The sharp clang of swords echoed through the air, accompanied by the grunts of fighters and the rhythmic exchange of blows. The scene was a traditional Japanese dojo, its training grounds alive with sparring sessions. Yet, amidst all the battles, one duel stood out—the one between Dev and the dojo's most skilled martial instructor.
Sparks flew as Dev's sword clashed against his opponent's, his muscles straining as he attempted to gain the upper hand.
"Kyaa!" Dev shouted, pushing forward with determination.
The trainer skillfully parried his attack and scoffed.
"Is that all you've got, Dev? You disappoint me."
Dev's lifeless eyes met his opponent's. He looked nothing like the son of a clan leader. His clothes were tattered, his body bruised, and his energy waning. Yet, despite his battered state, he leaped at the trainer, attempting a downward strike.
The trainer moved to intercept. "I taught you better than this. Don't you know that attacks from above leave you vulnerable to counters?"
He was right—one cannot dodge in midair. However, one can still parry.
Dev twisted his sword at the last second, deflecting the trainer's counterattack before pinning him to the ground with his knee. Just as he was about to land the deciding blow—
"Hng!"
The trainer struck Dev with an open palm, sending him flying. The impact was brutal; the trainer's hands were so hardened from years of training that they felt like solid rock.
Now serious, the trainer picked up his sword and dashed toward Dev. Their blades met once more, and the clash sent sparks flying. But as they fought, Dev suddenly froze. A flood of memories rushed into his mind—perhaps triggered by the force of the blow.
A Flashback
Dev, much younger, sat in an uncomfortable position while a strict trainer lectured him about the clan's rules. The trainer's face was blurred in his memory, but his voice was clear.
"Rule one: Never enter the forbidden areas."
"Rule two: Obey your superiors, or prove they are unworthy by defeating them! We are a clan of martial warriors."
As the trainer spoke, Dev glanced outside. His older brother was playing with friends, laughing under the sunlight.
"I want to have fun too…" he thought.
"Rule three: Never look away when someone is speaking to you! It is disrespectful and shows a lack of discipline."
SMACK!
"Pay attention!" the trainer scolded.
"Pay attention to the fight!"
Dev snapped back to reality just in time to dodge another attack.
"If you take this long to react, you'll be nothing more than a ragdoll for the Ashuras!"
His eyes darted to the hourglass—it was almost empty. If he wanted to win, he had to act now.
Sliding low, Dev attempted to sweep the trainer's legs. Anticipating this, the trainer moved to counter, but Dev suddenly pulled back, dodging the attack at the last second.
Seeing an opening, the trainer discarded his sword and dashed forward, aiming for a powerful palm strike.
This time, Dev blocked with his sword. Though he successfully defended against the blow, the force shattered his weapon, sending him skidding backward.
Without hesitation, Dev conjured a bow out of thin air.
"If it's a practical fight you want…" he muttered, drawing an arrow.
The moment he took aim, a bell rang through the dojo, signaling the end of the match.
Silence followed.
Dev's face twisted in disappointment—he had been so close to victory. But his trainer… his trainer looked different. The man was frozen, beads of cold sweat forming on his face. His fear was unmistakable.
Slowly, the trainer approached Dev, rage replacing his fear.
"This was supposed to be sword practice, you fool!" he roared.
Before Dev could react, the trainer slashed his torso, then struck him again and again. Yet, Dev remained unfazed, standing still despite the blows. Perhaps… he was simply used to this treatment.
A few ladies whispered from the sidelines.
"I don't get why the trainer is so harsh on Dev."
"Yeah, he fought barehanded too."
"I bet he's just mad that Dev's the best at archery."
A group of girls chuckled as they gossiped about the fight.
Dev wasn't just any warrior—he was one of the strongest of his age, the son of the clan's leader, a man once feared as the War Vanquisher. It was said that his father's power came from a forbidden Ashura weapon, one so dangerous that it corrupted anyone weaker than a Conqueror-ranked warrior. That very weapon was what led to the War Vanquisher's downfall.
A voice interrupted Dev's thoughts.
"There was once a martial warrior so great that he was given the title of Vanquisher by the Union—one of the five titles used to classify Ashuras. As you know, only humans strong enough to rival a Vanquisher Ashura are granted that title. That great warrior… is your father, Dev. Now, here's a quiz—what weapon did he use to achieve that title?"
Dev always paid attention in class, especially when it came to his father's heroic tales.
"It was the Ashura's Sword of Valor. Its limitation was that it sapped the strength of anyone weaker than a Conqueror."
"97% correct. It wasn't a sword—it was the hilt of the Ashura's Valor. You should at least know the weapon's name. After all… you are destined to inherit it. To surpass your father."
Dev's eyes darkened, the same lifeless look returning to them.
End of Chapter 1