Yashiro the Blind

But anyone who has ever met her or fought with her would never again have even the slightest such foolish thought.

"This is the first time I've ever met a brat like you who just won't die no matter how hard I try. You buzz around like a mosquito, so annoying."

The few exchanges between the two just now were so swift and dangerous that they would have resulted in serious injury or even death for most people. However, Mishima Doppo only had a few shallow wounds on his body. Although the blood was still flowing, these new wounds were not even a tickle to him.

It was the last few moves that surprised him.

The ronin pressed his neck with his hand and pushed hard, making his joints crack a few times. He then kept his head tilted and looked the girl up and down. Compared to him, she looked more "decent," with no injuries from head to toe, except that she had been thrown into the water and was now completely soaked.

But getting wet is much better than being bathed in blood.

"Ugh, so sad. To compare a person to a mosquito or something..." Yashiro sighed half-jokingly and complained, "You should be happy right now. Can't you say something nice?"

Mishima Doppo was indeed smiling, but the crisscrossing scars on his face, combined with the blood streaming down his cheeks, made his so-called "smile" enough to stop a child from crying. He asked with interest, "The reason? Why am I happy?"

"Of course, it's because you've finally seen a glimmer of hope—finally someone can fulfill your wish."

Yashiro released the hilt of his sword, brushed a strand of his bangs aside, and replied, "You're the only one around here, there are no other ambushes, so it seems you're not lying when you say you've betrayed the others. So the question is, what exactly made you choose to betray your comrades, or rather, what have you been pursuing in your life so far, what have you been fighting for, what have you been killing for...? This is the only thing I can't understand no matter what."

“...My master once said that a battle where lives are at stake is not only a gamble on dignity and beliefs, but also a conversation between the souls of martial artists. I don’t know if this is true or not, but in this battle, even if only for a little while, I did ‘see’ your thoughts.”

She tilted her head slightly, her rolled-up eyes staring at the ronin, as if an invisible gaze were piercing into the depths of his heart.

"You're courting death, aren't you?"

……

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Demon Child

Does the soul truly exist in this world?

If it were her past life, Yashiro would definitely answer without hesitation that no, but after personally experiencing the mysterious and enigmatic matter of time travel, she could no longer speak with such certainty.

If the soul truly exists, when is a person most likely to sense its presence?

Her answer was, "Between life and death."

When you exchange swords for hearts, placing yourself in the narrow space between life and death, everything that others have been hiding is exposed, whether beautiful or ugly. Some people wantonly trample on life, some seek only their own pleasure, some wield their swords for their own beliefs and convictions, and some live like wild dogs, aimlessly eking out a living...

So far, Yashiro has encountered all sorts of opponents. However, no matter who they are, from ruthless bandits who commit arson, murder, and robbery to down-on-their-luck samurai who would stop people on the road to steal their heart's blood in order to cure his mother's illness, whatever the reason, she can clearly feel that they all want to live.

The simple idea of ​​living through today and living into tomorrow burned brightly in their hearts, driving them to fight to the death.

But she didn't sense any will to live from Mishima Doppo.

His fighting style, which involved trading injury for life, also indirectly confirmed this. Although it sounded quite absurd, the girl couldn't find any other more reasonable explanation.

"You're courting death, aren't you?"

On the desolate riverbank, the setting sun was about to sink completely, and the crimson clouds in the sky were being swallowed up by darkness little by little. In the distance, a few howls of wild beasts could be faintly heard, I don’t know if they were wolves—but birds flew across the sky.

A leaf swayed and fell between the two.

Yashiro stood there, her soaked clothes clinging to her body, water still dripping from the cuffs and hems, and her hair sticking tightly to her cheeks, making it difficult for others to see her expression.

On the other side, the ronin was half-covered in blood, his unsheathed katana propped against the ground. He wiped the blood from his face, his eyes unreadable, but his tone was slowly mocking: "Seeking death, are you saying I want to die?"

"if not?"

"Ha...hahahaha! Ridiculous! This is the funniest thing I've ever heard in my life! If I want it, women, money, even fame and status are all easily within my grasp! Most importantly, people, people, people, there are people everywhere, like pigs and dogs, you can't kill them all! You can take whatever you want, this wonderful world is so amazing, I haven't even lived enough yet, what reason would I have to want to die?"

Mishima Doppo said this while laughing heartily, but the girl standing opposite him remained silent, listening quietly.

After a moment, the laughter subsided.

She then spoke: "I really don't know why you want to die... and I'm not interested in it either."

"Oh, so what are you interested in, kid?"

“Naturally, it’s the greatsword in your hand.” Yashiro tilted his head, revealing a humble and polite smile, his tone soft. “To be honest, I could kill you at any time, but killing someone who doesn’t even draw his sword is really uninteresting.”

"A clumsy attempt at provocation," the ronin sneered.

"I'm just telling the truth. Only someone who's hit where it hurts would think this is a provocation," the girl retorted. "So you're hesitating to draw your sword because it's been so long that the blade has rusted into the sheath and can't be pulled out? If that's the case, I can't force you. I can just send you to your death."

"Ha, those sharp-tongued brats are the most annoying."

Mishima Doppo raised his hand, the scabbard swept through the air with a "whoosh," and slung it back over his shoulder. His gaze suddenly turned cold. "I originally had a little pity for you. I thought that you were so capable at such a young age. Rather than killing you now, it would be more satisfying to wait five or ten years before killing you."

"But since you want me to draw my sword so badly, I might as well grant your wish—but let me make this clear from the start: everyone who has ever seen me draw my sword is now dead beyond dead. And you, have you thought of your last words?"

"No rush, after all, I still have decades to think it over."

"act recklessly."

Mishima Doppo let out a cold snort, his tone and expression full of contempt, but Yashiro did not reply, and the scene immediately fell silent.

Only the rustling wind stirs the lake of my heart.

Verbal exchanges, seemingly driven by emotion, are actually a form of invisible game, revealing each other's thoughts, calculations, and emotional fluctuations.

As the conversation ended, the atmosphere suddenly tensed up again, the two figures locked in a powerful aura, and then the ronin put down his greatsword, his injured right foot shifting slightly, leaving a bright red bloodstain on the weeds.

His other foot, clad in straw sandals, followed closely behind, rustling softly as he moved with a lightness that seemed incongruous with his massive frame. He gripped the lower middle section of the scabbard with both hands, adopting a common starting stance for spear fighting, and began to slowly circle around the girl.

The girl remained motionless, her head lowered even further, her neck stretched out, and one ear twitched slightly as she used her ears to observe the slightest movement around her.

Movement and stillness, offense and defense—after the previous exchanges, both sides have a relatively clear understanding of each other's strength. They are both fully aware that the upcoming battle will no longer be a mere test, but the final move to determine victory.

Shake, rustle...

One bare foot dragged a trail of blood, while the other, straw sandals, trod through the dust and gravel. The two distinctly different footsteps, sometimes light, sometimes heavy, sometimes loud, sometimes soft, constantly interfered with her senses. Then, the wind blew from the distant mountains, carrying the sounds of rushing water and her own heartbeat, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump…

Another strong, powerful heartbeat mingled in, beating fast and rapid, indicating that the other person was tense. Their breathing became increasingly heavy, like a bellows struggling to keep up with its load, sensing a scrutinizing gaze—first on the face, then on the chest, waist, and ribs…

A chilling killing intent condensed like sharp needles, pricking her skin with a dull ache. Her fingers tightened and loosened around the sword hilt, repeating this process. In the darkness, at the moment of life and death, her mind gradually calmed down.

It was like a still surface of water, the water of an ancient well without ripples, reflecting the vastness of heaven and earth.

"Drink!"

Suddenly, a roar, like thunder shaking the heavens, shook the surrounding area, and the echo lingered for a long time. The tower-like body also took off like a strange bird, wielding a knife like a spear, and crashed down with great force!

Although the scabbard was blunt and lacked a sharp edge, the force of this strike gave the impression that it could easily pierce even iron armor...

But ahead of him, there was no armor, only a thin, frail figure—

Instead of retreating, Yashiro advances!

She swayed and fell straight to the side, as if she had already fallen to the ground. But she used her cane to prop herself up and suddenly sprang up, narrowly dodging the fierce thrust. The scabbard was already halfway behind her, making it impossible to get back, while the ronin's body was right in front of her.

Within a small space, a single sword strike is unleashed, aimed straight for the throat!

"Hahahahaha!"

With only a sword's width between them, the girl drew her sword and attacked, further shortening the distance. Mishima Doppo laughed loudly, neither dodging nor blocking. Instead, he spread his five fingers, released his greatsword, and gripped the hilt tightly, then suddenly swung it!

This move was truly unexpected. Logically speaking, even the way one draws a sword as long as this, which is over two meters long, has specific rules. Many schools that teach longsword martial arts each have their own secret sword-drawing techniques. But even the most skilled martial artist would have no way to draw their sword and counterattack in this situation, unless…

That wasn't a large sword at all.

With a swift movement, a cold glint flashed, and the ronin held a short sword less than a foot long. He struck first, but the sword was already there, stabbing down towards the girl's head!

……

"...Good fortune comes in, ghost get out of the way, good fortune comes in...Red-haired ghost, get out of here!"

He can still recall the scene from that day.

It was a bright, shining sun over a desolate mountain village. Amid the innocent shouts of the children, stones of all sizes rained down upon them.

His head was smashed open, leaving several large bumps that burned with pain. A gash on his forehead bled, blurring his vision with blood, making everything appear red. He stumbled home, throwing himself into a warm embrace, crying, "Mother, it hurts so much...it hurts so much..."

The woman simply patted his back and gently comforted him, "It doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt, just bear with it for a bit..."

"Mother...why is my hair red? Is it really like what others say, that I am...the child of a demon?"

“Silly child, haven’t I told you many times that your father is a foreigner… In his country, many people have red hair, it’s not strange at all.”

"Then why don't we go to Father's... If we're there, no one will say I'm a ghost, and no one will throw stones at me!"

"Because your father has things to do. Once he's finished, he'll come back to pick us up..."

"really?"

"Of course it's true... Come on, don't cry, wipe your tears, and come over to worship the deity. According to your father, this deity is very efficacious. As long as you behave well, he will surely reunite our family soon."

"Okay, I'll be a good boy/girl!"

"Good child, good child... Do you still remember the teachings of the gods?"

"Remember! You must not steal, you must not be greedy, you must be filial to your parents, and, and... most importantly, you must not commit suicide!"

……

The dust has settled, and life and death are clear.

He stood there, eyes wide, staring at the short knife that had missed its mark and the apricot-yellow figure that had vanished in an instant.

A few seconds later, the released scabbard fell to the ground with a clatter.

clatter……

A drop of blood fell onto the scabbard.

He looked down and saw half of a longsword piercing through his heart.

"..."

His back felt warm, the warmth of human skin. A quick glance out of the corner of his eye revealed, sure enough, the petite girl was leaning against him, back to back, holding her sword in a reverse grip, piercing his heart with a single strike.

"you……"

He tried to speak, but instead spat out a mouthful of blood. He wiped it away, and his vision turned crimson again. "You... dodged it."

"The sword was clearly in its sheath, yet it made no sound when swung violently, indicating that there was something special about your weapon... To an ordinary person, this short sword might indeed be a trump card, but to me, it was merely a fatal flaw. You used it, and that's why you died."

All that could be heard was that childish voice answering.

He paused for a moment, then nodded: "Oh..."

So that's where the problem arose...

"...Wow, that's amazing! He's clearly...blind..."

"The last sentence is redundant."

"Hahaha……"

Amidst the laughter, more blood gushed from his mouth. He struggled to raise his hand, as if trying to grab onto something one last time, but he only managed to raise it halfway before suddenly falling back down.

……

"Mother! Mother! I've come to save you, quick... I'll get you out of here right now..."

"stop."

"Mother...?"

"This world is hell... I've finally been free, and now you're going to drag me back into this hell?"

"I, no, I..."

“Poor child… I don’t know how you got here, but you must have suffered a lot… and from now on you will surely suffer even more, endure even more torment, but remember… these are all tests given to us by the gods… so remember, no matter what happens, no matter what you encounter, you must persevere until… the gods grant you liberation…”

"Mother...My dear Mother!"

……

Just as my mother said, this world is hell, where evil people rule and the Buddha is nowhere to be seen.

He desperately wanted to die but couldn't. If he died, he wouldn't be able to reunite with his parents, nor would he ever see his murdered wife and children again. They were all waiting for him in the Pure Land. So, until the moment of liberation arrived, he had to endure it all...

But finally, I don't have to endure it anymore...

My chest hurts so much, the place where I was cut by the sword hurts so much, my nose that was kicked hurts so much, all the injuries I've had before hurt so much, it hurts so much...

"Mother, it hurts so much, it's so painful..."

It seemed someone hugged him; he felt a warmth behind him and heard a familiar voice.

"It won't hurt, it won't hurt, just bear with it for a bit..."

He looked up and seemed to see his smiling mother. Beside her was a tall man with red hair and an exotic appearance, whom he had only seen a few times when he was a child.

Beside him, a young woman walked over with a chubby-faced child in her hand, giving him a gentle smile.

"You...you're all here. That's wonderful, that's wonderful..."