Chapter 1 — The Boy Who Should Have Died
Snow fell endlessly over the Land of Iron, coating the mountains in a cold white blanket.
Deep inside one of those mountains, a thin boy swung a hammer again and again.
His name was Kazuma, a war orphan who survived by working as a miner.
He was only eight years old.
Every morning began with the same pain—
lifting rocks, breaking stone, carrying ore in wooden buckets almost bigger than his body.
The miners shouted orders.
The dust burned his throat.
But Kazuma kept working, because there was nothing else he could do.
One day, while lifting a stone far heavier than usual, he suddenly felt something warm move through his arms.
His muscles tightened, but not from pain—
from strength.
Kazuma blinked in confusion.
He lifted the stone again.
It was still heavy…
but something inside his body helped him lift it.
A strange joy spread through him.
He had awakened chakra.
He didn't fully understand what chakra was,
but he knew it made people strong.
It made samurai strong.
And now… he had it too.
The next few weeks changed his life.
Kazuma could break more stone, carry more weight, and work longer hours.
He didn't become a superhuman,
just a little stronger—
but for a starving orphan, even that felt amazing.
The mine overseer noticed.
"You're working harder than the other kids," he said.
"Good. Work faster."
That was all the praise Kazuma received.
One year passed.
His chakra grew slowly but steadily.
By age nine, he was stronger than most children,
but still just a laborer.
Everything changed when he found the coin.
It happened in an old tunnel.
Kazuma's hammer struck something that didn't sound like stone.
He dug with his hands and uncovered a round object coated in dust.
A coin.
Not gold.
Not silver.
The metal was old, worn, and strangely warm.
The front showed two crossed swords.
The back had a swirling symbol shaped like an onion.
Kazuma didn't know what it meant.
He just knew it felt important.
He hid it inside his clothes and continued working.
A few days later, armored samurai arrived to inspect the mines.
One of them paused near Kazuma and frowned.
"You," he said. "Boy. What's your name?"
"Kazuma."
The samurai stared at him for a long moment,
as if sensing something invisible.
"You have chakra. You will come with us."
Kazuma didn't argue.
Leaving the mines was a dream.
Even if he didn't know what waited ahead,
anything was better than swinging a hammer until he died.
He was taken to a camp where dozens of kids his age were gathered—
orphans like him,
all with chakra awakened naturally.
For the first time, Kazuma ate warm food.
For the first time, he slept in a bed.
For the first time, adults taught him something other than mining.
Their lessons were strict and painful.
Sword stances.
Weapon drills.
Meditation.
Chakra control.
Tree walking.
Water walking.
They also taught three basic ninjutsu—
Clone Jutsu, Transformation Jutsu, and Substitution Jutsu.
Kazuma struggled with most techniques,
but he worked harder than anyone else.
After two years, he mastered two things:
Substitution Jutsu.
And Body Flicker.
Not perfectly,
but well enough to survive.
Then came the mission he feared.
Bandit killing.
Kazuma's first kill felt wrong.
The bandit was weak, starving, begging.
Kazuma's hands shook so hard he almost dropped his sword.
The man died anyway.
It wasn't training.
It wasn't honor.
It was just killing.
He gained no confidence—
only numbness.
By age twelve, the children were sent out as canon fodder for the Third Shinobi War.
Land of Iron didn't officially join the war,
but they sent bodies to gain political favor.
Before leaving, they were taught chakra flow on the sword.
Kazuma could hold it for only fifteen seconds.
Too slow to activate.
Too weak to maintain.
Still, he marched to war with the others.
Their group met forces from both Kirigakure and Kumogakure.
Two villages that did not get along—
yet they united when they saw the helpless samurai children.
Kazuma saw people he trained with die one by one.
Mists of blood.
Lightning-fast blades.
Screams swallowed by snow.
He fought a Mist genin, barely surviving.
His chakra flowed through a kunai and managed to cut the enemy.
Before he could breathe, another ninja attacked.
Kazuma blocked.
Dodged.
Stumbled.
Fell.
Got up again.
Then he felt a presence behind him.
Too fast.
A Mist Jōnin.
Kazuma turned just in time to see lightning dancing on the man's sword.
He swung his own sword desperately.
The Jōnin dodged with ease.
Steel met lightning—
and Kazuma's body froze from the shock.
He couldn't move.
He couldn't even scream.
"Pitiful child," the Jōnin said.
The sword pierced Kazuma's chest.
His vision blurred.
His body grew cold.
His breath faded.
He died at age twelve.
But something unusual happened.
As his blood touched the old coin in his pocket,
the metal glowed faintly.
It slipped from his clothes, floated upward, and broke apart.
Kazuma's consciousness was pulled into a dark, endless space.
The shattered coin circled him like fragments of light.
A whisper echoed inside the void—
a voice without a source.
"Sword of Rinne… awaken."
The fragments dissolved into pure energy
and wrapped around Kazuma's fading soul.
Then the coin vanished completely.
Destroyed forever.
Erased from the world.
Its last and only function
was to send Kazuma's consciousness somewhere else.
Somewhere far from the battlefield.
Somewhere far from death.
---
End of Chapter