by DB King
“There is a very narrow valley at its center, a straight pathway that runs for over a hundred miles. No life grows there—not even the hardiest of plants.” Ken said. “The Asura’s power was so great that a single swipe from his blade was powerful enough to alter the landscape. That very same mountain range was the result of the demon’s rampage. The valley at its center was but a gargantuan furrow, carved into the earth by its blade.”
Jin’s mouth hung agape.
Such power…
“That’s not possible.” By all accounts, the mages of this world were far weaker than his previous one. There was no reason for any of them, even the strongest, to be capable of such feats. Heck, the way magic functioned in this world put a massive limitation on the magical prowess of every mage. Unless there was a Magical Beast that routinely created new landmasses by waving its hand, which he would’ve definitely heard of if it did exist, there was no reason to believe such a thing was possible.
Jin scoffed. His teacher was a deluded fool. “I refuse to believe it. Legends are just legends and stories can be so easily altered.”
His eyes drifted back down to the scroll in front of him. Jin grabbed his brush, dipped it in ink and continued writing. His teacher might’ve said something as he wrote, but Jin was no longer listening to whatever the man had to say. The man was a fool and he had no time to listen to the words of fools.
Then again, he spoke only what he believed to be right—not everyone, after all, was as experienced and as knowledgeable as he was. Strange as it was, Jin was far older than the man who was teaching him the characters of the Moyatani tongue.
An hour passed and then two, and Monotori Ken had walked out at some point. Jin was too engrossed in his studies to notice the man’s absence. Truth be told, he only needed the man’s tutoring for another two days at most and then he’d be done with him.
Jin dropped his brush and smiled as his next tutor rushed into the courtyard. Toru Akira, an aged woman, was supposedly a former member of the Shogun’s own court, before she gracefully asked to retire. How his father was able to hire her, let alone find her, was a mystery to him.
Akira bowed, though the smile she gave him was a practiced one, borne of thousands upon thousands of practiced smiles that she gradually came to master in her tenure. Actually, it reminded him of the nobles, who resided in his own court when he’d ascended the highest throne in his previous world—they all had practiced smiles too.
The old woman, probably somewhere between sixty and seventy, was here to teach him the customs and procedures of courtly life, which—considering his apparent noble blood—he was expected to learn. Ah, the one lesson I would not find fun.
After three hours of learning how to sit properly, tie his hair properly, make and pour tea properly, greet a fellow noble properly, greet a noble of higher stature properly, and how to walk properly, Jin’s morning lessons finally ended. Truly, all the procedures of courtly life were… mostly pointless and frivolous. There was absolutely no logical reason for why he needed to pour tea with only his left hand when he was very clearly right-handed. Also that thing about not being allowed to look a higher lord in the eye was absolutely stupid. It was rather fortunate then, that he was very unlikely to meet a lord of higher stature, not unless the whole damn nation was suddenly engulfed in war and the Daimyo called forth all his retainers.
Such a thing was unlikely, of course. The realm was at peace and the seat of the Shogun was secure.
Yawning and stretching, Jin walked back into the manor, leaving behind his brush and ink on the table. The skies were yet to brighten. Dark clouds loomed overhead as cold and powerful winds ushered their arrival upon the lands of the Murasaki Clan. Jin didn’t mind. He preferred the cold and windy weather over sunny days. It was one of the few things he could not shake off from his previous world: dark and dreary weather always reminded him of his old friend—he who became the Hollowed Knight for Jin’s dream.
Oddly enough, it was a reminder of his promise to do better—to be a better man than he had been.
The inner hallways of the Murasaki Castle were quite simple, in his humble opinion. There were hardly any decorations, save for the swords his father had collected over the years and the few paintings of famous bushi on the walls, but those were already there, even before his father was born. Everything was, however, very well maintained. There was hardly a speck of dust on the floor, and not one spot of dirt on the walls or on the ceiling. Their servants worked tirelessly to clean the castle every single day and it showed. There were no cracks or crevices either and the wooden boards of the floor were polished to a notable sheen. The interior of Murasaki Castle was simple, but elegant and rich.
Personally, he would’ve preferred quite a bit more splendor, but simplicity did have its own charm. And, considering they weren’t even among the richest of clans, it would’ve been rather stupid to spend resources on mere decorations when they could be spent elsewhere.
Hamada met him in the dining hall, where a long, wooden table awaited. On it were two jugs of water, grilled pork and chicken on skewers, and two bowls of fish stew with leek, ginger, and garlic. A large pot of rice stood at the side. Jin smiled as he waited for his father to squat first, as was the custom of the land. Once Hamada was seated, or squatted, properly, Jin stepped forward and took his place to his father’s right.
“Were your lessons satisfactory, Jin?” The man asked. They weren’t supposed to begin eating yet until tea was served. Already, one of their servants had walked in with a pot of steaming tea and two cups.
Jin smiled and shrugged. “The writing lessons were good. I have learned much from Ken and I will continue to learn much from him for the next two days. After that, I believe I won’t need him any longer—the alphabet and the characters are simple enough to practice reading and writing on my own. Madame Toru Akira’s lessons were important, but I believe I’ll have mastered all of it within two weeks of practice.”
Hamada hummed and nodded. “That is good, Jin. I will search for more tutors to teach you. It seems your mind is too powerful for a mere two teachers.” His father grinned tenderly. “This is good—my son is a prodigy.”
Jin smiled and bowed. “Thank you for the praise, father. I would like to learn everything that can be learned—even the most banal of lessons. I will gladly learn it all.”
Hamada seemed surprised at first, but soon hummed with approval as he gestured to Jin, allowing him to begin eating his meal. “Very well. I shall gather more teachers for you, my son.”
“Thank you, father.”
The meal, like the rest of the house, was simple, but hearty and filling. Sure, the flavors were far from the best he’d ever had, but the food itself was healthy and nutritious. And he needed those to forge a perfect warrior’s physique.
And so Jin ate to his fill. There was enough food on the table to feed a small feast of five men, but he ate enough for two. Even his father was surprised. Hamada spoke nothing of it, however, given the man’s own appetite.
When they finally finished, his father spoke. “My son, I will be testing your skills with the sword this afternoon, when the sun sets. If you impress me, I will grant you access to the Murasaki Library and Treasury.”
“And…” Hamada grimaced. “If you impress me with your mastery of the Murasaki Style, you will meet your new swordmaster, Nobito of the Feather-Moon Kenjutsu School. So, my son, make sure you don’t disappoint either of us.”
Jin’s breath hitched. His new swordmaster was finally here!
Of course, a whole month had passed since their last spar. Hamada expected great things from him and he would not disappoint. His next tutor, one he actually cared about, was supposedly a master of the Feather-Moon Style, supposedly a dishonorable Kenjutsu style that was favored by shinobi. It was known as the “Coward’s Blade” among many of the bushi. Hamada, however, held a great appreciation for it.
“Of course, father,” Jin replied. “I am eager to defeat you again.”
>
Hamada chuckled. “We shall see.”
Chapter 4
Two souls stood apart, separated by both age and distance. Between them was a soft blanket of fallen sakura leaves, untouched and undisturbed. Father and son stood in the courtyard of the family castle, the sun slowly dipping into the folds of the distant mountains, its warm light draining away and bleeding into the horizon. Cold air blew over them, ruffling their hair and their clothes, and gently rolling away the soft leaves on the ground around them.
Jin stood with a stoic mask, his eyes betraying none of his intentions. He’d quickly learned that his father was capable of predicting his intent, by simply reading his facial features. Jin would not make the mistake of leaving himself open, not anymore. His shoulders hung low, relaxed and unbidden. His muscles were more like water now where once they were closer to black, oily tar. Jin had worked tirelessly in the last thirty days to remedy that failure of his. Now, his body was fluid, soft and elastic—the perfect specimen of a Murasaki swordsman.
Hamada was much the same, featureless and formless. All his muscles were relaxed as well, though Jin noted the man’s rigid ankles; knowing his father, however, such rigidity was a feint, a trap for Jin to fall into by reading into his father’s intent. The man was intentionally allowing him to see the flaw, which would’ve drawn much of his attention to Hamada’s ankles if he hadn’t known better.
Jin’s eyes must’ve shifted, for his father’s ankles relaxed instantly. Hamada’s face betrayed how proud he was of Jin. Very few people would’ve noticed that tiny trap. I won’t fall for your tricks again, father.
“Very good, my boy. You noticed my ankles almost instantly. You truly are a prodigy of the mind and body.” Hamada stated it as a matter of fact, before raising his practice sword up over his head in the Crimson Petal Stance, one of the more aggressive stances of the Murasaki Style Kenjutsu that was focused primarily on disarming and overpowering one’s enemy.
Tsk… looks like the old man’s going to be attacking me from now on - what a headache.
“Your goal, my son, is to avoid being disarmed for five minutes,” Hamada declared. “I will not be attacking you directly, only attacking to take away your wakizashi. You may use everything you have at your disposal—everything.”
Hamada glanced at Jin’s fire salamander tattoo when he spoke that last word.
Over the last thirty days, Jin had trained himself in the use of his fire magic. But the results were… suboptimal at best. The flames he had at his disposal were weak and untamed, and more like a blast of raging wildfire than a controlled burst. He couldn’t even control it once it began spewing out of his fingers. As it stood, his ability to use magic was dismal—by his own standards anyway. Most three-year olds in this world could hardly even talk properly, whereas Murasaki Jin was taking his first steps to mastering his mind, his body, his magic, and his sword.
He was a prodigy.
But he had a long way to go, before he reached the peak of power in this new world—a very long way to go.
Jin sighed and drew his training wakizashi before crouching low. With his left hand on the ground and the right propping up his bokken - a wooden training sword - over his shoulders, Jin waited and calmed himself, allowing his muscles to relax to their fullest. The Crouching Tiger Stance was one of the few stances he didn’t particularly like. Its whole purpose, despite its name, was evasion and avoidance of a stronger foe. Sure, its higher forms and functions allowed one to bring down giants, but he only knew the basics of it.
Considering Hamada’s towering structure, relative to his own, the Crouching Tiger Stance was the best Jin could think of.
“Impress me,” Hamada surged forward, moving faster than Jin’s eyes could follow, leaving behind a trail of fluttering sakura leaves in the air. The man’s blade flashed forward, aimed at the base of Jin’s wakizashi—likely a means to weaken Jin’s grip of his weapon.
Jin’s eyes widened for a moment as he loosened his grip and the strength of his forearm. When the edge of Hamada’s tachi katana crashed against the base of his wakizashi, all it did was slide off to the side, leaving the left side of Hamada’s torso unguarded. Jin didn’t miss the grin on his father’s face as he tensed his muscles and leapt forward, aiming to hit Hamada’s exposed abdomen.
Jin stopped and rolled forward midway as soon as he realized the trap his father had set for him.
He rolled over his shoulder and stood up immediately. If he had continued on with that attack, Hamada would’ve simply raised a knee. His attack would’ve broken then, like a wave crashing upon a massive boulder. Once his attack was stopped, it would’ve been a simple task of grabbing the edge of his wooden wakizashi and yanking back. The best and only course of action was to follow through with his momentum, but cancel the attack. Hence, the only thing he could do was to roll forward, avoiding Hamada’s left knee.
Jin huffed as he straightened his stance.
That was too close.
Hamada looked over his shoulder and offered him a proud smile. “Good—you noticed your folly, before it could come back to hurt you.”
Fully turning, Hamada held out his blade toward Jin. “Prepare yourself, my son.”
Jin didn’t bother replying. Instead, he tuned out the world and focused solely on his father’s blade. Hamada’s tachi wasn’t poised into any specific stance and his feet were too close to each other for any long ranged attack to occur. His father’s muscles weren’t particularly relaxed either, which ruled out any possibility of explosive movements—
Jin’s eyes widened as he rolled to the right, just in time to avoid Hamada’s sudden surge of momentum as the man literally disappeared and reappeared beside him instantly, bokken swinging where Jin’s sword would’ve been. Shit shit shit shit!
Jin barely had any time to reorient himself as Hamada was on him again, aiming to simply kick away his wakizashi. Eyes wide, Jin immediately reared back his sword hand and held out his left hand. Now, it was Hamada’s turn to be surprised as he leapt back and raised his tachi in front of him in the Turtle Guard Stance.
Just as quickly, however, his father chuckled and lowered his guard. “That was a good faint, Jin. You actually made me believe you were going to use your magic.”
Jin huffed and took a single step back. Hamada really was going to grill him today, wasn’t he? As before, he didn’t bother with a reply, merely slipping into the Leaping Tail Stance. If Hamada was going to be a headache, then Jin might as well return the favor by being a migraine. Of all the stances, the Leaping Tail had become his most favored stance in the last month of constant, agonizing training. He’d even developed his own moves.
“However, my son, I told you to use everything you have at your disposal,” Hamada said, eyes narrowing as he slipped back into the Crimson Petal Stance. “If you do not use your magic, you will lose.”
This time Jin replied, “If I have to use my magic to survive, then I will have lost either way.”
Hamada huffed, but spoke no further.
Sighing, Jin surged forward. Staying on the defensive at all times was a good way to lose eventually. He was three-years old—his guard wasn’t perfect and his father was practically a hundred times bigger than he was. Defense wouldn’t work. The only option he still had left was pure, overwhelming attack.
And so he did just that.
Aiming for Hamada’s left shin, Jin’s wakizashi flashed outwards from his own left—his blade surging to the right. As Jin’s blade neared him, Hamada merely lifted his left foot and turned. Jin wasn’t finished, however, as he spun mid-air and twisted the trajectory of his sword, swinging it toward his father’s chin. It was a gamble and, like any gamble, carried with it great risk.
Hamada tilted his head back, narrowly avoiding the tip of Jin’s wakizashi, before raising his knee, intent on hitting his son on the chest.
Jin’s eyes widened. His mind raced. There were very few options when one’s feet weren’t planted firmly on the ground. Scratch that
- actually, there was only one thing he could do.
Relaxing every muscle in his body, Jin met Hamada’s right knee head on. It met his chest and Jin felt the momentum crashing into him. It hurt—badly. But it didn’t break his focus or his will. Steeling his mind, Jin turned all his attention toward the rippling forces that now echoed outwards from his chest, courtesy of Hamada’s attack. Because his muscles were relaxed, the force of the attack harmlessly bounded into his body; only the initial collision had hurt.
Time seemed to grind to a halt as Jin turned all his attention inward.
Force Redirection was very powerful, but also incredibly difficult to master. Disciples could practice it again and again, every single day, for two decades and still fail to master the Murasaki Clan’s Secret Technique. Jin had spent the last thirty days studying it.
It was a trial by fire. He’d never even considered using the clan’s secret technique in a spar.
But it was the only option he had, short of using his magic.
Jin followed the direction of the forces as it traveled outward. Much of it seemed to dissipate toward his upper body. I can do this.
His next course of action was the grueling act of having to control the force within his body. By incredibly precise muscle twitches, Jin found that he could divert the direction of the kinetic energy that was still flowing through him. Slowly, but surely, Jin diverted the force into his left arm, which was still swinging forward. With proper form and a ridiculous amount of luck, Jin was reasonably certain he could return the force of his father’s attack—and then some—into the man’s right shoulder.
The act of actually redirecting the kinetic energies was impossibly difficult. Force was even more stubborn than magic, but the fact that it followed physical rules allowed him to manipulate it—if only slightly.
The fingers of his left hand curled into a fist, and the kinetic energies from his father’s knee attack bounded toward a single point.
Jin unleashed a war cry as his fist crashed against his father’s right shoulder. Hamada’s eyes visibly widened. He staggered to the left, his movements almost clumsy and unsure. His gaze fell upon Jin, who’d caught himself falling and rolled over his shoulder as he landed on the ground and immediately leapt backward.