Before we start the chapter there is something I need to state about this whole controversy.
Recently (As of writing this) The Knight was taken down.
From what it seems to be, Kenkou has managed to finally bring the Knight down.
Oddly, I thought if this happened I might be mad or something. But I just feel... disappointed and a little betrayed tbh.
For a long time, I had so many stories wrapped up in my head, even when I was a child. But I never could figure out how to get them out there. Then I discovered MGQ, Which did give me a crippling porn addiction (Which I am trying to get over now), but it also gave me more ideas. Making me wonder what would happen if things were different. This grew further when I discovered MGE and my curiosity on what if we had something from the Order's perspective and not the Monster girl propaganda.
Then the Knight came along, and something about that just... idk... made me decide, 'why not giving writing a chance?'
And so, here we are.
Before this whole controversy and before the Knight got taken down, I had respect for Kenkou Cross as one of my sources of inspiration. But with this, I feel disappointed and hurt. As though someone I knew took a knife and stabbed me in the chest.
And I just feel despair, because he might come to me next and force me to undo all the work I've put into this, all the time I've done working on this without anything to really gain. Yes I know I can put this on another site, but that doesn't change how I feel.
I would have understood you taking it down if the Author was selling his story, I would have understood if he was stating that MGE was his idea in every way, I would have understood if he was plagiarising your MGE. But this... even with the history of Grigori, I cannot understand or wrap my head around.
I'm not going to stop. and until I finished this story, I will keep going.
And if Kenkou is somehow reading this, I hope you have a bright future. But please, don't do this anymore. For us who still hold a bit of respect for you and the world you have made, don't. Let us write our own stories, let us imagine ideas of our own, let us create our own creations freely as we build upon the world you have made.
Sorry if that makes me sound like a coward.
Anyway, let us get back to the story.
Edit: Also guys, I know how you feel but please stop being so hateful in the reviews. I get it, but rn I think our only real hope is if we can manage to talk and reason with Kenkou. I don't think being hateful about this will get us anywhere good.
The Mountain of the Voice loomed over the ancient city surrounding it. Its walls, stone. Its gates, iron. And its people, strong. But far above the clouds, where the winds were the fiercest and the cold's bite was the sharpest, sparks flew at the palace grounds.
Across the empty sky above, the voice of an elderly man echoed across it; demanding attention in its deep rumbling tone, "One! The path of vanity shall lead to vanity! Such is the price of pride and lies!"
Sparks flew as the old man blocked an oncoming attack from his assailant, a young boy who he had taken under his care. And unlike the old man, whose garments were clean and finely kept, the boy's garments were dirty and torn; barely hiding the scarred and bruised body underneath.
Suddenly in a single swift motion, the elder knocked aside the boy's katana before quickly ramming the hilt of his handle into the child's gut; causing them to lose balance and collapse back to the ground.
The common boy of their age would have stayed down, the pain too much to bear anymore. But this child was not like other children. Groaning in pain, the boy leaned onto their katana as they rose from the ground; the old man waited patiently as the boy slowly got back into a fighting stance. Albeit a pathetic fighting stance.
With one step back, the child roared and swung their blade downward as they lunged forward. But the master expected this at this point, blocking the blade. All the while the boy kept moving forward, pushing the old man's blade up against his chest. "Two! The path of ascension shall lead to descension! Such is the price of fear and desire!" grunted the master.
Then as if in a dance, the elder raised their blade; allowing the child's katana to slide down it before the old man suddenly disengaged and rushed behind the boy. And in the blink of an eye, the master sent the boy crashing down with a strike of the pommel to the head.
And then silence, the boy unmoving. Seemingly over a far younger man, dressed in fine linen and fair of face, came out of the palace entrance; silently watching. At first, they thought it was over, but that was not the case.
Slowly the boy rose again, their breathing ragged and erratic as they regained composure.
With a desperate howl, the boy charged arrogantly forward. But their attack was in vain; the old master grabbing the blade with his off-hand, grasping it firmly within his grip as he spoke, "Three! The path of replication shall lead to mutation!" In a flash, the master released his grip before grabbing the boy's arm, before throwing them over his shoulder and onto the ground, "Such is the price of growing without understanding!"
Again silent, the boy lying there bloody and battered. The old master prayed for the boy to stay down, but his prayer was not heard. Once more the child shakily rose from the ground, whatever strength remained within them almost fully depleted. Then with one feeble last attempt to even scratch the man, the boy blindly ran at them.
However, like the rest of this duel, the child's efforts were in vain; the elder merely stepped to the side before slashing the boy's back, giving them a long bloody wound. "Four. The path of laziness shall lead to weakness. Such is the price of cosseting while slumbering," Muttered the old man.
Their strength was gone, their body too weak to keep going. And so they collapsed to the ground on their knees like a wounded animal too tired to run anymore. The child didn't even say anything, as the old man wiped the blood away and sheathed his katana.
"Three years... For three years I have tried to train you. From tutors to doing it myself. From trying to make you join the battlefield with me to training you here. From meditation to practising. From the safest of methods to the most extreme of methods. And yet, I have not made any progress whatsoever with you," The master turned his back on the boy and toward the young man, "I will train you no more. It is clear you were never meant for war."
At those words, the young man's face contorted, "This... this is outrageous! Never has there been a weak member of the royal bloodline!"
"I have done everything," Responded the elder.
The young noble shook his head, knowing full well there was one other option as they commanded, "You know full well what the means then. As is the tradition of those deemed worthless, he must face the path of champions."
A scowl grew on the master's hairless head as he glanced back at the boy. They still sat there, motionless on their knees with their wounds exposed to the air. "Boy, do you still wish to become the Voice's champion?" Asked the old man.
"Yes," Uttered the boy quietly, almost too quiet as the wind almost drowned his voice out.
The master unsheathed his blade again, but remained still as he stared into the blade's reflection, "He may not survive."
"Then so be it! The Voice will decide his fate!" Yelled the young man, not caring what he was about to do to his only son. The master did not move, which angered the lord further, "Do it!"
Slowly, the master turned to the boy; both of them staring at each other in the eyes as the master raised the blade to his own mouth. Then suddenly, from his own mouth, dark smoke came out and started to cover the blade, as if it was some form of enchantment as the master spoke, "With this mark, you are henceforth exiled. Your name, status, and lineage shall be severed and forgotten," The elder cut a circular shape into the boy's neck, leaving a dark scar that burned. But the boy did not utter a sound.
"With this mark, shall you not find peace or refuge. Where you wander will be your home, forever lost, forever seeking. Only when you have shown all of Zipangu your might, may you return and claim your home," The master cut another circular shape into the boy's chest, and again the cut was as dark as the night sky.
"And with this mark may you never forget. With this mark you are cursed. With this mark, you will either die or be reborn. With this mark you take the path of pain, the path of virtue, and of strong will." The elder left one final circular cut around the eye, causing the boy to shut his eye as he winced in pain; almost giving the scar the appearance of a black eye.
Then without hesitation, the master sheathed his blade and tossed it on top of the boy's own blade before uttering, "Now leave my sight. And pray that I never see you again."
Still, the boy said nothing; even as the old man turned and walked up the stairs. And as the elder walked past the young man, he stopped; his words full of venom, "If it were not for tradition, or that I had stepped down from my position, I would not have trained the boy so harshly. Neither would I have done that." He turned to stare directly at the young man, "I would have asked for your head."
With those words of disgust, the old man entered the palace and slammed the door closed. For a moment the young man stood there before scoffing at the boy and walking into the palace as well; leaving the boy all alone.
A single tear fell down the boy's cheek, the pain and grief starting to become too much. However, the boy knew they could one day return. They just had to pass the trial, a trial that only the founder of the Kurogane clan succeeded in, or die trying.
Their hands shook as they grabbed both of the katanas firmly, slowly forcing them self off the ground. They had to become Zipangu's strongest.
...
...
...
Koro stopped mid-swing, both his arms sore as he held the two katanas in his hands. The now ageing Lord couldn't help but grin a bit as he stood motionless. He had lost count.
Speaking of that, how long was he swinging these two blades anyway? Not just for today's exercise but in general? In all honesty, it felt like aeons since that day, and he could still feel those three markings on his body. Obviously, though, he had long since passed the trial.
The Lord glanced down below the mountain to see at the city gates, their bodies covered with scars; keeping their heads low as they lined up. All the while as they left, the ancient temple bells started to ring.
That trial made him who he was today, but it was also another type of reminder to him. A reminder of how cruel their traditions were, the pressure put upon every child to pass training. Or else they will be deemed worthless and exiled, each given the same trial as he by the master priests. However, save for him, they were always found dead during the same or following week.
And for the first time, as he watched from above, questions came to mind he never thought of before. Was he a good ruler? Save for the order, did he ever sit at the negotiation table? He had known the cruelty of their clan for so long, yet did he ever do anything to change it? Or was he merely being a fool, questioning the will of the Voice? Maybe he would understand if the Voice spoke to him like his ancestors. But alas it never revealed itself to him.
Koro sheathed the blade in his left hand and raised the other to stare in the reflection of the black steel. This was his grandfather's, and his fathers, all the way down to the founder of the clan. The one the Voice uttered to in an act of guidance and mercy. Yet even still, despite its age, it still looked freshly made with its beautiful white handle and its tsuba, engraved with the image of humanoid creatures crying out. Whether they were cries of joy, compassion, fear, or hate, he could not tell.
Another question came to mind, a question he already knew the answer to. Why did he stay? Why did he stay in this prison made for him disguised as a city as it encircled the mountain? Why was he even defending this mountain? Why did he still hold the title that he took so long ago?
The answer was simple. Because he had made a promise.
(-)
The armies of the Mozō clan marched beyond the border; Their crest, with four sharp points pointing toward an empty centre, flapped in the wind. And in their hands were the weapons given unto them by their allies beyond the sea.
Every one of them had the desire of their Lord, Mozō Shitora. To enact retribution, to make the Kurogane clan pay for their countless years of slaughter. For anyone who sided with the mamono, or worshipped any god other than their 'Voice', were slaughtered without mercy, without regard.
And no matter how long it would take or how many of them would die, they would see that as they marched toward it, that Fort Torii would crumble beneath the righteous hand of judgement.
Meanwhile, in the far distance atop of a cliff's edge, Lady Suijin Karaokami watched from afar; fanning herself while two white-haird Shorhebi stood beside her. The Suijin crest of Raijin stood idly in the air.
One of the shorhebi slithered forward on their white-scaled lower body as they kept their head down and asked, "Oh Great One forgive me, but may I ask, will we not assist his Lordship Mozō Shitora?"
The Ryu turned her gaze ever so slightly as a devilish grin started to grow, "No, we will not."
"Forgive me as well, your Highness, but why?" Asked the other shorhebi, slithering forward with their head bowed as well in respect.
Closing her fan, Karaokami's smile grew wider, "The serpent does not consume its food impatiently. Instead, it is patient; Slowly coiling around its prey as it grows weaker and weaker. Until it is too weak to fight back," Karokami's eyes cracked open, revealing a faint glimpse of the pulsating flesh within, "And with my title reclaimed, all of Zipangu will worship me."
Turning around, Karokami slithered away from the cliff and to her personal tent. The two shorhebi continued to follow Karokami as she reached the entrance, before glancing back and saying, "Now leave and go to your sisters. I must begin... preparations... for the upcoming event."
With a deep bow, the two shorhebi left their Lord. And with that, the Ryu Karokami entered her tent where many of her offerings stood patiently waiting for her. To match that brilliant flame of mana, known as Kurogane Koro, Karokami would need all the mana she could get. Indeed, it will most likely take everything she has for this upcoming rematch. And no matter if she made Kōro her own, or if she killed him, that title would be her's again.
That was a promise she intended to keep.
(-)
He felt his mind slipping in the dark. His only companions: the lifeless statues and the abyss that surrounded him.
He was cold. He was tired. He was alone.
How long was he here? What was time? What was life? What was death? What was happiness? What was sadness? What did it mean to be cold? What did it mean to be tired? What did it mean... to be alone? Was that suit of, what was it called, armour? What was it doing on the other side of the room? Was he naked? And was the... sword in his hand his own?
He couldn't remember anymore, even if he tried.
All that he had left was a memory.
A memory of her, almost clear as what he believed was called the sun.
She was once dressed in foreign armour with an odd hat. And all the while she wielded that odd greatsword of hers.
He remembered her telling him how she had to carve out a piece of the world for herself
He remembered her telling him of her many struggles.
He even could even faintly remember fighting together with her all before... Before she left.
Indeed, he remembered all of it save for...
Her face. her home. Her... name.
And though she asked it of him, he could no longer recall her name.
But maybe, just maybe, he could keep his word if he tried to at least keep her memory alive. At this point, he had no choice. It was all he could think of doing as he laid there on the stone floor.
Because he had made a promise
(A/N)
You might be wondering why Petre and Gael do not seem to be in this chapter. And you are right, they are not. That is because of the events and circumstances of what happens with Petre and Gael, specifically Petre, that I realized it would be out of place and take away from the rest of this chapter.
Therefore the next chapter will be of that part which will hold a lot of info on Petre himself.
Anyway, good luck ya'll and don't stop writing, no matter what. Even if things seem hopeless.