The forest was quiet — too quiet. Not the kind of quiet that comes with peace, but the kind that makes your heartbeat sound like footsteps. The kind that makes the wind feel like it's watching you.
Nick crouched behind a moss-covered rock, eyes locked on the Mongol camp ahead. Smoke drifted lazily from their campfire, and the faint clatter of armor echoed through the trees. His body still ached from days of training, and the bruise on his left shoulder pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Behind him, a voice whispered, sharp and impatient.
"Too noisy. You breathe like an ox."
Nick glanced back. Yuna stood a few paces away, arms crossed, a teasing smirk on her lips. Her hair was tied loosely, her dagger gleaming faintly in the half-light.
"Sorry," he whispered. "I usually sneak with a controller, not my feet."
Yuna frowned. "A what?"
"Never mind."
She sighed. "You've got the stance of a samurai, but the patience of a child. You can't just charge in and swing. You'll die before you even see your target."
Nick took a slow breath. "I get it. We do this your way."
"Good. Then follow me — and don't step on dry leaves."
They moved through the underbrush like shadows. Nick's body tensed with every step, his mind replaying Yuna's lessons. Stay low. Use the wind. Be the ghost, not the blade.
At the edge of the clearing, two Mongols stood guard beside a supply cart. Their armor glinted in the moonlight, and one was lazily humming a foreign tune.
Yuna motioned for Nick to stop. "This one's yours," she whispered.
Nick blinked. "Mine?"
"Kill him silently. From behind. No hesitation."
He froze. He'd done this a thousand times in the game. Press square behind the target, silent takedown. Easy. But now, there was no button, no HUD, no controller. Just a man breathing in front of him — real, alive, unsuspecting.
"Go," Yuna hissed.
Nick swallowed hard. He crept forward, step by step. The smell of sweat and iron filled his nose. His hand trembled as he reached for the dagger she'd given him — smaller than a katana, light enough to vanish in the dark.
He exhaled slowly.
Be the Ghost.
The blade flashed once. The guard stiffened, gurgled, and fell. Nick caught his body before it hit the ground, lowering it silently into the grass. For a moment, everything went still.
Then, the faint shimmer of wind swirled around him — a whisper of approval from the unseen Kami. His heartbeat slowed. His breathing steadied.
Yuna appeared beside him, her eyes unreadable. "Not bad," she murmured. "You didn't scream. I was worried you might."
Nick smirked faintly. "Guess I'm learning."
"Don't get cocky. One silent kill doesn't make you a ghost. But it's a start."
They moved deeper into the camp. Each step became easier, each breath quieter. Nick felt something awaken inside him — not adrenaline, but a strange focus, a connection to everything around him. The wind guided his steps. The shadows hid his mistakes.
By the time they cleared the camp, five Mongols lay still among the grass. None had raised an alarm.
Yuna knelt beside a fallen guard, rifling through his belt pouch. "These camps are everywhere now," she muttered. "Every road, every village. They're strangling Tsushima piece by piece."
Nick crouched beside her. "Then we cut the rope."
Yuna glanced at him, amused. "Spoken like a samurai. Or someone trying too hard to be one."
He smiled faintly. "I'm just trying not to die."
"Good goal. Keep it that way." She tossed him a small pouch. "Here. Smoke bombs. Made them myself."
He opened it — black powder and strange herbs, wrapped tightly in silk. "What do they do?"
"Blind your enemies long enough to run… or strike."
He twirled one between his fingers. "So… like a flashbang."
Yuna raised a brow. "Like a what?"
"Never mind again."
"Whatever it is, just don't blow yourself up."
They spent the rest of the night on the move, ambushing outposts and rescuing villagers who'd been taken as workers. Nick began to notice the rhythm — attack, vanish, reappear. The resolve in his chest pulsed like an ember every time he acted with clarity, with precision. He started calling it Chi, but deep down he knew it was something more — something divine.
---
By dawn, they sat on a hillside overlooking the burning ruins of the Mongol camp. The sky was streaked with crimson, and the smell of ash hung thick in the air.
Yuna handed him a canteen. "You didn't do bad for a beginner. Most samurai would've refused to even try."
Nick sipped the water. "Yeah, well… I'm not exactly from around here."
Yuna gave him a sidelong look. "You keep saying strange things. 'Controllers', 'flashbangs', 'not from around here'. Where are you from, really?"
He hesitated. The truth was impossible — she'd think him insane. "A faraway land," he said finally. "A place where wars are fought in different ways."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I don't care where you're from, Jin. As long as you keep fighting."
Nick's chest tightened. Jin. She called him Jin again — like everyone else did. He wanted to tell her the truth, that he wasn't the real Jin Sakai, that he didn't deserve that name. But something held him back. Maybe shame. Maybe destiny.
He looked down at his hands, still stained with blood. "I'll fight," he said quietly. "But not for glory. Not for honor. For the people who can't."
Yuna smirked. "Now you're starting to sound like someone I'd actually follow."
---
Later, as Yuna dozed lightly by the fire, Nick sat alone, watching the flames dance. The wind stirred the trees, carrying faint whispers only he could hear.
Balance the blade and the shadow…
He closed his eyes. The voice wasn't Yuna's — it was older, deeper, calm as the sea. The same divine tone that had called him since his arrival.
"You again," he murmured. "Kami… you watching me?"
The flames bent slightly, flickering toward him as if in answer.
"Fine. Watch all you want," he whispered. "But next time, maybe give me a proper tutorial first."
He chuckled softly to himself, but his smile faded as he looked down at his reflection in the blade. Jin Sakai's face stared back — calm, resolute, haunted.
"I'm not him," Nick muttered. "But… I'll make sure I don't fail like he did."
The wind stirred again, carrying a faint, almost approving sigh through the leaves.
---
By morning, Yuna was already up, sharpening her dagger. "Wake up, sleepyhead," she said. "We've got another camp to burn."
Nick groaned, rubbing his neck. "Do assassins ever rest?"
"Only when we're dead."
He grinned. "Motivating."
She tossed him an apple. "Eat. You'll need your strength. We move south today — I heard rumors of a Mongol convoy transporting captives toward Kaneda Fortress."
Nick froze mid-bite. Kaneda. The name struck him like thunder. That's where the original Jin had lost everything.
"Kaneda Fortress…" he murmured. "That's where they're holding my uncle."
Yuna frowned. "You sure?"
"I can feel it."
She studied his face, then nodded. "Then we get stronger before we go there. If you rush in now, you'll die."
He met her gaze. "Then teach me everything you know."
Yuna smirked. "You're serious?"
He nodded. "Deadly."
She tossed him another dagger. "Alright then, Ghost. Let's see if you can dance with the shadows."
---
That morning, the forest echoed not with battle cries, but the whisper of blades, the thud of silent footsteps, and Yuna's sharp, sarcastic instructions:
"Too loud!"
"Too slow!"
"Good — now stab him like you mean it!"
And somewhere in between those lessons, the boy who once held a controller began to become the legend that would shake Tsushima.
---