Somewhere on Earth, in a stadium roaring with life, history was about to be written.
The World Kendo Championship Finals. The crowd surged like a storm, thunderous applause and cheers echoing through the vast arena. Every seat was filled, every soul present for one reason: to witness the clash between two titans.
Voices cried out from the stands:
"Riven Cross all the way!"
"Alexander is the legend—you can't beat a five-time champ!"
"Go Riven! Show him what the new generation can do!"
"Hayes is gonna crush him!"
On stage, beneath the searing spotlights, stood two warriors. One of them, his raven-black hair slicked with sweat, blue-silver eyes burning with intensity, was the 22-year-old prodigy—Riven Cross. Kendo stick gripped tightly, his breathing was ragged but steady. His eyes never left his opponent.
Opposite him, five-time world champion Alexander Hayes mirrored his fatigue. He was older, seasoned, a mountain of a man with eyes sharp as a hawk's and stance firm like iron.
The announcer's voice cut through the noise: "Ladies and gentlemen, what an extraordinary match! These two warriors are redefining the very spirit of kendo!"
Riven grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes. His battle junkie heart raced with pure joy. "This... this is what I live for," he thought.
Alexander caught the grin. He smirked. "What are you smiling at, Cross?"
Riven laughed, panting. "Because this is fun... but it's time to end it. This'll be my last move."
Alexander chuckled. "Then you better make it count, kid. I've been champion too long to fall easy."
With a shared nod, they lowered into their stances.
Then—they dashed.
Two slashes. One breath. The world held still.
They passed each other in the blink of an eye, backs turned, frozen in place. A silent beat.
CRACK.
Riven's kendo stick snapped in half.
Alexander staggered... his knees buckled. "D-Damn it..." he muttered weakly, collapsing to the ground.
The referee raised his hand. "Winner—Riven Cross!!"
The arena erupted. Applause, screams, thunderous chants shook the stadium.
"RIVEN! RIVEN! RIVEN! RIVEN!"
The announcer's voice boomed, nearly drowned out, "Unbelievable! A new era has begun! Riven Cross is your new World Kendo Champion!"
Riven raised the broken kendo stick with a wild grin. His dream had come true.
Hours later, after celebrations and interviews, Riven found himself alone in the locker room. He changed quietly, a content smile on his lips. Victory was sweet.
Walking through the city streets under the cool night sky, his thoughts drifted. "I did it. I made it. World Champion. This… was everything I wanted."
Then—noise.
An alley. A couple cornered by three men, guns drawn. The couple pleaded, terrified.
"Please, take whatever you want, just don't hurt us!"
One thug sneered. "Give us your money. Maybe we'll let you walk."
Another added with a sinister grin, "Or maybe we take more than your wallet."
Riven sighed and stepped in, pulling a spare kendo stick from his bag. "Hey."
The thugs turned. "Look at this guy—little boy with a stick!"
Riven smiled. "Leave the perfect couple alone."
One aimed his gun. "What if we don't?"
Riven's eyes sharpened. "Then this."
He lunged forward. The stick cracked hard against the first thug's ribs—he crumpled instantly.
"Get him!" shouted the second.
The third fired a shot—it missed. Riven spun, disarming him with a hard strike to the wrist, then elbowed him in the jaw.
Another charged. Riven ducked low, sweeping his legs, then flipped the stick and jabbed the hilt into the thug's stomach. The man hit the pavement groaning.
The last man stood, trembling. Riven smacked him across the head with precision. The thug dropped.
He turned to the couple. "You okay?"
They nodded, trembling. "Th-thank you... Thank you so much."
"Watch out!!" the woman screamed.
Behind them—click.
One thug stood again, gun shaking in hand.
"DIE!!!"
Riven saw the barrel. "Get down!"
He shielded them.
BANG.
The bullet hit his chest.
He collapsed.
Pain. Darkness.
"No regrets... I became champion... but my victory was short-lived..."
Nothingness. A black void.
Riven floated, weightless. "Am I dead?"
He tried to see—nothing. Only black.
Then—pain. A sharp, splitting pain in his head.
Memories. But not his.
A warm voice: "Victor, it's time to eat."
The smell of soup. A soft hand guiding him. Laughter at the sound of birds. The texture of Braille under fingers. A girl's protective embrace.
The flicker of firelight on a stone floor. A cane tapping wood. Names he didn't know. Tears falling silently. Someone whispering: "I'll always protect you, little brother."
Shapes, sounds, feelings. Layers upon layers.
"Who...?"
It hit him. These aren't my memories... I've... been reincarnated?"
The realization chilled him. He was now Victor Drake—a 16-year-old blind boy, cared for by his protective older sister.
Confusion. Fear. Shock.
"What's happening to me?"
Victor Drake—who was once Riven Cross—sat frozen in the darkness.
His heart pounded in his chest, still trying to catch up with what had just happened. One moment, he was basking in victory as the World Kendo Champion… then saving a couple from armed robbers… then dying, shielding them from a bullet.
Now—he was in someone else's body.
I died… and reincarnated into a blind kid... he thought. What the hell is happening to me?
Everything was pitch black. No light. No colors. Just shadows of sound and sensation. The smooth floor beneath him, the faint smell of wood polish, the light hum of wind outside.
I reincarnated into another world… into a blind boy's body. Why him? Why me?
Suddenly, a voice called out from behind the door.
"Victor? What was that crash sound?!"
Victor tensed.
Who—? That voice...
Memories flashed—warm laughter, a gentle hand ruffling his hair, someone whispering encouragement in the dark. That voice belonged to Elira Drake—Victor's older sister.
The door opened with a soft creak.
She stood there, a vision of protective elegance. Elira, 23 years old, beautiful and composed. She was slender and graceful, but her movements betrayed a subtle strength. Her long, silky jet-black hair framed her striking ice-blue eyes. She wore a cream-colored blouse, a muted wine-red ankle-length skirt, and a short half-apron. Her presence filled the room like a shield.
She stepped in, eyes quickly scanning the room. "Victor, are you okay? I heard something crash."
Victor stared blankly, unsure what to say. He had died minutes ago. Now, here he was, in someone else's life, someone else's body—talking to a sister who didn't know he wasn't her real brother anymore.
Inside, he was screaming. How the hell am I supposed to talk to her? I can't see her—I can only hear her. And this body… it's not mine.
Elira stepped closer, noticing the shards of broken glass on the floor. Concern clouded her usually sharp expression. "Victor? Are you hurt?"
Victor tried to speak but hesitated. He didn't even sound like himself anymore.
Suddenly—another flash of memory.
He saw himself—Victor—laughing on a summer day, sitting in a sun-dappled garden with Elira. She was poking fun at his messy hair, and he was making a joke about her being too serious. Her laughter rang like bells.
He shook his head to clear the memory.
"I'm… I'm okay," he finally said. "Just knocked something over by accident."
Elira's lips curved into a soft smile. "That's okay. People make mistakes. Just be careful, alright?"
He nodded slowly.
She walked over, picked up his cane, and gently placed it into his hand.
He held it, feeling the familiar weight of it.
I really am blind now, he thought. This cane… this confirms it. I'm not dreaming.
Elira's voice was calm again. "Do you want to go outside? Get some air?"
Victor nodded.
She took his arm. "Let's go, little brother."
They walked through the house slowly—her guiding him with quiet precision, him absorbing every creak in the floorboards, every sound of their passing. Out the front door and into the open air.
The sun's warmth hit his face.
A breeze swept through his hair.
Birds chirped from nearby trees.
I can't see… but I can feel everything, he thought. This new life… maybe it won't be so bad.
Elira's voice cut through his thoughts. "How do you feel, little brother?"
Victor was about to answer—
Ding!
A sharp, clear sound echoed inside his mind.
He froze. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Elira asked.
"A ding. Like a bell… it was loud."
Elira frowned. "No… I didn't hear anything. Are you sure you're okay?"
Then it happened.
A screen—translucent and glowing—appeared in the darkness of his mind. Floating. Pulsing. Text filled the space.
[Welcome, Victor Drake. Soul Synchronization: Complete.]
[Initiating System Integration… Loading: 1%]
Victor's mouth fell open.
Elira, sensing something, tilted her head. "What happened? You look like you just saw a ghost."
Victor smiled slowly, excitement building. "No… it's something better."
He turned inward, focusing on the glowing screen in his mind.
Chapter 3: The Blind Swordsman
Victor Drake—once Riven Cross—stood beneath the soft morning sun, the sound of birds and the feel of his sister's hand grounding him in this new world. But his mind was elsewhere, locked onto the translucent screen floating inside his consciousness.
He focused, and the display sharpened.
[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): 120
Magic Points (MP): 80
Strength: 13
Agility: 16
Endurance: 14
Mana: 10
Luck: 18
Charm: 12
Normal Skills:
Appraisal: Allows the user to evaluate items, objects, and individuals, revealing basic information and potential threat levels.
Basic Swordsmanship: Fundamental combat proficiency with bladed weapons, including footwork, grip, and timing.
Enhanced Hearing: Sharply heightened auditory perception; can pick up whispers, movement, and vibrations through air.
Survival Instinct: Grants innate reactions to danger and boosts physical response speed during life-threatening scenarios.
Enhanced Smell: Ability to distinguish faint scents and track targets through olfactory means.
Silent Step: Moves quietly and minimizes sound output, making it easier to avoid detection while walking or sneaking.
Danger Instinct: A near-precognitive sense that alerts the user to unseen or incoming threats.
Sixth Sense: Enables awareness of nearby lifeforms and emotions, even without physical senses.
Pain Resistance: Dampens physical pain response, allowing the user to remain calm and active during injury.
Ability Skills:
Sword Echo Step – Dash toward where the last sound was made
Hollow Guard – Parry or defend without relying on visual cues
Mana Pulse – Detect magic within a radius using low-level mana emissions
Low-Light Combat – Improved combat ability in total darkness or dim environments
Sound Break – Disrupt 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 horizontal slash
Whisper Blade – Ultra-quiet slash that's nearly impossible to detect
Unique Skills:
Echo Sense (Unique Form) – Maps 360° area using ambient vibration, ignoring visual illusions
Will of the Blade – Gain 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 Outfit], [Walking Cane]
Victor's eyes—if he could see—would have widened. Instead, his mouth simply opened slightly in disbelief.
What... is all of this?
"Blind Swordsman"… that's my class? These skills… they're insane. Echo Sense? Sound Break? Blade Resonance? This is unreal.
He turned inward, thoughts racing. So I can't see. But I can fight... using vibration, sound, instinct... This world didn't just give me a second chance. It gave me the perfect tools to become something more.
He smiled.
A blind swordsman… That's kind of badass.
Next to him, Elira turned. "Why are you smiling? Did something just make you happy?"
Victor's smile deepened.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, it did."
Chapter 4: Echoes of the Blade
Victor stood still in the morning sun, the air crisp, the world alive with sound and scent. He was smiling—truly smiling—for the first time since he arrived in this new world.
His mind was still spinning with the rush of everything he'd just read on his status screen. The titles, the skills, the powers... They were all real. And somehow, even in a body that couldn't see, he felt more aware than ever before.
My dream still lives, he thought. I may not be Riven Cross anymore. But my path hasn't ended. It's evolved.
He clenched his fist with renewed purpose.
I'll become the greatest blind swordsman in history.
Elira watched him from the doorway, a slight tilt in her head, her arms crossed loosely.
"Are you okay?" she asked. "I've never seen you smile this much, Victor."
He turned toward her voice, laughing softly.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "I just... I feel alive. Really alive. Like I can breathe again."
Her lips curved into a rare, approving smile. "Good. Do you want to come back inside with me?"
He shook his head. "No. Let me stay out here a little longer."
She nodded and stepped back into the house, the door clicking gently shut behind her.
Victor exhaled deeply, the fresh breeze brushing his skin.
Then he whispered, "Echo Sense."
A pulse rippled outward from his body.
Like a sonar wave, it exploded silently in all directions, mapping the world through vibration and energy. He didn't see with eyes—but with presence.
He felt the air shift, the trees rustle, birds fluttering on branches nearby. He sensed the footsteps of a small animal across the grass. His feet picked up micro-vibrations from the ground. His body became a radar—not of sound or touch alone, but of awareness.
Every motion was like a drop in a still pond—each ripple telling him where something was, how fast it moved, how close it came.
His mouth opened in awe.
I can feel everything... I can feel the world around me.
He laughed—freely, with the joy of discovery.
This Echo Sense… it's insane. It's not just hearing. It's knowing. I don't just detect the world—I exist within it, connected to it.
He slowly turned, sweeping the area in a full circle. A 360-degree view… without seeing anything at all. No illusions. No distractions.
His hand gripped the cane.
Even it pulsed with vibration in his hand. The way the air slid over its surface. The friction of his fingers against its grip. The dull hum from his breath bouncing off it.
Victor nodded to himself.
Then, without thinking, he slid into a kendo stance.
The posture was familiar—muscle memory from his past life bleeding into this new, weaker frame. His legs weren't as steady, and his breathing was rougher than he remembered. But it didn't matter.
He raised the cane and began to swing.
Whip. Thrust. Sweep. Retreat. Step. Pivot. Slash.
One swing. Then another.
He repeated the basic strikes, breathing with each motion.
"Hah!" he exhaled.
Strike to the head.
"Yah!"
Strike to the wrist.
"Tch!"
Thrust to the torso. Retreat. Counter. Step in again. Shoulder cut.
Too wide, he thought. He reset his feet.
"Again."
Strike. Slash. Overhead cut.
Pivot. Fake. Thrust low.
He could feel the movements resonate outward. The pulse of his steps. The hum of the air split by his cane. The wind dragging behind his momentum.
"Balance your weight," he whispered to himself. "Don't lean too far forward."
He shifted, and tried again.
One—quick snap.
Two—wide arc.
Three—short thrust.
Four—deep follow-through.
Sweat began to bead on his brow.
He tightened his grip. His arms trembled slightly, and his legs were unsteady.
But he kept going.
"Again," he said through clenched teeth.
Swing.
Parry.
Twist.
Strike.
Each motion brought back memories. Of dojos. Of tournaments. Of his master correcting his form. Of swinging until his hands bled.
But this time, he wasn't chasing trophies.
He was building something.
This body isn't ready. But I'll train it. I'll carve my spirit into this shell until it's worthy of the blade again.
He dropped his stance, panting heavily.
His legs were aching, and his shoulders burned.
But he smiled.
He lifted his face to the wind, the breeze cool and soft across his cheeks.
This world... It's not so bad, he thought. I have a sister who cares about me. A second chance. And the skills to make something of it.
He turned back toward the house.
Through his Echo Sense, he could feel Elira inside—moving through the kitchen, probably preparing breakfast.
He chuckled softly.
Yeah... Maybe this world isn't that bad after all.
To Be Continued...