The scent of pine and damp earth lingered in the air as the evening wind rustled through the trees. The Takeda Clan's elite training grounds were hidden deep within the mountainous forests, where only the chosen few were allowed to hone their craft. The open-air dojo, a wide wooden platform surrounded by lanterns, had seen centuries of warriors train, bleed, and rise to power. Tonight was no different.
Two figures circled each other under the watchful eyes of their master and fellow disciples. The sound of wooden blades clashing echoed through the night.
Renji Takeda's breath remained steady as he adjusted his stance, bokken raised. Opposite him, Katsuro Inoue smirked, bokken in his hands. His attacks were relentless, quick, erratic, and meant to overwhelm. But Renji had long since learned not to fall for Katsuro's chaotic rhythm.
Katsuro's wolfish grin never faded, his sharp, angular face illuminated by the dim moonlight. His short, crimson hair was slightly tousled, framing his narrow, fox-like eyes that gleamed with amusement and menace. Unlike Renji, whose movements were measured and precise, Katsuro moved with a predator's unpredictability, every feint and strike designed to keep his opponent off balance.
"Careful, Renji," Katsuro taunted as their weapons met in a blur of motion. "Wouldn't want you failing this match too."
Renji didn't react to the taunt, not outwardly, at least. His bokken met Katsuro's with a sharp crack, the impact reverberating up his arms. He absorbed the force, smoothly disengaging before resetting his stance. His grip remained stead, his breathing controlled.
But his mind? It wasn't entirely here.
Masaru's words still echoed in his head.
"Is there a traitor among the Five?"
He had replayed the conversation with his father and Masaru over and over . The Ashen Veil. The stolen Sanguisara. The guards who had been waiting for him.
A sudden crack of wood jolted him back to the present. Katsuro's bokken barely missed his shoulder, the air shifting from the force of the swing.
"Focus," Renji reminded himself.
A low chuckle came from the sideline. Taro Fujikawa, the tallest of them all, leaned lazily against a wooden post, his arms crossed. His broad shoulders and towering frame made him an imposing figure, but his ever-present smirk hinted at a laid-back nature. His long, dark brown hair was loosely tied at the nape, a few strands falling over his sharp, golden-hued eyes, eyes that always seemed to hold a hint of mischief.
"You're pushing it, Katsuro," he murmured, his deep, rumbling voice laced with amusement. "Renji might actually knock you out this time."
Despite his relaxed posture, there was a coiled strength in the way he carried himself, as if he could spring into action at a moment's notice.
Beside him, Shiori Hanzo stood with arms folded, her sharp gaze locked onto the match. She was the only woman among them, but no one dared underestimate her. Her body was lean and deadly, wrapped in dark training garb, and her presence was like a blade, silent, but capable of cutting deep when least expected.
Raiden Takeda, sat a short distance away, elbows resting on his knees, his posture relaxed yet attentive. He had a clean-cut appearance, with a composed, almost scholarly face. His dark eyes betrayed little emotion, making it difficult to discern his thoughts.
Unlike the others, he wasn't just watching, he was analyzing. Every shift in stance, every flicker of movement told him something. Katsuro was fast, aggressive, unpredictable, but reckless. Renji, on the other hand, was adjusting.
Raiden exhaled through his nose, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Katsuro doesn't see it yet.
"Renji's already figured him out," he muttered, his deep voice carrying a note of amusement. "This is over."
Renji's grip tightened, but his expression remained impassive.
He exhaled slowly. He wasn't going to let his emotions dictate his blade.
Katsuro lunged, his wooden bokken carving through the air in a deceptive arc, feinting high before twisting his wrist to slash low at Renji's ribs.
Renji saw through it. He sidestepped at the last second, his body flowing like water, letting the attack skim past him. Before Katsuro could reset his stance, Renji struck, a downward slash aimed at his exposed shoulder.
Katsuro barely managed to twist away, but not fast enough. The bokken cracked against his shoulder with a dull thud. He staggered back, his smirk flickering for just a moment.
Renji didn't give him time to recover.
He advanced, his next attack a blur. A feint to the left, a quick flick of his wrist meant to draw Katsuro's defense.
It worked.
Katsuro's bokken shifted instinctively to block, but Renji was already gone.
He pivoted sharply, dropping low, his true strike slamming in from the right.
Katsuro cursed, barely managing to parry. The force of the impact rattled up both their arms.
But Renji wasn't done. He used the recoil to propel himself backward, his form flickering for the briefest second.
For Katsuro, it was disorienting. For just a moment, Renji's image seemed to blur, two, then one.
And then, he was behind him.
Katsuro's instincts screamed at him. He spun, raising his bokken in defense,
Too slow.
Renji's wooden blade struck clean across his ribs with a resounding crack. Katsuro let out a sharp breath, gritting his teeth as he stumbled.
This time, his smirk was gone.
"Match over," their master's voice cut through the night.
Katsuro groaned, rubbing the spot where Renji had struck him. A faint red mark was already forming, a testament to the force behind the blow.
"Damn. You're still sharp," he muttered, rolling his shoulder.
Then, his smirk returned, though this time, it was tinged with irritation.
"But come on, that wasn't fair. You used Sanguisara, didn't you?" Katsuro accused, pointing his bokken at Renji.
Renji merely gave a small shrug, his expression unreadable.
Before he could respond, another voice cut in, smooth, amused.
"He was just fast, Katsuro. Your eyes couldn't keep up." Raiden mused.
Katsuro shot him an annoyed look. "Yeah? Why don't you step in here and test that theory yourself, oh wise one?"
Raiden let out a chuckle, pushing off the post and rolling his shoulders.
"Tempting. But I'd rather not spend my evening nursing bruises like you." He glanced at Renji, the smirk never fading. "Besides, I prefer to watch and learn… unlike some."
Katsuro clicked his tongue, but Renji simply shook his head, exhaling through his nose. Renji stepped back, lowering his weapon, but his gaze remained unreadable. He wasn't satisfied. He should've ended the match faster. He should've ended that mission faster.
Then, their master finally spoke again.
"Enough. Come inside. We have matters to discuss."
Inside the dojo, the five disciples knelt before the lone figure seated at the front. Their master had been watching the entire time.
Master Daizen Arata was a man of few words, but every syllable he spoke carried weight. His features were sharp and aged, his hair a silvered black, tied back in a traditional style. His robes were simple yet refined, black with a deep crimson trim, signifying his role as the keeper of the Takeda Clan's most sacred teachings.
His left eye, long scarred, was forever shut, but his right eye gleamed with intelligence. Some whispered that he had long surpassed the need for two eyes, that he could see through the darkness itself.
He studied them for a moment before speaking.
"You are the next generation of the Takeda elite. The five who will carve the future of this clan," he said, his voice measured and slow. "You all walk different paths, but your purpose is the same, to uphold the legacy of blood and shadow."
Renji remained still, listening.
Daizen's gaze shifted to Katsuro. "You fight like a storm, reckless and unpredictable. It is your greatest strength and your greatest weakness."
Katsuro smirked, but said nothing.
Then to Taro "You see the world in broad strokes. Strength is your weapon, but patience will make you sharper."
Taro gave a slow nod, accepting the words without argument.
Next, to Shiori. "Your silence is more dangerous than a thousand words. But silence, too, can be a cage. Know when to speak, and when to strike."
Shiori's expression remained unreadable, but the slight shift in her posture showed she was listening.
Then to Raiden. "You see too much. Your mind is your weapon, but a blade that is always drawn will dull. Do not let your thoughts become your prison."
Raiden inclined his head slightly, the only sign of acknowledgment.
Finally, his gaze fell upon Renji. "You are at a crossroads. You seek to understand, to control, to grow. But hesitation can be fatal. Trust your instincts, but do not let them rule you."
Renji nodded, absorbing his master's words.
Daizen exhaled, slow and deliberate. "Tonight, we do not just train. We learn. We grow. And soon... you will all be tested."
The weight of his words settled over them. The five disciples of Daizen Arata had spent their lives training, refining their skills, and walking the path of the shadow. But the true test of their worth had yet to begin.
Master Daizen's lone eye swept across the five disciples as the flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the dojo's polished wooden floor. Outside, the wind carried the distant hoot of an owl, but inside, the only sound was the rhythmic breathing of the warriors seated before him.
The old master leaned forward slightly, placing his hands atop his knees. "The Sanguisara Arts are not merely techniques of the blade or the body," he began, his voice even, deliberate. "It is the art of blood itself, of the life that courses through your veins, the power inherited from those who came before."
He extended a single finger, tracing an invisible line in the air. "Blood is not simply a force that sustains the body. It is a reservoir of memory, of will, of strength that has been passed down through generations. When you awaken to the Sanguisara Arts, you are not merely gaining a power, you are inheriting the legacy of your ancestors."
His gaze settled on each of them in turn. "But power must be earned. Before you seek to control the Sanguisara Arts, you must first understand its stages."
Master Daizen raised three fingers.
"The Lesser Bloodline"
The first finger lowered.
"This is where most of you stand now. The dormant state. At this level, the blood within you is like a blade left in its sheath. You may possess skill, strength, talent, but the true power of the Sanguisara remains hidden, inaccessible."
His second finger lowered.
"The Greater Bloodline. "
"This is the first awakening. At this stage, your blood resonates with your will, allowing you to tap into heightened abilities. Your body strengthens, your mind sharpens, and you begin to glimpse the true nature of the Sanguisara Arts. But it is an unstable state. Many remain trapped at this level, unable to progress further."
His gaze flickered toward Renji and Taro.
"Only two among you have reached this stage."
"The True Bloodline."
No one dared to move.
"This is the rarest stage. The moment when your blood no longer serves you, but when you serve your blood. Your ancestors' will become one with your own. Their knowledge, their instincts, their strength, it all becomes yours. The barriers between past and present dissolve, and the very essence of the Sanguisara flows through you without resistance."
The disciples exchanged uneasy glances.
"Few in history have ever reached this stage," Daizen continued. "And those who have… their names are whispered in legend, their fates unknown."
A scoff broke the tension.
Katsuro leaned back slightly, balancing on his hands. "So, what about the stories?" he asked, grinning. "The ones about the legendary Sanguisara Arts? The blood that turns black, the warriors who can command their own life force, the power to rewrite fate?"
Master Daizen remained still for a moment, as if considering whether to respond. Then, he finally spoke, his voice low.
"Legends are born from truth… but truth is rarely spoken in its entirety."
A cryptic smile played at the corner of his lips.
"If you wish to know more, survive long enough to earn the answer."
Master Daizen's voice grew quieter, yet it carried an undeniable weight.
"The path beyond is not one of simple mastery. It is one of sacrifice."
His eyes settled on Renji, then on Taro.
"To ascend further… one must be willing to bleed."
A heavy silence hung between them. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the dojo floor, stretching like unseen specters.
Then, Daizen exhaled slowly, his gaze distant.
"But the question remains, when the time comes, will you have the resolve to pay the price?"
No one spoke.
Renji clenched his fists, feeling the weight of those words settle deep in his chest.