The journey back to the capital was a march of a ghost. Ren moved, one foot in front of the other, but the man who had left was not the one returning. The Kusanagi sword, sheathed at his hip, was not a trophy. It was a weight, a lodestone of grief that pulled him deeper into the earth with every step. It hummed, a constant, sub-audible vibration that felt like Tsubaki’s last breath frozen in time.
He arrived at the palace not to fanfare, but to a wary silence. The courtiers parted before him, their eyes not on his face, but on the legendary blade. He walked straight to the throne room, his armor still caked with the dust of the road and the invisible stain of blood.
The Emperor watched him, a predator assessing wounded prey. Ren didn't kneel. He simply unbuckled the scabbard and let it c
