Atrius, who had been possessed by the War Star Spirit, survived as a mortal when the celestial power in his body was killed, and even the blow of the Sky Splitting Star could not make him succumb. Soon after, he learned to embrace the strength of his mortal nature, and the tenacity of his mortal nature. Today, Atrius, as a reborn Panson, rebels against divinity. His indestructible will turned into flames on the battlefield, infused into the weapons that once belonged to the Star Spirits.

From a very young age, he knew that fighting was his destiny. He trained, like many of the children of the tribe, with the goal of joining the military order of Lakore, "Rahorak". Never the most powerful or skilled samurai, Atrids somehow persevered, standing up with blood and bruises after each round of the fight. After some time, he developed a fierce atmosphere of confrontation with his contemporaries, a recruit of the same generation, Pyras. But no matter how many times Atrius was thrown to the stone, he got back to his feet again. His unrelenting tenacity made Pyras look at it differently, and the blood they shed on the training ground forged a true brotherhood.

A lonely figure awaited the armed brigade, his silhouette outlined by the oncoming sunlight. His heavy cloak and crown fluttered in the hot desert wind, and the spear in his hand stood high at his side.

The brigade consisted of thirty prime men. Most of them were mercenaries—weathered men and women, dressed in leather and buckle robes, armed with crossbows, halberds, and swords. As they walked through the dust, they were accompanied by heavily laden mules when they stopped abruptly, and their swear words and meat jokes came to an abrupt end. For they saw the warrior and stood motionless in front of them.

The black leader of the expedition strangled the black horse under his crotch and frowned. Although the rest of the group was from a distant land, he knew the place and its inhabitants well, because he once thought he belonged here. He was raised by the mountain people of the area, the Lakore, but left them a long time ago. Now, the wanderer who had disappeared for many years had returned, but it was the lure of wealth that led him back, and he knew that the temple of the Prophet on the high mountain contained priceless treasures.

He knew this group of old people and respected their fighting ability, but a samurai alone? Even Lahorlac couldn't survive such a disparity.

Even so, this person still stood on the abrupt boulder, not giving an inch.

"You have murderous intent in your hearts," said the warrior, his voice as hard as iron. "I represent Kyoho. Turn back now, or I'll gladly destroy you. Take your pick. ”

There was a joking mockery among the mercenaries.

"Get out of here, madman," one of the mercenaries shouted, "be careful that we stick your head in a stick as a signpost." ”

"You're a long way from home, friend," the brigade leader began, "we just want to go up the mountain." There is no need for bloodshed here. ”

The lone Lakol warrior did not move.

"We are only pilgrims and there is still a long way to go," the chief continued. "Besides, there's no turning back for us. Our ship is already offshore, see? He pointed behind him.

Behind the brigade, less than a mile away, the sea shimmered like dragon scales in the setting sun. Three sailboats are faintly visible, full of sails, turning around and heading north, heading home far away.

"We have no ill will, I assure you," the chief continued, "that we are only seeking wisdom. ”

"You are as open-mouthed as a snake and scorpion," said the lone warrior. "You want the blood of the prophets, and you will die for it. You were born in the mountains, and now you are going to die in the shadow of the mountains. ”

The leader's brow sunken even further, and he turned to the side, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously.

"Not necessarily," he said. "Kill him."

When it was too late, the crossbow was raised to his shoulder, and a dense stream of arrows whizzed. However, the warrior did not fall, and the arrow struck his heavy round shield, and it was bounced away. Then he began to move forward.

He didn't seem to be in a hurry. Every step forward was resolute with determination, the sun still sketching his silhouette as he slowly lowered his spear and pointed the finger at his foe. Another rapid salvo from the Crossbow. Once again, the arrow was blocked by his shield.

The mercenary group shouted, and the female soldier standing at the front took the brunt and pounced on him, the sawblade scimitar in her hand swinging at his throat. In the blink of an eye she was dead, the samurai's spear digging deep into her chest. The next two men died almost at the same speed, and the samurai's spear slashed a blood-colored arc that slashed the throat of the first and shattered the head of the second.

"Take it for me!" The leader of the expedition roared as he pulled out a finely crafted pistol from his belt.

Dark clouds obscured the sun, and people could see the posture of the samurai clearly. His armor was painted with a picture of the celestial realm, and stars seemed to twinkle on his midnight-blue cloak. The starlight was also present in his eyes, shining a relentless gaze through the shadows through the gaps in his helmet. For a moment, it seemed that both his armor and the tip of his spear glowed with divine light and power, and a sudden sense of despair filled the leader of the robbers, for he had heard of this power as a child, but had long since scoffed at it as a myth and legend.

The lone warrior moves smoothly, neatly and deadly. His speed was so fast that it surpassed the limits of any mortal. More and more mercenaries are dying, and their blood stains the dry desert red. No one was able to hit the deadly samurai. He calmly walked through the battlefield, unstoppably approaching the captain of the ride. One mercenary after another, the mercenaries died, and it was not long before all the remaining people fled in the face of the huge enemy.

The leader of the mercenaries aimed his pistol at the lone samurai and opened fire. Incredulously, he dodged at the last minute, and the bullet only scratched the side of his helmet. The captain cursed and loaded his pistol, ready to fire a second shot......

The samurai's shield hit him in the chest, and he fell from the saddle. He fell heavily to the ground, and his body was immediately trampled under the feet of the samurai, unable to move.

The bandit leader looked upward, and he was astonished to find that he recognized the face of this powerful enemy. A name came to his mind, when he was still living among the Rakor people.

"Atrius," he said, "is that you?" ”

In response, the spear of the Lakol warrior stabbed down, piercing the chief's chest.

"Atridus is gone," said the samurai, "I am Pansen, and always will be." ”

The man shuddered before he died, spitting out a stream of blood. When he finally froze, Panson drew his weapon and turned to leave. The sun had set, the twilight was dim, and countless stars lit up the night sky.

A comet trailing with a trail of flames is in motion, pointing to the mountains hundreds of miles to the east.

Pan Sen's eyes locked. "So, it's time," he said to the darkness, and set off for the distant Titan Peak.