862——————==

True Martial Home.

Booze.

Miyamoto Musashi’s first memory was that.

Whoosh!

A torrent of rain was pouring down through the forest. It was more like a tropical storm than just rain; today was not a day for hiking, yet here were a father and son at the shrine on the mountain peak.

A ceremony to offer alcohol to suppress the evil spirits – an offering once made at a tree known as the evil spirit tree in the Izumo region. Why he was there, he couldn’t explain. Miyamoto Musashi tightly wrapped a thick straw rope around that tree and stuck his offering into it. Below the tree, he placed a small bottle filled with omiki.

Splish…

Peculiarly, behind that evil spirit tree, there was a tiny shrine with the words “Kenmu Shinsei” etched in red. Miyamoto Musashi, not yet eight years old, followed his father there, bringing the ‘offering’ he had personally placed into a small bottle. He couldn’t quite remember his father’s face, but at that moment, his father spoke to him.

“It’s time for the gods to reward me. Wait for it.”

Reward?

The young Musashi had no clue what that meant, but his father mumbled it like he was chewing it over.

“Bennosuke. Those eyes…”

“……”

“Do you still think my swordsmanship is pathetic?”

Whoosh!

The rain continued its relentless pour. Silence hovered in the air.

Miyamoto Musashi’s childhood name was Bennosuke. He stared blankly at his father and replied.

“Munisai. What’s a reward?”

He had no intention of talking about swordsmanship. Though he hailed from a prestigious family known for their martial skills since his grandfather, Hirata Shogen, his father, Shinmen Munisai, showed little martial talent himself. Talking about swordsmanship would only make Munisai angry.

The reason he didn’t use honorifics for his father wasn’t just that.

Even when Munisai saw Bennosuke not using honorifics, he still frowned and said,

“It’s divine swordsmanship.”

What?

He doubted his ears. He couldn’t comprehend what his father was talking about. He thought he had a good grasp of his father until now, but suddenly he felt a strange disconnection wash over him. As Bennosuke stood there in a daze, his father, Shinmen Munisai, lit three incense sticks and placed them in the incense burner, continuing,

“In this shrine, we perform the rites for Yamata no Orochi. How many shrines have we passed through coming from Harima to this Izumo?”

“Two.”

“One was the shrine of Susanoo no Mikoto, and the other was the shrine of Kakutsuchi. They were all necessary steps. Today, I finally achieve my goal.”

“……?”

“Following the rituals from ancient texts one by one, today marks the final offering.”

Offering.

After mulling over that word for a moment, Bennosuke slowly spoke.

“So you beheaded someone?”

“Exactly. The small bottle must contain the essence of a human life. Only then will the benevolent deity rejoice upon seeing the fresh offerings laid before the shrine.”

What Bennosuke witnessed.

It was his father, Shinmen Munisai, before ascending to the shrine, attacking commoners from nearby villages, beheading them, and filling the small bottle with their essence. Though Bennosuke quietly watched, he knew this wasn’t some daily occurrence.

This was what they’d probably call a human sacrifice.

Indeed, many had perished. Not just one, but at least over ten heads were severed and added to the collection. As he recalled that process, Bennosuke recited knowledge he had heard before.

“Yamata no Orochi is not a benevolent deity but a monster.”

“It’s not a true monster; it symbolizes water control. During the ancient Great Flood that covered this world, the benevolent deity quelled it.”

“……”

Not very warrior-like.

Bennosuke muttered under his breath.

His father, lacking martial talent, had apparently been obsessed with methods to grow stronger for quite some time. He sold off their family estate to gather information and relics from Tianzhu and the Central Plain, or scoured for legends of Yin-Yang Masters and dark myths. Such behavior was not befitting a warrior of this era, and it was clear that even Shinmen Munisai didn’t know what he truly desired.

But what had become clearer was that his father wanted ‘divine swordsmanship.’ As Bennosuke remained silent, Shinmen Munisai spoke with a slightly excited tone.

“Though the foolish ones may not understand, gods exist in this world. And I have received revelations from them twice. I’ve won their favor through these two offerings, and this time, without a doubt… they shall bestow upon me divine swordsmanship.”

“How strong will I get by mastering divine swordsmanship?”

“You’ll be strong enough to slice through Kamizumi Nobutsuna, the Sword Saint, in one strike.”

“Oh.”

Bennosuke only shrugged. As a kid, the mentions of divine swordsmanship and sword saints didn’t resonate with him. What’s the point of such talk? But suddenly, Shinmen Munisai’s eyes sharpened, radiating a cruel glint.

“So you think you’ll be fine because you’re a genius?”

“Huh?”

“I thought if my son was a genius, I’d be happy. However, it seems I must be strong for everything to be satisfactory. Your unbothered demeanor, that arrogant gaze—I don’t like any of it.”

“……”

What’s the deal with this guy?

Bennosuke found everything tedious and pathetic. At just seven years old, after only three months of training, he had effortlessly dodged all of Shinmen Munisai’s attacks and managed to outmaneuver him. He had already surpassed his father, who was supposed to be an adult warrior.

Initially, Shinmen Munisai felt joy thinking this was possible, but soon his intense inferiority complex kicked in whenever he saw his son. Having been belittled throughout his life due to his lack of martial talent, he couldn’t overcome that inferiority.

Bennosuke, after some hesitation, decided to disregard his weak father. That was why he didn’t use honorifics.

Rumble…!!

Then it happened. Suddenly, from the evil spirit tree, a syrupy liquid gushed out like fresh blood, staining the tree trunk red. It flowed with such force one might mistake it for a stream. In sheer terror, both father and son widened their eyes, and moments later, something twisted began to crawl out from the shrine’s doors.

Slither.

Slither.

‘What the heck is that?’

Is that the yokai I’ve only heard about?

‘That’s grotesque….’

Bennosuke held his sword defensively as it wriggled like some bizarre creature, crawling on the ground. Its pliable flesh slid along, leaving a thick slime behind it, and instead of eyes, palm-like appendages grotesquely peered out. Just looking at it was enough to drain his mental strength, yet to Shinmen Munisai, it seemed to ignite pure joy.

“Haha! An ancient apostle of the gods! Now, grant me the Lunar Kill Technique!!”

He screamed with bloodshot eyes.

“The ultimate technique created out of vengeance by a legion of martial geniuses, the technique that kills gods!!”

“……”

Bennosuke felt a sense of discomfort at that moment.

‘How can that even be?’

How could a technique that kills gods be granted from a deity?

Then, the grotesque creature that had crawled out of the shrine suddenly opened its mouth wide and spewed the syrup forward.

Splurt!

Bennosuke quickly dodged thanks to his reflexes, but Shinmen Munisai was caught unawares, getting splattered with that syrup. Moments later, his body started to swell a bit, and white spores began to billow out rapidly over him.

Slurp… slurp…

“Aaaaaah…”

Shinmen Munisai’s flesh was being devoured as the spores rapidly bloomed, and soon dozens of mushroom caps the size of human heads sprouted from his body. Shinmen Munisai stumbled, eyes consumed, with his life force already extinguished. Watching that horrific scene unfold, Bennosuke rolled back without hesitation and darted into a hidden path.

Thud thud!

I need to live.

I must escape from that monster.

There’s no way I could defeat it with my sword skills.

“Gasp! Gasp!”

He dashed desperately through the woods. After a while, realizing nothing was pursuing him anymore, he slipped into a cave to take a breather.

“……”

His father was dead.

Though he’d been an inferior father obsessed with his own insecurities, he was still his blood, and Bennosuke felt the weight of that. Surprisingly little sorrow boiled within him, but he couldn’t shake off the emptiness. As Bennosuke leaned against his sword, sulking, he heard a voice.

“I felt the seal of evil release, so I came to see what happened.”

A strange voice.

Bennosuke peeked up to see a silver-haired boy standing at the cave entrance in the rain. A stunningly beautiful figure, ambiguous in gender, he gazed at Bennosuke through pearlescent eyes.

“Child, did you break the seal of Yamata no Orochi?”

“…No. My father did.”

The boy nodded, mumbling to himself.

“Hmm, I see. Thankfully, only the first seal has been broken, so a weak apostle of Amatsukami has been summoned. It might be quick to resolve this… How did your father know how to do that?”

“He read ancient texts…”

As Bennosuke explained the situation, the boy frowned.

“Those cultists of the ‘ancient ones’ always leave trouble in the world… Regardless, since a bloody offering has already been made, that apostle should be considerably strong. Should I summon a few more Yin-Yang masters?”

“……”

“Child, I am Abe no Seimei, a Yin-Yang Master. This place is perilous, so let’s go together.”

Although the small boy, looking like his peer, naturally talked down to him, Bennosuke felt no discomfort. For some reason, he didn’t think this kid was as young as he appeared and sensed an unknown pressure. However, Bennosuke didn’t grasp Abe no Seimei’s hand immediately; instead, he stared blankly at him and said,

“The Lunar Kill Technique is divine swordsmanship… Why didn’t the gods grant it?”

“There’s no such thing. Whatever ancient texts your father read, I’ve never heard of such a thing. What’s certain is that what was sealed inside the shrine is Yamata no Orochi, the divine representative. Since the seal was broken, an evil being was summoned into this world.”

“……”

“Your father was deceived by a vile deity under the guise of the imaginary Lunar Kill Technique.”

Deceived.

‘Damn…’

At that moment, he felt something surge within him.

His pathetic father, yet there existed a being that tricked him into death – that was unacceptable. He slowly stood up, saying.

“It exists.”

“What?”

Bennosuke turned and walked down the mountain, back to Abe no Seimei.

“The Lunar Kill Technique exists.”

Abe no Seimei made no move to stop him.

“What an odd little boy.”

He merely shrugged and went off to re-seal the ancient apostle released from the shrine.

That was their first encounter.

Bennosuke decided to head to Miyamoto village. His father intended to go there after this Izumo affair was over. Plus, his monk uncle lived nearby, so he might be able to get some help.

He walked for quite some time and, in the year he turned nine, reached the Miyamoto village of Harima.

Shortly after, he abandoned the surname Shinmen and began using the name Miyamoto. With his uncle’s encouragement, he eventually shed his childhood name and adopted the name Musashi. He was also known as Takezo, but he preferred to be called Musashi.

“Do you intend to become a warrior?”

After residing at his uncle’s home for half a year, Musashi wielded his wooden sword daily. One day, his uncle asked him suddenly. Musashi slowly wiped the sweat from his brow and replied.

“I’m already a warrior.”

“Then why do you swing a sword?”

“Because I can.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Whoosh!

With a cold expression, he swung his sword in one clean motion.

“I can feel I’m getting stronger….”

There was no teacher. The only one who briefly taught him the basics of swordsmanship was his father, Shinmen Munisai. His monk uncle could not assist Musashi in the path of the sword; he could only wield it by himself. Yet despite that, Musashi could feel it.

It became clear.

He could sense it.

A feeling that a path to becoming stronger kept presenting itself. Each fiber of his being straightened, revealing his flaws, and all he had to do was reinforce them. He hadn’t learned any schools of swordsmanship or techniques, but he could visualize where to swing.

Yes.

It’s this easy.

I don’t need a teacher, do I?

Thud!

“Cough….”

When Musashi turned thirteen, he battled a wandering warrior named Arima Kihei who had been training on the road and defeated him in just one second. As he pierced Arima Kihei’s neck, he felt a faint power coalesce at the tip of his sword, and Musashi thought to himself.

This power is convenient.

Arima Kihei was far too weak for Musashi to gauge his abilities. Having already mastered sword energy, Kihei’s skills, barely reaching the first-tier level, weren’t enough to match Musashi.

‘He wasn’t someone who could enlighten me.’

Soon Musashi felt he could wield sword energy too, leaving him somewhat disappointed. Though he didn’t know it at the time, he was on the verge of realizing the Sword Flame.

Musashi made a decision.

The bigger world would lead to faster growth.

‘Let’s go to the battlefield.’

Miyamoto Musashi.

That summer, when he turned fifteen, he recklessly joined the legendary great war known as the Sekigahara battle that split Dongyoung in two.