A soft breeze rustled through the tall grass beside the lake. The faint sound of crackling fire echoed in the quiet forest. Yochiro slowly opened his eyes — his body ached as if every muscle had been stretched beyond its limit.
For a moment, his vision blurred. Then, as it cleared, he saw Tonakama sitting cross-legged by the campfire, carefully turning two skewered fish above the flames. The smell of grilled fish mixed with the scent of smoke drifted through the air.
Tonakama looked up and grinned.
"Ah, finally awake, huh?" he said, his tone half-teasing, half-relieved.
Yochiro blinked, still trying to recall what had happened.
"What… what happened to me?" he asked weakly, trying to sit up.
Tonakama chuckled and replied, "You pushed your limits, that's what happened. For an eight-year-old dumb boy, you've got the body of a beast. Your strength is ridiculous — you just don't know how to use it yet."
Yochiro frowned but couldn't help a small smile.
"You're calling me dumb again, old man?"
"Of course," Tonakama said, brushing ash from his hand. "If I don't, who will keep that overconfident head of yours grounded?"
He handed Yochiro a cooked fish on a wooden stick. "Eat. If you only train hard and don't give your body the nutrients it needs, you'll destroy yourself before you ever become strong."
Yochiro took a bite, the smoky flavor mixing with hunger. "So, food first, then strength?"
"Exactly," Tonakama nodded, biting into his own fish. "Training builds your power, but food keeps that power alive."
The night deepened around them — stars shimmered above, and the calm lake reflected their light like liquid glass. The faint hum of crickets filled the air.
From that day forward, Yochiro's training began again — harder than before.
Each morning, Tonakama's voice echoed through the forest.
"Get up, boy! The sun's already beating us!"
Yochiro trained until sweat soaked the ground beneath him. He pushed his body beyond what a normal child could handle — sword swings, planks, stance practice. Each time he fell, Tonakama would say the same thing:
"Pain means you're growing. Fatigue means you're improving."
Day by day, Yochiro's strength refined. His movements became sharper, his breathing steadier, and his body more balanced.
Tonakama often stood in silence, watching him from a distance. This boy… he's the strongest eight-year-old I've ever seen, he thought. Even stronger than many adults I trained with in my prime.
Sometimes, a grin crept onto his face. When that old man sees this kid, he'll fall off his chair.
But Yochiro, unaware of Tonakama's inner thoughts, kept pushing himself.
One morning, as he finished a long set of pushups, he looked up. "What are you thinking about now, old man? You've been staring at me for five minutes."
Tonakama coughed, caught off guard. "Nothing! Just… admiring your terrible pushup form!"
Yochiro smirked. "Yeah, right."
Tonakama's tone turned serious. "Enough talk. From today, we're increasing the difficulty. You've been holding back."
Over the next 2 months, the training turned into pure trial by fire.
Each sunrise began with pushups — hundreds of them.
Then squats until his legs trembled.
Then pull-ups from tree branches until his arms burned.
Then running across the forest paths for miles, the sound of his bare feet slapping against the dirt.
The air was filled with the rhythm of his breathing — deep, controlled, unrelenting.
After a 2 months of brutal training, Tonakama stood tall like a proud mentor. "Alright, boy. This is it. The last day of Lesson One. Show me what you've learned."
He shouted, "Push-ups!"
Yochiro dropped and began. His arms moved like pistons — smooth, fast, and steady.
"One… two… three…" Tonakama counted.
Before long, Yochiro hit three hundred. Tonakama's eyes widened. Three hundred in a single set…
Then came squats — another three hundred.
Pull-ups — three hundred more.
Then the run — thirty kilometers through the forest without stopping.
Tonakama couldn't believe what he was seeing. This boy isn't human…
Finally, Tonakama said, "Alright. Let's test your balance. Horse stance — one hour. With the cup."
Tonakama looked at yochiro and thinks that "After such hard training, he must be exhausted," he thought. "I'm sure he couldn't hold that horse stance for more than thirty minutes."
Yochiro placed the cup of water on his head, bent his knees, and held the stance. Minutes turned to an hour. Not a single drop spilled.
Tonakama's jaw dropped.
"Now," he said, voice low but filled with pride, "Show me your swordsmanship."
He unsheathed his katana — its blade gleaming in the fading light. Yochiro drew his own katana, stance firm, eyes glowing with determination.
"This is your final test," Tonakama said. "Attack me."
Yochiro smirked and said, "Think carefully before you do that, and don't come crying to me later saying you got hurt."
Tonakama laughed loudly, his voice full of confidence. "Ha ha! Little boy," he said, "I'm going to turn that confident smile of yours into a sad, crying face. You're not fighting some ordinary swordsman — you're facing a living legend!"
Yochiro sneered, voice calm but deadly. "It makes no difference whether you are a living legend or a mad swordsman — I will crush you."
The two clashed — sparks flew as blades met in a flurry of motion. Yochiro's movements were faster, sharper, unpredictable. Tonakama's defense was precise, but he could feel the improvement in every strike Yochiro delivered.
He's not fighting like a student anymore, Tonakama thought. He's fighting like a warrior.
The air shook with the sound of steel. Yochiro spun, parried, and moved with balance that amazed even his teacher.
Finally, their swords locked — both panting.
Tonakama smiled, sweat dripping down his brow.
"Damn, boy. You've doubled your strength, speed, and skill. You've impressed me — the living legend himself."
Yochiro smirked. "So, the great Tonakama is impressed? That's a first."
Yochiro's smile flared with excitement. "When this skill merges with my fury," he murmured, awe and hunger threaded through his voice, "I can't even imagine how far my power will soar."
Tonakama's expression hardened;"You're talking about that glowing-eye mode ,Tonakama recalled the battle — the moment Yochiro's eyes began to glow. "That power…" he thought, a hint of awe in his voice. "I've never seen anything like it. Now I understand why the old man kept insisting I test him — but honestly, this power is far beyond what I imagined.If he ever master that… he'll be a demon's nightmare."
For a moment, silence hung between them — a rare peace after weeks of pain.
Then Tonakama asked softly, "Tell me, boy… something about your past."
Yochiro's smile faded. His eyes turned distant. "You don't need to know. There's nothing good back there."
Tonakama frowned but didn't press. He saw the shadows in the boy's gaze.
He simply said, "Alright. I won't force it."
The wind carried the smell of wet earth and distant smoke. Yochiro walked toward the edge of the forest, gazing down at the faint lights of a village below.
Tonakama stepped beside him and said quietly, "I didn't mean to hurt you."
Yochiro didn't look back. "You didn't. Just don't ask about my past again."
The night fell silent — two figures standing side by side, both scarred by memories, both burning with the same fire to grow stronger.
And somewhere deep inside, Tonakama knew — this boy would one day change the world.
The deep silence of night covered the mountains . Then, suddenly, the sky burst alive — a red fireball streaked upward and exploded into shimmering gold, scattering light across the dark valley.
Tonakama, standing at the mouth of the cave, lifted his head sharply. His eyes widened, then gleamed with excitement as another firework cracked through the air — blue this time, followed by a deep rumble echoing through the forest.
A smile spread across his face. "Looks like there's a festival in the village tonight," he said, his voice filled with sudden energy.
Beside him, Yochiro stood silently. The glow of the fireworks shimmered across his calm face — shadows and light dancing together. He said nothing, lost in thought.
Tonakama turned toward him, grinning. "Come on, let's go too."
Yochiro didn't move. His eyes stayed on the horizon. "I'm not going," he said quietly.
Tonakama thought, "Looks like he really took my words to heart. Guess I'll have to fix his mood now."
Tonakama folded his arms, sighing with a grin. "You're coming, Yochiro. This isn't just any festival — it's a celebration for you too."
Yochiro looked up, slightly confused. "For me?"
"Yes," Tonakama said. "You just finished your first training phase. That's something worth celebrating. Even a warrior needs to breathe sometimes."
Another firework burst, painting their faces gold and red. Yochiro didn't answer — he only watched the colors scatter across the night sky, lost in silent thought.
Tonakama chuckled. "Come on, kid. You fought the mountain; surely you can handle a crowd."
But Yochiro remained still, his expression unreadable. The light reflected in his dark eyes — calm, distant, and thoughtful.
"Suddenly, Yochiro felt something strange in the air."
On the other side of the jungle, in the heart of a quiet village glowing under hundreds of lanterns, stood a man on a high wooden stage. He wasn't too old — perhaps fifty-six or fifty-eight — with strong shoulders and eyes that carried both wisdom and warmth. His name was Hiroshi Kagamitsu, the third-generation leader of this village. For years, his family had guided these people through famine, storms, and peace, and the villagers respected him deeply.
Tonight, however, was not a night of duty — it was a night of joy.
It was the marriage of his daughter, and the entire village had gathered to celebrate beneath the crimson sky.
Hiroshi stepped forward on the stage, his voice ringing clear over the crowd.
"Thank you all for coming here! This is a big day for me — I am truly thankful to each of you!"
The crowd erupted in cheers and claps. Children ran between the stalls, their laughter mixing with the scent of ramen, boiled rice, tofu soup, and sweet dumplings. Dozens of food stalls lined the street, arranged personally by the village leader so that everyone — from the poorest farmer to the highest swordsman — could eat freely.
Lanterns swayed in the evening wind, glowing like floating suns. The air was warm, filled with chatter and joy.
Behind the stage stood almost two hundred swordsmen, loyal protectors of the Kagamitsu family. Each one wore the village crest upon their chest, hands resting on the hilts of their blades. They stood as silent guardians, watching over the celebration.
As the sun slowly sank, the sky turned violet, then deep blue. Yet the people remained lost in laughter and song. The night deepened — and in the shadows beyond the last torch, something moved.
A sudden scream tore through the music.
A man came running into the village square, his face pale with terror.
"Help me! Help me!" he cried, stumbling as his legs gave out. He fell to the ground, his trembling hands pointing toward the forest road.
From the darkness behind him, hundreds of demons burst forth.
Their claws gleamed under the moonlight. Their roars drowned out the festival drums.
Panic swept the crowd. Mothers clutched their children. Men grabbed tools, others froze in fear.
Hiroshi's eyes widened in disbelief — his heart pounding in his chest.
He turned toward his soldiers and shouted, "Go! Protect the villagers!"
In an instant, the two hundred swordsmen formed a wall before the panicking people, steel flashing as they drew their blades in unison.
The ground trembled as the demon horde rushed closer, a storm of black shapes and red eyes.
Even the bravest warriors could feel the weight of dread pressing against their chests.
One swordsman whispered under his breath, voice trembling,
"I… I've never seen this many demons before…"
Hiroshi clenched his fists on the stage, his face pale, his soul frozen between disbelief and horror — as the first clash of steel and claw echoed through the burning night.
Thank you for reading this chapter — festival of blood and light
This part of Yochiro's journey marks the true start of his transformation — from a boy who only seeks strength, to someone who begins to understand what that strength must protect.
Every character in this story — from Tonakama's wisdom to Hiroshi's courage — carries a piece of the world I'm building. The peace, the fire, and the tragedy are all steps toward the rise of the Devil Destroyer.
Your support means more than words can express.
Keep reading, and stay with Yochiro as the light of humanity clashes with the darkness of the underworld.
— Mushaim Ali
(Author of Devil Destroyer: Rise of Yochiro Homurao)