NOVEL NEXT Chapter 4
Chapter 4 – The Samurai Discovers a Village
While trailing the men’s tracks, Kurosu felt his stomach growl and decided it was time to eat.
He unloaded his pack, gathered some firewood, and pulled out his fire-making kit from the pouch dangling at his waist. Mugwort, often used in moxibustion treatments, also makes for an excellent kindling.
Striking the flint against the steel, sparks ignited a small ember in the tinder. Quickly feeding the flames with dry twigs and blowing steadily, he built up a crackling fire.
“Well, well, I wonder how this will taste?”
In Kurosu’s hand was a large snake’s meat, impaled on a stick.
While he no longer believed the snake to be a divine messenger, it certainly wasn’t an ordinary one either. If this were the flesh of some otherworldly creature, it’d be amusing if consuming it granted him divine powers.
As he brooded on such far-fetched thoughts, he roasted the snake over the fire. Without salt or any seasoning, he planned to take only a small taste, wary of possible poisons. Still, he was somewhat excited to experience its flavor.
Once sufficiently roasted, he pulled the meat from the fire, smelled it, and found no sign of any toxic odor. Instead, it emitted a savory, fragrant scent. Knowing that certain natural poisons, such as those found in pufferfish, mandrake, or aconite, can cause a sharp, piercing sensation in the nasal cavity, he felt confident this meat was safe.
He nibbled on the edge for a test.
“Hmm… This is—delicious!”
The texture was clean and flaky, like a bland white fish, though its rich, oily sweetness intensified with every bite. Unlike the dry, sinewy snake meat he had eaten before, this was a completely different creature entirely. It reminded him of the finest wild boar meat but lacked the usual gamey smell. Served with a light soy sauce or as a miso glaze, this would be an absolute delicacy.
Lost in the joy of eating, Kurosu quickly devoured the entire portion.
“……Perhaps I’ll cook another piece…”
But, no, it was best not to indulge. A delayed-acting poison in such an unknown forest could leave him unconscious and vulnerable.
With the taste of the meat lingering, he extinguished the fire, readjusted his load, and began to resume tracking. Occasionally glancing up into the trees, he vowed to hunt the serpent again if it crossed his path.
—
After a short rest, it didn’t take long to find the village.
Breaking through the dense grasses, Kurosu arrived at a clearing, far less wooded than its surroundings. Likely untouched by human deforestation, it seemed the village had naturally formed within this open glade.
Kurosu’s first impression was of its abject poverty. It was the most destitute village he had ever seen. Not a single proper building stood in sight. Instead, makeshift shelters cobbled together from branches and animal skins, crowned with piles of dead leaves, lined the area. Without a clear entrance, they looked like nothing more than heaps of foliage. Bluntly speaking, it seemed less like a human settlement and more like a nest of some wild creature.
The few inhabitants meandering sparsely around were nearly identical to the men he had met earlier—so much so that it was difficult to tell them apart. All were unclothed, save for perhaps a few scraps here and there, appearing as unsanitary and savage as one could imagine. Conversely, their striking resemblance only confirmed that this village was their origin.
“……Alright then. I can’t afford to scare them off again.”
Recalling his previous mistake, Kurosu deposited nearby deer carcasses and his belongings at a safe distance, even hiding his father’s sword, a prized family heirloom. With his head not shaved in the samurai fashion, he assumed there was little to suggest he was a warrior at first glance.
Though he carried small weapons concealed within his sleeves, outwardly, Kurosu appeared completely unarmed. Though his kimono bore the telltale wear of a long journey, he was far too well-kempt to pass for a bandit or vagabond. Compared to the unkempt villagers he had observed from afar, he was relatively clean.
The village was surrounded by some semblance of a wooden fence, yet no obvious entrance was visible. After considering his options, Kurosu decided to shout from the perimeter.
“Attention! I am merely a traveler passing through! I bear urgent tidings for your chief! Please direct me to your village leader!”
Though withholding one’s identity as a samurai could be seen as dishonorable, it might be necessary in this case. To minimize suspicion, Kurosu identified himself merely as a traveler.
This title should prevent undue alarm, at least initially.
Anticipating a response, Kurosu waited—only for a cacophony of shouts to erupt throughout the village.
……Hold on, why are they armed? I’m unarmed this time!
Instead of any form of greeting, the villagers poured out from their shelters, all armed with weapons. Their attitudes were far from welcoming.
A particularly large man led the charge. With bloodshot eyes and drooling mouth, he wielded an ornate blade unlike the crude spears and cudgels carried by the others. His wild demeanor suggested he might be the leader.
Can they even understand me? Are these people even capable of conversing?
While remote villages often include illiterate individuals, Kurosu had never encountered an entire community incapable of communication. No matter how isolated, the idea that none among them could comprehend his words seemed improbable.
Regardless, it was rare to stumble upon signs of civilization in these mountains. Kurosu was determined to negotiate peacefully, at least enough to learn the way to the nearest town.
“Is there no one among you who understands my language? I have important information regarding your companions—”
Kurosu’s plea was interrupted by the sight of an alarming structure at the center of the village.
It resembled an altar.
A raised platform bore a long post, atop which a grotesque animal skull with prominent fangs was mounted. At the base, a scattering of vivid flowers created a stark contrast to the surrounding heads—dozens of them, ranging from freshly severed to fully bleached skulls. Their expressions spoke of unimaginable agony, defying any notion of natural death.
Gravestones…?
No, this is something else entirely.
The thought crossed Kurosu’s mind that it might be some unique mourning tradition, but the grimace of suffering on the faces quickly dispelled that idea. Whether young or old, each head betrayed a face twisted in pain, the result of immense torment.
So these aren’t ordinary villagers. They’re bandits, then.
Kurosu reached this conclusion and swung his arm in preparation.
“Screeeeaaaaaaaah!”
The high-pitched screech was accompanied by a whistling sound, culminating in an echoing scream from the forest. Turning toward the source, Kurosu observed that the large man leading the charge now had a blade protruding from his left eye.
“Those who survive only by stealing from others are vermin. Die. All of you.”
Kurosu’s voice, distorted by rage, dripped with malice, his hatred and disgust bubbling from the depths of his being.
To the samurai responsible for safeguarding the land, roving bandits were like parasites within the lion’s body. They plundered carefully tended fields, endangered the citizens under his protection, and were thus a breed of pestilence most difficult to endure.
Kurosu wasn’t sure who guarded these woods, but he couldn’t stand idly by to witness such corruption.
“Gaaaaaahhh—GGGh!!!”
Kurosu approached the kneeling giant, clutching his face, and delivered a fatal blow to the skull with his concealed blade. Designed with a sharp point, the blade effortlessly pierced the man’s brain. Kicking the body over and retrieving the ornate sword, Kurosu inspected his new trophy.
The sword’s design was unfamiliar. Broad and double-edged, it was shorter and slightly heavier than his preferred blade.
“Cluuurk!”
Testing the blade on a nearby villager, the weapon’s tip slipped past the shoulder and lodged at the chest, confirming its weight despite its dull edge.
“Clunky, but the weight serves well enough.”
Empowered by the unfamiliar weapon, Kurosu slashed down the next attacker.
As with the earlier group, these villagers lacked even basic tactical sense. They charged without strategy or coordination, wielding no ranged weapons and failing to leverage their longer spears in any meaningful way. Instead, they charged recklessly, one after another, like mindless beasts.
Surprisingly, despite losing their leader, none attempted to flee. With such resolve, they could have made names for themselves in any proper battlefield rather than squandering their courage as bandits. Truly incomprehensible.
After felling over ten men, Kurosu’s new sword dulled from the accumulation of fat and blood, but such inconsequential opponents required no finesse. Even as a blunt weapon, the sheer force of his strikes ensured each swing shattered skulls efficiently.
Kurosu moved tirelessly through the village until not a single cry remained, claiming countless lives in his wake.