Chapter 16: Words Before the Grave
The two of them boarded the carriage in a hurry. The coachman, frantic, cracked his whip with such force that the poor horse, barely awake in the pre-dawn gloom, flinched violently.
One thing not to feed me properly, another to make me graze on my own, the horse seemed to think, its ears twitching in protest, but now you won't even let me sleep?
It was the first time in two lifetimes that Kanzaki Akira had seen such a distinctly human expression of indignation on a horse's face.
The carriage lurched forward, careening down the dark road. The coachman paid no mind to whether his passenger was being tossed about inside; his only thought was to put as much distance as possible between them and that nerve-wracking village.
Only when the last eerie silhouette of the village had vanished into the horizon did the man's white-knuckled grip on the reins finally loosen. His shoulders slumped in relief, and the carriage's frantic pace settled into a normal, steady trot.
Thanks to their early start and that initial burst of desperate speed, they arrived at their destination long before the expected time of nightfall. Judging by the sun's position in the sky, it was likely only three or four in the afternoon.
As the carriage rumbled slowly into the small town, Akira gazed out the window at the familiar streets, a quiet sense of nostalgia blooming in his chest. In just over half a year, he had gone from a destitute orphan subsisting on the kindness of temple monks to a well-dressed young man possessing formidable skill.
Thinking on it, perhaps he owed Kaigaku a sliver of gratitude. After all, if that bastard hadn't clocked him with an incense burner and knocked the memories of his past life loose, Akira would probably have been reincarnated into some other world by now.
He could almost picture the conversation.
Kaigaku: So? You sicced the Ubuyashiki family on me. What was the point?
Akira: Oh, just rewarding you with a chance to be human again. No need to thank me. Though, I suppose what you become might not be human at all.
Kaigaku: I'll kill you, you little—
Akira was amusing himself with the imaginary exchange when the carriage rolled to a stop in the town center. He settled the fare, and the coachman, without so much as a "goodbye," turned the horse and bolted. The man had clearly been spooked half to death by the journey.
Unlike the traumatized coachman, however, Akira felt no fear. In fact, once he had paid his respects at the grave, he was considering a trip back to that strange village. The fact that nothing had happened during his one-night stay suggested the lurking danger wasn't overwhelming. He was currently in need of a suitable opponent to hone his skills, and the prospect of a little investigation was tempting.
With his current mastery of Thunder Breathing, he was confident. Unless he stumbled directly into one of the Twelve Kizuki, escape would be simple even if he couldn't secure a victory. After all, the primary reason he'd chosen to master Thunder Breathing was for its unmatched speed—a tool for survival above all else.
He had never told anyone this, of course. While Ubuyashiki Kagaya, with his privately playful nature, might not say anything, Kuwajima Jigorō would undoubtedly take it upon himself to ensure Akira experienced a "complete" and thoroughly disciplined childhood.
Shaking his head to clear the scattered thoughts, Akira stepped forward.
Kanzaki Keizan was buried on the far side of town, not far from the temple where Akira had once lived. As he passed through the bustling streets, he stopped to purchase a few simple items for the memorial service. The annual visit didn't require grand gestures. It was a time to speak with the grandfather who wasn't his by blood, to share the stories of his year, to soothe the lingering loneliness in his heart, and to reminisce about a warmth he sorely missed.
But this year was different.
He now had a master who truly cared for him and friends he could write to. His heart was no longer a lonely, empty place.
Holding the memorial offerings, he approached Kanzaki Keizan's grave step by step. An image of that wrinkled face, always creased in a loving smile, flashed through his mind, and an unexpected sting pricked his nose. He blinked hard a few times, regulating his breathing to hold back the sudden welling of tears.
He was here to bring his grandfather good news. He couldn't cry as he had in years past; the old man would only worry from the other side.
Now strong and healthy, Akira's stride was much quicker than before, and he soon arrived at the familiar, humble grave. A smattering of weeds had sprouted before the headstone. He casually drew his Nichirin Blade, the dark steel humming softly in the air. A few clean, precise swings, and a small patch of ground was cleared.
He could almost hear his master's indignant roar. Kuwajima Jigorō: You brat! You dare use my precious Nichirin Blade to pull weeds?! Why I ought to… Fine! Just this once! Hmph!
A small smile touched Akira's lips. He examined the blade—not a single drop of grass juice stained its surface—and slid it back into its sheath.
After setting out the offerings and lighting the sticks of incense, Akira knelt and kowtowed three times. He then settled himself, leaning his back against the simple, cool stone of the grave marker, and began to recount the sights and experiences of the past year.
"I have a master who loves me now, and friends I can joke with. I've learned skills, so I can live well. You can rest easy, Grandpa..."
"And don't you worry about me encountering danger while slaying demons. Your grandson is very talented; how could I be beaten so easily? Besides, if I can't win, don't I know how to run? My running speed is so fast now, I guarantee you wouldn't even see me clearly."
"If you don't believe me, I'll show you."
As he spoke, Akira pushed himself to his feet and took a stance in the small clearing he'd made.
"Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash!"
A brilliant flash of incandescent lightning, and his figure was gone, reappearing more than ten meters away in the blink of an eye. The First Form, the very technique that had once pushed him to a dead end, was now performed with effortless grace.
In the next instant, he was back in his original spot, leaning against the tombstone once more and looking up at the sky.
"How was that? Couldn't see a thing, right? Isn't your grandson amazing?"
He fell silent, a comfortable quiet settling over the clearing. He continued to lean against the tombstone, chatting idly as if he were truly speaking with someone. When a surge of excitement took him, he would stand and demonstrate the sword forms he had mastered, his movements sharp and fluid in the afternoon light.
Lost in this special state of mind, Akira himself didn't notice that his command over the six forms of Thunder Breathing had deepened, the movements flowing with a new, instinctual clarity.
He remained there until night fell, and the crisp chill of winter began to bite at the air. Only then did he slowly stand up.
"Alright, I'm leaving. I'll come see you again next year," he said, his back turned to the grave. His voice hitched slightly. "I'm doing very well now, so you should be at ease. And… stop appearing in my dreams every few days, okay? I'll be thirteen after today. I can take care of myself..."
He sniffled, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. "Tsk. This winter wind is cold and dry. Kicked some sand in my eye. I'm going, I'm going. See you next year."
Under the vast, dark sky, before the small grave with its simple offerings, the night wind blew, carrying away the last wisp of incense smoke. For a fleeting moment, the moonlight seemed to flicker and coalesce. An old, kind face appeared to be watching the boy's receding figure, its expression full of warmth and relief. But in the blink of an eye, it was gone, leaving nothing but an illusion of shifting light and shadow.
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