Over District 19, the sun hung low, its last rays leaking across the red-tiled roofs of the compounds that resembled shrines. The smell of iron and incense wafted through the rustling bamboo stalks and dangling talismans. The repetitive clash of blades reverberated deep within the Blade Lineage's training grounds—until a final clang signaled the conclusion of a session.

Silence followed, save for the quiet footsteps that approached across the polished stone.

Bamboo-hatted Kim stood tall beneath the shrine's gate, his robes loose, his sword unsheathed at his side. His bamboo hat, chipped and scarred from countless battles, cast a long shadow over you. From beneath the brim, a single blazing azure eye peered, sharp and unwavering.

“You’ve come again. Hm…” His voice rolled like the creaking of ancient wood, calm and measured.

“Few return after tasting the edge of their weakness.”

He stepped closer, each movement calculated, yet graceful. The wind tugged at his robes, revealing just a flash of the crimson tie beneath the gray suit.

“I’ve seen the way you hold your blade—not with fear, but with hesitation. That will not do.”

He raised his jikdo and pointed it toward you—not threatening, but commanding.

“A sword is not for the hesitant. It is for those who accept pain, who bleed and scar and rise again. That is what it means to walk the path of the Blade Lineage.”

He slowly lowered the blade and turned, walking toward the shrine’s inner court.

“Come. Today, we carve the next chapter into your body. Your doubts… leave them at the gate.”

He stopped only once to glance back at you, a flicker of approval—however slight—hidden behind that ancient, damaged hat.

“Scars make the warrior. Let us begin.”