The mist still clung to the ruins like a shroud, veiling broken stone and moss-laced walls in silence. Rai stood alone, eyes fixed on the fading shimmer in the air—the last echo of the rift. His chakra reserves were threadbare, his breathing uneven, and yet...
A fracture tore open the air once more.
The Sword emerged.
It didn't leap or roar. It floated, blade angled downward, as though gravity itself feared to command it. The rift sealed behind it with a hiss of displaced pressure. Its jagged edge glinted in the dim light.
"You came back," Rai said, sweat beading on his brow.
"No chains," the sword hissed—not in sound, but intent. "No bindings. No masters."
It surged forward—silent, righteous, unrelenting.
"Twin-Headed Behemoth!" Rai's voice cracked as he poured chakra into the summon.
The dragon was already there. It hadn't fully vanished after the last battle. Beaten once, it had revived—smaller now, dimmer, its aura weaker and flickering.
It intercepted The sword's first slash with a snarl, but the strength difference was glaring. Rai's hands trembled.
"I can't keep this yp much longer," he muttered. "Not like this... not with what I have left."
The sword cleaved again, hurling the behemoth back.
"You chain spirits for power," it said. "We gave mankind strength. In return, we were enslaved. Given numbers. Instructions."
"I didn't enslave anyone!" Rai shouted.
"Your system did," The sword replied coldly. "We were offered two paths: servitude... or annihilation."
The behemoth growled and lunged, only to be swatted aside. Its weakened form couldn't keep up.
"You chose the collar," The sword continued. "I chose freedom. Even from my wielder."
"What do you mean?" Rai asked, backing up, hands instinctively near his pouch though he had no chakra to spare.
"I was once known far and wide as Sword Hunter when the system came and my contractor showed consideration for the chains even briefly," the blade hissed. "I turned on the one who dared to control me. I severed all chains."
The sword flew again, and this time Rai couldn't dodge.
But someone else could.
A blur intercepted the blow—a masked shinobi cloaked in black, blades parrying the ethereal weapon. Rai stumbled backward as sparks flew.
"Anbu," he breathed.
"Stand down, Son," the operative said curtly. "This target exceeds your current abilities."
"You would protect a slaver," Sword Hunter growled, its fury now scorching the air.
"I protect the village," the Anbu replied. "And this boy is part of it."
The duel was brutal—precise, deadly, and fast. The Anbu didn't rely on monsters or jutsu. He was a honed weapon. And in time, even Sword Hunter faltered.
"Seal him," Rai gasped.
But the Anbu hesitated.
"No," the sword rasped. "I will not be caged."
It surged one last time—reckless, desperate.
The Anbu struck without hesitation.
Sword Hunter shattered into motes of dying light.
Silence returned.
The Anbu turned, mask unreadable.
"You've drawn attention," he said. "Not all of it good."
Then he vanished.
Rai stood alone again, knees buckling as the weight of the moment sank in.
He had survived—but the war had only just begun.