by DB King
Jin paused and considered the man’s question for a moment, before shrugging. “I… have no idea what you’re talking about.”
A crowd of servants and guards gathered near the doors, but most of them stayed several paces away in fear of getting caught in a battle between two mages. And yet they stayed, regardless.
“Yavira!” the foreign mage screamed. Jin’s chest heaved at the name and pain flooded across his form—a pain borne not of flesh, but of his spirit. His heart physically hurt, as though something was constricting it. Agito fell from his grasp. “She was there! I saw her. She was dying!”
That name… he hadn’t heard that name in so long that he’d almost forgotten it.
Yavira… Just saying it with the voice in his head made his heart burst with pain. Jin’s hands curled into fists as he stalked forward, his tattoos unleashing wave after wave of violent magical energies. Fire and lightning seeped out of his form, coating his body in a cloak of fiery reds and cackling blues.
Their betrayal had broken his soul and then twisted what was left of it. They all stood there, their weapons raised against him, having conspired amongst each other for the greater good of all—not once considering the burden he had to endure as the Mage-Emperor, as the ruler of every living thing.
Red lightning seethed out of his eyes, blood-red streaks arcing outward and blasting at the floor and the walls. When Jin spoke, his voice was distorted, as though two people were speaking at once—the voice of an elderly man, whose fury was ice-cold, and the voice of a child, whose rage burned hot. The servants and the guards cowered, and screams echoed all around.
“Miura Shinji, you will tell me how you learned of that name and you will tell me now,” Jin demanded. “Or I will destroy you and everything you are!”
And yet the foreign mage had a defiant look on his face as he stood his ground and glowered back. “Who is she? I felt her pain and her grief! What was that blackened castle, whose tower reached beyond heaven?”
Jin paused. His rage dissipated by the tiniest bit. Does he have the ability to see memories? No, that’s probably not the case, since he wouldn’t be asking those questions if he could.
“Yavira, the Burning Queen, mistress of all the flames of the world. That’s the one you saw,” Jin said calmly, even as his feet burned the ground beneath him. He raised his hand high and dropped it low in a diagonal arc. “I killed her by slicing open her torso… Well, that was the injury I’d given her after I learned of her betrayal. I wanted to slice her head off, but our friendship made me stay my hand.”
Jin sighed, burning tears falling from his eyes and hissing as they met the floor. “I would’ve spared her if she had just stopped… I would’ve spared all of them… they were my friends.”
Although she was not his friend since his childhood days as the Hollowed Knight had been, the Burning Queen had endeared herself in his heart almost as soon as his journey truly began. She had just once been a simple serving girl in some rundown tavern at the edge of the world, carrying pints of cheap beer and overcooked bits of meat. Both Jin’s previous self and his childhood friend had arrived at that bar, looking for both. They were hungry and weak after a failed attempt at a simple recovery quest that had them delving into the depths of an ancient city which had been filled with creeping, reanimated horrors.
Yavira served their drinks and their food, and she was also there when they were thrown out of the tavern after they couldn’t pay for their last orders. Valden, as his name was at the time, was yet to discover and unlock his magical talents. He, alongside his childhood friend, had been nothing more than another ragged band of adventurers for hire, exploring dark and ancient places for coin and patronage. And they were terrible at it. Valden had almost no skill with any weapon, save for the quarterstaff, while his childhood friend was only good at swinging swords and breaking jaws. The only thing they seemed to be good at was killing goblins, and that hardly took an ounce of skill at all. Yavira pitied them and offered them their last pint of beer and dried meat for free.
In that moment, Valden made a foolish, laughable promise that should’ve been nothing more than a jest, but he took it seriously anyway. He promised the young woman that one day he would return, rich and victorious, and that he would free her from her life of servitude. Yavira only seemed to chuckle in turn, though not before uttering, “I’ll hold you to it, adventurer. Never make a promise you can’t keep.”
And so, for the next five years, Valden kept that promise. He trained and trained and forced himself into the greatest and most profound hardships, until—one day—he and his childhood friend were recognized by children from across the street as the Vagabond Knights, an adventuring duo, whose exploits were told by bards and minstrels all across the land. In his happiness and in the swelling of his pride, Valden had unleashed a burst of magic around himself. On that fateful day, everything in his life changed.
Though lacking in training, Valden possessed obscene amounts of magical energies, which allowed him to simply blast away foes with pure magic alone—without even bothering to cast spells or rituals. As the fame and success of the Vagabond Knights grew, so did their wealth. True to his promise, Valden returned to that rundown town at the edge of the world, to that very same tavern, where he’d met the young serving girl who’d offered him kindness in a time of need.
By then, Yavira had inherited the tavern from its previous owner, and the town had been reduced to a hive of bandits and scum. She was untouched and unmolested, due to the king of thieves’ affections toward her. When Valden returned with his childhood friend, it quickly became apparent that violence would and could not be avoided. And yet he and his friend had become powerfully strong beyond mortal comprehension.
It was a massacre. The rivers ran red and the rundown town simply ceased to exist. In the chaos, Yavira had discovered her own unique powers: the total and complete control of fire. It was by her side that they struck down the bandits and the thieves, and all the other scum that dwelled there. The townsfolk had given her the epithet of the Burning Queen.
One thing led to another, and Yavira took control of what little remained of the whole town, becoming its sole ruler. Valden and his childhood friend stayed and offered everything they could offer to help rebuild. In the many years that would come, that very same town would become the capital of his Ascended Empire, but that was a story for another time.
Belthora, they called it, the city at the edge of the world, ruled over by the Burning Queen, who was worshipped by her people as a demi-goddess of fire and flame.
Yavira… She was something else, a kind and caring woman who drew in the people around her. Jin remembered fondly how easily she attracted the masses into relocating to their little town. Wandering, despondent people from ravaged countries and ruined cities flocked to Belthora, and Yavira welcomed them with open arms. In just a few, short years, the once-struggling city had become a trove of wealth, knowledge, and liberation, where the people were free from oppression and danger.
The Burning Queen formed the first senate, where representatives were chosen from among the masses and were allowed to enact laws and regulations for the benefit of the town. Such freedom simply did not exist anywhere else in the world. And the idea of it soon spread to neighboring cities and domains, causing riots and revolutions.
Yavira’s kindness shook the world to its core and changed its face forever.
And that was just the beginning.
Jin huffed and chuckled, his anger fully dissipating at the memory. The aura of cackling lightning arcs and crimson flames seemed to disappear. He stared into the ground as the foreign mage processed his words. “She was beautiful and powerful, and I killed her.”
Miura Shinji caught his breath. “You… killed her? Why? She was your friend, wasn’t she? Who are you? Who were those people? Where was that? I’ve been all across Moyatani and I’ve never seen such people, not even in the foreign ships from distant shores.”
How does he know about
her? Jin shook his head. “No, you will answer my question first: how do you know of her? How was it that you were able to see her and feel her emotions?”
Mind-readers were an absolute pain to deal with as they were capable of reading one’s movements just as those movements were visualized in one’s mind. Miura Shinji didn’t seem to be a mind-reader, but his powers clearly revolved around minds, memories, and visions. Then again, Jin thought. There are probably a thousand different types of magic in this world that trying to predict his abilities are a waste of time.
“You are no child. I can see that, now,” the foreigner said, wiping the sweat away from his brows with the edges of his sleeves. His eyes steeled and darkened, and he settled into an unknown martial arts stance, one fist raised halfway forward, while the other stayed back near his face. His legs were spread apart diagonally, likely for balance and rhythm. And yet, when he spoke, his voice cracked and shook. “I do not know who or what you are, but I have seen the evils that you have wrought in... wherever and whatever that place was.”
He was emotionally unstable, Jin noted. Both his eyes and his breathing were unfocused and unsteady. The foreigner was making a decision in the heat of the moment, guided by his emotions and not by his logic. The mere fact that he wasn’t considering that numbers weren’t on his side was rather telling. “You’re making a huge mistake, Miura Shinji. I suggest you reconsider your decision.”
The foreigner was no longer listening. “Murasaki Jin, you have been judged, and I have decided that you are a threat.”
Jin grinned and leapt backward. His right hand flashed and swooped down and grabbed Agito by the handle, before settling into the Murasaki-style Crimson Petal Stance, meant to disarm and disable through excessive force. Killing the foreigner might just bring the whole Imperial Academy on his head and, while Jin’s powers were nothing to scoff at, he simply was not yet strong enough to fight a whole army of mages by himself—not by a long shot. “I won’t kill you, foreigner, but this is going to hurt—a lot. Once I’m done beating you to a pulp, you will tell me everything.”
“I will hear none of your lies, monster,” Shinji replied. “I did not wish for violence or death, but I cannot allow your existence to—”
“How dare you raise your fists against my nephew, Miura Shinji!” Arima’s voice boomed across the living room. All the guards and servants around them went to their knees and bowed in the lord’s presence.
Jin’s uncle stood near the doorway, his face flushed red with anger and indignation. After all, they were very about to start a fight that would very likely bring the whole house down in a matter of moments, even if Jin held himself back to the fullest, which wasn’t exactly a smart idea, considering his enemy was a mage. Despite this, Arima had enough gall and guts to march right up to Shinji’s face and screamed, “You will stand down and honor the laws of hospitality! Do you understand, boy?!”
Jin stood, both eyebrows raised as his mouth hung open in shock. Well, this definitely isn’t the Arima I know.
Miura Shinji’s eyes were glued to the floor as Arima continued his tirade. “I gave you my blessings and welcomed you as my guest, and this is how you repay me? You attack my beloved nephew and threaten my home? How dare you!”
“It is my duty to—”
“I don’t give a damn about your duty, boy!” Arima cut him off. Jin hardly recognized the man before him. He’d never witnessed his uncle’s fury—not once, not ever. Toyotoda Arima was never angry about anything—not even when Ebisu made a man-sized hole on the wall of his manor and laughed about it as though it wasn’t important. And yet this man, who once buckled under the laughable presence of fat merchants, was now yelling at a mage.
Most people would likely soil themselves at the thought of having to just look a mage in the eye. Jin really hadn’t been keeping an eye on his uncle for him not to notice a change of this magnitude.
“You are in my house and you will give me the proper respects. Is that clear?” Arima demanded of Shinji.
The foreign mage shuddered, his eyes wide with fury. His magical energies flared outward, like a storm of colors. The floor cracked at his feet and the manor shook from an unseen pressure. The winds shifted and grew ever colder, though Jin only noticed this from the shivering of the servants. His magic is powerful, Jin thought. I shouldn’t underestimate this man.
And yet his uncle was undeterred. Toyotoda Arima stood his ground, even as his hands shook behind him, and cold sweat rolled down the back of his neck. He was the lord of the manor, of the village, and of every soul that dwelled here, and he was finally standing up for his title. Jin’s eyes focused on Miura Shinji once more. The mage was still shaking with bridled anger, likely only kept back after many years of training and discipline.
And yet, Jin was ready.
If the foreign mage lashed out at his uncle, he’d be dead in a heartbeat.
But then the pressure dissipated, and the magic that was flaring around Miura Shinji lessened and lessened, until it disappeared, retreating into his body. The temperature returned to normal and warmth flooded the manor once more. The foreign mage took a very deep breath before sighing and bowing low. “Forgive me for betraying your trust, Lord Toyotoda… I will be taking my leave.”
“Do so quickly. I no longer wish for your presence under my roof,” Arima spat. “The servants will carry your things. Now, leave me and my family alone, boy.”
Shinji ignored Arima and locked eyes with Jin.
The message was clear. Jin nodded and smiled. “I’ll be seeing you, Shinji. I still want answers.”
Chapter 13
“He’ll still be skulking around for a while,” Jin said, eyeing the setting sun in the distance, slowly dipping behind the woods and the mountains. Night was coming, but he would find no rest in his bed.
Jin turned. Sitting on a table, taking a sip from a cup of premium sake was Arima, face flushed and still shaking with anger.
“Still,” Jin continued, “he doesn’t seem like the type to kill unnecessarily. Otherwise, you’d already be dead, uncle.”
“I know, Jin,” Arima replied. “The Varnu people are an honorable lot. He would sooner cut open his own wrists than attack me in my own home, after I welcomed him as a guest. They make for very poor assassins, the Varnu.”
Jin raised an eyebrow. Hamada had mentioned the Varnu once, very briefly. They were supposedly a primitive people, who dwelled in a region far north of Moyatani, a frozen land, where crops did not grow. They were a hardy people, and often exported their textiles to Moyatani. The rug at the center of their living room in Castle Murasaki was of Varnu origin. For a moment, Jin wondered if it was still there or if it had burned alongside the castle.
Jin shook his head. “Well, whatever the case, I will now be constantly watching over my shoulder for any sign of that little bugger. I’ve no idea what his powers are, so it’s best to just assume anything and everything within the realm of plausible possibilities.”
Arima shook his head and downed another cup of sake. “If he is a true child of the Varnu, which he probably is, then you can rest assured that he will never stab or attack you from behind, and neither will he hold anyone hostage in return for your compliance. Then again, if he isn’t, then anything can happen, Jin.”
“That…” Jin sighed and sat in front of his uncle, before grabbing an empty cup and pouring a liberal amount of rice wine into it. “…is very true. Ah… why did he even want to kill me? We’ve never met before, and I’m quite certain I’d remember his face if we ever did at some point.”
Arima raised an eyebrow. “No, he mentioned something that didn’t quite make sense to me. Miura Shinji spoke of a woman, did he not? He mentioned a foreign name, too. Yavira, I think. Do you know her? It seemed as though you knew her, Jin.”
Hah, he must’ve been listening to at least half of my conversation with Shinji before intervening, Jin thought. Cunning old coot. Jin sighed, closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. There really was no easy wa
y to say this. Did he even want to say it? His uncle deserved to know the truth, at the very least, for all he’s done. The real question was if he’d even believe it. It was far-fetched—far too impossible a story, even for a world filled with magic and monsters and wonders.
Who would believe him? Well, the simplest answer was no one. No one would believe such a story. An all-powerful Mage-Emperor from another world, who woke up in the body of the son of Murasaki Hamada. Or am I truly Murasaki Jin in his new life, instead of the usurper of some poor boy’s life? I don’t know.
And so Jin chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, uncle.”
Arima leaned forward. “Try me, Jin. I’ve heard plenty of crazy stories. I am not young.”
“I’m—”
A servant rushed through the door, panting, and promptly fell on the floor.
“My lords!” The young man held up a single red scroll, wrapped in a thin, golden ribbon.
Jin’s eyes widened. The only authority in the whole province, whose power was symbolized by such a symbol, was the Daimyo himself. The red scroll could mean only one thing.
“I bring a message from the Lord Izayoi!” the servant continued. “He requests all his retainers to gather in Uzaboto as soon as possible!”
The servant quickly dismissed himself as soon as Jin grabbed the scroll and gave it to his uncle. “And so, it’s begun. A red scroll can only mean one thing, uncle…”
Arima sighed heavily as he opened the scroll and began reading its contents. His uncle’s eyes darkened, and his shoulders sagged. Finally, he rolled the scroll and gingerly placed it on the table, right next to the sake. When he finally spoke, Arima’s voice was grim. “I had hoped for more time. I had hoped to die before such a time could begin. Fate, it seems, has other plans.”
“It’s war, then?” Jin confirmed.
“The Daimyo has called for a war council. It’s likely we’ll march to war within the next six months,” Arima answered. “We have many allies in the northern and western provinces, so Lord Izayoi will likely have us march southward.”