Snow continued to fall.
Three weeks had passed since the village was attacked.
The burned homes had begun to disappear, replaced by fresh timber and quiet determination.
Life returned.
But not for Ren.
Every dawn began the same way.
Strike.
Step.
Breathe.
Again.
Again.
Again.
His hands were covered in fresh calluses.
His shoulders burned with every swing.
Master Hideo never praised him.
Never scolded him.
He simply watched.
One morning, after Ren's thousandth strike, Hideo spoke.
"Enough."
Ren lowered his wooden sword, breathing heavily.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
"...Am I improving?"
The old man walked toward him.
"You've become stronger."
Ren smiled.
"But..."
Hideo gently pushed Ren's shoulder.
Ren lost his balance instantly.
"...your heart is still unstable."
---
That evening...
Hideo placed a small travel pack beside Ren.
Inside were dried rice, a waterskin...
...and the broken sword guard his father had hidden beneath the forge.
Ren looked up.
"What is this?"
"You asked me if I knew that crest."
"You do?"
Hideo nodded slowly.
"I wish I didn't."
He sat beside the fire.
"Long before either of us were born..."
"There existed a group of swordsmen."
"They served no lord."
"They accepted no payment."
"They wandered Japan, ending wars before they could begin."
Ren frowned.
"They sound like heroes."
"They weren't."
"They were executioners."
"The moment diplomacy failed..."
"...the Silent Blade answered."
The fire cracked.
"The crest belongs to them."
Ren looked down at the broken guard.
"So my father..."
"...was connected to them."
Hideo remained silent.
Silence was answer enough.
---
Before sunrise...
Ren stood before his father's grave.
He placed both hands together.
"I still don't understand what you wanted me to protect."
"But I won't run anymore."
The wind rustled through the cedar branches.
He bowed one last time.
Then turned toward the road leading out of Hayashi Village.
Master Hideo stood waiting.
"You've decided."
Ren nodded.
"I have."
The old man handed him a plain traveling cloak.
"Then don't search for revenge."
"Search for the truth."
Ren accepted it.
"...Will I come back?"
Hideo looked toward the mountains.
"If fate is kind."
"...yes."
---
By noon...
Hayashi Village had disappeared behind the hills.
For the first time in his life...
Ren was alone.
The roads of Sengoku Japan stretched endlessly before him.
Merchants.
Pilgrims.
Ronin.
Refugees.
Every face carried a different story.
Every road carried another secret.
As sunset approached...
Ren reached a small roadside inn.
Only six travelers remained inside.
The room smelled of tea and smoke.
An old storyteller sat near the fire.
"...They say the Silent Blade crossed a river without drawing his sword."
A merchant laughed.
"Impossible."
The storyteller smiled.
"So did the men who tried to stop him."
The room fell quiet.
Ren listened without speaking.
Then...
The innkeeper froze.
The front door slid open.
Five men entered.
Crimson cloth wrapped around each of their arms.
Nobody spoke.
One of them slowly unfolded a piece of paper.
A sketch.
Ren's face.
The leader smiled.
"We've finally found you."
Every hand inside the inn drifted toward a weapon.
Except one.
In the darkest corner of the room...
A traveler wearing a weathered straw hat continued drinking his tea.
He didn't even look up.
Outside...
The snow began to fall once more.
---
End of Chapter 3
---