Lance paused, his green eyes distant as he leaned against the cart's creaking frame, the lantern's flicker casting shadows across his face. "And that's how it ended," he said, his voice low, carrying the weight of seven centuries.
"The Abyssal Flame Dragon—Gorfu—was sealed, but at a cost none could've foreseen. Four heroes gave everything, and the fifth… well, Roe walked away, the last to bear their tale."
"Wow, you know a ton about history," I said, leaning back in the swaying cart.
"Were you a history teacher before you turned adventurer or something?"
Masamato, perched atop the cart's mount, overheard and burst into a hearty laugh, nearly choking on his amusement. Lance shot him a glare, muttering a sharp curse under his breath before turning to me. "Nah," he said, rapping me lightly on the head with his knuckles.
"It's just a bedtime story my mom used to tell me every night. Stuck in my head like a stubborn burr."He tilted his head, eyeing me with mock disbelief.
"But I'm shocked you don't know it. I figured everyone in the world did—thought even newborns came out babbling it."
"Well, uh…" I let out a faint giggle, rubbing the spot he'd tapped. "I never really got bedtime stories, so yeah."Truth was, my mom did tell me tales when I was little—Momotaro slaying demons, Tanabata's star-crossed lovers, and a bunch more. But I doubted Lance would know those, spinning his yarn about dragons and heroes. Probably best not to mention them anyway.
"So, where's the sealing site?"
I asked, my voice jostling with the cart's rhythm.
"It's in the Kingdom of Elven," Lance answered, his green eyes catching the dusk's glow.
"I see," I said, tucking that nugget away.
That night, we paused to rest. I settled beside Masamato on a gnarled log, one of a rough circle around the campfire's crackling heart. Lance lounged across from us, the flames painting his face in shifting light, while Gild and Suzuki had already ducked into their tents. The quiet pressed in, thick and still, until Lance broke it with a sly edge.
"Kozuki, are you a swordsman?"
"Nope," I replied, blunt as ever.
He arched a brow. "Then why haul a sword around?"
"To look cool, obviously," I said with a grin, shrugging, well I obviously can't tell them about all the Isekai things.
"And I've got zero clue how to use it."
Lance's lips curled into a smirk, a glint of mischief sparking as he jabbed a thumb at Masamato.
"Then he can teach you." It was a jab, payback for Masamato's cackling fit back on the cart when I'd pegged Lance for a history teacher.
"Eh—me!?" Masamato yelped, pointing at himself, his face a mix of shock and dread.
"No—" he began, but I steamrolled over him, eyes wide with glee.
"REALLY!?" I practically vibrated with excitement.Masamato faltered, my enthusiasm disarming him. His shoulders slumped, and he flashed an awkward smile.
"Yeah," he muttered, rubbing his neck.
"Btw uh… can you show me your sword?"
"Sure!" I tugged the blade from my waist and thrust it into his hands with flair. He turned it over, inspecting it with a swordsman's eye—fingers brushing the hilt, testing its weight. His intrigue deepened.
"This is a fine sword," he said, half-impressed. "Alright, let's start training."
"Right now!?" I blinked, thrown off.
"Yes, now," he said, his voice steadying as he handed it back.
"Okay!" I clutched it, a buzz of anticipation humming through me.
"Follow me," Masamato ordered, striding away from the camp. As we moved, Lance called out, his smirk widening, "Best of luck!"—a smug lilt in his tone, relishing his revenge.
I spun back, shouting, "THANKS!" before scampering after Masamato.
The plains sprawled flat around us, a sea of grass under a star-dusted sky, with only a few lonely trees breaking the horizon. He stopped at a bare patch, the ground packed and firm—training ground, I figured. Folding his arms, he fixed me with a steady look. "First, show me what you've got."
"Alright," I said, gripping the sword tighter, wondering just how badly I'd embarrass myself.
I pulled my sword free from its sheath, the blade catching the starlight, and launched into a flurry of swings—mimicking the trainee swordsmen I'd watched in anime and movies. Broad sweeps, flashy spins, even a little hop for style—I figured I was putting on a decent show. But Masamato stood there, arms crossed, his face etched with a look of quiet disapproval, like I'd just handed him a half-cooked meal.I kept swinging, slicing the air with enthusiasm, until he raised a hand.
"Stop," he said, his tone clipped.
"I get it—you don't know the basics."
"Huh?" I halted mid-motion, sword drooping in my grip. I'd been doing great, hadn't I? What was off? My mental reel of heroic stances sputtered out.
"Here, let me show you some basics," Masamato said, drawing his sword with a fluid, practiced ease. The blade shimmered faintly in the moonlight, a whisper of lethal intent in its edge. He dropped into a stance and began—three moves, each so stunning they made "basic" sound like a cruel joke.
First, he swept his sword low, tracing a smooth, curving arc that flowed like a river around a stone. The blade hummed softly, parting the air with such finesse it seemed to ripple, his footing shifting in perfect harmony. He ended with a quick flick, a motion so precise it could've severed a thread—or a limb—before you'd even noticed.
Next, he snapped his sword upward in a vertical slash, fast and sharp like a bird bursting into flight. The strike cut the night with a faint whistle, the tip carving a flawless line skyward. Mid-motion, he twisted the blade—a glint of steel spinning briefly—before settling back into a steady guard, calm and unshaken, as if he'd just bisected the wind itself.
Finally, he lunged forward, his sword darting in a rapid series of thrusts—three, four, five jabs in a blink—each a blur of silver too swift to follow. The air cracked with each strike, a sharp rhythm like stones skipping across water, and faint afterimages trailed the blade's path, a ghost of his speed. He capped it with a sidelong slash, halting an inch from the ground, the sword steady as if it'd never moved.
"Got it? Now you try," he said, sheathing his sword with a casual flick, like he hadn't just turned a patch of plains into a masterclass stage.
"How am I supposed to get that!?" I yelped, half-scolding him, half-panicking. "You said they're basics, but aren't basics just—" I swung my sword in a wild, sloppy arc as I spoke, "—swinging it around?"
Masamato stared at me, his face a mask of sheer bewilderment, like I'd just asked him to explain the meaning of life.
"Those are basics," he said, scratching his head. "My mentor drilled them into me when I was a kid."
"Well, you're a master with a sword," I shot back, gripping mine awkwardly. "But me? I'm a total beginner. You've got to start me from the actual basics—like, ground zero."
He blinked, confusion clouding his eyes for a moment, then a spark flickered across his face—like a lightbulb finally buzzing to life.
"Alright, do what I do," he said, stepping back. He mimicked my earlier swings—wild, sloppy arcs with a bit of a hop—his blade cutting the air in a parody of my anime-inspired chaos.
"And…"
"And?" I echoed, tilting my head.
"Uh, well…" He faltered, rubbing his neck, his confidence unraveling. "I, uh, don't really know how to teach the basics, so…"
He trailed off, a nervous glance darting toward the campfire, as if he could feel Lance's smug smirk boring into him from afar, reveling in this stumble.
I sighed, shooting him a disappointed frown, and turned to trudge back to camp. "Wait, wait, wait!" Masamato blurted, lunging to block my path. "I'll find you a proper teacher when we reach Solva, okay? Call it an apology gift."
"Deal," I said, flashing him a triumphant grin, feeling like I'd just won a round. But then a question popped into my head, sharp and sudden.
"Hold on—how are you so good at swordplay if you don't even know the real basics?"
Masamato shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "My parents always said I was born with a natural talent for it."
"Oh, I see…" I nodded, letting that sink in. "Well, it's getting late. Let's head back."
We trudged back to camp, the plains silent under our steps. By the time we arrived, midnight had long slipped past, and the party lay wrapped in sleep. The campfire was a smoldering husk, its embers extinguished, leaving only faint wisps of smoke curling into the dark.
"You can bunk with me tonight," Masamato offered, his voice soft in the stillness.
"Thanks, but I'm not sleepy yet," I replied.
"You go ahead."
He gave me a look—half-apology, half-pity—and murmured, "Goodnight, then," before ducking into his tent. I watched his silhouette vanish, then wandered to a lone tree not far from the camp, its gnarled branches clawing at the sky. Settling beneath it, I slid my sword from my waist and held it up. Its blade gleamed faintly, a thing of beauty—polished steel etched with subtle curves, like a frozen ripple of water. Useless in my hands, though. I didn't know a thing about wielding it. I stared at it, half-hoping it'd spark some hidden power, some isekai trope to make me the overpowered MC I'd dreamed of. Minutes ticked by, and I sighed. This world wasn't handing out cheat codes. Still, I told myself things would work out somehow, a small comfort against the quiet.
(But Kozuki didn't yet know that his journey would soon spiral into chaos far beyond his imagining.)
I set the sword beside me and tilted my head back, gazing at the night sky.
It stretched above, vast and unblemished, a tapestry of stars unlike anything I'd ever seen. Back in Shibuya, light pollution smothered the sky—neon signs and streetlamps drowning out all but the boldest pinpricks. Here, though, the sky was alive. Countless stars glittered, some sharp and white like diamonds, others pulsing faintly in hues of gold and blue, scattered across a velvet black. Clusters swirled in delicate arcs, hinting at unseen constellations, while a thin, silvery haze—perhaps a distant galaxy—shimmered on the horizon. Each star seemed to hum with presence, as if they were ancient eyes peering down, watching this world unfold. In my otaku life, hunched over manga and screens, I'd never witnessed anything so raw, so boundless.
"Pretty," I murmured, the word slipping out unbidden. A gentle breeze stirred, rustling the grass and brushing my face, cool and soothing, like a whisper urging me to rest. My eyelids grew heavy, and I drifted into sleep. While I was sleeping I dream something.
In my dream, the world blurred into shadow—a strange, muted realm, neither beautiful nor nightmarish, but heavy with an odd weight. Before me stood a man, his form cloaked in darkness, his face obscured as if swallowed by ink. Tendrils of shadow coiled around him, thick and sinewy, wrapping his chest where his heart should be—clutching it like possessive hands, pulsing faintly with a rhythm I couldn't hear. I stepped closer, drawn by a pull I couldn't name, my breath catching as I leaned in. His head tilted, and his mouth yawned open—too wide, an unnatural gape that stretched beyond human limits. From within, a hand emerged, bony and black, its fingers long and twitching like spider legs. It lunged, seizing my head in a cold, iron grip, nails grazing my scalp. A voice rasped through the dark, low and hollow, echoing inside my skull:
"Are you sure you're ready?"
The words lingered, a chill question that wasn't quite a threat, but left my pulse thudding with unease. I jolted awake, blinking into Suzuki's face hovering inches from mine. "What are you doing?" I asked, my voice calm despite the confusion and faint dread swirling in my head.
"I was about to wake you,"
Suzuki said, stepping back from my face with a faint smile.
"Well, since you're up, let's move—everyone's waiting" she added, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Got it" I said, snagging my sword from the ground. I dusted it off and trailed after her toward the camp.
"I'll pack the gear," she called over her shoulder as we approached.The tents were half-down, and Lance lounged by the cart, a smirk curling his lips.
"Did Masamato spook you so bad you had to sleep under the stars?" he teased, shooting a sidelong glance at Masamato, who glared back, his jaw tightening.
"No, no, no," I protested, waving my hands. "I just wanted to sleep outside."
"Is that so?" Lance rubbed his chin, his eyes sliding slowly to Masamato, milking the moment. "Well, if that's your story, I won't argue. Just surprised our 'leader' here didn't instill a shred of fear in you."
He nudged Masamato's arm, his smirk widening.
"Can you just shut up?" Masamato snapped, his face twisting with irritation.Their bickering was cut short by Suzuki's shout from the cart.
"Everything's packed—time to roll!"
"Perfect timing," Masamato muttered, seizing the escape. He bolted toward the cart, and I scrambled after him.
"Hey, what—don't leave me behind! Wait up!" Lance yelped, jogging to catch us. We piled into the cart, Lance taking the reins this time instead of Masamato. I settled into my usual spot at the rear, legs dangling off the edge. "Everyone ready?" Lance called, his voice ringing over the creak of wood. Masamato answered for us all, "We're set—let's go."
The cart lurched forward, the wind picking up as we rolled across the plains. An hour later, a mountain loomed into view—its jagged silhouette sharp against the sky. I'd glimpsed it from last night's camp, a distant smudge on the horizon, but now it towered close, its slopes draped in shadow and mist.
"How much longer to Solva?" I asked, leaning in to peer at the others inside. Suzuki glanced out, her eyes tracing the mountain's outline. "Once we've crossed through those peaks, it won't be far," she said, her tone calm but certain.
"Cool," I replied, settling back to watch the landscape unfold.
The cart rumbled along a narrow pathway winding through the mountain's forest, the air thick with life. Towering trees flanked us, their gnarled trunks cloaked in moss, stretching high to form a canopy that filtered the sunlight into dappled patches of gold. Leaves rustled overhead, a symphony of whispers stirred by a cool wind that carried the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Birds flitted among the branches—sharp trills and melodic chirps echoing through the woods—while unseen creatures skittered in the underbrush, their rustles blending with the creak of our wheels. Vines dangled like green curtains, swaying gently, and here and there, shafts of light pierced the foliage, illuminating patches of wildflowers in muted purples and yellows. The forest felt ancient, alive, its pulse thrumming beneath the surface.
"Does this mountain have a name?" I asked Masamato, who'd slid over to sit beside me as we entered the wooded pass.
"Yeah, it's called Inbir," he said, leaning back against the cart's edge.
"Inbir?" I echoed, testing the word.
"Yep." He paused, then grinned like he'd been waiting to drop some trivia.
"You know why it's called that?"
"Nope," I admitted, tilting my head.
"Inbir means 'war' in the old Sumerian tongue," he said, his tone taking on a storyteller's lilt.
"So… it's named that because there was a war here?"
"Bingo!" Masamato snapped his fingers, his grin widening.
"About fifty years back, there was a brutal fight for the throne right in these woods. That's why it's Inbir."
I shot him a skeptical look, brows scrunching. "That's it? It's that simple?"
"Yep, simple as that," he replied, puffing out his chest with mock pride.
From inside the cart, Suzuki's voice chimed in, soft but clear.
"They say the souls of the dead still linger here."I leaned in to catch her words.
"Locals claim they've seen shadowy figures at night—soldiers, they think, lost in that battle fifty years ago," she continued, her eyes still on the book in her lap.
"Wandering spirits, trapped in the mountain."
"Huh, I see," I murmured, glancing at the trees as if expecting a ghost to peek out.
"But it's never been proven," she added with a shrug. "Just rumors."
We rolled on through the forest, the pathway twisting deeper into Inbir's heart.
I glanced ahead at Gild, trudging tirelessly in front of the cart, hauling that massive lizard corpse like it was nothing. Sweat didn't even bead on him—did the guy ever tire? Inside, Suzuki sat cross-legged, engrossed in her book. I nearly asked what she was reading, curiosity tugging at me, but held back—we weren't close enough yet. Beside me, Masamato lounged, his arm propped on the cart's rear. He caught me staring and flashed a smile, all easy charm and sharp features. Wow, he's handsome, I thought, blinking away the distraction.
Idly, I unsheathed my sword, resting it across my knees. The green sapphire embedded in its hilt caught my eye—it was glowing, a faint, pulsing light I'd never noticed before, like it was drawn to something nearby. I stared, transfixed, the gem's shimmer dancing in rhythm with some unseen pull, a quiet hum I couldn't quite hear.
"What're you staring at?" Masamato asked, snapping me out of it.
"Oh—nothing, nothing!" I stammered, forcing an awkward laugh. "Just, uh, lucky to have such a beautiful sword, haha!"
I shoved it back Into its sheath, hoping he didn't notice my fluster.
"Agreed, haha!" he said, clapping me on the back with a hearty grin.
Unbeknownst to Kozuki, the sword didn't settle quietly in its case. The green sapphire's glow lingered, faint but persistent, a subtle tremor rippling through the blade as if it stirred in response to the mountain's hidden pulse.
After hours of rattling through Inbir's shadowed forest, the cart finally rolled to the mountain's far side, emerging at its foot.
The trees thinned, their rustling voices fading, and just as we neared the exit, a cry pierced the air—
"HELP US!" My senses snapped to high alert, heart thudding as I whipped my head around, scanning the surroundings.
"Did you hear that?" I asked Masamato, my voice tight, eyes darting over the moss-draped trunks and tangled vines.
"Hear what?" he replied, lounging beside me, his brow furrowing slightly.
"'Help us'—someone yelled it," I insisted, still searching the fading woodland.
"Really?" He tilted his head, unconvinced. I hesitated, the echo fading in my mind.
"Well… maybe it was just my Imagination," I muttered, easing back.
"Yep, probably," Masamato agreed, shrugging it off with a faint grin.
We pressed on, leaving the mountain behind, the path leveling into a broad, dusty trail.
Ahead, the horizon unveiled Solva—a glorious city shimmering in the distance, its grandeur stealing my breath. Towering walls encircled it, rising a hundred meters high, their stone a pale gold that glowed under the midday sun, as if forged from light itself. The ramparts stretched wide, punctuated by turrets capped with conical roofs of deep blue slate, their tips piercing the sky like spears. Beyond the walls, spires soared—slender and ornate, their peaks glinting with metallic accents, hinting at a bustling heart within. The outer fortifications bore weathered scars, faint cracks and mossy patches whispering of battles past, yet they stood unyielding, a testament to Solva's resilience. At the base, a massive gate loomed, its ironwood panels carved with intricate runes that pulsed faintly, as if alive with old magic. A line of carts and travelers snaked toward it, their colors a vivid patchwork against the city's majesty.
"Looks like we're waiting in line again," Lance said from the reins, a wry edge to his voice.
"Haha, yeah, seems so," Masamato chuckled, slipping inside the cart to dodge Lance's inevitable jabs.
"Welcome to our hometown," Suzuki said, her voice warm as she leaned out, gazing at Solva with soft pride. "It's always a sight, no matter how often I see it."
I nodded, awestruck, but a prickling sensation crept up my spine—like eyes boring into me. Instinctively, I glanced skyward. For a split second, the blue
expanse cracked—a jagged fracture flashing across it, gone as fast as it came.blinked. Imagination again, probably.
"So, he's the next God of Death. Interesting," murmured a man in a dark cloak, his voice low and rasping. He stood before a dimly glowing orb in a shadowed chamber, its surface swirling with mist.
Reflected within, a group of figures moved—a cart, a mountain, a city—watched by unseen eyes.