“You idiot,” I said quietly. What’s the point of defeating someone if you have to sacrifice yourself to do so?
“We have to keep going,” Hanada suddenly said, breaking the spaced-out stare that I might have held for ten minutes undisturbed.
“What about Lord Mitsui?”
“My men will deal with the bodies,” Hanada answered, as though it wasn’t anything significant. For someone as loyal as him, the loss of two high-ranking Azure members should surely have had a more pronounced effect on him, and yet, it was like nothing had happened. Perhaps it was simply his way of dealing with loss: to shove it away and minimise it.
I looked at the sorry bunch of archers, footmen, and Shinobi that were left. In total they numbered only eleven. We had lost more than what we had gained from this small victory. Perhaps this was a good trade-off in the eyes of the White Tiger: One crazy lieutenant in exchange for an Azure Lord. Out of all the Lady’s vassals, Mitsui was no doubt the strongest, and through his loss, the Lady herself had lost a lot of the reputation and power that having a man such as him in her service had garnered.
Before I followed Hanada, I retrieved my blade and looted the floating wisp next to Jirō. Though my ring had warned of a cursed weapon, the only item I looted from the Laughing Swordsman was his mask.
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‘Tatemae’
-Armour-
Armour > Mask
Armour Type: Very Light
“Those who do not wish to reveal their true nature to the world often put up a façade, though some, like Jirō, put on a mask.”
Trait(s):
‘Manic Laughter’
‘Possessive’
‘Tatemae’
Equip
Discard
Weight: 0.4 kilos
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Its three traits read, in order: “The wearer laughs maniacally during combat”; “Cannot be removed while other people can see you”; and, “Negates the hostile traits of other items while worn.” The first two traits seemed mostly like quirks associated with Jirō, but the third trait was one that really caught my attention. It meant that items, such as cursed weapons that might make the wielder hostile to other players or NPCs, could be completely negated, and whoever wore the mask could effectively blend in anywhere, despite the nefarious purposes that their cursed weapon imposed on them. If I spotted a player wearing this mask, or one like it, I’d definitely consider them a threat. Anyway… Besides the traits, the mask had very little armour and weighed only 400 grams, so I picked it up, thinking I could probably sell it later.
Together with Hanada, I headed for the Kakon-shi Palace, hoping to finally put an end to this Stage.
The sounds of fighting in the distance were the first indication that we were getting close. As we exited the mouth of the residential street we’d been following, a vast open space emerged before us, where the dirt was cobbled over with tiny square stones, which created an uncountable number of rings that progressively got smaller as they neared the centre of the open space. Three separate clashes between the White Tigers and Azure forces crowded the area around a very large temple-like building at the heart of the ringed square, which, purely based on its elaborate and decadent design, had to be the palace of the White Tiger. A large pond surrounded the palace, and only a single crimson-dyed wooden bridge gave access to its gates. The pond itself was full of wilted flowers and rotten lily pads, and the water was red like blood. I wondered just how we were supposed to cross the water, as the bridge was heavily guarded, as well as the current hotspot for one of the three skirmishes, and the pond itself was overlooked by archers who’d already killed at least two dozen soldiers trying to swim across.
As I looked towards the palace, which was a mix of red-dyed wood, coal-black roof tiles, and white walls, I experienced a strong sense of déjà vu, reminding me of home. In Kyōto where I’d grown up and lived my whole life[1], there had been thousands of shrines and temples. The Palace reminded me of many of the larger temples around my childhood home. After I was kicked out, I’d lived within short walking distance of Kinkaku-ji and Ryōan-ji, the former being one of the most well-known temples in Kyōto, often referred to as the Golden Pavilion. Granted, the Palace here wasn’t covered in gold, but the atmosphere was similar.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Hanada remarked.
“How do we get across?” I asked, just as the first drops of red rain began showering the city.
“You’ll see,” Hanada simply responded, and as I stared across the open space, the pond and the temple palace within, I noticed that several of those ‘dead’ bodies in the water on one specific side of the temple were slowly floating towards its shore. The archers on the shore and atop the second floor of the palace walls seemed blind to this, or rather, they seemed to allow it and no doubt their arrows had struck in places where not even a drop of blood had been drawn. As the Azure footmen crawled up onto the manmade island, which was comprised of a wilted garden that was tacked onto the side of the palace, the disguised archers relocated and started dealing with the real archers on the other sides of the compound, before returning and barraging the White Wolves guarding the bridge. Before long, the whole defence was falling apart and the main Azure force started advancing across the bridge. Once again, the Shinobi had infiltrated deep enough to be able to sabotage the White clan, and I had to wonder just how they’d even managed such a feat. It seemed quite possible that they could’ve ended this conflict long ago, and yet, mysteriously enough, they hadn’t.
Hanada and I quickly ran to link up with the main force, which, it turned out, was led by none other than Lady Seiryū herself. As we advanced across the bridge, passing the halfway-point, a large group of White Wolves, perhaps numbering sixty or more, blocked the way. The entire Azure group, which easily outnumbered the Wolves two-to-one, halted, perhaps out of fear. A second later, I saw that it was not fear, rather, they were waiting for something. And then it came, flying over our heads, tiny arrows of light, crowding together like a swarm of bees and then splitting and each finding a target of their own, piercing straight through armour and shield, and followed by silence.
I turned to look at the source of the arrows, which surely belonged to a force of a hundred-or-more archers, and yet, there were no one there behind our lines. No one, except the Lady Seiryū and her wicked white bow. Even though she was barely taller than me, I felt her gaze look down at me, and I saw her hand raise towards the White Wolves, who were completely unfazed by this magical attack, and then her fist clenched and I heard the loud crash of sixty men in armour, as their bodies hit the wooden planks beneath their feet. The Lady smiled a gluttonous black-teethed smile in response.
Dreadful and yet exquisite, a strange part of my brain responded.
When we walked over the pile of Wolves, I saw no red, save the puddles, and heard no dying breath, just the pitter-patter and plip-and-plop of rain hitting the black tiles, the wooden bridge, and the crimson pond. Though all the bodies had one thing in common: completely white eyes, lacking both pupils and irises, as though snatched from them through fiendish spell. It seemed that the Vermilion clan were not the only ones who possessed disturbing magic.
We passed through the bridge gate, before proceeding into the palace proper, the courtyard around the main building, and its outer rooms with relative ease, only encountering small pockets of surviving Wolves. News quickly arrived of the two other skirmishes outside the pond, stating that they were concluded with victories to the Azure side, though at a great cost. The irony of the situation was noticeable to me and perhaps to those around.
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They will hold the city for a single night before the Vermilion clan comes to their doorstep and takes it from them.
It was all the same to me though. What did I care? My only goal was leaving this World conquered, so that I might progress to the next and so on. And yet, maybe I did care, which was odd. I mean, how could I even grow attached to characters that weren’t real? Characters whose thoughts and responses were predetermined, crafted by demigod Architects long before I set foot in this hellscape. It seemed strange to me that I’d even care the slightest bit about something I knew wasn’t real, and yet I did, without being able to explain why. I wondered what Jakob thought about it.
Suddenly, our unit stopped in front of a large door. Occupied with my thoughts I hadn’t even noticed the room we had entered. It was quite a large hall, where pillars held up the ceiling four metres above, and where evenly-spaced, elaborately-carved windows spilled the last shreds of sunlight into the room as the only source of light besides a few small lanterns here and there. In the centre of the massive hall was another room, perhaps a throne room, or maybe a room for prayer.
“Byakko[2] waits within,” the Lady announced dramatically. The footmen and archers spread out across the hall, bows and swords held at the ready, as though a monster was waiting just beyond the gate. I’d already fought one monster today and didn’t really want to have a second round. This wasn’t even the final Stage of this World, for crying out loud!
“Newcomer[3], take ten of my men with you and face him.”
Okay… that’s weird, considering we’ve got way more men than that… I thought. Nevertheless, I picked ten footmen who looked tough enough, though they didn’t seem too happy about being picked, which I thought was odd, but I just marked it down as them not really trusting me yet.
The smooth wooden floor beneath our feet barely made a noise, except the occasional squeak, as we advanced past the outer lines of footmen and archers, all of whom were watching the tall door. It took two men to pull open the great door, which, once open, we passed through and closed behind us, much to my own confusion. We’re being sealed in for some reason…
Within the sealed-off room was a shrine with incense burning and unfurling its cloying scent through the air, there were also a table for studying and one for eating opposite of it, as well as other necessities, such as a bed, dresser, and so on. It was all rather mundane, and yet, all of my chosen footmen were on edge, their swords vibrating in their hands with pent-up tension, ready to spring on the bald man in black-and-white monk robes, who sat with his back turned to us, deep in meditation. Though none of the men moved, instead they looked at me sidelong, expecting something.
Not wanting to disappoint, I cleared my throat, and said, “We’ve come for your head.”
“As expected,” replied Lord Byakko. “But do you have what it takes?”
What an odd question. “Of course,” I said confidently.
Byakko stood up, which made each of the footmen adjust their stances nervously, as though they expected him to strike. I truly hoped he wasn’t like Jirō, because I really didn’t have the energy to fight another half-immortal lunatic. He turned around and bent his neck forward, making himself and easy target. Then he looked up at us, and said, “Well?”
I drew my katana and placed both my hands on it, and then some kind of strange wind billowed my cape behind me and ruffled my hair gently.
“Become stone,” Byakko commanded. I would’ve laughed at the absurdity, but for some reason I couldn’t move, whatsoever. Not even my eyes would turn or blink.
Fuck…
I didn’t even know how such a thing was possible, and from what I could see, the ten men around me were all motionless as well. Not only did the Vermilion and Azure clans have their own kinds of magic, but so too did the White Tiger. If the Black Tortoise clan still existed, I wondered what their magic was about. Though from the looks of it, I probably wouldn’t find out. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to have prepared for this, after all, no one had told me this old man had the ability to freeze anyone by just using his voice. I mean, clearly everyone had known, considering the fact that all of the footmen, as well as the men outside the sealed-off room, were prepared for something major.
“What a shame,” the bald man said. He slowly advanced across the floor, and then withdrew a small dagger from within the large sleeve of his robe. Without being in much of a hurry he carved through the man next to me, severing his jugular veins and windpipe in one lazy cut, spilling the man’s blood onto the floor. Perhaps a second later, the footman fell lifelessly to the floor, the magic losing its power when he died.
Byakko then walked in front of me, and all I could think was, I was sent in as the bait to distract this guy… I should’ve realised!
As sweet relief was only a hair’s breadth away from my neck and the stench of iron flooded my nose, an arrow of light punched through the gate behind me and continued across the room unchallenged, before exiting through the back wall. Lord Byakko gurgled something, perhaps trying to issue another command, but his throat now had a hole through it and his vocal cords were obliterated. I felt the control of my body returning and immediately took a step back, before tightening my grip on my sword’s hilt and losing an angled Helm-Splitter that impacted with the side of his neck and sent his severed head to the floor with a hollow thunk, while his body tumbled backwards, crashing against one of the low tables, scattering parchment, inkwells, and calligraphy pens everywhere.
The gates were opened behind me and twenty men surged into the room, surrounding the body of Lord Byakko.
“You’re too late,” I said. “I already killed the bastard myself.”
“As expected,” I heard the Lady respond, as she too came into the room, the men parting to let her through.
“You used me as bait.”
“Can you blame me? That old man could’ve forced us to kill each other, if he hadn’t been more interested in prayer and meditation. He could’ve ended this war years ago. Unlike his predecessors, he didn’t utilise his power to its fullest extent. He brought all of this on himself.”
“What was that power he used on me?”
“Domination. The ability to control anyone through the use of his voice. His whole clan used to have the ability, but for some reason it faded with each generation until he was the only person capable of using it.”
“Every clan has their own power, isn’t that right?”
“Indeed. Since you’ve proven yourself, I’ll tell you. The White Tiger had the power of Domination, which you just experienced; the Vermilion Bird wield the Blood Dance, which allows them to control their own blood to make them near unkillable; the Black Tortoise held the power of Equilibrium, which made them capable of nullifying magic, but they were annihilated as it made them too strong; and we, the Azure Dragon, have Dawnlight.”
“And what does it do, your power?”
The Lady smiled dangerously, “Come dawn, you’ll see.” I didn’t like the sound of that…
“So, what now?” I asked.
“We fortify our grip and prepare to defend the city tomorrow, as the Vermilion Bird will wish to uproot us before we fully settle into our new soil.”
I didn’t dawdle too much at the temple, though I did look around for a bit, trying to spot any kind of items that might have dropped, though to no avail. So, I simply crossed the bridge and returned to the Koike Rakuen inn, where I paid for another two nights.
I had them draw a bath for me and spent a while soaking in it before using the leftover bathwater to cleanse my sword and armour, which, all things considered, had barely received a scratch. I felt pretty disappointed by the whole turn of events, considering that the two Azure members I liked the most had been brutally murdered, while I’d been exploited as bait by a crazy, power-hungry hellcat and hadn’t received even a dime for all the effort I’d put in. Of course, I was pretty happy that I for once hadn’t been horrendously injured, but just the thought of Byakko’s dagger by my throat made the hairs on my neck stand up. I wondered if that was the way every player experienced that Stage or if I’d perhaps been extremely unlucky. Maybe it would be different for Sunflower, since she’d mentioned screwing up the Weeping Blade Stage.
At any rate, I wondered what was to follow. The next Stage was likely the last one of this World, considering the looming battle between the Azure and Vermilion clan, which all of the previous events led up to, but it just felt kind of off, as though something was missing. After all, if the next Stage was to be the final one, then shouldn’t I have been much better informed about it? I mean, the Forlorn Castle was presented as kind of a big deal, and yet I’d just been told to rest and wait for dawn, whatever the hell that meant.
It wasn’t until the middle of the night that I fell asleep, when, finally, my exhaustion overwhelmed the maelstrom of thoughts spinning around inside my head.
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[1] As far as I knew, anyway.
[2] “White Tiger”. No doubt she was referring to the head of the White Tiger clan though.
[3] Apparently, it was too much to ask to be called by my given name anywhere in this realm… but maybe it was to ensure that players with names like “Lord Butt Fart” didn’t ruin the ‘vibe’ the Architects had tried so hard to create.