The breath between battles is always the heaviest.
Ishikawa stood amidst the crumbled remains of the Aizu compound, his arms numb, blood trailing from a dozen shallow wounds. Jin Nomura's broken form lay behind him, his fate sealed not by death, but blindness. And yet, the true storm had just begun.
Captain Hayate Kurigawa descended the staircase with grace that belied the weight of his steps. Dressed in a long, snow-white haori embroidered with silver cloud patterns, his weapon—a massive war fan of dark iron—hung closed at his side like a slumbering beast.
"You still stand, Ishikawa," Hayate said, voice smooth like fine parchment. "But does the blade that drinks heaven still thirst?"
Ishikawa didn't reply.
His instincts screamed. This man was different. Not brute strength like Nakajima. Not cursed ferocity like Jin. Hayate was something colder. Collected.
A tactician.
"You knew I would come," Ishikawa said at last.
"The wind speaks of uprisings," Hayate replied, opening his fan with a snap. Strange runes shimmered along its folds, each representing an ancient wind deity. "And when the wind changes... I move with it."
The snow began to rise. Not fall.
Fan That Cuts Wind — 切風の7c89 (Setsufūu no Kon)
Hayate's fan danced, and the temperature dropped in an instant. Ishikawa lunged forward, crossing his twin swords in Hibashira no Kamae. The moment his foot hit stone, a gale tore through the compound.
Fūu Kyouran: Hien no Mai (風狂乱・飛燕の舞) — Wind Madness: Swallow Dance.
Three slashes of compressed air struck from impossible angles. Ishikawa deflected the first, ducked the second, but the third ripped through his shoulder. He stumbled back, blood scattering like petals.
Hayate advanced without a step. The wind moved for him.
"You're fast," Ishikawa growled.
"I'm precise," Hayate corrected, fanning once more. "Speed is a symptom. Precision is a principle."
Ishikawa sheathed one blade and slid into Shikkiri: Tsurugi no Ichi (執切り・剣の位置) — Sword of Position. His breath slowed.
Time stretched.
Hayate closed his fan.
Then opened it violently.
The resulting boom shattered stone and sent Ishikawa skidding across the courtyard.
Lying amid rubble, memories pierced Ishikawa's mind:
His father's execution.
The fire that consumed village.
Yumi's scream.
The blade that drinks heaven... still thirsted.
He rose slowly.
"I once thought swords were for vengeance," he said, wiping blood from his mouth. "But vengeance blinds. Like Sizaka. Like Jin."
Hayate tilted his head.
"And now?"
Ishikawa unsheathed both blades again.
"Now... I forge a style that answers to no god, no general. Only to the people I must protect."
He entered a stance unknown to Hayate. Twin swords crossed before his heart. Eyes steady. The wind shifted.
Katsura Hōken: Yamibarai no Kata (桂法剣・闇祓いの型) — Sword Law of Katsura: Form of Shadow Dispelling.
Ishikawa charged.
Hayate reacted instantly—the fan moving to block, unleash, slice. But this time, Ishikawa did not swing wildly. Each step was measured. Each blade angled not toward flesh, but toward flow.
He clashed.
Clang!
Slash!
Wind exploded.
But Ishikawa kept moving. He was no longer cutting air. He was reading it.
Fūu Saigen: Kazamune no Tenkai (風再現・風宗の展開) — Wind Reincarnate: Kazamune's Expansion.
Hayate released his signature storm technique. Dozens of blades of compressed air shot in all directions like divine retribution.
And yet—
Ishikawa disappeared into the storm.
A blur.
Each blade passed him. Each gust only accelerated his form.
Until he reached Hayate.
And struck.
Shikkiri: Jōgen no Ame (執切り・上弦の雨) — Deathcut: Rain of the Upper Moon.
A flurry of diagonal cuts. Twin swords singing in harmony.
Hayate barely blocked with his fan, but cracks appeared along its surface.
Crack.
The war fan split.
"Impossible..." Hayate muttered, stepping back for the first time.
Ishikawa stood, blades lowered.
"I don't seek to conquer wind," he said. "Only to walk through it."
Hayate smiled, not with defeat, but curiosity.
Then, thunder rumbled in the east.
Black banners appeared beyond the horizon.
An army. Dozens of mounted soldiers bearing the sigil of the Tōkai Empire.
At their head—a cloaked figure with silver armor, holding a giant spear etched with crimson fire.
Hayate's expression hardened.
"You drew more than my attention, Ishikawa."
"Who is he?" Ishikawa asked.
Hayate closed what remained of his fan.
"The Emperor's right hand. The Dragon of Ash."
The rider lifted his spear.
Lightning cracked across the sky.
To be continued...
Next Chapter: Ash Dragon Rises — The Empire's Spear Descends!