At his waist, there was a sword. Not a bamboo practice sword grip. The real weight of iron. Souichi, still lying on his back, tried to process this fact toward the sky for a moment. An unfamiliar gray sky stretched overhead, a bird with a high, thin cry crossed above, and the scent of grass and damp soil mixed in his nose. Until yesterday, the place he'd been in was the dojo's administrative office piled with documents. Closure procedure forms, seals, stacked receipts. A completely different smell from this. He slowly pushed himself up. It was a grassland. A desolate grassland stretching endlessly. In the distance, he could see the glimmer of a thin river and the direction where smoke was rising. (What happened. Let me think this through.) Souichi's hand went to the sword at his waist. The motion he'd repeated every morning for thirty years had soaked into his body, and his hand moved before his mind could catch up. He drew the blade from its sheath and slowly confirmed his surroundings in all directions. No figures. Only the sound of the river reached him from afar. He sheathed the sword and then checked his own appearance. A white shirt, black slacks. What he'd been wearing yesterday. Except the sword at his waist was unmistakably a real Japanese katana. "...Are you serious?" Speaking it aloud steadied him a little. His voice came out firmer than expected, and that alone gave him some reassurance. The fact that he could hear his own voice meant he wasn't dead. "Where the hell am I?" No answer came back. The world was silent except for the wind rustling through the grass. --- After walking toward the direction of the smoke for about an hour, he reached a town. Stone-paved roads. Wooden buildings lined the streets. Merchants carrying luggage moved back and forth through a market lined with stalls. A man leading a creature resembling a horse passed by, and the fragrant smell of dried meat hanging from the eaves drifted through the air. Souichi stopped and slowly took in the sight. They were human. People who looked no different from himself, living ordinary lives. And the language they were speaking—somehow, he understood it. (Why does it make sense?) He could sense instinctively that it wasn't Japanese. Yet the meaning flowed into his mind. While thinking how strange it was, Souichi walked through the market and down the street. He could read the characters on the signs. Strangely, before anxiety came a peculiar sense of acceptance. Perhaps that was how the rules of this world worked. There was no point thinking about the reason now. He stopped in front of a sign that read "Yonabe-tei." An inn. The largest building, with barrels lined up in front of the door. Voices leaked from inside. After a moment's hesitation, Souichi pushed the door open. Behind the counter, there was a woman. Probably in her sixties. Solidly built, her head wrapped in white cloth. In her hands was a wooden board, and she was writing something in what looked like a ledger. Her face was round, with deep laugh lines at the corners of her eyes. At a glance, you could tell she was someone who had stood in this place for years—a presence that was unshakeable. The innkeeper—Mibu Yoshino—glanced briefly at Souichi's clothes and the sword at his waist, then returned her gaze to the ledger. "[surprised]Where did you come from, friend? I've never seen clothes like that before." She was surprised, but there was no sign of turning him away. Souichi relaxed his shoulders a little. "[serious]Could you tell me where this place is?" Yoshino set down her ledger and looked at Souichi intently. Then, as if she'd understood something, she withdrew to the back. She returned shortly with a steaming bowl. She placed it on the counter and folded her arms. "[gentle]First, drink this. Your complexion is terrible." Souichi obediently accepted the bowl. It was warm tea with a grassy aroma. "[serious]This is Akane-machi in the Kaihun Realm. It's a waystation town on the western edge of the Mioshio Kingdom. Population's around four thousand five hundred. A relay point for traveling merchants and adventurers." The Kaihun Realm. The Mioshio Kingdom. Souichi repeated the words in his head. He'd never heard of them. No country, no map he knew had these names. "[serious]There are demon tribes and spirit-kin in this world too." Yoshino said it matter-of-factly. As casually as if discussing the weather. "[surprised]...Demon tribes?" "[serious]You know about magic? It's called 'kotoba-tsumugi'—you chant in the ancient language to convert magical power into phenomena—well, it's the standard magic system in this world." Souichi took a sip from the bowl. The warmth passed down his throat, and his head felt a little clearer. "Use it too much and you lose your voice. So everyone uses it carefully. It's not uncommon for taciturn people to harbor tremendous magical power." Magic mediated by words. The concept of kotodama existed in Japan too, but this was on an entirely different level. Magic made from words, with the cost of losing one's voice—Souichi repeated this to himself several times in his head. "[serious]You came from another world, didn't you?" Yoshino said it just as casually. "[surprised]...Do people like that come here often?" "[sarcastic]Every now and then. Most of them collapse in the grassland without knowing what's happened. You too, I'd wager." He couldn't deny it. Yoshino pulled out the guest register. One night was eight silver rings, she said. The problem was that Souichi's wallet contained only Japanese yen. What followed was a somewhat embarrassing negotiation. When Souichi lined up the coins from his pocket on the counter, Yoshino put on her glasses and examined each one, tilting her head. She said they were unusual metal, and ultimately converted them by weight to one silver ring. Thanks to her, he managed to secure lodging for one night. The room was at the end of the second floor. A small window, a wooden bed, one candle. Souichi collapsed onto the bed on his back and stared at the ceiling. He didn't know how to get back. He couldn't use magic. All he had was his sword. "...Old man, what are you gonna do?" He muttered to no one in particular. The ceiling didn't answer. Outside the window, an unfamiliar bird cried once. Souichi lay there staring at the ceiling for a while. His taut body sank into the hard bed. The body that had swung a sword for thirty years remained perfectly balanced even after being suddenly thrown into another world. The thin scar on his right cheek—a wound from a match in his younger days—caught the candlelight. What had become of that dojo by now? He remembered the day he'd completed the closure procedures. He'd put away all the documents, taken down the sign, and locked the front door. No one came. Not his disciples, not his acquaintances, not a single person. Even though he'd protected that place for thirty years, in the end he was alone. (Alone again.) After thinking that, Souichi gave a wry smile. There was no point being sentimental here. He had a bed for tonight. If he got hungry, he could ask Yoshino. He could think about tomorrow tomorrow. Souichi didn't sleep until late into the night. --- A sound like the earth trembling woke him. Or rather—a roar. Souichi reflexively pushed himself up and rushed to the window. Beyond the town's outer wall, a black massive form was approaching. A large four-legged creature climbed over the outer wall and landed on the stone pavement. Its entire body was wrapped in something like black mist, and its eyes glowed red. Screams erupted. People who had remained in the market fled in panic. Two guards drew their swords and moved to confront it. But the moment their blades touched the beast's black mist, they were sent flying. "[scared]You need a sword imbued with magical power for it to connect! Fall back, fall back!" Souichi ran down the stairs, questioning himself in his mind. (They say magical power, but I can't do that...) But someone was going to get hurt. Well, that was reason enough. "[angry]Amateurs stay out of this! A sword without magical power won't do anything!" Souichi drew his sword and took position beside the guard. "[serious]Won't know till I try." He took the seigan stance. The basic of basics, repeated every morning for thirty years. His short black hair swayed in the night breeze. Deep brown eyes fixed on the beast. The calm stance of a swordsman—unmoved even when shouted at, an axial posture that spoke of Souichi's thirty years. The beast charged. Souichi stepped forward and swung his blade. —The edge passed through the barrier. As if the black mist didn't exist, it sliced deep into the beast's right foreleg. The creature staggered and let out a low growl. Souichi himself was the most surprised. "[surprised]Huh? It cut? Why? I have zero magical power, right?" The words spilled out involuntarily. The guard let out an astonished cry. "[surprised]What? How is it connecting?!" "[serious]Don't ask me." He responded while pressing the attack. He had no idea what the answer was. But if he could cut, he had to keep going. Second strike, third strike. The beast staggered, flinched, and ultimately retreated toward the outer wall. It was a narrow victory. But in the moment he delivered the final blow—the beast's claws raked deep across Souichi's left arm. He dropped to one knee. Blood stained the stone pavement. The pain came with a delay. It was incomparable to injuries he'd sustained at the dojo. The wound was deep. Gritting his teeth, Souichi placed his hand on the stone. (So this is what another world is like. Meeting a magical beast right off the bat—is that normal? Shouldn't things start a little more peacefully?) --- The townspeople who had fled gradually returned. But no one approached. They watched Souichi from a distance, exchanging whispers. "He cut down a magical beast without magical power? That's strange..." "Isn't he from another world?" "They say those summoned from other worlds bring nothing but trouble..." The voices reached him. Souichi stood up, pressing his left arm with his right hand, and met their gazes head-on. One of the guards approached. "...I owe you thanks." A brief statement. "But I can't simply welcome someone of unknown origin. Report to the magistrate's office tomorrow." With that, he left. Not a single offer of medical attention came. Souichi returned to the Yonabe-tei. Yoshino, withdrawing toward the kitchen, called out without turning around. "[gentle]There's medicinal herbs and cloth in your room. Take care of it yourself." That was all. She didn't even turn to look. But Souichi decided that was enough. --- When he went to the back of the Yonabe-tei, the moon was out. Souichi leaned his back against the stone wall and began treating the wound on his left arm. Biting the cloth with his teeth, he applied medicinal herbs to the wound and bound it. Sweat dripped from his forehead down his jaw. Beneath his shirt, the muscles of his body, honed for thirty years, creaked with the pain of the wound. His slender but taut frame bore the weight of the time Souichi had accumulated. He remembered closing the dojo. On the final day, no one came. Not his disciples, not his colleagues, not his acquaintances. He locked the front door, turned around, and there was no one. Even though he'd protected that place for thirty years—that was how it ended. Alone again, he'd thought. But as he finished tying the cloth and sheathed his sword, Souichi noticed his hands weren't trembling. The hands that had swung a sword for thirty years didn't waver tonight either. (I'm not broken yet. I have nothing else, but... I have this.) He told himself this and looked up. —That was when it happened. From the direction of the town's entrance, a silver light gleamed for just an instant. A glimmer. Too low for a