Chapter 245: A New Day Begins
"Hmph! Back to work!" The fat official snapped, no longer looking in the direction where the man had departed.
"Yeah, let's go, let's go." The other officials no longer had the heart to keep flaunting their authority; they began walking forward one by one.
What awaited them was the task of collecting corpses. If they were too slow, the dead samurai would be stripped bare by scavengers, likely leaving behind "naked men" without even a loincloth.
Meanwhile, the red-haired man, carrying a bundle, arrived at the official blacksmith shop of the small town.
"Oh, you're finally here!" the master blacksmith sitting inside said as he looked at the newcomer.
"Is the gear ready?" the man asked.
"Of course! Who do you think I am? But for you to want this equipment—have you finally made up your mind to give up your noble Fujiwara surname? Are you quitting the nobility and the samurai life altogether?" the master said with a chuckle, patting a large bundle resting on a nearby table.
The man shook his head dismissively and said with a light smile, "Well, that's all just talk. Though they say Minamoto, Taira, Fujiwara, and Tachibana are the 'nobles among nobles.' The Minamoto were princes granted a surname; the Taira were of the Imperial family; the Fujiwara and Tachibana were surnames granted to ministers—the first choice for imperial relatives.
But those who were destined to decline have long since fallen. By today, the lineages are a mess. All the Daimyo don't hesitate to falsify their family trees, scrambling to claim they are descendants of the Minamoto, but how many are real?"
"True. So, are you going back to Master? He'd be more than happy to take you as a formal disciple and have you inherit his legacy. If that happened, even I'd have to address you with 'Masamune' added to your name!" the master blacksmith said with a smile of genuine envy.
The man replied, "Ah, I had a dream. Everything became clear, and I feel much lighter now. Next, I'm heading back to Ise Province, but I don't plan to follow Master Masamune's ideas. The philosophy of a Masamune blade is different from the sword I wish to forge."
"Hmph! What a luxurious choice. Fine, I'm in no position to lecture you; I couldn't stop you even if I tried, and with your temper, you certainly wouldn't listen," the master said gruffly, though he still offered a piece of advice to his younger fellow-disciple:
"But if you go this route, people will surely call you a practitioner of the 'evil path.' If you aren't employed by a Daimyo, you'll end up as nothing more than a small-time blacksmith. That's a step down from the life you have now. Are you really okay with that?"
"It doesn't matter. I've simply confirmed the path I must walk," the man said as he shed his samurai robe and changed into a fire-resistant cloak taken from the bundle.
"I see. Have you decided on a name then? A signature for the blade?" the master asked.
"Yeah. Let's go with 'Senji Muramasa.' You can help me sell off these samurai clothes," the man said casually, having finished changing into his blacksmith attire.
"Hmph. Then stay here for the night and sneak out at midnight. I'll just say you ran off on your own; otherwise, I won't be able to explain this to Master," the master said, crossing his arms and looking away.
"I know. Thanks, Senior! Before I go, let me help you forge a bag's worth of weapons and hidden projectiles," Senji Muramasa agreed readily.
"Uh..." The master, who was about to speak, found himself choked up. He hadn't expected the other to speak first and name a quantity that was exactly at his psychological minimum acceptance level.
After a moment of stunned silence, the master laughed and agreed. "Let's do that then. But how on earth did you know I wanted you to do that? Hahaha! I originally wanted to ask for more, but a bag's worth is a bag's worth."
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Meanwhile, on the other side of town, inside the Lord's Manor...
The chubby Town Lord was lecturing sternly: "Listen well, Yuki-hime! Our family has declined. Ever since your father passed away and left the estate to me, we've been left with only this one small town.
But our ancestors were of the direct Minamoto line; we are of noble birth.
Stop thinking about dancing around with swords and spears all the time! Study your etiquette properly. With your beauty, powerful warrior families will surely fight to marry you. Even marrying a Daimyo isn't impossible! The whole family is counting on you."
The twelve- or thirteen-year-old girl with long black hair said indignantly, "Being a female warrior (Onna-musha) would be better than marrying some boring noble and spending every day as a submissive wife and mother!
We're Minamoto too—look at Tomoe Gozen under Kiso Yoshinaka or Shizuka Gozen under Minamoto no Yoshitsune! As samurai, if our lands are taken, we should work hard and take them back by force!"
"Shut up! Do you dare defy me? Just listen to your uncle!" The fat Town Lord slammed the door as he left.
The girl stuck her tongue out at the departing Lord. "Blehh! Sorry, Uncle! I have no intention of being a tool for your political marriage. My Master in the dream taught me a lot; I have enough confidence now to head out on my own!"
That night, after knocking out several maids with the edge of her hand, the girl pulled a bundle from a hiding spot. She took out some clothes, changed into a young samurai's outfit, and tied her long hair into a ronin's ponytail.
She stealthily stole her family's ancestral katana, scaled the manor wall, and ran quickly toward the outskirts.
The red-haired man in his blacksmith gear and cloak, and the cross-dressing young samurai girl, were about to have a chance encounter at the city gates...
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In the land of the far east, where the sun rises earliest, the sun began to peek over the sea. Its golden radiance shone upon the undulating waves, bringing the light of a new day to the silent curtain of night.
"Shirou looks just like a child when he's asleep," Artoria said, sitting on the sofa and gently letting the youth's head rest on her lap.
"He really is a brat! Shirou! Also! You, cold-blooded woman, stand up!" Jeanne said with a frown, her arms crossed as she glared at Artoria.
"Hmph. I wonder which of us is actually more like a child," Artoria replied with a cold smile.
"Ugh..." When the silver-haired girl (Jeanne) had woken up that morning, she found a corner of the pillow she was hugging was damp with drool. Not seeing Shirou immediately made her feel a bit relieved, yet also a bit disappointed—a feeling she couldn't quite explain.
"No, no. Big brother is just an idiot. Even though he's never said it out loud, his dream is definitely to be a 'Hero of Justice' or something. Definitely! Even in his dreams, he's probably fighting for someone.
Komachi guarantees that this man—who sleeps on the sofa instead of a bed and will never grow up—has definitely fantasized about putting on a red battle suit and piloting a giant robot to fight monsters with four other guys in different colored spandex. Or maybe putting on a belt and jumping into the air for a flying kick."
Komachi, wearing an apron, walked over with a tray of toast, fried eggs, and ham to set the table. She wagged her finger and looked at her brother's sleeping face, curling her lip as she added, "Well, even though he's like that, Big Brother actually looks really cool in red clothes."
"A Shirou like this... feels like he could be used..." Mashiro said at that moment, taking out her tablet to snap a photo of the sleeping youth.
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