the area stopped moving at once.

RW’s flames flickered wildly. "It’s adapting! The hive-mind is learning your patterns! You can’t win this with brute force!"

John’s grip tightened. His HUD blared red.

"Then what the hell do we do?!"

Akira didn’t answer. Instead, he charged, his katana clashing against the swirling fragments of corrupted steel, cutting through them before they could impale John.

"Kimiko, Hideo—fall back! Protect the rear!" he barked. "John, remember what I told you. The blade moves; you guide it."

John wanted to argue. It wasn’t enough.

But something clicked.

Akira wasn’t just teaching him to survive. He was forcing him to think like a swordsman.

The Corruption Knight raised both hands toward the sky, the spinning metal shards converging into a single, jagged spike aimed directly at them. It was going to impale them all in one strike.

RW’s voice cut through the noise. "John! The core! If you don’t destroy it now—"

John moved.

The corrupted soldiers closed in—but Kimiko and Hideo struck first, their movements a blur of ferocity.

John ran forward, feeling the Foxfire burning along his blade. The Corruption Knight’s glowing rune flared, almost taunting him.

His legs burned. His stamina bar flashed dangerously close to empty.

The massive shard of metal descended.

John leapt.

He didn’t have time to second-guess.

RW’s voice counted down in his ear. "Five seconds until impact!"

The rune pulsed like a heartbeat.

"Four seconds!"

His HUD warned: [STAMINA AT CRITICAL LEVEL.]

"Three seconds!"

The Corruption Knight’s body trembled, the core flaring with unstable energy.

"Two seconds!"

John’s Foxfire-ignited blade plunged forward.

But the knight moved.

A massive, clawed hand clamped around John’s wrist, stopping the blade inches from the rune. The corrupted steel burned where it touched the Foxfire, but it refused to let go.

"One—!"

John roared, forcing his arm forward with every ounce of strength he had left. His wrist burned where the Corruption Knight’s grip dug into his skin, the corrupted steel hissing against the Foxfire’s heat. The rune beneath his blade fought back, jagged lines flaring as unstable energy stitched and tore, stitched and tore, desperate to remain whole.

RW screamed. "You have to push through!"

The Corruption Knight’s grip tightened, a sharp, grinding pressure threatening to crush his bones. The air thickened, warping from the sheer force of corruption and heat colliding. The rune pulsed, a heartbeat of something vile, something ancient—something that refused to die.

John snarled, twisting his grip—Foxfire flared, expanded, devoured.

The rune shattered.

A sound like splintering glass and a dying scream erupted at once. The detonation wasn’t fire—it was something deeper, a force that ripped outward like a breath stolen from the world itself.

The Corruption Knight collapsed, its jagged blade lashing out in a final, desperate attack. John barely saw it—a blur of rusted death—before instinct took over.

He threw his weight back.

A whisper of metal kissed his cheek—then his sword caught the dying swing. Sparks screamed as his blade slid through corrupted steel, diverting the final blow.

Then the knight’s form imploded, the Foxfire swallowing it whole. The darkness screamed as it was consumed, twisted flesh and broken armor unraveling into nothingness. The last vestiges of the hive-mind fractured, its tether severed.

And for the first time—

Silence.

John staggered, his breath ragged. His hands trembled. His arms ached.

The battlefield was ash and embers, the air thick with the scent of scorched metal and something more—something wrong. But it was over.

RW’s voice crackled into his ear, softer this time.

"Hive-mind collapse confirmed. No further threats detected."

John barely processed the words. His body felt heavy, exhaustion pressing into him, dragging at his limbs.

Kimiko exhaled sharply, sheathing her blades. “We need to move,” she murmured, but even her voice held the weight of spent energy.

Hideo wiped a streak of blood—his or theirs—from his jaw, nodding. “Luna Bay is close. If we push forward now, we’ll reach the gates before the late-night shifts roll into morning.”

John glanced up. Beyond the battlefield, past the ruined trees and the lingering shadows, the first hints of dawn brushed against the distant skyline. A soft glow. A promise.

Akira stepped past him, his katana sliding back into its sheath with a quiet click. “No more fighting,” he said simply. “Not tonight.”

John let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

They turned toward the horizon—toward Luna Bay.

Behind them, the forest lay in ruin.

Ahead, sanctuary waited.

Hopefully.