The wind howled across the high, grassy hill, carrying the bitter scent of blood into the dark valley below.
Takashi lay entirely motionless on his back.
The agonizing, burning pain that had consumed his severed torso was finally beginning to fade, replaced by a deep, numbing cold.
The cyan-blue lightning of Null’s blade had cauterized some of the wound, but his life-force was spilling out onto the earth.
His light green eyes stared blankly up at the sea of stars, his vision narrowing into a dark tunnel.
He was dying.
The realization carried no fear, only a profound, crushing emptiness.
He had sought ultimate power, and in return, he had lost his family, his honor, and his future.
“I am sorry…” Takashi breathed out, his voice nothing more than a ragged whisper in the wind.
As the edge of his vision turned completely black, the freezing wind suddenly stopped.
The harsh, biting cold of the night was replaced by a wave of pure, radiant warmth.
Takashi blinked, his fading eyes struggling to focus.
The stars above him seemed to part.
A brilliant, golden light pierced the darkness, illuminating the bloody grass around him.
From the center of that ethereal glow, a silhouette stepped forward, descending gracefully to the earth.
It was a woman of absolute, breathtaking beauty.
Her hair was a river of pale golden-blonde, flowing wildly in the gentle, warm breeze she had brought with her.
Her skin was a flawless, luminous porcelain, and her eyes were a vivid, striking sapphire blue that held a depth of sorrow older than the realms themselves.
Takashi could not move, but his heart gave a faint, struggling beat.
He had never seen her face in person, only in the old, hidden portraits within Master Brados’s inner sanctum.
“Mother…?” Takashi choked out, a fresh tear sliding down his bloodstained cheek.
Queen Hikari knelt gracefully beside her fallen son.
She did not look at his horrific wounds with disgust, nor did she look at his face with the anger of a disappointed parent.
Her vivid blue eyes overflowed with a quiet, maternal grief.
“Oh, my foolish, beautiful boy,” Hikari whispered, her voice as soft as velvet.
She reached out with her slender, delicate hands, placing them gently over the massive, jagged wound on his chest.
A brilliant, sunlit aura erupted from her palms.
The golden energy flowed directly into Takashi’s shattered body, forcefully halting the necrosis and binding his fading soul back to his flesh.
The pain was overwhelming, but Takashi could not even scream.
His eyes rolled back.
“Rest now,” Hikari murmured, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against his cold forehead.
“I have you. Your journey in the Underward is over.”
The golden light flared into a blinding sphere, engulfing them both.
When the light faded a fraction of a heartbeat later, the grassy hill was entirely empty.
Only a patch of scorched, blood-soaked earth remained to prove that the traitor had ever been there.
-Break-
Forty days.
For forty continuous days, the sparring yard of the Underward stronghold became Kenshin’s personal crucible.
From the moment the sun crested the horizon until the moons sat high in the sky, he did not stop moving.
Horuto’s physical conditioning was merciless.
There were no magical shortcuts.
Kenshin was forced to lift colossal iron plates until his arms shook violently.
He held deep combat stances while balancing heavy boulders on his thighs until his muscles tore.
He sprinted up the steep, winding mountain paths surrounding the fortress, breathing in the thin, freezing air until his lungs burned like they were filled with acid.
Whenever he collapsed, Horuto was there, an unmoving sentinel with glowing olive-green eyes, demanding he rise again.
On the forty-first morning, Kenshin stood in the center of the sparring yard.
He was shirtless, sweat dripping from his blackish hair.
His physique had transformed drastically.
The gaunt, scarred boy who had escaped the subterranean vault was gone.
In his place stood a young warrior with a densely packed, muscular frame, his pale skin taut over defined, powerful shoulders.
“Your foundation is finally acceptable,” Horuto announced, walking into the yard.
Kenshin exhaled a heavy breath, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“Does this mean I get to stop carrying boulders up the mountain?”
“It means you get to use those,” Horuto replied, pointing to the weapons rack.
Resting on the wooden stand was the dark, purple-edged katana and the matching parrying dagger Asami had allowed him to claim weeks prior.
Kenshin’s dark green eyes lit up.
The weapons felt perfect, their weight entirely balanced.
“A dual-wielding stance relies on speed and deflection,” Horuto said, reaching over his shoulders.
A chilling, metallic grinding sound echoed through the yard.
Horuto gripped the hilts of his massive, thick jade broadswords and pulled them free.
The spectral chains attached to the ring pommels clinked against his back, anchored directly into his spine.
The heavy jade blades pulsed with a faint green aura.
“Show me if you have the reflexes to survive a heavy striker,” Horuto challenged, dropping into a low, aggressive stance.
Kenshin did not hesitate.
He pushed his newfound physical strength into his legs and lunged forward at a blistering speed.
He swung the dark katana in a horizontal arc, aiming for Horuto’s shoulder.
Horuto merely raised the flat side of his right jade sword, using the thick, magical stone as a shield.
Kenshin’s katana clashed against it, the sheer density of the jade instantly halting the blade’s momentum.
Instantly, Horuto swung his left jade sword downward in a crushing, vertical chop.
Kenshin gritted his teeth, crossing the dagger and katana in an ‘X’ formation above his head to block the strike.
The impact was thunderous.
The stone floor beneath Kenshin’s boots cracked, the kinetic force traveling straight down his arms.
“You cannot block me!” Horuto shouted over the grinding metal.
Horuto suddenly released the hilt of his right sword.
He violently yanked his shoulder forward, using the spinal chain to slingshot the heavy jade blade in a wide, curving arc around Kenshin’s guard.
Twin Boomerang Severance.
Kenshin’s eyes widened.
He threw himself backward, abandoning the block.
The flying jade blade missed his neck by a mere inch, but the serrated back of the sword grazed his ribs, tearing a shallow gash in his flesh.
Kenshin hit the ground, rolling to his feet instantly.
He looked down at his ribs.
His Absolute Regeneration kicked in, sealing the wound in a matter of seconds.
But this time, the dark voice of the Shadow entity did not echo in his mind.
The healing came purely from his own adapted, resilient Gladeon biology.
“You survived the strike,” Horuto noted, pulling the jade sword back into his grip with a sharp tug of his spinal chain.
The green glow of his Kratognus aura faded.
“Your speed is formidable, Kenshin. But you lack true magical power. Those blades are just sharp metal. Until you possess an aura, you are fighting at a severe disadvantage.”
Kenshin sheathed his katana and dagger, breathing heavily but smiling.
“Then teach me how to get an aura.”
“That is Master Brados’s decision,” Horuto replied, turning toward the armory.
“For now, rest. Tonight, we have matters of the future to discuss.”
-Break-
The grand library of the inner sanctum was warm, illuminated by the soft, crackling flames of a massive stone hearth.
Shelves of ancient, leather-bound tomes stretched to the high ceiling, containing the history of the realms, the wars of the Strong Holders, and the intricate magic of the Endler World.
Kenshin sat in a high-backed leather chair, turning a small, empty glass vial in his hands.
Across from him sat Asami, her long midnight-blue hair tied back, poring over a thick territorial map.
Beside her, Horuto leaned against a stone pillar, his arms crossed over his chest.
“I have a question,” Kenshin said, setting the vial down on a mahogany table.
“Master Brados is over one hundred and sixty years old, yet he looks like an elder. My father, Zenjiro, is nearly the same age, but he looks like a man in his absolute physical prime. Why?”
Asami looked up from her map, her icy blue eyes meeting his.
“Because you were locked away in that subterranean vault since you were five, you missed the most basic lessons of our biology. We are Gladeons, Kenshin. Our aging process is not like that of mere mortals.”
“Explain,” Kenshin prompted, leaning forward.
“From the day we are born until our fiftieth year, we age physically like normal adults,” Asami began, tracing a line on the parchment with her slender finger.
“Once we reach physical maturity, our aging slows to a complete halt. An average Gladeon will remain in their prime for another hundred years. Only when they reach their hundred and fiftieth year do they begin to wither and age rapidly.”
“But the Strong Holders are different,” Horuto interjected, his voice low and serious.
“Beings with immense, long-lived auras—like Master Brados, your father Zenjiro, or Queen Hikari—possess enhanced longevity. They remain in their absolute prime for two hundred and fifty years. Even when they finally begin to show the physical signs of age, like the Master’s white beard and weathered skin, they do not lose a single fraction of their physical strength for another century.”
Kenshin absorbed the information, his mind processing the sheer scale of the lives around him.
He was only a teenager.
He had centuries ahead of him, provided King Bellod’s armies did not end his life prematurely.
Horuto pushed off the pillar and walked over to the table.
From his leather belt, he produced a tightly rolled parchment, sealed with a dark wax stamp.
He placed it on the table between them.
“We are preparing for a war that will shake the foundation of this world,” Horuto said, his glowing olive-green eyes shifting between Kenshin and Asami. Follow the newest chapters on novelping dot com.
“Takashi’s betrayal nearly cost us everything. It proved that proximity and blood do not guarantee loyalty. If we are to fight together, we must bind our fates absolutely.”
“What is that?” Kenshin asked, staring at the blank parchment.
“The Partnership System,” Asami answered, her tone turning deeply reverent.
“It is an ancient, magical contract recognized by the very laws of this world. When two or more people sign their names upon this paper, their souls are bound in absolute trust.”
“What does it do?” Kenshin asked, feeling a strange weight radiating from the empty page.
“It prevents betrayal,” Horuto explained.
“Once formed, a Partnership cannot be broken for a minimum of thirty days. If any partner attempts to kill another during this time, the magical law of the realms will execute the betrayer the very next day. It is an inescapable death penalty.”
Asami leaned forward, her sapphire eyes intense.
“Furthermore, the contract grants absolute protection. As long as the bond holds, the families of the partners are shielded from the others. Your mother and sisters will be safe from any crossfire. And lastly… it grants one term.”
“A term?” Kenshin frowned.
“A single, absolute command or wish,” Horuto said.
“Each partner holds one command over the others. When spoken, the other must fulfill it, no matter the cost, even if it requires them to sacrifice their own life. Even after the thirty days expire, the unspent wishes remain bound to our souls forever.”
Kenshin looked down at the paper.
It was a terrifying commitment.
To hand over his life to a piece of parchment, to grant someone else the power to demand his death.
Yet, as he looked at Asami and Horuto—the two warriors who had trained him, bled with him, and treated him like family—he felt no hesitation.
“You trust me this much?” Kenshin asked quietly.
“Knowing the dark entity that lives inside my mind?”
“We trust the man holding the blades,” Asami said firmly.
“Not the shadow behind him.”
Without another word, Kenshin reached for a quill resting on the desk.
He dipped it into an inkwell and signed his name upon the magical parchment in smooth, deliberate strokes.
Asami took the quill next, signing her elegant signature below his.
Horuto finished the pact, pressing his name into the paper.
The moment the ink dried, the parchment glowed with a brilliant, blinding white light.
A warm, heavy sensation settled over Kenshin’s heart—an unbreakable tether connecting his soul to the two warriors beside him.
The Tri-Warriors were born.
-Break-
Two years passed like a single, sweeping breath.
In that time, the Tri-Warriors became legends within the Underward territory.
Word of their exploits spread across the realms.
When scouts from the Yolotoward border attempted incursions, it was Horuto’s crushing jade blades that sent them fleeing.
When assassins crept into the sanctuaries, Asami’s purple lightning decapitated them in the blink of an eye.
And at their side was Kenshin.
Now eighteen years old, Kenshin stood tall and imposing.
His physical strength had reached the absolute apex of a Gladeon without an aura.
He moved with a terrifying grace, his dark katana and parrying dagger striking with pinpoint, lethal precision.
Yet, despite his physical mastery, he still lacked a magical core.
The dark clouds of a coming storm gathered over the Underward stronghold as Kenshin, Asami, and Horuto knelt in the grand hall before the obsidian throne.
Master Brados sat high above them, his ancient, weathered face completely unreadable.
His long grey-white beard rested against his chest, and his dark, sunken eyes stared down at his three greatest disciples.
“You have proven your loyalty to this realm,” Brados’s deep, commanding voice echoed off the stone walls.
“You have bled together. You have conquered together. You are the vanguard of the Underward.”
He slowly stood up, resting his hand on the golden dragon head of his legendary Guandao.
“Years ago, I was granted three supreme powers to bestow upon those deemed worthy,” Brados continued, walking slowly down the stone steps.
“I gave the Plandacorus to Asami, shaping her lightning. I gave the Kratognus to Horuto, shaping his crushing force. Now, the time has come to bestow the final gift.”
Kenshin looked up, his heart pounding in his chest.
“We leave immediately,” Brados declared, his eyes locking onto Kenshin.
“Deep in the empty, barren wastes of the southern deserts, there is an abandoned fortress. Within its ruins lies the Black Stone. It is time for you to claim the Blandcourus.”
Kenshin stood up, his hand resting on the hilt of his katana.
He had waited two years for this exact moment.
He was finally going to claim the power he needed to stand against the Strong Holders.
But as they marched out of the stronghold and set their sights on the desolate, shifting sands of the desert, Kenshin felt a strange, icy chill run down his spine.
The Shadow entity in his mind stirred, completely silent, yet radiating a profound sense of anticipation.
Something ancient was waiting for them in the ruins.