Chapter 1 - Arata Haru

In the land of the rising sun, long ago, it was possible to change your destiny through the sword. Warriors lived and died trying to master this deadly yet beautiful art. However, the sword was created to kill and made no distinction between adults, children, and the elderly; it cuts everyone equally. A code of conduct had to be created.

Following these principles, one would expect that a boy who raises his sword against a group of samurai, would not be treated as a worthy opponent and no duel would take place, but many would say that these rules did not apply to this stubborn boy. A strong-looking, big-nosed samurai with a black hakama stands in front of his group and spits on the ground.

"You again?"

The boy advances on him, trying to cut him down, but his movements are clumsy. The samurai has no trouble defending himself against such an inexperienced blade. He dodges three blows with ease.

This swordsman belongs to a group of Daimyo warriors, consisting of more than fifty men, all armed, trained, well-fed, and with the best-groomed horses you can have. They have just returned from a battle, and what a great victory they have had! Many are talking leisurely on their mounts, and although they are dirty and tired, few are truly wounded. Only two men have lost any limbs and casualties are minimal as well.

The child continues his string of pointless attacks on this man, who is not taking this duel seriously. The strong warrior makes so little of this child that he takes his eyes off him for a moment to see which of his companions is watching him in action.

The boy, giving up his attack with the katana, takes advantage of the carelessness and stomps hard on his adversary's foot. The samurai laugh at his comrade as he jumps on one foot, feeling the pain of the stomp.

"Why, you little shit... you called for it!"

He draws his sword from its sheath and plans his attack almost instinctively. He will cut the boy's belly in half with a horizontal cut. Immediately he takes a quick step forward followed by his attack.

The boy bends backward, avoiding the blade, forming an arc with his back, putting one hand against the ground. The samurai is surprised that the boy can make such a move so effortlessly. Just observing already makes him imagine the pain he would experience if he tried to do the same.

The boy pirouettes backward, standing up and prepares to attack again. The man with the black hakama shouts, preparing to strike back. The boy runs toward his opponent, determined to kill.

Such prepotency is so revolting in the eyes of the samurai that his stomach burns slightly. His breathing becomes labored, his concentration is broken by that resolute gaze and that confidence of one who does not understand his place in the world. He will teach him.

He stops the boy's blow with a simple and effortless movement, just enough to move the blade away from him. In contrast, his next move is fierce, determined to kill the boy. A horizontal cut, quick and deadly, which is seen by the challenger only as a shadow.

Still, the boy opens his legs quickly, sliding under the blade and avoiding death once again. The warrior grumbles, impatient:

"That is enough!"

A downward movement, certainly dangerous yet sloppy, produces an easily avoidable attack, and the boy does not let this opportunity pass. With a spin on his heel, he avoids the blade and cuts deeply into the samurai's thigh, causing the samurai to howl in pain:

"Argh! Damn you!!!"

When you train long enough your body tends to give instant responses. A reflex on the part of the samurai: The edge of the sword goes toward the back of the child's head.

The boy does not see the blade itself, he would have to have peripheral right eye vision for that, but his body feels the attack coming. Stimuli never actually reach his consciousness: the vibrations of the ground as the samurai kneels, the sound of the arm robes, his voice changing as he turns his face to attack, the subtle hiss of the sword cutting through the air. His body senses everything but tells him nothing, for he speaks through action, a spasm almost, a quick step away from the samurai, and the blade that would have hit the back of his head, killing him, cuts only his left cheek.

Surely some would call this luck, and if asked, the boy himself would say this is the case, but the truth is that only a body used to running away for years responds quickly like this.

He crouches instinctively to avoid another blow that might come, but when his mind returns to control his actions, he immediately realizes that his opponent is not yet up. He sticks his hand in the dirt.

"Who do you think...!!!"

The ferocious roar of the big nose is interrupted when the boy throws dirt in his eyes, blinding him. In the darkness, he feels the pain of a blade sinking into his neck. Blood spurts out and the samurai falls face down, choking rapidly to his death.

The silence is absolute. The men who were once relaxed are now alert, after all, one of their own has just been killed. One who fought in the battle they just won, who was victorious over other well-trained warriors, has just died in a duel against a boy of only fifteen. A cruel reminder of his mortality is more than enough to force sobriety on those who were just now drunk on their ego.

Finally, the hooves of a horse can be heard pounding on the road surface. The captain gallops to the front of the group, facing the bizarre sight of the outcome of this duel. The boy speaks:

"Finally... It is you who must die."

"You? It's not enough that I took away your right sight, you want to die by my spear too?!"

He pauses and regains his composure.

"Men, we will take a break here."

The samurai sigh and get off their horses in the middle of the dirt road that runs inside the mountains. Not a safe place to camp, but anyone who opposes such an order would take a much greater risk than mountain robbers: To be seen as insolent by his superiors.

The boy runs his hand over the vertical scar he has in place of his right eye. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, knowing what happens next. An image emerges like a bubble in a lake, slowly spreading, bursting on the surface, making a wave that spreads to every corner of his body. It is the reason he cannot sleep properly at night, that he catches himself shivering every time he sees fire, and that he gets irritated when he sees a happy village. The image that ripples through his mind is of a dead couple: his parents.

The overwhelming emptiness in the pit of your stomach gives rise to burning in his chest. A heat that rises slowly, as if sinister hands scratch him until they reach his neck, and then strangle him. By the time his breathing returns, the burning has taken over his entire head, transforming him into a small beast whose sole purpose is to kill.

He advances on the captain, who is still getting off his horse but is immediately countered by a kick to the chest and thrown backward.

The captain's spear comes next, almost hitting the head of this beast, which dodges to the side. The captain prepares a second blow, but this little animal doesn't wait, and leaps backward twice, out of the spear's reach. Fear mixes with anger, causing the boy to let out a loud, hoarse scream that tears at his throat.

"I am Arata Haru and I will finish you off and kill your Daimyo!"

The warriors laugh at the child until the laughter strangely fades away when they notice something.

The captain doesn't notice that the air seems to have changed and continues trying to talk to the beast:

"This meaningless revenge of yours will lead nowhere."

But his men start whispering among themselves:

"Wait...Did he say 'Arata'?"

"Is that the last survivor the Daimyo is hunting?!"

"I hear there's a big bounty on him!"

The captain focused on killing the boy does not notice his men being contaminated by greed. When he switches his position, standing aside for Haru, he says:

"I've been practicing a new technique, you know? I think I'll be able to test it, finally."

But before he could attack, the shout of his men takes over:

"GET HIM!"