The roar of the crowd echoed through the stadium like crashing waves on a stormy sea. Flags waved, chants filled the air, and camera flashes sparked like lightning. At the heart of it all, beneath the harsh floodlights of the World Kendo Championship Finals, stood two warriors.
On one end of the stage was Alexander Hayes — a five-time world champion, tall, weathered, calm, a living legend. On the other side stood a young man with raven-black hair and piercing silver-blue eyes, breathing hard, sweat beading his forehead. This was Riven Cross, 22 years old, the prodigy. His grip on his kendo stick was firm, unwavering. His chest rose and fell, his eyes locked onto his opponent with a smile breaking through the exhaustion.
"Look at this!" the announcer's voice blared through the speakers. "What a finals match this has been! The old lion versus the rising star! These two are giving everything they've got!"
From the stands, the crowd erupted with divided cries:
"RIVEN! RIVEN!"
"No way Hayes is going down!"
"C'mon, champ!"
"Let the kid take it!"
The arena buzzed with opinion, electricity in the air.
Riven's smile widened.
Alexander caught the expression and smirked. "You smiling at the end of a match like this?"
Riven chuckled, his voice breathy but playful. "I'm having fun. But I've got one more move left. This is it."
Alexander laughed, eyes glinting. "I've been doing this longer than you've been alive, kid. If you're gonna finish it, you'd better make it count."
Both took their stances. A silence swept the arena, a stillness like the breath before a storm.
Then—they dashed.
Their kendo sticks clashed with a deafening crack, slicing the air with blinding speed. They struck, blocked, twisted, reversed. Footwork hammered the mat. Alexander's experience versus Riven's ferocious precision. Sweat flew with each motion. They passed each other in a final blinding slash.
The arena held its breath. Even the announcer hesitated.
"What just happened…? Who's the—"
Snap.
Riven's kendo stick split in two.
Thud.
Alexander's knees buckled. He groaned, voice trembling, "D-Damn it…" and crumpled to the floor.
"Riven Cross wins!!!" the referee shouted.
The crowd exploded. A wave of applause, screams, and cheers drowned out the stadium.
"RIVEN! RIVEN! RIVEN!" the audience chanted.
The announcer's voice cracked with excitement:
"This is history! Riven Cross is the new World Kendo Champion!!"
Riven, smiling, held the broken kendo stick aloft. It was a moment he'd dreamed of since childhood.
Later That Night
The locker room was quiet. Riven stood shirtless, changing, his muscles sore but his heart light. After hours of celebration, he was finally alone. He stepped out of the venue into the cool night, walking through the quiet city streets.
He thought to himself, I did it… World Champion. Everything I worked for. It came true.
As he turned down an empty road, voices caught his ear—angry, frightened.
"Please don't hurt us! Take the money, just leave us alone!"
A couple. In an alley. Three men with guns.
One of them laughed. "We'll take more than that, sweetheart."
Riven sighed, stepping into the alley, pulling a spare kendo stick from his bag.
"Hey. Leave them alone."
The robbers turned. One sneered. "Look at this kid. Thinks he's tough with a stick."
Riven smirked. "C'mon, guys. Let the lovebirds be."
One robber pointed his gun. "What if we don't?"
Riven stepped closer. "Then this."
With a swift motion, he struck the man hard. He crumpled. The others yelled.
"Get him!"
Another robber swung at Riven with the butt of a gun—Riven ducked and delivered a clean upward strike to the gut. The man stumbled back, gasping. The third rushed in. Riven spun, deflected his blow, and smacked his wrist, sending the gun flying. He jabbed the hilt of his stick into the attacker's chin. He went down.
"You idiots seriously brought guns to a stick fight?" Riven muttered.
He turned to the couple. "You okay?"
They nodded, wide-eyed. "Thank you… thank you so much."
"WATCH OUT!" the woman suddenly screamed.
Riven turned—too late. One of the robbers had gotten up, gun raised.
"Die!!!"
"Get down!!" Riven yelled, diving in front of them.
Bang.
Pain exploded in his chest. He collapsed.
The world blurred. His vision darkened.
No regrets… I became champion… but my victory… was short-lived…
Blackness.
Silence.
Riven's consciousness stirred. What… happened? I… I died?
He saw only black. Tried to open his eyes. Still black.
Why can't I see? Where am I?
He moved, stumbling forward—and slammed into something hard. A crash echoed. He gasped, heart racing.
"What the hell is going on?"
Then, pain. Sharp, searing pain in his skull.
Memories flooded in—but they weren't his. Voices, faces, names. A warm voice calling "Victor." Days spent indoors. Books. A blind boy's frustration. A sister's gentle singing.
More memories—falling off a horse. A violin recital. Crying after being bullied. None of it Riven's. Yet he felt them.
This isn't me… he realized.
Then the truth hit him like a sword to the chest.
I… died. I really died.
He opened his eyes—finally seeing something. A mirror. A reflection.
Not his.
A younger boy. Sixteen. Fragile. Pale.
Blind.
"I'm… not me anymore. I'm… Victor Drake?"
He was in a small house. He could feel the touch of someone—his older sister—guiding him gently.
"I was Riven Cross… World Champion… and now I'm…"
He staggered back, breath trembling.
"What… do I do now?"
Chapter 2: A New Light in the Dark
Riven—no, Victor Drake—stood frozen in place, wrapped in silent panic. A moment ago, he had been Riven Cross: a world kendo champion, a hero in the spotlight, and a man who had just died protecting innocent lives. Now, he found himself in the fragile body of a blind sixteen-year-old boy in a world he didn't recognize, unable to see anything beyond the inky blackness.
What the hell is happening to me? he thought, heart thumping. I died. I felt it. The bullet. The cold. The end.
His breath caught in his throat. And now I'm… what? Reincarnated? In someone else's body? A blind kid?
He held up trembling hands. They felt thinner, more delicate. He touched his chest—no wound, no scar. But the silence around him was filled with a surreal weight.
How do you come back to life as someone else? In a world you don't know? In a body that can't see? He took a step, and his foot crunched broken glass.
Outside the room, a voice called out sharply, "Victor! What was that crash sound?!"
Victor froze. The voice echoed in his ears, familiar. That voice… I know that voice.
Memories that weren't his flickered—laughing over bread in a small kitchen, a hand ruffling his hair, a woman's warm smile in the middle of a cold winter.
Elira.
The door creaked open.
A tall figure entered. Her presence filled the room before she even spoke. "Victor?" Her voice was firm, a mixture of concern and command.
She stepped closer. A woman in her early twenties—slender, elegant, but with strength hidden in her poised form. Her long jet-black hair shimmered, her ice-blue eyes sharp, scanning the scene.
She wore a cream-colored blouse and a wine-red skirt that brushed her ankles, a short half-apron tied around her waist.
She stopped short when she saw the broken glass. "Are you okay? I heard something crash."
Victor opened his mouth, then shut it again. What am I supposed to say? 'Sorry, I'm your brother now, but also not really because I just reincarnated into his body after dying in another world'? Yeah, that won't go well.
He inwardly screamed. I just died. I'm blind. I'm in someone else's life, and now I have to pretend to be him?
Elira knelt by the broken glass, brushing the shards into a corner with her hand. Her voice softened. "Victor, are you hurt?"
More memories flooded in—Elira wrapping a blanket around him on stormy nights, playfully scolding him when he tried to sneak cookies before dinner, the sound of her rare laughter.
Victor shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "I-I'm fine. Just… made a mistake. Knocked something over."
She looked at him for a moment longer, then gave a faint smile. "That's okay. People make mistakes. Just be careful next time."
She retrieved a white cane from beside the dresser and gently pressed it into his hand.
Victor felt its familiar texture. This really is real, he thought. I'm blind. This isn't a dream.
"Do you want to go outside? Get some air?" Elira asked, brushing glass dust from her skirt.
Victor nodded slowly.
She smiled again—this one softer. "Let's go, little brother."
She took his arm and guided him through the modest house. Her steps were sure. She moved like someone used to leading, yet always watching carefully. She murmured directions: "Step here… small threshold… careful, left."
Victor let her guide him, thoughts swirling. How can I live like this? How do I fight? I can't see. I'm not Riven anymore. No championships. No duels. No spotlight.
They reached the door. As it opened, the scent of fresh grass, flowers, and distant chimney smoke reached him. A soft breeze ran over his face. Warm sun soaked his skin. Birds chirped in the trees.
He tilted his head back, smiling slightly.
Maybe… maybe this new life isn't all bad.
"How do you feel, little brother?" Elira asked gently.
Victor was about to answer when—
DING.
He jerked upright. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Elira asked, frowning.
"That… ding. Like a bell or something."
"No," she said slowly. "Are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost."
Victor's jaw fell slightly. "No… it's something better."
A screen appeared in his mind. Bright letters hovering in the black void of his sight:
Victor stood in stunned silence, the glowing screen visible only to him floating within the black void of his vision. It was crisp, otherworldly, impossible—and real.
[STATUS SCREEN]
Name: Victor Drake
Age: 16
Race: Human
Level: 1
Class: Blind Swordsman
Titles:
Reincarnated One
Sightless Warrior
Blade Challenger
One Who Defies Fate
Health Points (HP): 110
Magic Points (MP): 75
Strength: 12
Agility: 14
Endurance: 13
Mana: 10
Luck: 15
Charm: 8
Normal Skills:
Appraisal – Identify and analyze objects, people, and equipment.
Basic Swordsmanship – Fundamental techniques for sword-based combat.
Enhanced Hearing – Sharpened auditory perception; able to detect sounds from a greater distance and with finer detail.
Survival Instinct – Heightened sense of danger, allowing quick reactions to threats.
Enhanced Smell – Amplified olfactory senses for tracking and awareness.
Silent Step – Move with reduced sound, ideal for stealth and ambush tactics.
Danger Instinct – A gut-level awareness that alerts the user just before danger strikes.
Sixth Sense – Perceive the presence of nearby entities and emotional states through non-visual cues.
Pain Resistance – Reduces the physical and mental impact of pain, enabling continued function during injury.
Ability Skills:
Sword Echo Step – Dash toward where the last sound was made.
Hollow Guard – Automatic defensive posture against unseen threats.
Mana Pulse – Emit a short-range pulse to detect mana-based lifeforms.
Low-Light Combat – Enhanced combat ability in darkness.
Sound Break – Disrupt the audio senses of enemies using focused vibration.
Sword Art Skills:
Void Slash – A quick strike that extends slightly via mana.
Ghost Step Slash – Vanishing footwork followed by a horizontal slash.
Whisper Blade – Ultra-quiet slash that's nearly impossible to detect.
Unique Skills:
Echo Sense (Unique Form) – Maps a 360° area using ambient vibration, ignoring visual illusions.
Will of the Blade – Gain a temporary stat boost when severely outnumbered.
Blade Resonance – Can "hear" the truth of a weapon (reveals curses, history, soul-bound effects).
Silent Fang Slash – A single, ultra-fast forward slash delivered with precise instinct and total silence. Hits pressure points and can knock out enemies stronger than the user when used as a surprise strike.
Weapons: — [None Equipped]
Items: — [Cloth Garments], [White Cane], [Worn Pendant]
Victor's mouth was slightly agape.
What… is all of this? he thought. Classes, stats, abilities… It's like I'm in some kind of game world. But this is real. This is me now.
His thoughts raced. A blind swordsman… It sounds impossible. But these skills—Echo Sense, Sword Echo Step, Silent Fang Slash… This is beyond human.
He took a breath, steadying himself. Maybe I lost my sight, but I've gained something else. Something powerful. If I can't see the world… maybe I can learn to hear it better than anyone else ever could.
A smile slowly crept across his face.
From beside him, Elira's voice pierced through the silence. "Why are you smiling?" she asked, amused. "Did you think of something that makes you happy?"
Victor turned his head slightly in her direction, his smile soft but confident. "Yeah," he said. "I did."
Victor stood still in the soft breeze, a quiet smile stretched across his face. Despite everything—dying, losing his sight, waking in a stranger's body—he didn't feel defeated.
He felt… alive.
So this is my life now, he thought. *I was a kendo champion. Now I'm a blind swordsman with skills that shouldn't exist. But the dream… it's still alive. I'll be the greatest. Not just in this world—the greatest blind swordsman in history.
Elira's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Are you okay? I've never seen you smile so much, Victor."
Victor laughed lightly. "Don't worry about it," he said with a grin. "I just feel… alive. Free, even."
Elira tilted her head slightly, then smiled warmly. "Good. Do you want to come back inside with me?"
He shook his head. "Not yet. Let me stay out here a while longer."
She nodded, brushing her hair behind her ear, then turned and walked back inside. The door closed gently behind her.
Victor inhaled deeply. The cool air filled his lungs, and the scent of trees, earth, and early morning dew settled into his senses.
He raised his hand and murmured, "Echo Sense."
A pulse rippled outward from his body. It was like a soundless shockwave, expanding in every direction.
Suddenly—he knew.
He sensed vibrations in the air, footsteps through the ground, the subtle sway of trees, the distant flap of bird wings. Every motion created a ripple in the field around him—like a single drop in still water spreading outward endlessly.
His skin tingled. His muscles subtly flexed, receiving input not from sight or hearing, but from everywhere.
I don't just hear anymore, he thought, awed. I know. My whole body's like a radar. This isn't blindness. This is something… different.
He laughed, turning in place slowly.
I can see in every direction. Every shift of motion. Every heartbeat. This world is alive, and I can feel it.
He looked down at the cane in his hand, its solid shape humming lightly with vibration in his field. He nodded.
"I can work with this."
Taking a deep breath, he shifted into his kendo stance. His feet planted firm, his grip light but controlled.
"Let's see what this body can do."
He swung—slow, precise. Again. Then again. His body protested—untrained muscles ached, his balance faltered slightly. But he kept going.
"Step forward... swing horizontal... pivot, retract, reset."
He moved in a circle. "Advance. Diagonal slash. Retreat. Left guard. Strike center."
Victor began to lose himself in the rhythm.
"Breath in… control the core… tighten grip... follow through."
Sweat started to form on his brow. "Now again—right strike. Recover. Turn. Left sweep. Follow with thrust."
Each swing was measured. He imagined an opponent in front of him.
"Opponent charging. Low guard. Intercept—slash upward. Step to the side. Counter."
He rotated on his heel. "Sound to the left—faint. React. Ghost Step."
The footwork wasn't perfect, but his instincts were there. Each motion was drawn from muscle memory, from years as Riven Cross. The blind body of Victor Drake struggled to keep pace, but the spirit inside refused to yield.
"Swing. Block. Redirect. Overhead cut. Reverse slash. Parry. Slide left. Spin—elbow slash. Recovery step."
His arms trembled. His legs burned. But he kept going.
"Finish sequence. Triple strike combo. Left, center, right. Collapse stance. Recenter."
Finally, he stopped. Chest heaving. Knees weak.
His body wasn't ready for this yet—but his soul was.
I'll train it. This body will become a temple to the blade. A warrior's vessel.
He smiled through the exhaustion.
I'm not weak. I'm just beginning again.
He tilted his head upward as a breeze swept across his face again.
I have a long way to go. But I'm not afraid. I have a future to chase.
He turned toward the house. Through his Echo Sense, he could feel Elira's movement inside—calm, steady, probably cleaning up or making tea.
He smiled softly.
Maybe this world… isn't so bad after all.
To be continued…