Record of Wortenia War: Volume 3

by Ryota Hori

  In that regard, both Sakuya and Saitou made attempts on Ryoma’s life, but her motives and background were still unknown. Cutting her down just because she was on the enemy’s side was something his empathy couldn’t allow. She might have been summoned and forced to become an assassin, after all.

  There was also no denying that Sakuya was a woman, and a beautiful one at that. It wouldn’t be odd to feel inclined to try and help her if she were in need.

  Ryoma Mikoshiba was a cold and calculated person, but he was still human, and knew kindness and sympathy. It was these contradictions that made one human, after all.

  Just as a kind, helpful superior at work might go home and beat their spouse once they’re out of sight, so could a hated, overbearing superior actually be a warm, caring family man.

  In that regard, Ryoma was a fairly transparent person. He was driven by simplistic reasons. He wanted to survive. To live. And to do that, he would kill anyone without regret.

  But what if his life wasn’t in immediate danger, and a person in front of him was in need of help? It was only natural for someone to extend a helping hand in such a situation.

  Of course, he couldn’t make absolute promises that he’d save them at any cost. Some problems were well and truly beyond his ability to help. But he could at least hear them out; it was simply the human thing to do.

  And considering it was a beauty who may have come from the same country as him, he felt all the more inclined to help. No man would find fault with Ryoma over that. It was for these reasons that he had Sakuya captured.

  Or, put another way, were it not for these circumstances, Ryoma wouldn’t have allowed an assassin who made an attempt on his life to live. And so, Sakuya’s lack of reaction to the question of whether she was Japanese turned out to be something Ryoma didn’t account for.

  “Are you sure you’re not Japanese?”

  “What country is that? I don’t know of it. Is it outside the western continent?”

  He tried asking again, and Sakuya answered him clearly.

  “If you aren’t, then why do you have a Japanese katana?” Ryoma asked pensively.

  Another possibility surfaced in his mind. He recalled what the blacksmith whom the owner of the Sea Rumble Parlor had introduced him to had mentioned— that people in the eastern continent wield katanas.

  Maybe she’s from the eastern continent? Ryoma naturally concluded.

  But Sakuya’s answer was, once again, something Ryoma did not expect to hear.

  “Japanese katana? This is a weapon passed down within my clan.”

  “Passed down within your clan...?”

  Sakuya’s answer made Ryoma feel like something was off.

  “That’s right. Our clan uses katanas, and has done so for generations.”

  “Doesn’t everyone use katanas in the eastern continent?”

  “The eastern continent? We’ve never left the western continent.”

  Ryoma decided to put all the information he’d learned so far in order. This woman was called Sakuya, and had Japanese characteristics to her appearance. The weapon she used was a Japanese katana.

  In China and the Middle East, single-edged swords similar to katanas were sometimes used, but their construction and materials differed greatly, and Ryoma wasn’t so much of an amateur to not be able to tell the difference.

  But Sakuya didn’t know what a Japanese person was, nor did she know katanas were inherently a Japanese weapon, which was unthinkable for a modern Japanese person. No, in the modern age of information and the Internet, one could search the world over and be hard pressed to find someone who didn’t know about Japan or its connection to katanas.

  If nothing else, she wouldn’t be Japanese or of Japanese descent. In which case, there was little chance of Sakuya being forcibly summoned to this world. So was she a descendant of the eastern continent, then? Ryoma didn’t know if those that lived there shared physical attributes similar to Japanese otherworlders, but it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

  If so, perhaps Sakuya’s name and physical attributes weren’t all that unusual. And the blacksmith did tell him katanas were used in the eastern continent. If so, it would make sense for her to use it as a weapon.

  That’s all just speculation, and I have no proof. But... that would explain a lot.

  After thinking of all that, Ryoma had to deny his own idea. Sakuya said this was a weapon passed down within her clan. If she was from the eastern continent, she wouldn’t say so.

  If nothing else, she wouldn’t have considered a katana to be an unusual enough weapon to claim that only her clan made use of it.

  And apparently, she’d never been to the eastern continent. Of course, her parents could have descended from there, and that would have resolved the issue neatly, but...

  Her clan, she said... A clan, eh...?

  There was no reason to take Sakuya at her word, but Ryoma didn’t doubt her. After all, even if she were lying, there would be no meaning in doing so. Given her nature as an assassin, it was unthinkable that she’d talk about her client’s identity, and if she were to start spilling details about that, Ryoma would immediately suspect that to be a lie.

  But Ryoma had asked her something completely unrelated to that. Of course, in some situations, one wouldn’t divulge such details to the enemy, but if that were the case, she’d have simply chosen to keep quiet, rather than go to the trouble of making up a lie. In that regard, Ryoma believed her words could be trusted.

  “Then, does everyone in your clan use katanas?” Ryoma asked a different question.

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re sure you aren’t from the eastern continent?” Ryoma asked once more, just to be sure, and was met with a silent shake of the head.

  Silence fell over the tent. The Malfist sisters wouldn’t interrupt Ryoma to begin with, and Lione and Boltz kept quiet. They likely had things to say, but were content with watching over the proceedings for now.

  “Sis... Just what exactly is the lad trying to figure out here?” Boltz whispered to Lione, who stood at his side.

  “Beats me... But it doesn’t look like it’s got anything to do with his tactics...”

  “Yeah, don’t seem that way to me either...”

  “Must be some kind of personal reason...”

  Anyone watching this exchange from inside the tent would come to that conclusion.

  “Well, whatever it is, we oughta just shut up and pay attention for now.”

  Boltz nodded quietly at Lione’s answer.

  “You mentioned a clan... How many are there of you?” Ryoma broke his long silence with a question.

  What’s his angle? Why is he so interested in my clan?

  Sakuya was desperate to find out just what the meaning behind his questions was, but any attempts to think about it were fruitless.

  “About two hundred...” Sakuya eventually answered.

  “Two hundred...” Ryoma chewed on her answer.

  Two hundred men. It was easy enough to say, but realistically, that was quite a lot of people. Imagining a wedding might make it clear enough.

  With all of the bride’s and groom’s relatives gathered along with their friends, having one hundred people was considered a lot. And if that number summed up to two hundred, it should give one an impression of just how many that would be. Ryoma’s surprise wasn’t unwarranted.

  “Do you live in some village, with that many of you?”

  Two hundred people was enough to populate a small village. Sakuya shook her head, however.

  “No.”

  “So you’re scattered across several villages?”

  “No.” She shook her head again.

  Ryoma was left perplexed. They neither lived together in one place, nor were they scattered across several villages. Which left only one option.

  “So you’re vagabonds, then.”

  Sakuya nodded.

  It was at that moment that a man’s hoarse voice boomed across the tent.

/>   “We have no choice but to do so. Such is our clan’s fate...”

  As the voice died down, an old man landed in front of the tent’s entrance. Was he atop the tent up until now? True, the tent’s poles were sturdy enough to support one’s weight, but the man was surprisingly limber for that.

  “Master Ryoma...” Sara and Lara whispered as they swiftly took to Ryoma’s side at the sight of this suspicious intruder.

  “It’s fine. Stay as you are... Same for everyone else.”

  Ryoma whispered back, and Lione nodded back, awaiting orders.

  Now then, an assassin clan... Looking forward to what he has to say...

  If it was an ambush things would be different, but there wasn’t much need to panic out of having one more assassin present, and so Ryoma felt comfortable enough to eye the old man curiously.

  But in contrast to Ryoma’s composure, Sakuya’s gaze was nailed to the old man. She likely didn’t expect him to be here, because her eyes were wide with shock.

  “Grandfather...” the words slipped from Sakuya’s lips, “Why are you here...?”

  The man had white hair and a white beard. Like Sakuya, he was dressed in black clothes and black leggings, and his face was etched with deep wrinkles that spoke of the hard life he’d led. In his hand was a bent cane that drew a small arc.

  “Oh... So my arrival does not surprise you... I’m not sure if you’re too foolish to realize the situation, or simply too gifted to understand...”

  Ignoring Sakuya’s situation, the old man whispered as he looked around the tent swiftly.

  “Oh, we’re definitely surprised. After all, we have an uninvited guest in our presence,” Ryoma replied with a calm smile, but from the old man’s point of view, no one looked at him with surprise.

  An impressive man. This young one... He has control over everyone present here.

  The old man was quite surprised. With the man at the top remaining composed, those under his command kept calm as well. In other words, young Ryoma Mikoshiba had complete control over the subordinates gathered here.

  But controlling the situation was easier said than done. And despite that, this boy easily succeeded where men with more years of experience would fail.

  “Hmph! Very well, then... I’ve just one thing to ask. Why did you spare this girl? What good would sparing an assassin who came for your life bring you? And why do you not try to capture me, when I have appeared so suddenly? It would be easy if you ordered the surrounding soldiers to do so.”

  “Oh? I thought you appeared in this tent because you already knew all that, old man. I was under the impression you’re aware of what I want to ask you,” Ryoma answered with a smirk.

  If his intent was to save Sakuya, he wouldn’t have spoken up and made such an entrance. The fact the old man revealed himself was proof he had cast aside all sense of enmity toward Ryoma.

  “I see, so you’ve already appraised the situation. You’re a calm whelp, aren’t you... In that case, allow me to ask you. Are you a man of Hinomoto?” The old man asked Ryoma back.

  His eyes were thick with an unyielding force of will that wouldn’t tolerate any lies. Hinomoto was an ancient term referring to Japan. In other words, “a man of Hinomoto” meant “Japanese.” But a modern Japanese person wouldn’t include such an archaic name in casual conversation. You’d only hear that term used in a historical novel, or at best, a film or TV series of a similar vein.

  “Yes, that’s right. I come from the place you call Hinomoto,” Ryoma nodded, and at the same time, the old man’s words made him come to his conclusion.

  A man of Hinomoto, he says... If he’s using such an old term for it, he’s... probably exactly what I think he is.

  “Hmm... I thought that the residents of Hinomoto had forsaken the ways of war in your time, and merely indulge in the spoils of hedonism instead... But it seems there were still warriors such as you among their numbers...” So said the old man, as he turned to Sakuya. “Sakuya. Stand and undo your clothes.”

  “Huh?” Sakuya went pale at his words. “What... Here...?”

  She was an assassin, but a woman nonetheless. She rose to her feet, but seemed hesitant to take off her clothes. Indeed, unless one had some truly unusual interests, most anyone would show resistance to the idea of stripping naked in front of multiple people.

  But that resistance seemed to have bought the old man’s ire.

  “Do not argue!”

  As the old man spoke, a glint of light flashed from his staff before being absorbed back into it. When Ryoma saw this, his eyes lit up with curiosity.

  “Ooh... Sword drawing techniques. You cut through her clothes without reaching her skin...”

  It was a slash performed with godspeed, that did away with any and all needless motion. And on top of that, he slashed only what he intended to cut, not damaging so much as a hair on anything else, marking him as an undisputed master of his craft.

  And as if to affirm Ryoma’s words, Sakuya’s clothes parted to the sides, fluttering to the ground in two cleanly cut halves, exposing two well-formed mounds adorned with red buds.

  The air in the tent froze over, and as everyone else was taken aback, Ryoma half-mockingly applauded as he praised the old man.

  “Your skill is quite impressive...”

  He could say that without a hint of exaggeration. His praise at this overwhelming display of skill was as honest as could be.

  The old man smiled at Ryoma’s words, and snuck a confirming view at Sakuya’s body. He then placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Hmm, as I thought... He landed a blow directly to your weak spot. And the bruise is small... It wasn’t just a punch... A spear hand?”

  Ryoma responded by silently sticking out his fist.

  “Hmm... I see, you stuck out your index finger’s second joint...” The man whispered as he observed the way Ryoma clenched his fist. “Quite effective for aiming at one’s vulnerabilities...”

  “Yes, it’s a form of clutch called the finger knuckle fist.”

  The old man nodded at Ryoma’s answer and ran his hand over Sakuya’s abdomen, making her wince with pain.

  “Ow!”

  “Hm. So this is a bruise from a fist... Yes, yes, I see. You change the clutch of your fist based on where you hit. A similar technique is passed down in our clan... This one was meant to disrupt her breathing, yes?”

  “Right.” Ryoma nodded.

  “With your skill level, you could have killed Sakuya at any moment... Impressive.” The old man said, heaving a sigh.

  It was hard to tell if he was lamenting Sakuya’s abilities or admiring Ryoma’s.

  Hitting one’s weak points was easy enough a concept to verbalize, but being able to do it in the midst of combat was proof of the gap in skill between the two of them.

  Unlike injuries aimed at the eyes or one’s vulnerable privates, a blow to the shoulder or diaphragm required a great deal of strength and an accurate angle to exhibit its desired effects. One couldn’t simply hit those places and expect to cripple the opponent.

  The fact he could accurately strike at an assassin’s weak spots— while taking her by surprise in complete darkness, no less— spoke volumes about his skills.

  “Well, I did catch her off guard. No telling how it would end if we were fighting face to face.”

  It wasn’t a compliment or some attempt to console, but the old man scoffed at Ryoma’s remark.

  “Imbecile. What sort of assassin fights face to face?”

  His words made Ryoma smile bitterly. They certainly rang true.

  “Yes, I suppose so... Oh, wait. I’m rather concerned about Sakuya here, so allow me.”

  With that said, Ryoma went over to his bed, picked up a blanket and draped it over Sakuya’s shoulders.

  “Th-Thank you.”

  “Oh, no. This is just so I can look your way without hesitation.”

  Hearing Ryoma’s words, Sakuya covered her breasts with her arms, remembering that her top was slashe
d off.

  “Hmph. Don’t tell me you haven’t known a woman before, whelp?”

  “It’s not a question of knowing or not knowing.” Ryoma answered with a shrug. “This is simply the minimum amount of respect I’d show towards any woman.”

  Ryoma didn’t consider himself above being interested in women, but wasn’t the type to ogle a woman who’d had her clothes slashed off. Maybe if they were alone in a private room things would be different, but seeing how they were surrounded by other people, it felt all the more imprudent to do so.

  Ryoma wasn’t sure if that much consideration was even necessary in this world, but he wasn’t going to go out of his way to break his own moral code unless his life was at risk.

  “Now then... We have a few questions to ask ourselves. You don’t mind answering, right?” Ryoma changed the subject.

  He couldn’t keep answering this old man’s questions repeatedly, after all. It wasn’t clear who he was, or why he showed himself.

  “I do not mind...” The old man answered. “But I think you’ve already predicted most of the answers. Will you still ask, this late in the game?”

  “Expectations don’t always align with reality.”

  “I see...” The man said pensively. “You’re a cautious one... As a man leading an army should be. Very well, I will answer any question I can.”

  “Good. Then first, let me confirm something. Are you and your tribe descendants of people who were summoned?”

  “Aye, the first generation of our clan was summoned to this world some five centuries ago.” The old man promptly answered Ryoma’s question. “It is said a certain country in the western continent summoned them...”

  “Five centuries ago... Wait, the whole first generation? It wasn’t just one person?”

  Overtaken with surprise for a moment, Ryoma realized the old man had just off-handedly mentioned the most surprising detail yet.

  “Indeed. Our ancestors’ entire village was summoned.”

  “Their entire village...?”

  “Aye...” The old man nodded. “Though, it was a small village of twenty or so...”

  From what they were told, their ancestors were summoned along with the futons they slept in. It seemed the flow of time between this Earth and Rearth was the same, so a ritual being performed during the night wasn’t out of the question.