The sound of the clearing was not one of struggle, but of a rhythmic, metallic thud-thud-thud.
Five men moved with the precision of a single, interlocking machine. Their hands moved in fluid circles, their stances low and rooted like old oaks.
Merun stood in the center, his arms crossed.
CRACK. SNAP.THUD.
A palm strike hit his chest; a sweeping kick rattled his shins; two men grabbed his shoulders, attempting to use his own weight to throw him. Merun didn't budge. He let them hit him, feeling the vibration of their techniques ripple through his skin. To a normal fighter, their synergy would be a nightmare—an impenetrable wall of parries and counters.
But Merun wasn't a normal fighter. He was a mountain.
He swung a heavy, telegraphed punch toward the lead man. With practiced grace, the warrior leaned back, the gust of the fist barely missing his nose. He redirected Merun's arm downward, flowing into a counter-strike. It was a perfect execution of high-level skill, a masterclass in how technique can bridge a gap in power.
Except the gap wasn't a bridge; it was a whole canyon.
Merun didn't bother with a follow-up technique. He simply flared his ki slightly and shoved his arm forward. The "redirection" snapped like a dry twig. The lead man was sent skidding back ten feet, his heels carving deep ruts in the dirt.
This went on for minutes. Merun was "easy" to read—his strikes lacked the nuanced deception of Gaia's martial arts—but every time a hit landed, it was like being struck by a falling star.
Finally, the last man standing dropped to his knees, his lungs burning and his arms trembling from the sheer effort of defending. Merun loomed over him, a dark, unsettling smile spreading across his face. He pulled his fist back, the air around it beginning to hum.
"You died," Merun whispered, the killing intent cold enough to frost the air.
He lunged. The man flinched, bracing for the impact that would end him—but the fist stopped an inch from his throat. The wind from the strike nearly knocked the man over, but the pressure vanished instantly.
Merun's face shifted into a bright, angelic grin. "Great job! You guys are getting way better at that interlocking defense." He reached out, grabbing the man's hand and pulling him up with an easy laugh.
"How... how have you become so much tougher in such a short time, Lord Merun?" the man wheezed, wiping sweat from his brow. "It's like hitting a statue made of dragon scale."
Merun had come by to meet them after everything that had happened. They figured, what better way to welcome someone, than to go for a spar?
The laughter died down as the other four gathered around.
The atmosphere shifted from the heat of battle to something heavy and quiet.
"Lord Merun," the oldest of the five said, his voice cracking. Without warning, all five men dropped to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the grass. "Thank you. For everything."
"Hey, get up, what are you—"
"No," the man insisted. "You saved us from a life of needles and cold stone. Because of you, we can breathe air that doesn't smell like blood. Tedate... and the others... we know they would have said the same. They died as free men, Merun. Because of you, they didn't die as 'specimens.'"
Merun felt a sudden, sharp sting in the corners of his eyes. He quickly turned his back to them, looking toward the distant horizon to hide the moisture and the way his jaw was vibrating with suppressed rage. He remembered Daisho and Renji. He thought of Tedate—the man who had shared his last bit of hope in that dark cave.
"What's the plan?" Merun asked, his voice thick but steady. "Where do you go from here?"
The men stood up, their expressions resolute. "We've officially joined the Beggar Sect," the lead survivor explained. "But... we're going back, Lord Merun. Back to the Shinken Clan."
Merun turned around, surprised. "Back? Are you crazy?"
"The Sect will provide us with 'soft protection,'" the warrior said with a grim smirk. "They'll help us fabricate a story of how we escaped the chaos. We'll be their eyes and ears inside the clan. The nobles will look at us and see broken survivors; the Sect will see the invisible edge Shinken's blade. We want to make sure no one else ends up in a cage like we did due to noble plots."
Merun looked at each of them, seeing the fire of purpose in their eyes. He walked down the line, shaking each of their hands firmly.
"You guys know I'm not actually a noble, right?" Merun asked as they prepared to leave. "I'm just a kid from a farming village."
The five warriors shared a look and burst into genuine, hearty laughter.
"We know, Lord Merun," the oldest chuckled, giving him a wink. "We've known for a while. But we've just become used to the title. Besides, you carry yourself better than any 'True Noble' we've ever met."
"See you later, Lord Merun!" they called out, waving as they disappeared into the distance, on their way to the Shinken Clan's territory of Muromachi.
———
Merun flew back to Odani, the wind whistling past his ears as he descended toward the familiar cluster of huts. After asking a few locals, he was pointed to the hut where Iro was staying.
He found her sharpening a small concealed blade, and the two slipped immediately into their usual banter. Merun told her about his meeting with the survivors; they were alive and had a path forward, but the weight in his chest hadn't lifted.
"The story hasn't ended yet," Merun said, his voice dropping. "I can only truly move on if they're buried properly. Tedate and the others deserve more than being left in a ditch or a furnace."
To do that, he needed to go back to Ise. He looked Iro in the eye and asked for her help—specifically, for the kind of deep-level intelligence only the Beggar Sect could provide.
"You're absolutely crazy," Iro said, deadpan. She set her blade down. "You just escaped that viper's nest, and now you want to crawl back in to play undertaker?"
"My suppression is better now," Merun countered. "I can slip past any sort of sensory security with my speed as well. I just need to know the patrols and the disposal sites."
Iro sighed, but she didn't say no. She recognized the look in his eyes—the stubbornness of a man who wouldn't be talked out of a bad idea. "Fine. But you're not going in blind. Give me a day or two to pull the latest movements. I need to prepare things so you don't end up back in a cage."
"Or worse?" Merun said jokingly, making Iro grumble away annoyedly.
For the next few days, he stayed low. He honed his senses and meditated.
He thought of how he would act if he saw the member that killed them.
On the third day, Merun was sitting on a flat rock near the village entrance, fiddling with the calibration on his scouter, when a shadow fell over him.
Iro had arrived, looking exhausted but wearing a triumphant smirk. Without a word, she tossed a heavy, cloth-bound bundle into his lap.
"What's this?" Merun asked, catching it.
"Check it out," she said, crossing her arms proudly.
Merun unfurled the bundle. His breath caught. Inside was a heavy, furry white cape, reinforced with sharp, shoulder pauldrons that gave it a silhouette of imposing authority.
Merun stood up, holding the cape as if it were made of glass. The design was hauntingly familiar—a perfect blend of a Saiyan's primal roots and the iconic shroud of a legendary Namekian warrior he once knew only from pages and screens.
"...This design," Merun whispered in disbelief. "How did you...?"
Iro laughed, enjoying his shock. "I saw you sketching something similar in the dirt the other day when you thought no one was looking. It looked like a king's shroud, but a bit too plain. I figured the aesthetic suited you. I had the idea to cut small hole for your tail... but that would have been weird."
But it was the item beneath the cape that made Merun's heart skip a beat.
It was a mask—chilled to the touch and heavy with history. It was a roaring demonic visage, its features fierce and wrathful, bearing the battle-scars of a thousand forgotten conflicts.
Merun recognized it instantly. It was the mask Bankei had worn during his days as "the Demon."
"Bankei gave this to me as soon as he joined the sect," Iro said, her voice softening. "He said he's done with the identity of the Demon. He spent years making that face something people feared in the dark... he told me that, if there ever was a chance, he wants you to wear it. He hopes that in your hands, the mask's legacy might finally change for the better."
Merun ran his fingers over the carvings of the mask, feeling the weight of the Saint's trust. He was being given a legacy to wear, a mantle of a man who had survived the very nightmare Merun was about to dive back into.
He smiled in disbelief, looking up at her. "Thank you, Iro. Tell the old man I'll take care of it."
She reached up and patted him on the head, her expression turning serious for a brief second. "Just... be safe, okay?"
Merun adjusted the scouter at his temple, threw the weighted white cape on the top his shoulders, over his all-black dougi, and looked toward the horizon.
He touched the sensor on the sides of his scouter and it outlined the area of Ise on his mini-map.
"No can do. I'm a Saiyan, you know?" he left with a playful wink.
With this... I can finally do the 'thing'.
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I'll push back the shift to standard schedule next week.
I'd really appreciate a review! Thanks for reading!