Dororo: The Mio Chronicle Ch.1: The Voiceless Swordsman and the Hall's Song

The mountain path was thick with the smell of blood. Early spring, dusk. A man came crashing through the cedar grove, stumbling as he ran. His kimono was caked with mud and spattered with his own blood, and death was already written across his face. A black shadow pursued him. It resembled a snake, but its limbs were gnarled and jointed—a grotesque thing. Its slick, gleaming black body slid over the fallen leaves as if gliding on oil. The youkai called Nijiru. A shadow of this war-torn age that would not stop until it had drained every drop of a man's blood. " H-help me...!" The man screamed. But before his voice could be swallowed by the mountain, one of the Nijiru leaped. It coiled around his leg and sank its sharp fangs in. A scream echoed through the trees. That was when it happened. The sound of something slicing the wind. An instant later, the head of the Nijiru clinging to the man was blown clean off sideways. Black fluid sprayed, splattering the man's cheek. He raised his face in a daze. A boy stood there, as if he had been there all along. Long black hair tied back in a rough single knot. A white hemp kimono with a black sash. A single sword at his hip. He looked fourteen, maybe fifteen. Thin, but there was no wasted tension in his stance. What was truly strange, though, was his left arm and right leg. The arm peeking from his sleeve was an intricate prosthetic of wood and iron. The leg was the same. Hyakkimaru. A boy whose body had been stolen from him in forty-eight places by youkai. A sword was built into that prosthetic arm. The swarm of Nijiru turned as one toward Hyakkimaru. The rustling of dry leaves fell silent. Then every last one of them leaped at him. Hyakkimaru didn't move. No—he didn't need to. The blade shot from his prosthetic arm and cut down the first one to reach him with a diagonal slash. He reversed the blade and swept it sideways through the second. The third came at him low, from his feet, and Hyakkimaru swung his right leg up. From the knee down, the prosthetic leg opened with a clank. "...!" The next instant, white steam erupted from the tip of the prosthetic. Scalding water. A built-in launcher of boiling water, hidden inside the leg. It caught the Nijiru crawling along the ground dead-on. With a hiss, their black bodies curled and dissolved. Hyakkimaru cut down the rest of the swarm without a word. No screams, no shouts. Just precise, mechanical strikes. Only the sound of his blade cutting air and the death throes of the Nijiru echoed along the dusk-lit mountain path. The last one was run through on the tip of his sword. Hyakkimaru pulled the blade free. The Nijiru's body dropped heavily to the ground. Silence returned. Then a small prickle of pain ran across the crown of his head. He raised his prosthetic and touched his head. Something soft and faint brushed his fingertip. A single hair. It had come back. Slowly, Hyakkimaru brought his palm before his eyes. His prosthetic eyes—deep brown, holding no light—reflected his own hand. The fingers of the prosthetic. The knee of the prosthetic leg. The scars of battle running all over his body. Of the forty-eight missing parts, only a tiny few had returned. He clenched his palm. Wordlessly, he lowered his eyes. The man he had saved had already fled. Hyakkimaru thought that was fine. He was still far from human. Sheathing his sword, Hyakkimaru walked on. The evening dark was beginning to swallow the mountain. —People called this war-torn age "the Age of the Mayfly." War never ceased, and the grudges of men gave birth to youkai. The daimyo fought over territory, and in their shadows the youkai ran rampant. Hyakkimaru traveled through that world. To reclaim his body. To slay youkai and take back, one by one, the parts that had been stolen. But it was a journey that boggled the mind. Only by defeating forty-eight youkai could he become human again. Until then, he would have to keep fighting with these prosthetic limbs, with these sightless eyes. Hyakkimaru passed through the cedars and came out into a slightly open place. Far off, he could see the lights of a village. He heard the sound of a river. The Seseragi River. The river that fed the villages around here. He decided to camp near it. He didn't feel like building a fire. Leaning against a tree, he began tending to his prosthetic arm. Sharpening his blade, checking the fit of his leg. It was one of the few times he could empty his mind. The night deepened. The wind changed. Hyakkimaru stopped his hands. He heard singing. Carried on the wind, from far away, thin. But clear. It was a woman's voice. Hyakkimaru had lost his vocal cords. Most sounds in this world never reached him. But that song was different. Not as sound, but as something that resonated directly, in a deeper place. A call of the soul. Hyakkimaru stood. The song was somehow sad. And yet warm. It made the cold night air tremble and seeped into the depths of his chest. He began walking toward the singing. The sound of his prosthetic leg treading the grass. Only that echoed into the night, as if confirming his own existence. The song was coming from very close now. Through the trees, Hyakkimaru saw the scene. It was a ruined temple hall. Part of the roof had collapsed, and the walls were rotting. Before it stood a girl. Her long black hair was loosely braided. Her light-brown eyes caught the moonlight and glittered. She was singing. Hyakkimaru couldn't move. The song stirred something inside him. Why was he traveling? To reclaim his body. That was all. But listening to this song, he felt that that alone was somehow not enough. Hyakkimaru sat down where he was. Until the song ended, he did not move from that spot. Morning came. Hyakkimaru woke before the temple hall. He must have fallen asleep without realizing it. The song was no longer audible. He stood and approached the hall. "Who's there!" A sharp voice flew out. A boy came dashing from inside the hall. He looked about ten. He gripped a wooden stick in his hand. " Who are you! This is our place!" Take. The leader of the orphans. Hyakkimaru stopped. " Say something, why don't you! Are you a samurai? One of Kagemitsu's men?" Hyakkimaru shook his head. Take stared at Hyakkimaru. The prosthetic arm, the prosthetic leg, the sword at his hip. And his scarred body. "...You're not a samurai?" Hyakkimaru shook his head again. " Hmph. Weird guy. Can't you talk either?" Hyakkimaru gave a small nod. Take seemed to relax his guard a little. "...What do you want here?" Hyakkimaru didn't answer. Instead, he walked around to the back of the hall. "Hey, don't just go poking around!" Hyakkimaru crouched in the vegetable garden behind the hall. Then, silently, he began pulling weeds. Take's mouth fell open. "...What are you doing?" Hyakkimaru kept pulling weeds without a word. Before long, the other orphans poked their heads out of the hall. "Take, who's that?" "Dunno. He's pulling weeds or something." "Weird." The orphans stared at Hyakkimaru with keen interest. After a while, Take sighed in resignation. "...Fine, whatever. Hey, you. What's your name?" Hyakkimaru stopped weeding and wrote letters on the ground with his finger. 'Hyakkimaru.' "Hyakkimaru? Weird name." Even as he said it, Take's mouth softened a little. "...Hey, have you eaten?" Hyakkimaru shook his head. " Jeez, can't be helped. We're about to cook anyway. Help us out." Hyakkimaru nodded. Inside the hall it was dim and chilly. There were six orphans in all. Seven, counting Take. All of them somewhere between five and twelve. Their kimonos were worn thin, their bodies skinny. But their eyes, strangely, were not clouded. Hyakkimaru silently started a fire and washed the rice. The orphans watched him from a distance. "Hey, doesn't that arm hurt?" One of the girls pointed at his prosthetic and asked. Hyakkimaru shook his head. "Wow. It moves?" The girl timidly touched the prosthetic. Hyakkimaru slowly moved the fingers of the prosthetic. "Whoa! It moved!" The girl laughed happily. Hyakkimaru's mouth softened, just a little. "Hey, come on, don't bother him." Take scolded the girl. " But it's so unusual." "Unusual or not, don't touch it. It's rude." Take glanced at Hyakkimaru. "...Sorry about that. These kids don't know how to be shy." Hyakkimaru shook his head. At last the rice porridge was ready. The orphans sat wherever they liked and began slurping their porridge. Hyakkimaru took a sip too. It had almost no taste. But it was warm. "Hey, Hyakkimaru." Take said, slurping his porridge. "You're traveling, right? Did you see any of Kagemitsu's soldiers anywhere?" Hyakkimaru shook his head. " That bastard came to the village the other day. Told us to 'hand over the orphans.'" Hyakkimaru's hand stopped. " The villagers are hiding us. But every time Kagemitsu's soldiers come, we cause them so much trouble." " What's going to happen to us?" Another orphan said anxiously. "It'll be fine. Mio will figure something out." Take said firmly. "Mio went out begging again today. I'm sure she'll bring back lots of food." Hyakkimaru sipped his porridge. Kagemitsu. The Sengoku daimyo who ruled this land. Hyakkimaru had heard that name many times on his journey. A cold-blooded man. A terrifying daimyo who used the power of youkai. And a man of power who demanded the orphans be handed over. A quiet anger spread through Hyakkimaru's chest. Dusk was approaching. Hyakkimaru was tending his sword in front of the hall. "I'm home." A voice came. When Hyakkimaru looked up, the girl from last night stood there. Mio. Long black hair in a braid. Light-brown eyes. She seemed a little surprised to see Hyakkimaru. " Oh my... who are you?" Hyakkimaru stood. " Take, who is this person?" Mio called into the hall. "Oh, his name's Hyakkimaru. He's been here since this morning." Take poked his head out. " Is that so. Nice to meet you, I'm Mio." Mio smiled at Hyakkimaru. Hyakkimaru gave a small nod. Mio noticed his prosthetic arm. " Oh my, that arm... Was it in a war, perhaps?" Hyakkimaru shook his head. "...I see. So you have some deep circumstances." Mio didn't ask any more. "Hey, would you let me see that arm?" Hyakkimaru held out the prosthetic. Mio gently cupped it in both hands. " Amazing. It's so intricately made. But it's damaged in places. Does it hurt?" Hyakkimaru shook his head. " I see... But don't push yourself too hard." Mio gently stroked Hyakkimaru's prosthetic with her own hand. Hyakkimaru's body gave a start. The warmth of another person's hand. Through the prosthetic, it reached him clearly. "...What's wrong?" Mio peered worriedly into Hyakkimaru's face. Hyakkimaru shook his head. " Hey, would you let me treat it a little? If it's maintenance on the prosthetic, there might be something I can do." Hyakkimaru hesitated for a while, then gave a small nod. Mio brought cloth and oil from inside the hall and began carefully wiping Hyakkimaru's prosthetic. " ...I'm a beggar. I earn the food for these children." Mio said quietly. " Sometimes people say terrible things to me. That I'm a lewd woman. But it can't be helped. If I don't do it, these children will starve." Hyakkimaru listened in silence. " I've thought about selling my body, too. That way I could earn so much more easily." Hyakkimaru's prosthetic twitched. " But I still can't find the courage. I can't become a lewd woman, not really." Hyakkimaru grasped Mio's hand with his prosthetic. Mio looked up in surprise. Hyakkimaru looked straight into Mio's eyes and shook his head. "...What?" Hyakkimaru shook his head again, firmly. Don't. That was what he wanted to tell her. Mio looked back into Hyakkimaru's eyes. " ...You can't speak?" Hyakkimaru nodded. " But it reaches me. That you're worried about me." Mio's eyes grew moist. " ...Thank you. It's been so long since an

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Dororo: The Mio Chronicle Episode 1: The Voiceless Swordsman and the Hall's Song