The Supreme Commander of the Immortal Guard

The morning sun crept over the high wooden rafters of the Northern Wind Dojo.

In the corner of the outer equipment courtyard, Logan Winston sat on a wooden stool with a rag wrapped around his palm, stained with oil and wood dust. On the workbench before him lay a dozen wooden practice blades, their edges chipped from weeks of reckless sparring.

With smooth movements, Logan ran a piece of coarse sandcloth along an oak bokken, smoothing down a jagged splinter that could cut an amateur’s hand.

To any passerby, he looked like nothing more than a dutiful handyman. Nobody in the dojo knew that the hands smoothing cheap pine had once held the the legendary blade that commanded thirty thousand warriors of the Immortal Guard. Nobody knew that the scars running up his forearms were left by the steel of fallen war lords.

Logan preferred it that way. He doesn't want anyone to know he was the God of war.

Six years ago, he had buried his past under a mountain of broken vows. He had promised his dying master that he would never draw a sword again until the true traitor who betrayed the Guard was brought to light.

in the obscurity of the Northern Wind Dojo, living beside Clara, he had found peace. Even if it came at the cost of his dignity.

The doors swinging open, Logan raised his brow, his expression changed.

A chorus of cheering disciples echoed from the front gates, followed by the footsteps of men. Leading the procession was Elliot, the dojo’s Senior Brother, who wore a white martial arts uniform. On his hip hung a longsword.

Flanking him was Master Seth, Clara’s uncle, his chest puffed out with pride, and a satisfied smirk curled on his face.

Elliot had just won the Regional Sub-District Championship, bringing glory and lucrative new student enrollments to the family.

"Clear the pathway!" one of Elliot's junior disciples shouted, shoving aside a laundry rack near the courtyard entrance.

"Senior Brother Elliot has returned victorious! Move out of the way!"

Logan carefully wiped the wooden blade in his lap, setting it onto the organized rack beside him.

Elliot stopped in front of the maintenance bench. His eyes swept over the pile of wooden weapons, a look of disgust settling over his features. He drew his sword an inch from its scabbard.

"Still playing with toys, Logan?" Elliot sneered, his voice attracted the attention of the gathering disciples.

"Every time I return from a real battle, I find you sitting in the dirt, sanding pine sticks like a nervous child. Don't you feel ashamed?"

The surrounding disciples burst into laughter.

Master Seth stroked his grey beard, stepping forward without offering Logan a glance.

"A man who cannot wield steel is fit only to clean it, Elliot," Seth said, voice laced with contempt. "Do not waste your breath on someone who lacks the courage to stand on a sparring ring."

Logan remained seated. He kept his eyes lowered, his expression impassive. He reached for another practice rod on the bench, taking up his sandcloth once more.

"Master Seth is right," Logan murmured softly. "These wooden swords are for the young students. They break easily if they aren't cared for."

"Look at him," Elliot mocked, turning to the laughing crowd.

"He speaks like a nursemaid, A useless coward who married into the family's shadow, living off our charity while we bleed on the stage to keep this roof over his head!"

"That's enough, Elliot!"

A voice cut through the courtyard.

Clara ambled forward, her eyes flushed with anger. She wore a blue training outfit, her dark hair tied back in a neat ponytail.

She walked directly to Logan’s side, placing a protective hand on his shoulder.

"Logan works hard every day to keep this dojo running while the rest of you are out celebrating, He doesn't deserve your ridicule.” Clara said firmly, looking Elliot straight in the eye.

Elliot’s smile tightened, a flicker of jealousy crossing his face.

He had desired Clara for years, viewing her as his rightful prize for becoming the top martial artist in the family. Seeing her defend a man with no background and no sword skills was an insult to his vanity.

Elliot spat, his anger rising slowly. "Clara, you defend him out of pity, not respect. He is a lineage less nobody! He carries no name, no martial house, and no strength. He lives like a stray dog in your family’s house!"

"Elliot, hold your tongue!" Clara snapped.

Master Seth slammed the end of his walking stick onto the floor, the loud thud silencing the courtyard instantly.

Seth reprimanded harshly, "Clara, Mind your tone. Elliot is the champion who just saved our dojo's name. You dare raise your voice to him for the sake of a man who cannot even defend his own honor? You bring shame upon your father's legacy by tying yourself to such weakness."

Clara bit her lower lip, her eyes welled up with unshed tears.

She looked down at Logan, waiting against hope that he would stand up, raise his voice, or show just a single spark of defiance.

Logan felt her gaze, he felt the painful weight of her disappointment. It hurt more than any insult Elliot or Seth could utter.

His stomach twisted, he wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to pull her behind him, and reveal the truth. But his vow bound him, and the hidden enemies watching the city would destroy her the moment his true name surfaced.

He gently reached up, touching Clara's hand on his shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze as he remained seated.

Seeing Logan's silence, Elliot barked out a triumphant laugh. He turned back to the crowd of disciples, throwing his arms wide.

Elliot shouted, as he beamed with pride and excitement. "Since our little handyman loves the safety of his wooden toys so much, I have an announcement to make.”

All eyes averted toward Edward with amusement.

He announced, “The Annual Martial Tournament takes place next month. As the champion, I am allowed to choose the opening public demonstration match."

He pointed his sword directly at Logan’s chest.

Elliot roared with a cruel grin. "Logan, I name you as my sparring partner for the opening ceremony, in front of the entire city's martial arts community, I am going to teach you how a real man stands or I will break every bone in your body until you learn to bow properly!"

The disciples cheered wildly, clapping Elliot on the back.

Clara gasped, she felt the weight of his words pressing over her shoulder as she stared at Elliot in surprise.

Seth nodded approvingly, he couldn't but clap his hand, "A fine idea, It will show the public that even our lowest servants are put to work. Prepare yourself, Logan. You will not decline."

The crowd turned and followed Elliot into the hall, their loud laughter fading down the corridor.

Clara stood speechless for a moment. She looked at Logan, her chest heaving with frustration and heartbreak.

"Why didn't you say anything, why do you always let them walk over you?"

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and ran toward the living quarters, leaving Logan alone in the courtyard.

Logan sat in silence for a long time.

Slowly, he reached down to pick up the wooden practice rod.

As his thumb pressed against the grain of the oak, an uncontrollable surge of ancient Sword force suppressed for six long years accidentally leaked through his fingers.

SNAP!

The solid oak rod didn't just break; it exploded into powdery dust between his fingers. Wooden splinters sliced into Logan’s palm, drawing crimson blood that dripped steadily onto the floor.

Logan did not cry out in pain or vent his rage, He quietly pulled a clean white cloth from his pocket, wrapping his bleeding palm.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath to force the ocean of terrifying inner power back into the deepest recesses of his soul.

Logan glanced at the blood stained wood scattered across, and whispered.

"Next month, Elliot is going to get himself killed"