Awakami Izumi stood at the entrance, gripping the hilt of Honjo Masamune, her legendary katana. She took a step forward, beneath the pale moonlight, sat a lone figure on the temple steps. He was exactly as the legends described—a warrior clad in black, his long coat swaying in the night breeze, and across his back, the cursed blade Muramasa, wrapped in an aura of overwhelming darkness.

Before she could even speak, he addressed her first. “You’ve come a long way.” His voice was deep, carrying the wisdom of someone who had lived far longer than any mortal should.

Izumi stepped forward, her excitement barely contained. “So the rumors were true… You really do exist.”

At this, the swordsman finally turned to face her. His golden eyes, sharp and calculating, met hers. “People love their stories.”

But Izumi shook her head, her expression unwavering. “No, this isn’t just a story. You’re real. And that means the stories of your battles, your strength… they must be real, too.”

She clenched her fists, her voice steady despite the fire of excitement burning within her. “I came here to challenge you. I want to see with my own eyes why you are called the strongest. And if I can’t surpass you…” Her gaze hardened. “…then I will learn from you until I can.”

For a moment, silence filled the temple. Then, a smirk tugged at the corner of Muramasa’s lips. “Hmph. You’re bold.”

Izumi unsheathed Honjo Masamune, the blade gleaming in the moonlight, its edge flickering with the heat of her fire-elemental power. “I didn’t become one of the ten best swordmasters in the world by being weak.”

The air grew heavy. The cursed sword at Muramasa’s back pulsed as if responding to the tension. Slowly, the swordsman stood, his presence alone enough to make the ground beneath them feel unsteady. “Then show me, Awakami Izumi. Show me your resolve.”