Novel

A Day of an Ordinary Kaga Clan Disciple

End of the Hour of the Tiger (approx. 5:00 AM).

Shadow Valley still slept under a night thicker than ink. Kiruka (Mist Haze) seeped from the rock crevices, silently flooding the valley floor. On the cliffside, the Kaga Clan’s nest loomed like a dormant beast, with only a few ventilation holes emitting a faint, dark red glow—the light from the underground flame pits, the only dawn recognized by these "Breakers of Blades."

My name is Eijiro. It’s my third year in the Kaga Clan. My rank: Ordinary Disciple. To put it nicely, I’m a "future pillar of the sect"; to put it bluntly, I’m a "Shadow-Walker" who hasn't earned a code name yet. I’m responsible for errands, cleaning, and picking myself up to apply medicine after being used as a target for the seniors' "Shadow Stealth Assassination" practice.

*Hum—*

The "Flame Talisman" folded into a triangle in my chest pocket vibrated, its warm touch instantly jolting me awake. Damn, it’s the Morning Practice Talisman. This thing doesn’t just explode; it also generates heat on a timer. It was issued collectively by the Sect Leader to cure us young disciples of the "incurable disease" known as oversleeping.

I sprang up with a start, my head nearly hitting the low rock ceiling. Since I sleep in my Black Flame Shinobi Gear, I saved time on dressing. I gave my face a quick wipe, grabbed the Shadow Fire Blade from beside my pillow, tucked it behind my waist, and crept out of the room.

The corridor was unlit, save for fluorescent stones embedded every ten steps, emitting a faint glow like phosphorus fire from a grave. I hugged the wall, trying to blend into the shadows. This wasn't out of fear of waking anyone—no one in the Kaga Clan sleeps in; being late just turns you into a moving target—but rather... I didn't want to run into Lord Onikazemaru in the hallway.

"Yo."

Of course, exactly what I feared.

A cold hand reached from behind and rested on my shoulder. My hair stood on end, and I nearly drew my blade, but I forced myself to stop. I knew that if the person behind me was Lord Onikazemaru, the act of drawing my blade would only result in my own knife ending up in my stomach.

"L-Lord Onikazemaru... good morning," I stammered, addressing the air as I turned around stiffly.

No one was there.

"Where are you looking? Up here."

I looked up and saw a pair of eyes hanging from the rafters, watching me calmly. Lord Onikazemaru was like a giant bat, hooking his feet over the beam, dangling upside down with his arms crossed. He had clearly been in that position for a long time.

"You're stepping on my shadow," he said.

I looked down; my toe was indeed pressing against the edge of the shadow he cast on the floor.

"S-Sorry!" I scrambled away.

"It's fine," he said, drifting down weightlessly without a sound, like a falling leaf. "I just wanted to tell you, if I were an enemy just now, your throat would have been torn out. Upside down, with my teeth. That move is called 'Inverse Blood Shadow Strike.' Impressive, right?"

"I-Impressive..." My throat felt a chill.

"Want to learn? I can teach you," he grinned, revealing white teeth that looked particularly predatory in the dim light.

"N-No thank you! This disciple is slow-witted, I wouldn't be able to learn it!" I waved my hands frantically, practically bolting toward the end of the corridor.

Lord Onikazemaru's light laughter echoed in the silent hallway. He truly enjoyed "looking after" his juniors in this way—they say it's his way of showing affection. But I always felt he just thought scaring people was fun.

The morning practice ground was on an open rock terrace at the bottom of the valley, surrounded by torches that lit the area as bright as day. After all, practicing basic skills in the dark is a good way to accidentally stab your own teammates. Dozens of young disciples like myself were already lined up, each holding an unsharpened practice short blade, repeatedly practicing basic thrusts against wooden dummies.

The brother in charge of morning practice was an instructor who was always stony-faced and extremely strict. They say he was assigned to train recruits for three years as punishment for failing a mission. Consequently, he vented all his frustration and longing for missions onto us unlucky souls.

"Eijiro! You're three breaths late again!" the instructor's roar made my eardrums ache. "Twenty laps around the field! After that, your 'Heart-Stealing Broken Blade' drills are doubled!"

I didn't dare speak and started running around the edge of the terrace. The morning wind blew into my collar, carrying the valley’s characteristic scent of sulfur and dampness. On my fifth lap, I saw the Intelligence Chief, Lady Kiruka, squatting on a boulder at the edge of the terrace, whispering to a black messenger pigeon in her hand.

"...Tell the 'Under the Moon' line that the watchword for the Kagemoon Castle this month is 'Chilly Moon, Clear Radiance.' It changes on the third of next month. Tell him to stay put and not rush the message," she instructed softly, then tossed the pigeon into the morning mist, where it vanished instantly.

Lady Kiruka sensed my gaze and turned, giving me a gentle smile. It was a warm and kind smile, like a sister next door. But I instinctively looked down and picked up my pace. They say she once went undercover in Kagemoon Castle for five years, drinking and chatting with those swordsmen every day without ever revealing a flaw. As warm as her smile was, the list of names she sent to their deaths was just as long.

After finishing the twenty laps, I returned to the line, panting, and began "Heart-Stealing Broken Blade" drills against the wooden dummy. The essence of this move is speed, precision, and ruthlessness—imagine the short blade is only half a length, and you must accurately pierce the opponent's heart or throat in the moment of close contact.

"Too high! Are you trying to stab his chin?"

"Footwork! Your feet should be like they're stepping on cotton! You're stomping so loud, are you afraid the enemy won't know you're coming?"

The instructor's roars continued incessantly.

Just as I thrust for the thirty-seventh time, a strange firelight caught everyone's attention. In the shadows at the corner of the practice ground, the air suddenly distorted. With a muffled *thud*, a plum-purple flame exploded, and a figure stepped out from the fire.

It was Entōji (Flame Child).

The legendary fourteen-year-old genius assassin wore Black Flame Shinobi Gear that was far too large for him, looking like a child wearing adult clothing. He was coughing as he walked, his eyes watering from the smoke, while clutching a charred puppet whose limbs were still twitching slightly.

"*Cough, cough*... 'Flame Dance Phantasm' failed again... the clone only appeared halfway, and it set my puppet on fire..." he grumbled, walking to a water vat and dunking the smoking puppet inside. With a *hiss*, white smoke rose.

The surrounding disciples pretended not to see, but their movements became a bit stiffer. Though young, Entōji was a true force of nature. His puppet assassination methods were said to be terrifyingly bizarre—targets had been known to be strangled in their sleep by the dolls at their bedsides. Although personally, he looked like... a lost elementary school student.

He finished dealing with the smoking puppet and turned to us, his eyes suddenly lighting up.

"Hey, who wants to help me practice with the 'Red Shadow Rope'? I tied a new knot and want to see if it can snag a living neck within ten steps."

Everyone simultaneously took a step back.

I was a step too slow and became the closest one to him.

"You it is!" Entōji ran over happily, pulling out a red thread as thin as hair and measuring it against my neck. "Don't worry, my technique is very good. At most, you'll lose half your breath; you definitely won't die."

Looking at his innocent smiling face and the faint rope burns on his own neck from failed practices, my legs felt a bit weak.

"Lord Entōji, I-I have to clean the Sect Leader's library in a bit..." I scrambled for an excuse.

"Clean the library?" a deep voice came from behind us. "Good, it does indeed need a cleaning."

I turned and found Sect Leader Kaga Yasha had appeared behind us at some point. He wore dark red casual robes and carried no weapons, but his mere presence made the surrounding air feel scorching.

Everyone knelt on one knee. Entōji quickly hid the red rope behind his back and bowed his head.

"Rise," the Sect Leader gestured. He looked at Entōji. "The key to 'Flame Dance Phantasm' is not the size of the flame, but the control over the 'Quiet' within the 'Twin Poles of Flame Breath.' You're too hurried, your fire too restless; naturally, the cloned form cannot hold. Come see me this afternoon, I will teach you again."

Entōji’s eyes lit up, and he nodded vigorously.

The Sect Leader then looked at me. "You're Eijiro, right? While cleaning the library, there are several scrolls regarding Kagemoon sword techniques on the third shelf. Help me organize them chronologically."

"Yes! Sect Leader!" I replied loudly, though my heart was sinking. Cleaning the Sect Leader’s library was a chore more torturous than being strangled by Entōji. The library didn't just have ancient texts and scrolls; it was filled with countless talismans, mechanism blueprints, and... his bad-tempered, spark-spitting fire lizard.

Morning practice continued after the Sect Leader left. The sun finally climbed over the mountain, a sliver of true sunlight piercing the mist over Shadow Valley and hitting the terrace. This meant morning practice was over—time for breakfast.

The Kaga Clan’s dining hall was also in a cave, with long stone tables. The food was surprisingly good. After all, assassination is physically demanding work; you can't kill people on an empty stomach.

I took a bowl of steaming meat porridge and two steamed buns and found a corner to sit. A few senior brothers nearby were talking in low voices.

"Hear the news? Lady Funka (Burning Haze) returned last night."

"Really? Was the mission successful?"

"Duh, when has Lady Funka ever failed? They say the target was a wealthy merchant hidden behind heavy guards. He was counting money in a secret room that night and was found burned to a crisp the next morning. The doors and windows were intact, and the guards swore they didn't see a soul."

"*Hiss*... 'One Life Taken, No Flame Quenched.' Truly lives up to the name."

"Quiet down, Lady Funka doesn't like being talked about."

I buried my head in my porridge, pretending not to hear. Funka, the Sect Leader’s direct executioner. In my three years here, I’ve only seen her three times in total. Each time she was like a red ghost—coming and going without a trace—I hadn't even seen her face clearly.

As I ate, the dining hall suddenly fell silent.

I looked up and saw a figure in a red cloak standing at the door. The hood was pulled low, revealing only the lower half of a face with sharp lines and what seemed to be a faint scar at the corner of the mouth. She scanned the dining hall; under her gaze, everyone instinctively looked down.

Then, she walked to the service window, silently took a bowl of porridge, found an empty table, and sat down to eat quietly by herself.

The entire dining hall was filled only with the sound of chewing.

I stole a glance and quickly looked away. This was Funka, the legendary secret assassin whose motto was "One Life Taken, No Flame Quenched." She was sitting less than five zhang away, quietly sipping porridge like a weary, ordinary traveler.

After breakfast, I went to clean the Sect Leader’s library. The fire lizard indeed tried to ambush me, but I skillfully lured it away with a piece of raw meat. While organizing the scrolls, I saw records of the Kagemoon. Their elegant long blades, their dignified swordsmanship. They say our Kaga Clan was once part of them, then exiled and forced to abandon the long blade for the short blade. We are called "Breakers of Blades," seen as losers and traitors.

But looking at these yellowed scrolls and then at my own simple yet incredibly sharp Shadow Fire Blade, I suddenly felt no such complex emotions.

Who cares about long blades or short blades, or what's considered "orthodox."

I only know that here, in Shadow Valley, I learned how to protect myself in the dark and find opportunities in desperate situations. Though the senior brothers are strict, they're willing to cover for recruits during missions. Lord Onikazemaru might be scary, but he takes the most dangerous tasks himself. Entōji might use me as a test subject, but he secretly gave me two rice balls the last time I was punished with no dinner.

Even the seemingly unapproachable Lady Funka—I’ve heard she once abandoned a perfect assassination opportunity during a mission to choose a more dangerous frontal breakthrough just to save a recruit who was holding her back.

Perhaps this is the Kaga Clan. We aren't honorable heroes; we walk in the shadows and solve problems in the most direct and effective ways. We don't need scabbards or rituals; we only need results.

The afternoon was for routine internal energy cultivation. Sitting by the flame pit, feeling the scorching heat rising from the earth, I followed the "Blazing Nether Breath Technique" to convert that heat into true *qi*, seeking balance between "Buring" and "Quiet."

The sun set in the west, and the day's cultivation finally ended.

I dragged my exhausted body back to my small room and collapsed onto the bed. Though tired, I felt at peace.

Outside, Shadow Valley was again enveloped in night. Occasionally, agile black shadows flashed across the distant cliffs—the night-walking seniors were starting their activities.

Tomorrow will be the same kind of day, I suppose.

I'll be scared by Lord Onikazemaru, used as a test subject by Entōji, scolded by the instructor, clean the library and feed the lizard for the Sect Leader, and steal a glance at that silent Lady Funka.

This is me, a day in the life of an ordinary Kaga Clan disciple.

No world-shaking events, no magnificent battles.

Just day after day of cultivation, and living a plain yet real life within this strange family called the "Kaga Clan."

Hmm, if Entōji could find someone else to bother tomorrow, it would be even more perfect.

With that thought, I drifted into sleep.

In my dream, I learned the "Flame Dance Phantasm" and created several versions of myself—one to deal with Lord Onikazemaru, one to play with Entōji, one to clean the library and feed the lizard—while the real me lay here, having a long, peaceful sleep.

Truly a wonderful dream.