Chapter Thirty-Two:
“The Jade Lantern’s Blessings”
John woke to a pale gray light seeping through the small window of his room at the Sleeping Fox. The sun hadn’t yet climbed over the mountain ridges encircling Kagemura, but it was enough to illuminate the worn wooden beams of the ceiling and cast long shadows over his belongings, neatly arranged by Mistress Tsubaki during the night.
His armor hung on the stand in the corner, cleaned but unmistakably scarred. The dents and scratches etched across its surface were stubborn reminders of the battles fought, the lives lost. It was spotless now, but part of him almost wished the blood had remained—a grim testament to Yumi’s sacrifice. Clean as it was, the armor seemed emptier, as if it reflected not only his loss but the weight of her absence.
“I’d give anything to have you here,” he murmured under his breath, the words barely audible in the quiet room. His voice carried no anger, only a hollow ache. He reached out to touch the chest plate, his fingers tracing one of the deeper dents. Memories of her smile, her fierce determination, and her grace as she moved in battle flooded his mind.
“You need to set it aside, John,” RW’s soft voice chimed from the corner. The small mechanical fox sat curled atop his pack, her blue flames dim but steady, casting a faint glow over the room. “Grieve, yes. Remember her, always. But don’t let the grief cloud what’s ahead.”
John turned to her, managing a faint smile despite himself. “You don’t think that’s asking a lot?”
RW tilted her head. “It’s asking everything, John. And you know she’d ask the same. You’re not the kind of man to falter now. That’s why you’re still standing when so many others have fallen.”
He exhaled slowly, letting the weight of her words settle over him. She was right. She was always right. The grief wouldn’t leave him, not completely. But he couldn’t carry it like this. Not when there was still so much to do—for Yumi, for those they had lost, and for those who still depended on him.
Pulling the armor piece by piece from the stand, he dressed methodically. Each piece brought a memory, but one lingered longer than the others. Yumi had had a way of steadying him, grounding him when his resolve faltered. Even now, as he buckled the straps, he could hear her voice: calm, practical, unyielding. It wasn’t just the memory of her smile or her hands helping fasten his armor; it was the memory of how she believed in him, how her faith became the foundation of his own strength. He recalled the first night he’d met Yumi. She had helped him with his armor, her hands had been steady and sure as she fastened the straps. Her voice, calm and encouraging. The way her fingers moved with precision, the brief smile she gave him when she finished—those moments had rooted him to something solid in a world that felt anything but.
He stepped to the door, hesitating only for a moment before pulling it open. The hall was quiet, the air carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke and something floral, perhaps incense. As he approached Yumi’s old room, his pace never faltered. He didn’t look at the door. He didn’t need to. The memory of her was with him, always, but he would not let it hold him down.
Downstairs, Akira waited near the main hearth, arms crossed and posture impossibly relaxed. The samurai’s sharp gaze turned toward him, a subtle nod acknowledging John’s arrival. Mistress Tsubaki moved about behind the bar, her movements as precise and graceful as ever. She smiled when she saw him.
“You look ready for anything, John,” she said, setting a steaming pot of tea on the counter. Her voice was warm, a steadying presence amid the chaos of recent days. “I took care of your armor as best I could, though I’m afraid I can’t erase all the scars.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
John dipped his head. “The scars are fine. Thank you, Mistress Tsubaki.”
Her smile softened. “Before you go, stop by the Jade Lantern. The shopkeeper—Kasumi—has set up a stall out front with supplies. It would be wise to stock up if you’re heading out.”
John exchanged a glance with Akira, who gave a slight shrug. “I’ll take any advice that keeps us alive,” Akira said dryly.
“You’re always welcome here,” Mistress Tsubaki added, her expression briefly clouded with sadness. “All of Kagemura is grateful for what you’ve done, and for those we’ve lost—Yumi and Rai included.”
John swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding again. “We’ll be back.”
But deep inside, John knew, he would never see Mistress Tsubaki, or The Sleeping Fox again.
The morning air was crisp as they stepped out. Kagemura bathed in the soft gold of dawn. Here and there, villagers greeted them with quiet nods or murmured thanks. A blacksmith hammered away on a glowing blade, his sweat mingling with the steam rising from his forge. A young Human male hurried to unload crates of supplies, pausing briefly to bow in their direction. Every movement seemed to carry a sense of determination—a people resolute in rebuilding, inspired by the sacrifices made for their survival. Smoke rose from chimneys, and the sound of hammers echoed faintly as villagers repaired damage. The scent of fresh bread mingled with the earthy aroma of damp soil, and the village’s ever-present cherry blossoms painted the air with a light, floral sweetness.
John’s boots crunched over the gravel path as they walked, Akira falling into step beside him. RW padded ahead, her flames glowing brighter in the daylight.
The Jade Lantern’s namesake hung above what was left of the ruined shop’s doorway, its shattered green glass reflecting the morning light. Outside, Kasumi had arranged her stall with meticulous care. Rows of potions caught the light—healing draughts glowing deep red, stamina elixirs pulsing with steady blue energy, and magic restoratives swirling with violet light. Each bottle seemed to hum with barely contained power.
“John-sama, Akira-san,” Kasumi greeted them, her calm presence a stark contrast to the energy emanating from her wares. “After what you’ve done for Kagemura, everything here is yours. No charge.”
John reached for the supplies with practiced efficiency, his HUD confirming each addition: [Potions x3], [Stamina Boosters x3], [Magic Potions x3]. The golden shimmer of a Cureall caught his eye, its power almost palpable as he added it to his inventory. Finally, he selected a compact field tent, its sturdy fabric promising shelter in the wilds ahead.
“Just enough to keep moving forward,” RW observed, her flames casting dancing reflections across the potion bottles. “Not so much you’re weighed down.”
Akira selected his share with careful consideration, examining each item before adding it to his inventory. “These seem different,” he noted, holding a potion up to the light. “Like they mean business.”
“Every item here has seen my own very special touch,” Kasumi confirmed. “They’ll serve when you need them most.”
“Thank you,” John said simply, adjusting his newly weighted inventory almost at max. [185 lbs./ 200 lbs.]
Kasumi’s expression grew solemn. “May the spirits guide you both. And may you find the strength for what lies ahead.”
As they turned to leave, Akira glanced at John. “So, where exactly is this Realmweaver of yours?”
“About a day’s journey,” John replied, checking his HUD one final time. “Near the old Tokyo insertion camp. Back through Oni territory.”
“Through the fire again,” Akira mused, a hint of anticipation in his voice. “At least we’re prepared this time.”
John nodded, feeling the weight of their supplies, of their purpose, of the path ahead. The sun had fully risen now, casting long shadows through Kagemura’s streets. Somewhere beyond those shadows waited the ChronoLance, and with it, a chance to change everything—to save the Player Roland, to stop Sterling from ever betraying him, to forge a different path through time and Gameweaver’s Realms themselves.
They set out toward the village gates, RW’s blue flames leading the way. Behind them, Kagemura stirred with life, but as they passed the last threshold of the village, the air seemed to grow heavier. John’s gaze lingered on the distant treeline, where shadows shifted unnaturally, the faintest growl carried on the wind. The Oni territory awaited, and with it, whatever unknown horrors had grown in the wake of their last battle. The journey ahead would test them, but they were ready. They had to be.