"Neither should you," Seraphine replied. "But here we are anyway. Two demon lords preparing to face a hero who's killed twelve others like us, backed by warriors who'd rather die than show weakness, with a plan that's equal parts desperation and honor. It's almost poetic, in a tragic sort of way."

"Tragic is right," Satou agreed. "But maybe we'll surprise everyone. Maybe this insane plan actually works."

"Maybe," Seraphine said, though neither of them sounded convinced.

They left the war room together, and as they walked through the Fallen Spires, Satou could see the preparations happening everywhere. Warriors drilling. Mages practicing coordinated spells. Engineers setting up defensive barriers and traps.

Everyone working desperately to be ready for a battle they knew they probably couldn't win.

But trying anyway.

Because that's what you did when your home was threatened. You fought. Even when the odds were impossible. Even when survival seemed like a fantasy.

You fight till the end , never losing yourself to despair .

Satou spent the first day in the southern training grounds, getting a feel for Void Fang's full capabilities.

The weapon was extraordinary. Each swing opened hairline fractures in reality itself. The blade could cut through literally anything—stone, metal, magical barriers, even the air itself left trails of spatial distortion in its wake.

But it was also dangerous to use. The more he swung it, the more he felt the strain on his body. Void Fang wasn't just cutting physical matter—it was cutting through the fundamental fabric of reality, and doing so repeatedly required enormous amounts of energy.

After three hours of intensive training, Satou was exhausted despite his enhanced stamina.

"This is going to be a problem," he muttered, sitting down to rest. "If I'm too tired from waiting for my moment, I might not have the energy to make the killing blow count."

He'd need to be strategic. Couldn't waste energy before the crucial moment. Couldn't tire himself out waiting.

Cassius appeared from the shadows, having been watching. "Your weapon is formidable, but demanding. Perhaps you should practice efficiency rather than power? Make each strike count rather than overwhelming through volume?"

"You're right," Satou agreed. "One perfect strike is better than a hundred sloppy ones. I need to practice making that single cut count."

He spent the rest of the day practicing precision—single strikes, perfectly placed, maximum efficiency with minimum energy expenditure.

Day Two

Seraphine found him in the training grounds, watching him work.

"You're improving," she observed as Satou executed a flawless strike that opened a ten-foot rent in reality before it sealed itself. "But you're also overthinking. That strike was technically perfect but emotionally hollow. You need to want to kill The Reaper, not just know how to."

"I don't know him well enough to want him dead," Satou admitted. "He's just a name. A threat. How do I summon killing intent for someone I haven't met?"

"Think about what you're protecting," Seraphine suggested. "Not about him, but about what his death preserves. Your settlement. Your people. Lyra and Jessica waiting for you to come home. The Fallen Spires and everyone who calls it home. That's what you're fighting for. That's where your conviction comes from."

Satou closed his eyes, thinking of Lyra's face. Jessica's smile. His settlement and everything he'd built. The women and children evacuating from the Fallen Spires who just wanted to live in peace.

He opened his eyes and swung Void Fang.

The strike was different this time—still technically perfect, but now carrying weight behind it. Purpose. The spatial tear it created was deeper, more substantial, taking longer to seal.

"Better," Seraphine said with satisfaction. "Much better. Now you're not just wielding a weapon—you're wielding intent. That's what will make the difference."

Day Three

Veronica appeared at the training grounds, watching Satou practice with a critical eye.

"You're fast," she finally said. "Faster than I expected. Your Void Step and Shadow Step abilities would let you close distance quickly."

"That's the plan," Satou confirmed. "Get close before he can react, strike before he can adapt."

"The Reaper has existed for three hundred years," Veronica said quietly. "He's faced opponents faster than you, stronger than you, with abilities more esoteric than yours. What makes you think you can succeed where demon lords failed?"

"Because they didn't have Void Fang," Satou replied. "And because I'm not arrogant enough to think I'm better than them—I'm just different enough that maybe he won't see me coming."

Veronica was quiet for a long moment. Then: "I'm sorry. For earlier. For dismissing your offer to fight on the frontlines. You were right—tactically, you should engage first. But…

"

"But your people need to fight their own battle first," Satou finished. "I understand. I don't like it, but I understand."

"We're going to die," Veronica said softly. "Most of us. Maybe all of us. We know that. But at least we'll die standing. That has to count for something."

"It counts for everything," Satou assured her. "Don't think I don't understand that. I just wish there was a way to do this that didn't require so much sacrifice."

"If there was, we'd take it," Veronica replied. "But there isn't. So we do what we must. And hope that it's enough."

She left, and Satou returned to training with renewed determination. He'd make sure their sacrifices meant something. He'd make sure Void Fang's strike was worth every life that would be lost creating the opening for it.

Day Four

Lilith joined him in the training grounds, watching his movements.

"You fight like someone who's afraid of making mistakes," she observed. "Too controlled. Too measured. In real combat, you won't have time for perfection."

"I have one shot," Satou replied. "One chance to kill The Reaper before he adapts. I need it to be perfect."

" Being too perfect will get you killed," Lilith countered. "The Reaper won't give you a perfect opening. He'll force you to strike in less-than-ideal circumstances, when you're tired or wounded or distracted. You need to be able to land the killing blow even when conditions are terrible."

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