NOVEL NEXT Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Samurai Descends into Another World
“Where am I?”
Surrounded by an endless expanse of great forest, a lone man mutters to no one in particular.
He suddenly finds himself in an unfamiliar landscape. On the mountain pass trail, though not many, there were people walking around. Just moments ago, he could hear the cheerful voices of town maidens, but now all he can hear is the rustling of the trees and the songs of birds.
There had been an inn town in the distance just a while ago…
As he looks around, all he can see are great trees, likely over a hundred years old, densely surrounding him. The road he had been walking on for half the day had vanished without a trace.
…
After standing still for a moment, the man begins walking without a clear destination in mind.
Eh, it’s fine.
I have no idea where I am.
I don’t know where this path will lead.
But honestly, this is nothing out of the ordinary.
At his waist hang two Japanese swords, one large and one small, as he walks into the unknown forest without hesitation.
…
Kurosu Mototsuna, twenty-seven years old. Born the third son of a warrior family, he started wielding wooden swords as soon as he could comprehend the world around him.
“Simply become stronger. Become the kind of man who can proudly call himself the quintessential samurai,” were the words with which he was raised, drilled in the very essence of Bushido, the way of the warrior.
“Every morning, prepare for death. Imagine being struck by lightning, roasted by fire, or torn apart by swords and spears while enjoying solitude.”
“A samurai must be able to stand alone even under the fiercest storms without preparation. You must not panic no matter how brutal the battlefield. Know that it is shameful to cowardly quake and hide. When the time to die comes, do not step back even a single step.”
“If you must choose between life and honor, never hesitate to sacrifice your life. As long as you remember this, a samurai must live with passion alone. There is nothing to fear. Do not be swayed by the surroundings, accept them, and follow your own path.”
Training was never limited to swordsmanship alone, as Mototsuna’s father ensured the brothers trained in every conceivable weapon — spear, bow, staff, sickle, rope — along with stealth techniques, grappling, swimming, and even horsemanship. The grueling and unforgiving practice pushed the boys to the brink of death many times.
Their mother grieved nightly as her sons returned home bloodied, and she pleaded with her husband countless times to stop. However, the boys eventually accepted this life as their normal.
Through these harsh days, the youngest brother’s martial talent began to bloom. By the time he had fully grown, he was already defeating both his older brothers. At fifteen years old, and having reached a stagnation in his martial arts mastery, Mototsuna took up a position along the mountain trails leading to other domains, wielding two homemade wooden swords. He challenged any passing samurai, one after another. It was a testament to his insatiable hunger for martial arts — the domains were too small to contain Mototsuna’s appetite.
“There’s a fearsome tengu living in those mountains. It’s said he attacks anyone carrying a weapon.”
Such rumors spread to villages across other domains. Around this time, Mototsuna was summoned by their father. The maid led him, not to the usual family room, but to the formal meeting hall.
Mototsuna instantly understood this was not a lecture from a father but a grievance from the household’s head. He proceeded to the center of the room, where he bowed deeply, sitting upright. His father, observing him from the high seat, permitted him to raise his head and proceeded immediately.
“Mototsuna, why do you persist in acting so recklessly? The world is trending toward peace. Surely, you must be aware that your older brothers are spending more time with pens than swords.”
“…Father, may I dare say… peace is but a fleeting dream, as fragile as sandcastles, easily collapsing with the shift of even one warrior’s heart. It is the samurai’s duty to protect the family. Regardless of the world, I cannot afford to halt my own cultivation.”
At the sound of those words, almost arrogant, his father’s eyebrows furrowed displeased.
“Do you dare say your brothers are wrong?”
“I do not think so. A samurai lives by the Bushido he believes in. Even if our paths differ, surely they all lead to the same end.”
“I wanted you all to walk the same path.”
“Father, the words you seek come from my own path of Bushido. I have followed your teachings without fault. To let beliefs bend is to die. If you still insist, then I shall prepare to face you in a duel, risking my life.”
—In an instant.
The eyes of father and son clashed with all the force of a tempest. The killing intent that surged between the two made the air crackle, so thick that it seemed to warp the space between them, making the room’s sliding doors tremble.
“…”
After a long stare, it was the father who relented first.
“Hmph… Where did you get such a stubborn head?”
Looking to the heavens and letting out a heavy sigh, the father suddenly spoke over the silent atmosphere.
“He-heh, undoubtedly from you, Father!” came a voice.
“Indeed. Among us three brothers, Mototsuna is the one who most strongly inherits your traits. Sharp-edged and unyielding, but there’s no fault in that.”
A man with a long ponytail, clad in loose robes, grinned, while another, with his hair neatly tied in a topknot, nodded solemnly.
Though they had been standing quietly in the background, hidden in the calmness of their voices lay a readiness: their hands were already on the hilts of their swords, prepared to kill Mototsuna in an instant should he draw his weapon.
“Do you not mind that the youngest brother carries the essence of the school’s spirit?”
“As the eldest son, I feel embarrassed, but I lack the natural talent for the sword. That’s why, with great reluctance, I’ve chosen the path of the brush. As the head inheritor of the domain, I understand there are ways to protect our lands beyond simply wielding a blade.”
“I agree without objection. Though I haven’t abandoned the path of the sword, I recognize my limits. The impermanence of life is part of its cycle, but the Kurosu school’s tradition of swordsmanship must be passed on. Among us heirs, Mototsuna is the logical choice to carry it forward.”
It was a tradition in the Kurosu family for the sword techniques to be passed down not to the next head of the family but to the best practitioner at the time. Unbeknownst to Mototsuna, who was often away from the estate, this gathering was actually held to determine the school’s next inheritor.
Though the eldest brother claimed modesty, each of the three were equally matched with their father in skill. They were vastly superior to the retainers who served the family, and Mototsuna’s talent was clearly head and shoulders above even his accomplished siblings, a feat recognized by even the celebrated and respected elder brothers.
The father scrutinized the sincerity in their eyes, then turned solemnly to Mototsuna.
“Mototsuna, are you prepared to walk the path of a warrior to its bitter end?”
“Without hesitation. My path has always been that of a warrior.”
“Very well, I shall bestow upon you the secret techniques. Afterward, you shall embark on a journey of martial training to achieve complete mastery.”
“I understand.”
“Remember, the Kurosu blade now rests upon your shoulders. From this point forward, you are forbidden from dying in vain! Do not set foot in the family home until you have become a true samurai. Spread the renown of the Kurosu name across the land!”
“Ho ho!”
Though unseen by his father and brothers, a smile graced Mototsuna’s face as he respectfully bowed in response to the family head’s command.
It was the tradition of the Kurosu estate that the inheritor of the school be obligated to undertake martial training, both as a show of strength to the outside world and as proof to the household that they were worthy. However, to Mototsuna, the joy of being chosen to leave and explore the wider world far outweighed the burden of the duty.
He knew he had been the subject of mild ridicule within the estate for focusing exclusively on the sword in this era. He was also aware of the complaints lodged against him whenever he defeated samurai from other clans, complaints that his father and elder brothers bore humbly.
“Still, Mototsuna, your older brother here is worried about you. You don’t adapt well, you’re stubborn, you’re violent, and yet somewhere there’s a sense you’re detached. The common people can be far more unreasonable than you imagine. It’s difficult to see how straight you can walk without bending when you enter the real world.”
“Mototsuna, it’s a bad habit of yours to attempt to solve everything with a blade. To even bare your fangs at the head of the family! I’m not asking you to flatter people, but at least show some consideration. If you don’t learn mercy, every path you tread will be soaked in blood. Don’t ever forget that.”
Though their younger brother was skilled and somewhat unpredictable, the elder brothers worried, but Mototsuna responded nonchalantly.
“There’s no need to worry about me, Elder Brother. Lately, I’ve come to take great pride in my growing patience.”
“……Were you not absent from home for a few days recently? Where exactly did you go?”
“I heard that a samurai who assaulted one of our family’s peasants had fled to the village over the mountains. I went to collect his head. His plea for mercy was so disgraceful that I received his blade instead. That, I understand, is what samurai ‘compassion’ might mean.”
“…”
The presence of a fine blade had not gone unnoticed by them before, but the brothers were now increasingly troubled to hear that their youngest brother had so nonchalantly taken another samurai’s sword, said to be the soul of a warrior.
…
After receiving final teachings from his father, Mototsuna set off on his journey, seen off by his family.
Without a destination in mind, his days became a wandering from town to town, seeking opponents stronger than himself. He challenged those he found on similar journeys of martial training, breaking into dojos of renowned schools, and even sneaking into battlefields where he charged into enemies without knowing the reason or the stakes, cutting his way through them, racing across the battlefield like hell incarnate.
While most he faced ended up being disappointments, mere talk and no substance, there were still a few who used surprising tactics or showed a natural talent for warfare.
He experienced moments when his heart nearly stopped, such as when an opponent kicked up sand to blind him or fired hidden needles during a blade clash. He lost an ear to a high disciple of a school that specialized not in cutting but in rapid, charge-based thrusts, and even faced what he believed to be ninja, who assaulted his sleeping quarters, forcing him to fight despite being shot in the abdomen with a short cannon.
But still, he conquered all.
He survived many near-death experiences and came to believe that the thrill of escaping the jaws of death proved his travels were the right choice. Each duel brought him new techniques, weapons, and methods of combat, sharpening his skills. The days spent in constant improvement brought fulfillment and joy…
…
It had been nearly a decade since he left home.
What was once an enjoyable journey began to feel less thrilling. It grew increasingly difficult to find opponents stronger than himself. The techniques and strategies they threw at him, even when engaging in battles, were often things he had seen before. There was no surprise, no joy anymore.
Could this journey still have meaning?
Should he soon return home?
Was he capable enough now to proudly say he had completed his warrior training?
He questioned himself.
Though it wasn’t his intention to boast about reaching unparalleled mastery, common swordsmen had become too easy to defeat and were no longer even worth his time. The skills he had honed, his trained body, the knowledge he had gained, and the blade he had sharpened—none were being fully utilized. His reputation as “Black Demon” was spreading, causing some to flee upon hearing his name.
…
—It was boring.
The days without the thrilling, life-risking battles that once exhilarated him began to feel painfully mundane. The intensity and fulfillment he had felt in the heat of battle made the lull afterward all the more unbearable.
He didn’t care if his opponents used underhanded tactics, ambushes, or outnumbered him. He needed to feel again that heart-lifting excitement, that blood-boiling passion from the start of his journey. Over and over, he desperately wanted to relive it.
Walking the mountain pass to meet a self-proclaimed “peerless warrior,” his heart bore a prayer.
Ah, gods, please let this time grant me a strong opponent…
Please, let me face a master who can threaten my life…
I hope to meet an adversary so formidable that I’ve never even heard of such challenges…
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