They stood in the clearing, circled by trees, where the air was still and the crowd silent. Amon raised his hand just slightly and asked, "What's your name?"
The samurai didn't hesitate. "Karou. Leader of the Twin Headed Flame Sect."
That was all. He drew his crimson-lined blade, and Amon died in a single flash.
Then he returned.
Same spot. Same stance. Same man.
Karou didn't notice anything was wrong. He lifted his blade again, and Amon stepped back instinctively, but it didn't matter, because the second swing still found its mark.
"ARGHH!!"
Then again.
He returned to the same moment, and this time he dodged left before Karou lunged.
But Karou twisted mid-swing, and Amon's head hit the ground before he could react.
He gritted his teeth, and he tried again. Parry, twist, counter—no, too slow.
"ARGHHH!"
Back again.
Each death taught him something.
A delay in Karou's right step meant a downward slash.
A tilt of the wrist meant a feint.
A breath too early meant the real strike came from behind.
The deaths racked up faster than the rhythm of the fight.
Twelve deaths.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
Each time he reset, Amon's movements grew cleaner, but his body still couldn't keep up.
He hadn't trained like Karou had.
He didn't know the sword like Karou did.
He was learning through death, and Karou was simply fighting like this was his first and last match.
By the twenty-first death, even Zai Ren, watching from the edge of the forest, squinted.
"That kid's either lucky," he muttered, "or a monster."
Karou didn't speak much, but he was frowning. His grip was tighter now, and his swings sharper, like he'd realized something was off. Amon shouldn't be blocking that many.
But it didn't matter, because Amon still died again.
And again.
He predicted the first swing. He ducked the second. He sidestepped the third. But the fourth was unfamiliar, and his chest split open.
"AHHHH!"
He returned once more, same starting point, same distance between them, same cold eyes staring him down.
But now, Amon wasn't guessing—he was compiling.
Twenty-five deaths. He knew twenty-five counters.
He was running out of lives, but not out of data.
Thirty deaths remaining.
The 46th try.
Amon ducked low, twisted sideways, then slid one foot forward and swept Karou's leg with a hard kick.
The samurai staggered, his stance broken, and Amon's blade reached his neck just as he froze.
"I win," Amon said.
Karou stood there, eyes wide, then laughed.
He sheathed his sword with a single sharp motion and said, "You've got guts. I've killed everyone else who got that far. You—what's your name again?"
"Amon."
"Well, Amon," Karou smirked, "come with me. You're joining the Twin Headed Flame Sect, under the Blue Petal. You'll fit right in."
Amon didn't answer right away, because in his mind, he was counting. Forty-five failures. And now... finally...
"I accept."
Later, in a small, crowded restaurant where the wood floors creaked under every step and the soup boiled louder than the customers, they sat at a corner table with rice and meat in front of them.
"So," Amon asked, chewing, "what exactly is the Twin Headed Flame Sect?"
Karou poured a drink. "We train swordsmen, pyromancers, and duelists. We're one of the nine major sects of Dai-Kuni's Blue Petal Province. We don't do peace talks or politics. We train and we fight. And if we're lucky, we die with honor."
"And my position?"
"Recruit. You beat me once, but that doesn't make you a master. You'll be cleaning swords and sweeping halls for weeks before you even see the inner court."
"That sounds fair."
Karou leaned closer. "But if you're smart, and if you keep that unpredictable fighting style, you'll climb fast. I don't take just anyone into the Sect, Amon."
Amon nodded. "Then I want to bring someone."
Karou blinked. "Who?"
"Zai Ren."
Karou laughed, nearly spitting his drink. "That guy? The old man who yells at vegetables and throws rocks at crows?"
"He's stronger than he looks," Amon said. "He just never had a reason to fight again. I'll give him one."
"You sure about that?"
"I've seen worse turn into something useful. Besides, I need someone to train with who won't die instantly."
Karou shrugged. "Fine by me. He joins under your name. If he messes up, you clean up."
"That's the plan."
When they found Zai Ren at the tavern, he was half-drunk and dancing in a way that made two chairs collapse under confused patrons.
Amon clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"You're coming with me," Amon said.
"Where?" Zai Ren grinned.
"To a Sect."
"What, a marriage sect?"
"A martial sect."
Zai Ren dropped his cup. "You're serious?"
"Yup. We're going to the Twin Headed Flame Sect."
Karou tossed him a badge. "If you die, don't come crying."
"I won't die until I've made you my towel boy, fire boy."
Karou groaned. "This is going to be a mistake."
But they were already packing, and by sundown, they began heading toward Shugoten Mountain, the lone twin-peaked mountain rising in the east, where fire and steel were tempered together.
And so, Amon entered the Sect, with Zai Ren stumbling behind him, and Karou laughing all the way up the mountain path.
Now I have gold, a sect, a training partner, and a place to grow... finally, something is working.
---
For the past few months, Amon trained under the mountain's shadow, cutting through bamboo at dawn and listening to the old masters speak at dusk.
And though his movements were still rough compared to Karou's, he had begun to understand how every sect sword style came from someone who bled for it.
The techniques weren't made for elegance—they were made to survive war.
So he studied each one, and he copied forms etched into the stone walls of the training hall, and he fought sparring duels with Zai Ren until his arms burned from blocking the same strikes over and over again. And every night, he meditated.
Because to gain a Principle, you had to close your eyes and find what lived in your thoughts when nothing else remained.
He tried hard to picture strength, or duty, or resolve, but every single time, his mind drifted elsewhere.
The first week, he saw himself sleeping on a porch as leaves fell on his head.
The second week, he dreamed of sitting on a cart while the horses took him nowhere.
The third, he simply stood inside a burning house doing nothing at all.
Then, the Sect's inner flame recognized it—and it burned white.
[You have awakened the Principle of Unemployment.]
[Path: Sin – Branch of Sloth]
The moment it sparked, Amon felt something twist inside him, and something white and formless wrapped around his fingers, and as he raised his sword, the edge tore through a bamboo stalk without even touching it directly.
He called it: "Idle Break – Jobless Edge."
A cut that didn't move. He could draw out white mana, pure neutral energy, and let it do the slashing for him while he stayed still. If he waited longer, the cut became sharper.
And though it sounded stupid, it worked.
Zai Ren nearly passed out the first time he saw it.
"You're slicing without moving."
"Yeah."
"That's insane."
"No. It's unemployment."
They laughed, and they trained harder.
They also studied martial arts together—specifically a mid-tier technique called "Blossom Echo Palm."
It wasn't a sword technique, but it taught how to redirect incoming force and return it with delayed kinetic bursts, so Amon learned it too, even though it made his shoulders ache and his ribs creak.
While others chased fame, he chose knowledge.
Because he needed to understand how this world worked, not just how to swing a blade in it.
So, he learned the structure of Principles.
There were three paths.
Sin Path—driven by desire, chaos, and personal ambition.
Virtuous Path—built on service, sacrifice, and ideals.
Balance Path—rare and strange, existing between both without falling into either.
Each Principle had three branches—three flavors of conviction—and Amon's Principle, Unemployment, was a branch of Sloth, which itself belonged to the Sin Path.
The Balance Path had only three core Principles: Inertia, Equilibrium, and Concord.
The Sin and Virtuous each had seven, being the seven deadly sins and the seven heavenly virtues.
And the farther your Principle branched from the main root, the more unusual its abilities became, and the harder it was to evolve—but the greater the flexibility in return.
It wasn't about learning skills. It was about living your Principle.
A disciplined Knight of Sanctity would fight by shielding others and enduring pain, while a Berserker of Indulgence might grow stronger by consuming mana cores mid-battle.
But a Samurai of Unemployment? That was a paradox.
He wasn't supposed to fight. He wasn't even supposed to care. But by doing nothing with purpose, he could ignore effort and act only at decisive moments, letting idleness guide his cuts and waste become power.
Every time he refused to overwork, every time he waited longer than he should've, every time he delayed a decision just long enough for the opponent to fall apart first—his Principle deepened.
And now, after months, the System finally recognized it:
[Principle Tier: 1 – Willed]
[Principle Branch: Unemployment]
[Class: Samurai]
[Principle Style Created: Idle Break – Jobless Edge]
This life, his goal wasn't just survival. He would grow, evolve, and understand the roots of this world, so that no matter what timeline he ended up in next, he'd carry that understanding with him.
Even if the world moved fast—he'd win by not moving at all.