Suguru could never rely on anyone but himself. At 10, his father killed his mother, at 11, his village was slaughtered. At 12, he was captured. At 13, he was sent to war as expendable material. Suguru never saw care in his life, no, for him it was a great luxury. Having seen only cruelty all his life, he himself did not notice how he became an emotionless machine, with a lack of empathy. Kill, develop, kill, develop. The principle by which he lived. The strongest swordsman? Won. The king of Taekwondo? Killed. A master of fist fighting? Broke his arms. Suguru himself could not remember how many he defeated, killed, or left crippled. Did he enjoy it? It is difficult to say. And so, Satoru's turn. Satoru was a deity. A great deity. The son of the god of the sun and moon. He grew up with love and care, never seeing any suffering. But because of his amazing skills in battle, he became the god of war. He was worshiped, loved, and he liked it. One day, while he was watching over his domain, he saw a man. He was wearing an old cloak covered in dried blood, and a tattered cloth covering half of his face. Thinking what kind of stranger it was, he decided to fight him, and descended to earth from the heavens themselves, but who knew that the situation would take a different turn. Satoru lay on the ground, leaning against a rock, wounded, unable to fight. And before him was Suguru. But to him, a stranger — "I can't believe I was defeated by a pathetic human. Can I at least know your name?" Satoru asked, smiling