He’d had that dream again.
That demonic sword was approaching him. It was swinging down, a clear diagonal strike before it suddenly warped. Zen couldn’t react at all to its change in trajectory, which defied common sense.
Unable to stop the blow with his sword, he was completely cut down, falling over into a pool of his own blood.
Ugh... So this is a dream, he thought bitterly to himself. The ending was different from what he’d remembered.
The monster had let him go that night. He’d spared Zen’s life.
But Zen did think to himself that if the monster hadn’t had that impulse that day—if he hadn’t said to Zen, “Starting today, you’ll be my pupil”—Zen definitely would’ve met that fate.