Ruho stood in the armory, holding his short sword, processing what Azirel had just said. "Sasaki... Kojirō?"
There was a long pause.
"Yes," Azirel said slowly. "Sasaki Kojirō. The legendary swordsman. The man who created the Tsubame Gaeshi technique. The Demon of the Western Provinces. Please tell me you know who I'm talking about."
"Uh," Ruho said intelligently. "No?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Are you DEADASS?!" Azirel's voice exploded with such force that Ruho actually flinched. "You—you don't know who Sasaki Kojirō is?!"
"Should I?" Ruho asked defensively.
"HAVE YOU NEVER SEEN VAGABOND?!" Azirel screamed, his voice reaching pitches that probably shouldn't have been possible for a divine entity. "The manga?! One of the greatest manga ever written?! About Miyamoto Musashi and his journey to become the greatest swordsman?!"
"I told you, I only read porn manga—"
"NOT EVEN RECORD OF RAGNAROK?!" Azirel continued, completely ignoring him. "The series where historical figures fight gods?! Sasaki Kojirō is literally one of the main characters! He fights Poseidon! It's one of the best fights in the entire series!"
"I don't watch—"
"OHHHHH MY GODDDDDD!" Azirel's voice cracked. "YOU'RE SUCH A NORMIE! How can you do anime sword poses but not know about one of the most famous swordsmen in Japanese history?! That's like—that's like doing a kamehameha without knowing who Goku is! That's like doing a Naruto run without knowing what Naruto is! That's—"
Suddenly, the divine background noise erupted. Voices Ruho had never heard before started shouting, overlapping each other in a cacophony of disbelief and mockery.
"He doesn't know Sasaki?!"
"What kind of weeb doesn't know Sasaki?!"
"This guy read hentai but skipped all the actual good manga?!"
"That's peak normie behavior right there!"
"I'm embarrassed for him!"
"POSERRRRR"
Then a new voice cut through the chaos. This one was different—deeper, more resonant, carrying an authority that made even the other divine voices quiet down. And it was excited. Really excited.
"AHA!" the voice boomed, like thunder mixed with barely contained enthusiasm. "I KNEW I came in at the RIGHT time!"
The divine chatter exploded into something that could only be described as fan screaming.
"OH SHIT!"
"IT'S HIM!"
"THE GOD OF SWORDS!"
"SUSANO-O IS HERE!"
"Wait," Ruho said, his head spinning from the sudden shift in energy. "Who now?"
"HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW SUSANO-O?!" Azirel shrieked, and Ruho could practically feel him pulling his non-existent hair out. "SUSANO-O! The God of Storms and Swords! Japanese deity! Brother of Amaterasu! Slayer of Yamata no Orochi! One of the most famous gods in the entire Shinto pantheon!"
"The FUCK is an actual god doing here?!" Ruho shouted back. "I thought this was just trainee gods! You said this was a trainee god thing!"
"It IS mostly trainee gods," Azirel said quickly. "But sometimes full gods drop by to check on us or mentor or just... hang out. Susano-o likes to visit because he's really into swords and we have souls of famous swordsmen passing through and—"
"HAHAHAHA!" Susano-o's laughter cut through the explanation like a blade through silk. "I'm here to drop off a friend of mine! A recent arrival to the afterlife who has been VERY eager to watch this particular mortal's journey! Say hello to... MIYAMOTO MUSASHI!"
The divine crowd lost their collective minds.
"MUSASHI?!"
"MIYAMOTO MUSASHI IS WATCHING?!"
"THE Miyamoto Musashi?!"
"Oh my god, this is the best day ever!"
A new voice spoke calm, measured, with the kind of quiet confidence that didn't need to shout to be heard. He said something in Japanese, the words flowing with a rhythm that suggested centuries of discipline and practice.
"What did he say?" Ruho asked desperately, feeling like he was drowning in divine celebrity appearances.
"He said, 'I hear there is talk about my greatest rival,'" Azirel translated, his own voice awed. "Ruho, you are currently being watched by Miyamoto Musashi. THE Miyamoto Musashi. The greatest swordsman in Japanese history. The man who won over sixty duels and never lost. The author of The Book of Five Rings. He's—"
"I don't care who he is!" Ruho interrupted, his voice rising with panic. "Why are all these famous people watching me?! I'm nobody! I'm just a guy who died jerking off and got dropped into a nightmare world! I don't want to be watched by legendary swordsmen and actual gods!"
And then another voice joined the conversation. This one was different from Musashi's lighter, almost playful, but with an underlying current of something sharp and focused. Another string of Japanese that Ruho couldn't understand.
"That's Sasaki Kojirō," Azirel breathed. "He just said, 'Musashi, old friend, it has been too long since we crossed blades in the realm beyond.'"
The two legendary swordsmen began speaking to each other in rapid Japanese, their voices overlapping with what sounded like genuine joy and camaraderie. They were laughing, reminiscing, apparently delighted to be in each other's presence again.
"Wait," Ruho said, trying to process this. "I thought they were enemies? I thought they killed each other or something?"
"Kojirō died in their duel, yes," Azirel explained. "But that was like, four hundred years ago. They've had centuries in the afterlife to get over it. Now they're basically best friends. They spar together, they mentor younger souls, they—"
"I DON'T CARE!" Ruho screamed, his grip tightening on his short sword. "I don't care about legendary rivalries or centuries-old friendships or who's best friends with who in the afterlife! I have a DEAD CROCODILE on my plateau that's going to attract every predator on this island and I need to butcher it before I STARVE TO DEATH!"
The divine voices went quiet.
"Also," Ruho continued, his voice shaking, "I am being watched by what sounds like half of Japanese mythology and some of the greatest warriors in history while I'm standing here in torn cargo pants with no underwear, covered in dried mud and blood, holding a sword I don't know how to use, about to attempt amateur butchery on a prehistoric monster. This is literally the most embarrassing moment of my entire existence, including the part where I DIED MID-MASTURBATION!"
More silence.
Then Susano-o's laughter boomed out again, but this time it was warm, almost fond. "I like this one! He's got spirit!"
"He's got something," Musashi's translated voice said, amusement clear in his tone.
"Give him time," Kojirō's translated voice added. "We all started as fumbling novices once."
"I'm leaving!" Ruho announced, already turning toward the door. "I'm taking this sword, I'm going outside, I'm cutting up a dead crocodile, and you can all watch or not watch or provide commentary or whatever! I don't care anymore! My dignity died when I did!"
He stormed out of the armory, the short sword gripped in his hand, his face burning with embarrassment. Behind him, he could hear the divine voices starting up again—speculation about his technique, bets on how long the butchering would take, someone suggesting they should start a "Ruho Survival Betting Pool."
He climbed the stairs back up to the entrance hall, then out the heavy wooden door, emerging onto the plateau where the corpse of the Gigantosuchus lay in a rapidly expanding pool of blood.
The sun was high in the sky now. The two moons were barely visible as pale crescents. And somewhere in the divine realm, he was being watched by gods and legendary warriors while he prepared to hack apart a monster with all the expertise of someone who'd learned butchery from anime and absolutely nowhere else.
"This is fine," Ruho muttered to himself, approaching the massive corpse. "Everything is fine. I'm fine."
His stomach growled, reminding him that philosophical acceptance of his situation wouldn't fill his empty belly.
He raised the short sword, looked at the armored scales of the dead Gigantosuchus, and wondered where exactly one was supposed to start when butchering a hundred-foot crocodile.
"Okay," he said to his divine audience. "Let's do this."