Chapter 2 – The Name I Bear
Haruto sat on a worn-out wooden stool, his hands still gripping the sword that felt both foreign and familiar. The battle had ended, but his mind remained chaotic. His breathing was steady, but his heart raced as he replayed the fight in his head. The weight of the blade, the stance, the movement—everything was different from kendo. Yet, when he had been forced to adapt, his instincts had taken over.
Around him, the camp was alive with activity. Soldiers patched up wounds, sharpened their weapons, and exchanged tales of the battle. Some glanced his way, whispering among themselves. He wasn't sure if they were impressed or suspicious.
"You there."
Haruto looked up. A tall, broad-shouldered man in steel armor stood before him, his cloak bearing the emblem of a roaring lion. His face was hardened by war, his gaze sharp. This had to be a high-ranking officer.
"You fought well," the man said. "But your technique… it's unlike anything I've seen before."
Haruto remained silent, unsure how to respond.
The knight studied him for a moment before speaking again. "What's your name?"
"My name is—" Haruto hesitated. His name? His real name was Haruto Kisaragi, but would they believe that? Before he could answer, another knight stepped forward and handed him a helmet.
"Sir, this is his."
Haruto took it reluctantly, his eyes catching the engraved emblem on the side. A crest—one he had seen on the other soldiers. His fingers traced over it absentmindedly.
"You must have hit your head harder than I thought." The officer crossed his arms. "You are Leonhardt Vaelstrom, knight of the Eastern Legion."
Haruto's breath hitched.
Leonhardt Vaelstrom.
The name felt foreign, yet it was now his.
He clenched his fist. This world had already taken his identity, his past. But if this was the name he had to bear, so be it.
"Understood," Haruto—no, Leonhardt—said at last.
The officer smirked. "Good. You still have a battle ahead of you, Leonhardt. Rest while you can."
As the man left, Leonhardt sat there, staring at the fire. His mind drifted back to Tokyo, to the life he had lost. His defeats, his struggles, his death.
This world was merciless.
But so was he.
The campfire crackled, its flickering light casting long shadows against the tents. The night was silent, save for the distant hoots of an owl and the occasional clatter of armor as soldiers shifted in their sleep.
Leonhardt, however, did not rest.
He stood alone in a clearing, gripping the worn hilt of his sword. His breath was steady, but his mind raced. The fight earlier had reminded him of something—the frustration of always falling short. No matter how hard he trained, he had always been second place in kendo. But here, in this world, there were no rankings, no medals—just life and death. And he refused to be on the losing side again.
Raising his blade, he assumed a familiar stance. Right foot forward, blade aligned with his vision. The weight of the sword was different from a shinai, but his body adjusted instinctively. He struck the air, repeating each movement with precision. Men. Kote. Do. Tsuki. Again. And again.
Hours passed, yet he kept going. His arms screamed in protest, but he ignored the pain. He had died once. He wouldn't be weak again.
Only when the first light of dawn crept over the horizon did he finally lower his blade. Sweat dripped down his face, his breath ragged. But for the first time in years, he felt something other than frustration.
He felt ready.
---
The sun had barely risen when the horns of war echoed across the valley.
Leonhardt stood among the ranks of armored soldiers, his grip firm on his sword and shield. This was it—their counterattack had begun.
"Advance!"
The order rang out, and like a tidal wave, the army surged forward. The earth trembled beneath their charge. Arrows whistled overhead, some striking down allies beside him, but Leonhardt kept moving.
His shield clashed against the enemy's, and he pushed forward with all his strength. This was nothing like kendo. There were no rules, no referees—only brute force. He bashed an enemy aside and slashed at another, his blade carving through armor and flesh.
He fought not as a knight, but as a warrior trying to survive.
Their relentless assault shattered the enemy's frontlines. They pressed onward, forcing their way toward the enemy stronghold. The fortress loomed ahead, its iron gates their next obstacle.
"Break through!" the captain roared, leading the charge.
Leonhardt followed, his focus unwavering. But just as the captain neared the entrance—
Snap!
A hidden rope was pulled, and suddenly, iron spikes shot up from the ground. The captain barely had time to react before a hail of arrows rained down from above. From the shadows, enemy soldiers emerged, their weapons gleaming.
It was a trap.
The captain stumbled back, barely deflecting a spear thrust. More enemies closed in, encircling him. His men were too far to help in time.
Leonhardt saw everything—the captain, outnumbered and vulnerable. His grip tightened. He had hesitated once before in his past life.
Not this time.
Without thinking, he hurled his shield forward. The heavy metal slab crashed into the captain, knocking him away just as a blade nearly impaled him. The enemy faltered in surprise—just long enough for Leonhardt to strike.
He darted into the fray, his sword flashing. His stance shifted—no longer a rigid knight's form, but a duelist's precision. He dodged, sidestepped, countered. He was faster than them. More precise.
One by one, the enemies fell.
By the time the captain regained his footing, Leonhardt had already cut down half of his attackers.
The captain stared, then grinned. "Hah… You're full of surprises."
Leonhardt exhaled, barely registering the words. The battle wasn't over yet.
"Move!" the captain ordered. "We take the stronghold now!"
The army charged forward, breaking through the gates and flooding into the fortress. The enemy forces scrambled to defend, but the momentum was no longer in their favor.
And then, he appeared.
A towering figure in blackened armor stood at the fortress steps. His red cape billowed behind him as he raised a massive halberd. The enemy soldiers rallied behind him, their fear momentarily replaced by determination.
Leonhardt instantly recognized him—the enemy general.
Their gazes locked.
"Come," the general sneered. "Let's see if you're worth killing."
Leonhardt stepped forward. His body was exhausted, his muscles aching. But he lifted his sword anyway.
This was it.
His first true battle.
To be continued…
End of Chapter 2.