The morning sun spilled golden light across the Tokyo Corps training grounds.
Slayers lined up, drenched in sweat, their faces marked by focus and fire.
Their swords clashed with purpose—stronger, faster, sharper.
And at the center stood Sahiru.
Clad in his dark violet Haori with golden dragon patterns, the black cape swaying behind him, and the black conical hat casting a quiet shadow over his eyes—
One violet. One scarlet.
He moved like a phantom of war, demonstrating forms with grace and destruction.
Every slash painted the air with flowing light and cracked the earth beneath.
"Again," Sahiru's calm voice echoed. "Form is power. Intent is victory."
The younger slayers followed his every movement, eyes wide in awe.
They had never seen anything like him.
No longer just a legend—
Sahiru was their master.
His ten forms of Facade Breathing were now refined to devastating perfection.
Each carried the weight of his rage, his grief, his love.
Wisteria Blizzard
Silver Hound Slash
Earth Breaker
Red Spider Lily Dance
Riptide
White Tiger Fang
Eclipse Surge
Phantom Mirage
Death Reaper
Berserk Wrath
Each one had become a symbol.
A promise.
From broken boy to unmatched warrior.
Kenta watched from the training hall, arms folded, a proud glint in his eyes.
"He's no longer just our strongest," he whispered. "He's our guiding star."
The Corps had changed—its heartbeat now pulsed with Sahiru's strength.
The future was no longer uncertain.
Because they had him.