Chapter 380
The Emperor shouted loudly to call someone.
Even though the bell could have been rung or a gentle voice could have sufficed for those waiting to understand, the Emperor felt the need to raise his voice. If he didn’t vent the simmering anger boiling deep within his heart, he felt he might explode.
Heart Fire.
The flame of the heart.
He was currently fuming with rage.
At his bellowing, a person appeared before him right away, and after a moment of contemplation, the Emperor opened his mouth.
“Japan is truly complicated and bizarre. Recently, I received a letter begging for mercy due to a strange occurrence, so by my imperial command, you must promptly contact the loyal subjects of the imperial nation.”
In other words, it could be summed up as, “I want to get to work, so I need to contact some useful people.” Naturally, given his position as Emperor, this wasn’t merely a suggestion but more of a directive, and the court official listening was compelled to do their utmost to comply with the imperial order.
In principle, that is.
“There is an outstanding warrior in Japan, so contact them.”
The Emperor’s words carried more weight than anything else.
He spoke with the dignity that stemmed from being the legitimate Emperor of Japan and from the bloodline of a thousand years.
Bring me a warrior.
Be it the first samurai of Japan or a second-rate warrior.
Bring forth a warrior renowned throughout Japan before him.
The court official acknowledged the Emperor’s decree and promptly vanished.
His face bore traces of annoyance and irritation.
* * *
What is a warrior?
This simple question dwells in the minds of countless warriors, a conundrum that remains elusive even in the face of death.
To this perplexing question, one warrior said:
A warrior is one who willingly dedicates their life to martial pursuits.
They labor their bodies like hammering iron, constantly pondering the art of killing and destruction, advancing toward greater heights. Such a body, forged through relentless effort, finds no hesitation in slashing a person, growing accustomed to the scent of blood until they are perfected into a being of murder.
Their lives are like swords.
They create forms by hammering raw metal, sharpen their edges, and cut down people.
And as they continue to slice and strike, their swords accumulate a strange aura.
A sword imbued with this aura is that of those who have transcended.
A sword infused with Yokai.
An uncanny blade close to a person yet closer to being a supernatural entity.
That defines a warrior, and that is the life of a warrior.
And this warrior has lived a life befitting his answer to that question.
Much like a sword demon entranced by the blade, he has lived solely to wield his sword and never pursued personal gain. He refrained from forming a family, fearing it might interfere with his martial training, and endlessly swung his sword, climbing to the pinnacle.
His name is Wakushima Sotarou.
The title others bestow upon him is ‘The Greatest Samurai of Japan.’
Wakushima Sotarou, the pride and spirit of the Japanese people, is considered a guardian spirit of Japan.
“Hmm? A letter? Surely they know I’m right in the midst of my training…?”
With eyes like a fierce beast, he picked up the letter addressed to him.
The glow radiating from his eyes illuminated the dark dojo like will-o’-the-wisps, and despite his advanced years, he appeared no older than in his forties, exuding an unexplainable aura of intimidation.
Sotarou frowned slightly in displeasure, and that simple gesture caused the messenger bringing the letter to feel as though their flesh was being worn away little by little.
Those blazing eyes and calloused hands—were they carved from stone?
“Pl-please, read the letter! It’s a decree from His Majesty the Emperor!”
Sotarou remained silent, just staring at the messenger.
As if to say, what business do I have with that?
But what fault lies with the messenger?
The sender is not at fault.
With a look of distaste, Sotarou glared at the messenger before extracting the letter.
Opening it revealed characters written in calligraphy.
It was inscribed vertically, reminiscent of days when letters were penned on scrolls, and the complex kanji made it challenging to interpret. Moreover, the courtly language seemed straight out of a medieval manuscript, riddled with such lofty vocabulary that it felt more like a deciphering task than reading.
There wasn’t a shred of consideration for the recipient.
Despite being widely known as a warrior uninterested in learning, this letter displayed no accommodation for Sotarou, boasting difficult expressions as if to flaunt the writer’s linguistic prowess.
Expressions that were merely complicated?
If it were just that, it would be a relief.
Incomprehensible metaphors, peculiar words that seemed exclusive to their circles.
Just skimming through it was enough to mount irritation.
“How unnecessarily long-winded.”
At least, the good news was that most of it seemed merely flowery embellishments.
The letter extended what could have been conveyed in just a line or two into numerous pages filled with elaborate expressions.
Thus, a quick glance would not reveal the core message but wouldn’t be too hard to decipher.
“The greatest samurai and guardian sword, Sotarou, is needed. Come to the imperial palace…. Such mastery in stretching out so brief a content is indeed remarkable.”
Sotarou tossed the letter onto the ground.
It was, indeed, an act of blasphemy.
However, the messenger dared not reprimand Sotarou for his treatment of the Emperor’s letter.
It wasn’t just fear of him; there was no anger felt at all.
He too served in the court out of loyalty to the Emperor, not as a noble official.
“Tell them I’m too focused on training right now to go.”
Sotarou resolutely stated his refusal.
He simply said he wouldn’t go.
Besides, it wasn’t even a face-to-face statement; he conveyed it like a notification to the messenger.
Yet Sotarou didn’t consider this action blasphemous.
Instead, he believed it was the Emperor who was rude for interfering.
‘To simply cultivate the martial way is already demanding.’
He was actively training.
Training to reach the next level.
And instead of offering help, they sent someone claiming there was business to attend to?
How rude.
Very, very rude.
If the letter had come from anyone else, he might have marched over and gripped their head, infusing the breath of life into them until they lost consciousness.
This was the utmost respect and mercy he could show.
Sotarou genuinely believed that.
Calming the surge of anger, he closed his eyes to meditate briefly, striving to restore his mind to serenity like the still surface of a lake, before taking hold of his sword again.
With the sword firmly in hand, he began to move slowly while maintaining his stance.
His left foot stepped forward to face ahead, while the back foot remained poised to spring in any direction. His body twisted slightly, guarding vital points, and his waist was tensed, ready to draw the blade in an arc.
His hand gripped the sword tightly, and the blade shimmered ominously above as if eager to cleave someone in two. The edge glistened with the blue glow emanating from his gaze, and though he didn’t utilize his inner power, an eerie aura began to rise, exuding a terrifying energy meant to cut through something.
Holding this position, Sotarou moved extremely slowly.
So slowly that one might think he was standing still unless observed closely.
Like a stone statue weathering the years, his sword moved at an incredibly slow pace, reminiscent of a warrior turning to stone after gazing into Medusa’s eyes.
Thus, Sotarou continued his training to grasp the enchantment of the dull blade.
For strength.
To indulge in the martial way.
For the realms that lay beyond.
Only for those purposes.
He was a warrior and a Yokai-infused sword.
* * *
The greatest samurai of Japan staunchly refused the Emperor’s request.
The reason for refusal was quite simple.
He didn’t want to be distracted from his training.
But fortunately, the Emperor did not send a letter only to Sotarou.
He also dispatched a letter to Japan’s second-best warrior.
Kazuo, the Cunning Dragon of Demon Slaying, ranked second among warriors.
Yet tragically, Kazuo likewise responded firmly.
“Tell them I’m too busy right now.”
