(15 Years Later)
In the vast, modern grand hall of the village training center, Rider moved through a specially designed swordsman practice field with practiced ease. He dashed from one end to the other, his blade slicing through mannequin dummies that suddenly sprang to life. The rhythmic sound of steel meeting a padded surface echoed as he executed each move with speed and precision.
For a few moments, Rider felt invincible—until his momentum betrayed him. Mid-stride, his boot caught on the leg of a fallen dummy. In an instant, he tumbled to the ground. "Awww," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, as he slowly pushed himself up, holding his head in mild embarrassment.
From the far end of the field, Aingo watched with a look of discontent. His face was etched with disappointment, and he shook his head heavily as he signaled for Rider to step out of the field. "That's enough for today," he said, his tone firm and unyielding.
Rider reluctantly sheathed his sword, running a hand through his damp hair. "Worked up a sweat, didn't I? Next, I'm heading to the spring," he replied with a half-smile.
Aingo's frown deepened. He stared at Rider intently. "You didn't complete any of your training drills today or master any new techniques," he chided. "You deserve to take a break, but you're not going anywhere until you show some real improvement."
Anger sparked in Rider's eyes as he shot back, "I tried my best, Aingo! Instead of always telling me what I did wrong, maybe you should talk to me about what I could do better sometimes."
Aingo's expression hardened, and his voice rose, "Trying isn't gonna make you like your dad!"
Rider sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. "Here we go again…"
Aingo's tone softened for just a split second before he continued, his voice loud and determined: "Your dad was a warrior—he did everything flawlessly. He saved our village and trusted me to carry his legacy by training you to become the Sword Master. You will wield the Red Katana whether it kills you or not. That's my promise."
Rider's jaw tightened. "It's always about what you and my dad want. What about what I want?"
Aingo's response was immediate and raised, "It doesn't matter what you want!" He paused, noticing the curious stares of the onlookers in the grand hall. Clearing his throat, he lowered his tone slightly and said, "Your destiny is already set in stone. You're meant to wield the Red Katana and lead this village to victory when Dextin comes back."
Rider frowned, his voice bitter, "But no one even knows where Dextin is. They've searched this village for over three years and found not a trace. What if he's really gone?"
Aingo's eyes narrowed. "He'll be back. I know he will. And mark my words, he'd do anything for the Red Katana. I want you to be the best and protect this village. There's no room for 'trying'—only the best will do. What I've seen so far is nothing but trash when it comes to your sword skills."
Rider's anger flared. He clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword, his eyes flashing. Just then, a soldier from the new elite army of Xiphosia approached, bowing as he spoke. "Commander Aingo, King Neon is calling you to come to the palace."
Aingo's face remained stoic as he sighed, "What does he want now?" He glanced at the soldier. "I'll be there," he said, then the soldier added, "Your chariot is already waiting." Turning his gaze to Rider, aingo instructed, "Make sure you don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."
Rider pouted slightly as Aingo departed with the soldier. He watched the chariot pull away before he reentered the grand hall, wandering aimlessly. His eyes eventually landed on a large, impressive sculpture of Dran—his father. As he stared blankly at the statue, memories of Aingo's words and his father's legacy began to flood his mind.
Lost in thought, Rider barely registered the sound of footsteps behind him until Bianca, his best friend, suddenly appeared. With a mischievous grin, she snuck up and pounced on him from behind, wrapping him in a tight bear hug.
"Don't go spacing out like that!" she scolded playfully, her smile infectious.
Rider, caught off guard, gasp for air. "Whoa—too tight!" he managed to say before she let go, apologizing as he caught his breath.
"What are you doing here?" Rider asked, his tone softening.
Bianca beamed at him. "I came for the apples! You know this place sells the best fruits. I couldn't resist grabbing a few."
Rider's lips twitched in a smile. "Yeah, I love their apples too." He paused, then Bianca asked, "So, where's Aingo?"
"He went to see King Neon," Rider answered. Bianca sighed in relief, murmuring, "Good, because for some reason, I always get the feeling he doesn't like me." Her tone was tinged with sadness.
Rider shook his head, trying to lighten the mood. "Nah, he just says you're a distraction—like all the people I'm close to get in the way of my goals."
Before Bianca could respond further, all eyes in the grand hall turned toward a new arrival—a teenage boy roughly Rider and Bianca's age. Three guards followed him, and as he walked, there was an unmistakable aura about him. His steps were measured, his expression distant and serious, and his presence drew attention as if he exuded an otherworldly intensity.
Rider waved hesitantly. "Who's that?" he asked, more to himself than to anyone in particular.
Bianca rolled her eyes. "That's Zack. He's not from around here—he didn't grow up in our village."
Rider frowned, glancing at Zack's back, noticing the sword strapped to him. Bianca continued, "His father was called by King Neon this morning, so Zack is here now. Rumors about him have already spread across the eastern side—apparently, they say he's the strongest swords fighter ever."
Rider scoffed lightly. "Really? That sounds like just another rumor."
Bianca shrugged, "Maybe, but you never know. I mean, my dad is in news transfer, so I hear things."
Suddenly, Rider's eyes locked with Zack's. For a split second, the teen's stare was intense—almost filled with hatred and anger. Rider blinked, startled, and looked away, wondering what he had just witnessed.
Zack began walking directly toward Rider, and as he did, a group of teenage girls rushed over, clamoring for his autograph. Zack ignored them, pushing past with a cold efficiency until he stopped right in front of Rider.
"Listen up," Zack said, his voice low and determined. "It doesn't matter if your father was Dran. I'm going to be the Sword Master and Claim your village's precious Red Katana for myself."
With that, he turned and walked away. Bianca and Rider stood speechless, watching Zack exit. One of the guards murmured an apology on Zack's behalf before following him out.
Bianca, seizing the moment to break the tension, tugged on Rider's arm. "Come on, let's check out those apples," she said, trying to change the subject.
Meanwhile, the scene shifted abruptly as Aingo arrived inside King Neon's palace. Alone in the grand interior, Aingo's eyes were drawn to a glass display case on the wall. Inside, the legendary Red Katana hung in all its glory. He reached out and placed his hand on the glass, a determined look in his eyes as if he could feel the weight of destiny pressing down on him.
Before he could dwell on it for long, King Neon entered the room. Aingo snapped out of his reverie and took his seat as Neon joined him. After a brief moment of silence, Aingo asked, "Why did you summon me, King Neon?"
Neon's tone was measured, and he began by saying, "Before we begin, I want to thank you again for choosing me to lead. You were meant to rule, but you refused the crown and gave it to me instead." Aingo shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "So, what is this about?"
Neon leaned forward, his eyes serious. "It's been fifteen long years, Aingo, and we still haven't found anyone worthy of wielding the Red Katana as the true Sword Master."
Aingo interjected, "Rider will be that man. Just give him more time."
Neon shook his head slowly. "Time isn't on our side. Dextin's return draws near every day. That's why I've made a painful decision. I'm holding a grand tournament. Anyone who thinks they can wield the Red Katana—or prove themselves as a formidable fighter—will have their chance. And there's more: I've reached an agreement with Bell. His son, Zack, will also be competing. Bell insists that Zack's strength is immense, and I couldn't refuse."
Aingo's expression darkened with worry. He knew well that Rider's current skills were far from perfect. "But Neon, Rider's technique still needs work."
Neon's voice was firm as he explained, "In the tournament, Rider will begin by facing an opponent. If he wins, he'll sit out the remainder of the contest and only fight the final winner. That's the best I can do for you."
Aingo bowed slightly, a gesture of reluctant acceptance. "Thank you," he said quietly. Yet inside, his heart pounded with fear. The idea that someone else might emerge as the true Sword Master—and that his promise to Dran might be broken—haunted him. He gritted his teeth, silently vowing that he would train Rider until every ounce of potential was honed to perfection. He would see Dran's destiny fulfilled, no matter what it took.