V S M The Udon Incident

Miyamoto Musashi

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A figure sank to its knees in the distance, a sword grasped tight in their hand. The sword, coincidentally, was driven straight through a clearly armour-clad silhouette. Just as a spear had been driven through the figures chest, and now protruded from their back in the ugliest of fashions.

This bloody hill, littered with corpses and swords alike, was Caml…

Nope, nope. NNNNOPE. Neeeeeeeeeext.

---------------------------------------------------------

A tall figure stood against a landscape of fire and tarnation, a pair of swords held in hand. Their gaze was clearly pointed into the distance. Should one look into the distance, they could see a fast approaching army, their contraptions of war ready to unleash further death and damnation into the world.

“I am the bone of my sword.

Steel is my body, and fire is my…”


NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEXT.

---------------------------------------------------------

“Witch!” screamed the people, as a lone maiden, shackled, walked towards a pyre.

You don’t get it. You just don’t get it, do you?

No. Just no. This has all been done. Something new. New.

Try something new.


------------------------------------------------------------

Udon. Udon is new. I think. Is it?

How could an ancient dish like udon, be oh so new?

Well, allow me to spin you the tale of the Udon Incident.

There once was a swordsman, who adored udon.

What is udon, you ask?

Why udon, is quite simply a type of noodle. But don’t let her hear you say that.

An udon noodle is no regular noodle. Not to her. The thick wheat flour based noodles, that udon constitutes of, is the absolute peak of cuisine. One could even argue that the udon noodle is the noodle that has surpassed the ramen noodles.

If we were to think of both of the pasta-like strings as swords, it could be said that the ramen noodle has reached the peak of One. The ultimate, peerless noodle existence for that One purpose. The blade of one Shinmen Munisai. Her father. That was the ramen noodle.

The Udon noodle? In her eyes, the udon noodle had far surpassed the Way of One, and stepped into the realm of Zero. The noodle that was bound by no single purpose. That was her, Miyamoto Musashi. Or, it would be! She would be the udon noodle! She would surpass her father’s One, she would show that shitty old crow what he discarded.

With an exasperated sigh, Miyamoto Musashi jabbed her chopsticks deep into the steaming bowl of Udon noodles in front of her.

Someday, she would be the udon noodle.
 

Miyamoto Musashi

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Sake!” the girl called out to the chef whom was hustling beyond the counter, straining udon with skilled, swift movements, before pouring it into a bowl. Moments after, a lidless, pearly white bottle slid across the counter and skid to a halt with a ‘clink’. Next to it, sat another bottle, this one clearly devoured of its contents. And beyond the pair of bottles, an empty bowl resided. It represented the ruins of the Udon-kind, their once glorious civilization ended in mere moments by the worst catastrophe known to them.

A hungry ronin.

So began the Udon Incident. With good food and a decent bit of alcohol. After all, no good story ever began without udon noodles.

I could tell you all about this udon-loving, sake guzzling woman. But I’m sure watching her own endeavors shall describe them better than my tale ever could.

The skin of her pale cheeks flushed ever so slightly as she brought up the guinomi, a shot-glass like cup made with the consumption of sake in mind, to her lips. With a swift jerk, her head shot backwards as the cup followed in motion, discharging its contents and storing them within the glutton ronin.

“Aaaaahhhh~” she breathed out as she slammed the cup upon the counter, abusing the poor clay dish in the process. But, even as her fingers left the sides of the cup, her treacherous hands were already refilling the cup without any conscious effort on the girls part.

That shitty Shinmen”, the girl muttered in her alcohol addled mind, “ditching me to live in the streets.“ all the while her body enacted further betrayal, the next cup reinventing its liquid contents for her to further imperil herself on.

You’re no son of mine!” he had said. What a damn genius, you were, old man. I’m a girl! “Doesn’t mean I’m any less than you with a blade though!” she blurted aloud as her fist slammed to the counter, arousing confused looks from the co-patrons of the udon establishment and a rather disapproving gaze from the chef.

And then the film cut.
 

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“Oi! Hat girl! ‘tis your money or your life!” came a voice from the bushes as a figure stepped onto the road. “Yar sword ain’t no good against Shou the mighty Vagamond… bond! Vagabond!”

The wide brimmed straw hat swaying along with the movements of head made the previously udon obsessed woman look like a rather confusing sight.

With an incessant giggle, the swordsman's gaunt ground to a halt, her breath reeking of alcohol and body language singing the tones of drunkenness as she swayed from one side to another, her left hand lowering down to the saya, - the decorative sheath of a sword.

“Ooppsie… Nooot…you.” she noted as her hand left the position, and came to rest a bit higher, on the saya of another sword. Her thumb slowly extended, wiggling a little as it placed itself upon the guard of the sword, pushing the tsuba just a little.
A small clink could be heard as the blade released and pushed just a bit forward from its sheath. A fight was alright. ...right?

“Okay Mussss….asshi, time to be the udon noodle now…” the ronin slurred ever so slightly as her step faltered just ever so slightly. Maybe the thir….fiffffth bottle of sake had been a bit muchhh…?

“OI oi oi! You sure you wanna fight, hat gal? Ya drunk! Just gimme yar money and we’ll be done with!”

The drunkard on the other hand, drew her sword - waggling it threateningly toward the vaga...mond? “Listen vagamnod! I know mhyy swords! This khaatana here shall cuut you down, you hearrr mhee?!”

“T-that’s clearly a wakizashi, though.” Honestly. Would he really stoop this low? Shou the Mighty Vagabond, might’ve been a vagabond, but a sucker for pretty girls at that. This girl, while pretty, clearly had nothing else going for her. The swords were for show, she couldn’t even tell them apart from one another. He couldn’t hurt a drunk, pretty girl like that. He might’ve been a vagamond...bond… but he had a code!
“Look just...go to the city that way, okay!” Shou screeched, waggling his finger back toward the direction where the slattern had come from, before he stepped out of the moonlight that was breaking through the forest cover, swallowed by the darkness.

The ever-smiling drunkard on the other hand triumphed in her victory, sheathing her sword with impeccable drunken technique.

Even through the drunken haze, the nagging, harsh voice of her instructor in the past rang through her head as she performed the technique known as noto.

“You see in a proper noto, a sheathing of one's blade, there are several steps to be taken. First one would grasp the end of the saya, their sheath with their free hand, creating a hole before the sheath’s mouth, to guide the blade in. This hole, is known as a koiguchi.​
Then, the blade’s flat end was placed upon the inner joint of one's left elbow, in line with the bones of the arm. The blade is then drawn forward until the tip of the blade falls into the koiguchi. The sword is then pushed downward into the sheath, until the guard, tsuba, hits your fingers holding the saya. Then, your thumb is brought up and placed onto the tsuba, and pulls the blade into place.”​
Eeeennnooooough!” the girl cried out to the voice in her head, giving her a lecture on techniques she’d mastered years ago. She didn’t need a reminder, neither did anyone else.

“Victoryyy~!” she giggled merrily as she spun on her heels and sauntered off toward the city, her hat swaying in the warm night wind.

After all, the greatest victory is that which requires no battle.
 

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A string of copper coins, a zenisashi, was laid on the countertop. Behind the counter stood a refined hag, her scrutinizing eyes going over the hole-punched currency.

“Ya don’t have the coin, girl. The room’s three hundred yen a night. Ye barely have a hundred. Food’s included.”

You see the problem with that string of coins was a simple one. It had an over abundance of string and much too few coins to it.

With a shift in perspective the camera swung to our hero, downtrodden on her luck. Her stomach full of udon and head swimming in sake but her coin string empty of coin.

“Surely you said thirty!” the girl retorted as her eyes lazily shifted towards the zenisashi. It would manifest more coins any moment now. She was sure of it.

“The room’s three hundred yen a night. Discounts given only ta the Shogun’s men ‘n nobles guests.” the crone cawed back at her from the other side of the counter as the winds of change refused to blow in the ronin’s favour.

The zenisashi seemed to remain as empty as before, with no coins magically bolstering her wealth either. She was at a loss. Where’d all her coin gone?! Had Shou the Vagamondest of vagabonds snatched her wealth after all?! "Stupid. Stupidstupidstupid." Musashi muttered in the privacy of her mind.

“Mmmouuuu…..” the girl groaned aloud. “Lady, can’t you just make an exception for toniiiight~? I’ll pay you tomorroooow~!”

With a cat’s grace and a swallow’s swiftness,a broom swung toward the red and blue clad swordsman. Swaying backward the ronin narrowly avoided the weaponized cleaning utensil, her shallow string of coins forgotten upon the counter.

“All ye ronin the same, all ye! Out! Ouuuuut you penniless haggard!!!” the hag howled, already halfway around the counter, all the while the cockroach of a swordsman was scurrying towards the door, intent on living another day.

Damn. The coins. But she dared not die at the wrath of a broom-wielding hag tonight, her feet slipping upon the freshly waxed floor as she skedaddled past the sliding door with great drunken effort. But thanks to her care, no property damages were incurred at the very least! Hooray! Think of the tiny victories.

“‘n don’t come back before ye have coin, slattern!” echoed in the night behind her as the swordsman’s pace finally calmed and came to a halt.

This had been a ryokan, a type of inn. One where you could sleep and bathe, in exchange for money.

All the while atop another counter, somewhere amidst bottles of sake and devoured bowls of udon, a zenisashi brimming with coin lay, forgotten by its owner and gladly accepted as an egregiously high a payment for the chef's services.
 

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The sun, ever inconsiderate of others had taken its accustomed road up to the apex of the sky. Specifically today, it was inconsiderate of one hungover ronin, to whom no amount of sandogasas would be of help. The wide brimmed strawhat seated atop her head simply wasn’t enough to shield the orange devil’s brightness from illuminating all that surrounded her, and irritating her eyes that way, even if it was indirectly.

The morning after was definitely, definitely the worst.

Tucked away in some alleyway or another, the girl had buried her head in her knees, hoping that if she stayed still enough, the god awful feeling brewing within her entire being might stop taking notice of her and kindly take its leave.

And while she sat so, her stomach voiced its protests for the lack of udon it’d been provided during this forsaken morning. But of course, given her penniless state, that was hardly something she could fix anymore.

Pressing her hands onto her knees, Musashi slowly stood up with an exasperated sigh. “Mnyehhhh… I should do something about this sorry state of mine.” In the back of her head, a voice raised protest ‘What would Munisai think if he saw you like thhiiiiiiiiiiiii….’, as swiftly as the weed had sprouted, it was torched along with the entire field surrounding it, as the ronin tutted to herself.

“To hell with what that old crow would think.” she muttered, knowing full well that the weed had already found its answer regardless of how fast she’d pruned it.

Dusting off the red shoulder cloths of her attire, her hands moved to pat across off the blue fabric of her tunic. Afterwards, she moved on to straightening the flower patterned obi wrapped around her abdomen, before tugging on the half-skirt that hung from it to make certain that any unbecoming wrinkles were squandered from the get go. Her attire all in all was quite reminiscent of a kimono that’d been fashioned with combat in mind, with armor protecting her wrists, shoulders and shins and feet.

“...I guess it’s time to find another job then.” she muttered to herself, peeking toward the bustling streets of Shimosa, and set her heading to face another day, despite the fleet of carpenters that had settled between her ears, banging and clanging away without remorse.
 

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“Have a sword and a whit of skill? Calling any, calling all! Report to the Shinsengumi hall!” cried the town crier as they made their way through the streets of Shimosa. The outer city’s main road was bustling with life, as the hungover ronin cut her way through the crowd.

Weaving through the all-way traffic of the street, it took her a moment to reach the slowly progressing town-crier who still hollered his today’s announcements. In an effort to stop the man, her hand reached forward and was placed on their shoulder. This of course, granted her his attention, even if as he spun in place and took note of her attire and swords, his expression turned sour. But that’d have to do.

She was more than used to being treated as trash for her ronin status. Not that she’d ever done much to deserve it. She’d been ostracized by her father, so what choice had there been for her anyway?

“This Shinsengumi hall, which way?” she croaked, her throat drier than what she’d expected. Honestly, the town crier wasn’t a bad looking guy. In his early twenties judging by his face - which was plenty pretty. If only it wasn’t soured by such an ugly expression of open disgust.

“Well, Ronin, not that your sword is worth mumppphh!!” With the derogatory remark the girl’s eyes rolled, a tired expression flashing across her visage. Mercilessly her hand shot forward, two fingers pinching his lips together.

“Look. You have your job to do. I have my sword to sell.” Her usually cheery eyes were devoid of warmth as she gazed upon the squirming, sweating husk of a pretty boy.

Where?” she pronounced, releasing his lips from her grasp as the boy staggered backwards, his previously closed lips now all too happy to divulge an answer without any quips or remarks. “Th-the uh! D-down the street and to the w-west!! Outer city west di-district! C-can’t miss it!” Even as he yammered, his finger pointed somewhere past the ronin, before he turned tail. Of course, the boy scampered into the crowd faster than his legs could carry, but that was enough.

She might’ve been a Ronin, but she had her pride. And that was something none would trample, as long as her blade retained its sharpness.

With that, the ronin spun on her heels and headed down the main street.

Honestly, she had no clue which direction west was from her current heading. The sun, still ever inconsiderate of others, continued to sit directly above the city and in doing so giving the woman no hints as to the direction she was headed.

Buuuut if the building was so unmissable as he had claimed, she’d find her way there eventually. At worst, she’d just have to ask someone else. At least if she still had a voice then. Oh what she would do for a cold drink.

Or food.

Or lodging.

Or a fight.

Man, new worlds were a pain. At least if you were a penniless ronin of no particular origin, didn’t know the land based on sight and the places themselves hardly bore resemblance to anything you’d seen before.

I mean… She’d had an origin. Once. But given her world had ceased existing long ago and she was just flitting between one world and the next, from this time to the next and sometimes to the previous… Well, she couldn’t exactly bank on having reliable contacts and trustworthy allies.

Or a place to return to.

What she could count on, were her blades and herself. The skill she had cultivated in pursuit of Zero, the sword that could be put to any purpose, to surpass that shitty old crow’s One. She felt confident in her abilities with the sword, having followed the Way of the sword as long as she had.

Those were the two constants of life. Herself, and her blades. Everything else was subject to change.

And those two constants? They would soon be put to use once more.
 

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The wide main street of Shimosa’s Outer City was lined with shops of all kinds, from food and drink to lodging and craftsmen peddling their wares. Each working their hardest to attract new customers flush with coin to hopefully make a sell and be that much closer to feeding their families today and tomorrow.

Somewhere further away from that clamor, a red and blue clad ronin was making their way through the west district. Apparently, the Shinsengumi Hall was the largest building here, and along the street that joined the district to the main street, so she wasn’t particularly worried about getting lost.

Honestly, if there was anything to be worried by, it wasn’t finding the place. It was the kind of reception she would receive, that worried her. Going from the crier’s response to me, this town isn’t too happy with Ronin… And even then, just whether she would be given the job or not. As much as she hated to admit it, she did need money to… well, to everything. Her throat stung at the thought of water as the construction work in her head refused to cease. As if to add to the chorus, a loud gurgle rang across the empty street as her stomach announced its presence.

Gesturing wildly at the variety of needs, all of them ignored and unfulfilled, the swordsman spotted her target. The property was surrounded by walls as expected. Through those walls went a single large archway, with a plate that read “Shinsengumi” hammered onto the right side of it.

Looking at the archway, it had a gate which was currently open, its doors swung wide open to allow entry any and all who dared walk past.

“‘ve come this far. No sense turning back now.” the ronin thought wryly as she fixed the sandogasa on her head into a proper position, realigned the swords stowed in her sash and took a step forward. It wouldn’t do her any favours here to seem desperate for the job. Honestly, it was the one surefire way to not get it.

As one stepped beneath and through the archway, before them opened a large courtyard. From the back, greeted several buildings of varying sizes. Instinctively, she headed toward the largest doors at the back. There was little reason to expect any of the others would be relevant. But, before any more thorough an assessment of the structures could be made, a call rang across the courtyard.

Halt!” A single word, simple enough of an order for her to follow as Musashi came to a standstill from her stride, looking at the two guards abandoning their posts to come and investigate this intruder. “State your business!” was the next demand placed upon her.

A tad bossy, aren’t they? And not even all that cute. How dull. The girl noted in her head as she knew better than to not comply. “I heard from the town crier that you’re looking for a sword-for-hire and that any interested should come here.” she answered, her tone mild mannered. Although she was immediately backstabbed by her parched vocal cords, her voice coming out coarse and rough. Oh well. It couldn’t be helped, so there was little reason to worry over it.

Looking at one another, the expressions on the faces of said guards was annoyed to say the least. Lower tier trash like ronin coming to take the job, instead of one of the honourable Samurai of the city? Utter rubbish. “To reception with ye.” one of them finally noted, pointing at a small building to the side closest to the gate out of the lot of them. The reception building was not connected to any of the others in any way, clearly made to be its own thing so that one couldn’t intrude into the others from there.

The swordsman nodded as she turned on her heels toward the office building and its sliding doors. Moments later she stood outside the sliding door, her fingers rapping against the wooden frame of the door. She knew not whether one was supposed to simply enter, so erring on the side of caution she decided to make her presence known first.

Heartbeat or two later, a female voice rang from the other side. “Come in.”

And so, the ronin began to slide the door open.
 
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Miyamoto Musashi

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The door revealed a young woman sitting in a seiza behind a small desk. Taking a look at the desk, it had ----

“Take a seat.” the woman interrupted the ronin’s train of thought without any waste of time, making a gesture towards the other side of the small desk. Musashi took a step inside, closing the sliding door behind herself, before she lowered herself from one knee to both, and then sat atop her legs, as one would.

--- a large ledger, as well as a --- “You’re here for the town crier’s advertisement, yes?” the lady interrupted her immediately once more, taking hold of one of the strings between the plethora of pages, before lifting it and turning a tremendous amount of pages in one go.

“Yes, I -” the ronin began, by now ever so slightly irked by the woman’s interruptive nature. And as soon as she thought it, her sentence was foiled once more. “Your mission is to head towards the mountains. A band of bandits has secured themselves a hideout there, your mission is to take them out.” the interrupter droned, stopping for a moment. “They’re holed in the lower regions of the mountains. The demons above that, are too strong for them.” she noted.

Musashi opened her mouth to speak, only for the woman to interrupt her before she’d even began. “Due to the fact that you’ll be working alone against the lot of them, your reward is four thousand yen.” The woman’s hands quickly uncapped an ink bottle, dipping a brush in it before she continued. “Your name?”

Musashi stared at the lady and her ledger for a moment dumbfounded, before she found her tongue moving once more. “Miyamoto Musashi.” she noted.

Swish, swip, swash. It took the woman no time to write her name down next to the request. “Report back once the mission is accomplished.” She paused for a moment, giving the ronin a disapproving glare, a glint in her eye telling she’d seen her kind before.

“You’re expected to prove your accomplishment.” were the only words she gave, before shooing the swordsman before her. “Off you go now! Shoo, out!” she noted, even as Musashi slowly stood up, slid the sliding door open, stepped out, and closed the door behind her.

What the hell just happened?
 

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Still reeling from the shock after being completely ran over by that rickshaw of an accountant, the ronin stared forward, her gaze distant and barely present.

The hell had just happened?!

Snapping back to reality, the swordsman's eyes focused once more as the mental damage suffered slowly recovered. Heading toward the gate, she set to ignore her still screaming stomach and parched throat. Hopefully she’d find something to eat and drink - preferably something that didn’t wish to place it’s grabby hands on her non-existent finances - out in the wilderness.

While she had no particular worries about the bandit encampment, it’d do her no good to fight in an utterly subpar condition. Regardless, she would have to head out right away, before the lack of nourishment started to affect her too much. If it were to go on untreated for too long, it wouldn’t matter whether the ruffians numbered a thousand, or a single one.

Oh what she would’ve done for a bowl of udon. Honestly? At this point even ramen would do, or any food. She would’ve killed for a carrot at this point.

Hm.” slowly her eyes drifted toward the tsuka of her sword, her hand slowly reaching to place itself upon the handle for the blade to be drawn.

Tch.” Musashi exhaled in distaste, slapping the back of her right hand with her left. As if she was going to harm those less fortunate than herself, for mere food and drink. Such pathetic actions were against her code and the mere thought of it filled her with resentment toward herself.

Amidst her thoughts the girl walked out of the west district and joined back onto the jostle of the main street. Heading toward the outer city’s exit, her destination was clear. The sooner she got out of there, the sooner she could look into finding the nearest bush lush with berries and devour that, or stumble onto a small stream of fresh water to ease her thirst with.

Honestly, at this point she’d eat a goddamn pinecone, if it promised her relief from the hollow sensation within her core. Maybe the ronin could eat the strawhat on her head for immediate results, hm? She could almost hear the sandogasa on her head crying for help from its hatkind, each seated atop heads of the passersby, to come and save them from this glutton of a ronin. It wanted to live on, as a proud traveling hat!

Among the wide mainstreet, there were many kinds of shops, from food to merchandise and clothing. Any and all peddling their wares and services for any prospective customers, putting their best foot forward to find that magical button of consumerism to gain purchase within the customer’s heart.

The girl's eyes stealing glances from the variety of food carts and stalls lining the roads, Musashi forced herself as best she could to stare forward. Of course, naught prepared her against the onslaught of scents and fragrances.

The aroma of grilling meat, the fragrance of freshly boiled noodles casting their allure over her as her breath quickened, chest heaving as she forced her way forward through the crowd.

Don’t stop. Can’t stop. Keep walking. Just keep walking. The hyena thought as her legs by now wobbled from the tantalising aromas wafting from all sides. Honestly, it made her knees weak, arms spaghetti.

Food. Food. FoodfoodfoodfoodfoodfoodfoodfoodFOOD. She wanted to eat sooooooo badly. And then it was gone. As soon as it had come, it was taken away, stolen from her by the gust of wind as she stepped through the entrance to the city.

“Mmmooouuuuu…” Musashi groaned in defeat as her stomach growled in desire. Her knees wobbling, she steeled herself to take but a few more steps away from the gate. She couldn’t turn back. She shouldn’t turn back. But by kami did she want to. Slowly, she brought a hand to wipe off the driblets of saliva that had drooled there unconsciously throughout the battle, wiping her chin clean in a swift motion of her thumb.

Meanwhile, the sandogasa on her head would’ve celebrated its triumph, a true horror story. It was still alive, to serve its purpose as the best of travel hats, for yet another journey.
 

Miyamoto Musashi

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Despite her stomach’s protests, Musashi’s feet kept plodding one before the other, smushing blades of grass beneath her armoured shoes. Currently, she was following the outer city wall, beelining towards the mountains. After all, Shimosa was built into a mountain pass. While the city walls surrounded the inner and outer cities, as well as the palatial district, the true protection was offered by the mountains, which surrounded the palatial district from behind and sides, and continuing to embrace the inner city on both sides.

Despite their earthly protection, the palatial district and inner city alike were still fortified by walls. This was because the Shiraishi mountains were rife with yokai, demons that in their multitude of numbers posed a threat, should they ever descend upon the city. This much the ronin knew.
The outer city, built out of the embrace of the mountains, had walls surrounding it on all sides, which made following them the ideal way to arrive at the foot of the mountain.

Realistically, the Shiraishi mountain range was large enough, that the ronin could spend ages searching and come up empty handed. Thus, she was relying on little more than luck to deliver her to the bandits. Hopefully fortune would smile upon her today, although her stomach had its doubts.

Sinking back into her ponders as her legs kept working, if only to distract her from the void in her belly, the swordsman meditated on the peculiar comment made by the Shinsengumi clerk.

‘They’re holed in the lower regions of the mountains. The demons above that, are too strong for them.’ Did this mean that the higher one went up the mountains, the stronger yokai they would encounter? So to prove one’s strength, they should ascend all the way to the tip of the Shiraishi mountains?

“He...hehe~!” the girl giggled, a stupid grin spreading across her face as she knew just how to train her skills, honing her abilities further. Facing whatever horrors that mountain would throw at her, regardless of the height and danger, would most certainly aid her in her quest to reach the mental state of Zero.

A blade, which could be applied to any purpose. A blade, that would cut anything. The ultimate mental state, surpassing that of One, the blade that had a single purpose. For that, she still had much to learn, she admitted. But she would surpass her father. Even if it were the last thing she did.

The air surrounding her was quickly turning earthy, the winds blowing from the mountains carrying the variety of scents of a mountain forest to her nose. At the forefront of the attack, a cavalry unit of pines, followed by the infantry unit of moist soil, and finally supported by an volley of archery fire from the various flora and fauna that lived there.

It was a good scent, pleasant and homely. And while she was most certainly a city-girl, she was also a traveler, tried and true.

And travelers like her, who never stayed in one place, or one world for long, had nothing to call their home, but the ever present and compassionate nature.
 
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Miyamoto Musashi

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Besieged by the city walls on one side and rice fields on the other, the ronin continued to walk. By now she wanted nothing more than to stop and take a break, as the afternoon sun scorched down upon her. But the problem with was a rather simple one.

She had nothing to take a break with. No flask to drink from, no onigiri to snack on. At best she could take a seat and rest her by now starving body, only further contributing to her malnourished state’s advance.

Her best bet for now, was to reach the foot of the mountain and ascend into the forest in hopes of finding something remotely edible, and maybe a happy little mountain stream that she could sink her face into, for the first drink of today’s.

A sad state of existence, it was. Her stomach grumbled in agreement, remembering the udon’s of eons past, her tongue tasting flavours that had long since turned to ash. Honestly, she was in a way dreading the pinecones to come. Knowing if she had nothing better, she’d be forced to resort to desperate measures, each one less edible than the one that came before.

-------------------------

The foot of the mountain basked in the afternoon sun, its greens vibrant and some of the light still leaking through to illuminate the forest within. From there, Musashi could quickly make out that the ascent was fairly mild. The forest, while most certainly thick, did not seem obnoxious to navigate in, still providing enough space that one could move within without too much effort. There seemed to be no path up the mountain here, nor anything indicating that anyone would’ve passed through from this close to the city.

Torchless, foodless, waterless, mapless and shelterless, she knew better than to just head up the mountain from here. It made little sense and only served to increase her chances of getting lost up the unfamiliar territory. As such, she resolved to walk along the edge of the mountain forest, to see if a path snaking its way up Shiraishi would reveal itself.

Musashi, while most certainly a traveler, was far from a hunter. And to add to that, she was no local. As such, it would serve her well to stick to whatever signs of civilization that mountain held.

“Mmmooouuuu…” she moaned, her song given a backtrack by her ever-groaning belly. By now her shoulders had begun to slump and her posture slouch. The hat upon her head making her silhouette look something akin to a forward shambling undead, than a prideful ronin’s gaunt.

Honestly though! She would’ve just waltzed up the mountain! She would’ve toooo! Totally. If only she had really aaaaaaaaaany goddamn supplies of any kind. But no. Here she was, searching a path up the damn earth nipple, suffering a pandemic of drought, starvation, larceny - because clearly, cleaaaaarly someone had stolen her supplies, rather than she herself never having them in the first place.

By now, the ronin was frustrated by her miserable situation. And by god, you would not like her when she was angry. Of course, for her to fight angry was out of question. It would merely serve to dull her blade and misalign her cut. But, it was perfect training for Zero. After all, the mental state had to be reachable by her, regardless of her previous feelings and emotions, in the situation or before it.

But, she would burn that bridge when she got to it.
 

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The path revealed itself after the hungry Ronin had been trekking for the better part of twenty minutes, almost concealed from her sight by the brushes and shrubbery that had began to overtake it.

“Aha!” she croaked aloud triumphantly, even as she headed toward the small opening. Judging from the fact that it had begun to get overrun by the local flora, the clearly path didn’t see much use and as such would’ve preserved any recent tracks for the hired sword to find.

Too damn bad that there weren’t any.

“Mmmooouuuu…” she groaned aloud, pushing past the shrubbery onto the tiny, ill trodden path. “Ow!” It only took a few steps for something to already nag at her ankles, the sunless, ill-leaved branches finding their way past her clothes, tearing through and jabbing at her skin.

This would be one of those days, wouldn’t it? Musashi could already see the bill that fixing her clothes alone would rack. Honestly, it made her contemplate whether the whole gig was even worth it.

But, she had her pride. She’d taken the job and she would see it through, sword in hand, with or without her clothes. It’s not like she needed her clothes to cut down bandits, just her swords. That being said, where the hell would she even find them? It wasn’t like the mountains were some tiny anthill that she could scour thoroughly in a day or so.

Honestly, her only luck in the matter was that they were said to be holed in on the lower regions of the mountains. And given they’d want to raid the incoming and outgoing traffic from Shimosa, as well as the farmlands nearest to the mountains, they’d most likely be situated somewhere in these lands, nearby to the targets themselves.

It made logistical and strategic sense. It’s how she - if she’d ever stoop to such pathetic acts - would’ve arranged the situation. Of course there were more factors, such as your victim’s willingness to organise a counter attack, that one would have to take into account when contemplating the place a brigand would hole in.

But in all honesty, the starving girl knew that they wouldn’t have some genius strategist at the helm. Just some vagabond that garnered more respect than the rest, for one reason or the other. She’d seen it before more times than she could count. The true fearsome vagabonds didn’t raid defenseless farmers and ill protected caravans. They raided much more valuable targets. Kidnapping princesses, subjugating entire towns, the most fearsome of them taking down even cities.

“Aya!” A particularly nasty branch dug into her calf, snapping her back into reality from her thoughts. It hadn’t drawn blood, but it’d left her skin raw and leg aching. What a nuisance this damn forest was.

But, all was not lost! For as the bloodhound glanced down toward her leg, a small ocean of blue specks caught her attention. Blue berries! The lunch of gods! Without wasting a second, the starved ronin dropped to one knee, both hands nimbly snatching berries after berries from the few bushes there were, stuffing her face with them mercilessly.

It may not have been as good as udon, but it sure as hell beat pinecones.
 

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The blueberry bush devoid of its berries, cruelly mugged by one starved ronin now sat there in the shade of the mountain forest. The robber, happy with her heist had since left, now pushing further into the forest, eyes closely tracking the path ahead. Before each step, scanning whether she would be stepping into tracks left by others, all the while her eyes sought for any kind of side paths or deviations.

“Drat.” she muttered to herself quietly. It seemed that wherever the brigands holed up, the way there wasn’t connected to this path. At least not in the immediate vicinity near the first portion of the mountain trail. But then again, that would’ve been too easy.

Far too easy.

The problem the ronin faced was simple. With her own two feet, there was only so much ground she could cover - only so many directions she could search. There had to have been a way to navigate the forest to arrive at her destination, but she didn’t know the markers they used. She wasn’t in on their secrets.

In short, she was shit out of luck.

And left without option, she simply continued pushing forward up the path. Moving her focus from just the path ahead of her, to the trees surrounding her, searching for the odd marked tree trunk out of the bunch, or really anything that would’ve given her the advantage here.

But even then, nothing came. No advantage, no hint, no helpful intervention from above. Just trees, shrubbery, a tiny trailing path up the mountain, a blueberry bush devoid of blueberries somewhere along the line, and one dissatisfied, still hungry ronin.

Sighing quietly, the woman decided to take a few steps off the beaten path, and after twenty something steps off the beaten path, she glanced in its direction, where she could no longer see it, hidden from view by the shrubbery and the like.


“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOI!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, her already parched throat crying for mercy as she exerted her voice and sent it echoing across the woods.

“HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!” she continued her yells. “SOOOOOOOOMEONE HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!”

A cowardly strategy for certain, but not above her methods. After all, if Musashi couldn’t find trouble, maybe the trouble could find her instead.

And so, the ronin continued screeching at the top of her longs in the midst of a forest, hoping for the fact that since her voice rang ever feminine and pretty, it’d lure a leech or two out of hiding.
 

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The ronin stood silent amongst the forest, her howling to the void on a hold as she rested her poor vocals. Honestly, it was among her worse ideas, all things considered. But at least it was an idea! There were no bad ideas, just bad end results. And as long as she had control over herself, she had control over the situation.

Fvip! “Ow!” slapping the back of her neck, the ronin’s fingers found what wasn’t the insect she’d intended to slap, but rather a dart that stuck out like a sore thumb on the back of her neck.

“Oh nnn….” she thought as she pulled the dart free of her flesh, simultaneously tumbling into the forest shrubbery, the light disappearing from her eyes leaving naught but a blank stare behind.

------

From the forest shadows, Shou the Vagamondest of vagabonds watched as the brightly clad girl went down, crashing limply into the bushes. the girl landed with an audible thud, accompanied by percussion melodies of some rather nasty cracks.

Hopefully, those had been branches rather than bones. Regardless, the girl that went down offered no audible protest. Not that anyone ever did, once dosed with one of those darts. Benefits of sourcing your poisons from...reputable sources, he thought to himself as she finally stepped forward from the forest shade. From all corners of the forest, figures appeared as if on cue, even as they all approached the fallen.

Of course, the fallen herself was utterly unaware of any of this, even as the vagabonds reached her newly dead corpse. With the toe of his boot, Shou flipped the girl around, turning the face planted woman into a backlaying one for easier inspection.

“Oh for god’s sake…” he uttered a curse beneath his breath as he saw the branch-bruised woman before her. “Not this bitch again…” he continued, before looking at the five or so other figures surrounding the woman. “Can’t say I didn’t warn ya… Okay boys! Take ‘er swords ‘n haul ‘er to the hideout!” he commanded, his voice booming with authority over the surrounding men. “‘n boys! Remember, no traces of ‘er, nor us!” he finished. The brigands worked fast, the woman relieved of her weaponry faster than expected, even as the swords made their way to Shou, who stowed them on his waist, through his obi.

Even just a cursory glance at the saya’s they were sheathed in, revealed that they were quality steel, far above the level the brigands themselves used. Whatever they did hanging from the waist of a girl who couldn’t even tell them apart from one another, Shou didn’t know. Hell, the slattern could at best waggle them vaguely in their opponent’s direction to begin with!

Damn high-borne and their money. Living rich and comfortable lives off the backs of those less fortunate! They’d pay. She’d pay! She’d make them just as much money, as her kind had made off of them! And, if no one wanted to buy this bitch? Then she’d just become the hideout bicycle. Regardless of the end result, her future prospects had gone from a bright summer day in a gentle summer breeze, to a pitch black, sunless torrent of hail and snow, in a matter of mere five minutes.

A vicious grin spread across the villain’s face. Yes, no mercy would be shown, nor quarter given. He might’ve given her the leeway to escape once, but Shou did not believe in second chances. Her upcoming misfortune was entirely her own doing.

And as such, the brigands disappeared as they had come - without warning and without sound - now with one unconscious body of a ronin in tow.

----

Well. FUCK!
 
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“Hurry up, folks.” ushered Shou as he eyed cautiously around himself. The sun was setting - and even these lower regions of the mountains, the night time was far more dangerous. Yokai prowled even here, and as such, only in their hideout, would they be truly safe.

And while they could handle the lesser yokais without any particular threat to themselves, they were truly afraid of that, which hunted the yokai and man alike. The tale told of a feline whom hunted those of evil nature, her claws and fangs sparing none whose heart was tainted with evil.

In old wives tales, The Huntress of the Mountains prowled the Shiraishi mountains at night, its fur dark as the night itself decorated with a colourful undercoat of orange. Paws as white as snow, the graceful creature stalked the night, thinning down the numbers of the evil hearted.

And so - while Shou had never seen the beast and had merely heard of it in legends - he also respected the demon infested place enough to not have any desire to find out. And so, the ever darkening dusk basking the mountain side in its orange hues as the light waned, tightened his nerves.

The unconscious ronin was carried by two of the brigands, each holding a pair of her limbs as they carried her limp body without any carry-aids. Most certainly once she were to wake up, her joints would be sore. But of course, she was blissfully unaware of that for now.

The pack of brigands kept strolling, and the light kept waning as the last rays of sun faded. The forest now dark and gloomy as Shou’s heartbeat quickened. He didn’t like this place at night - he never had. The only reason they holed out here, was because the city-folk didn’t like this place either. As such, as long as they holed out here, they were relatively safe from the long arm of the law.

It may have not liked brigands, but it liked facing monsters and yokai even less.

Thud. “Oi Josuke, carry the bitch.” called back the bandit carrying the unconscious swordsman’s legs. For some reason the fucker had lowered her to the ground and Jotaro was now dragging the goddamn woman, instead of carrying her.

Turning around to face his brother Josuke, the bandit’s face was consumed by a perplexed expression. “Oi Josuke, where the hell did you go t-” Thud.

And so, the ronin now rested unconscious on the forest bed, her captors whisked into the night without a trace. Of course, she remained utterly oblivious to any of the activities taking place around her.

The three remaining men and Shou continued trodding along in the ever-dark forest, shadows playing tricks on their eyes as Shou could’ve sworn they were being watched. The trees had eyes. That bush over there had eyes. That wacky rocky outcrop had eyes. Shou had eyes.

Too fucking bad his eyes were useless in all this darkness. Fucking hell.

Swish.

Shou turned around, swinging his sword as he drew it. “WHO THE FUCK'S THERE?!” he screamed in terror, only to be stared back by the last of the remaining brigands whose chest now had a massive cut across it.

“B-boss?” he asked with confused eyes before he collapsed backwards into the ground, swallowed by the shrubbery. It was most certain that the cut was by now bleeding profusely - and that with Shou’s current mental state, he wouldn’t live to see the sun rise once more.

Hsssssssssssssss…” Shou spun around again, his sword flashing as he cut once more. Only that, there was nothing. He’d cut the air, again. It was better than cutting down his last remaining comrade as he’d done previously.

Where the hell had they all disappeared anyway?

What the fuck was going on?

What the fuck what the fuck whatthefuckwhatthefuck?!

Hsssssssssssssss……….” Shou spun around again, sword turning along him, only that this time, it found purchase.

Clingggg…! “Huh..?” he stared dumbfoundedly at the stub of a sword in front of his eyes, that had apparently clashed into something. Yet there was nothing in front of him.

Or well, there was. A broken sword, that’s what there was.

“SHOW YOURSELF?!” he screamed akin to a little girl, his bravado consumed utterly by the terror that leaked down his inner thighs, staining his hakama and darkening the fabric. “WHO EVER YOU’RE, I’LL CUT YOU DOWN I SWEAR!” he screeched into the darkness, slashing wildly at any and all directions his arms could find.

I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die I don’t want to die i dont want to die idontwanttodieidontwanttodieidontwanttodieidontwanttodieidontwanttodieidontwanttodieidontwanttodie…!

Swat.

Splat!


Shou crashed into the nearby tree, his brains too slow to realise that he was in fact, flying across the dark forest before crashing face first into a tree. With a nasty crunching sound, the slug of a man crumpled and shattered, leaving little behind except what barely resembled a man. A crumpled, crushed, mauled figure with bones pushing through his skin, limbs in most unnatural angles as he slid along the bark and quietly thudded into the forest floor.

------

Our ronin?

Well, after a few hours passed, she’d started to come to. Among the first things she noticed was a rather peculiar thing. Her face was sore - and wet. Oh so wet. From beside her, a gentle purring sound could be heard.

“Nhh…?” she attempted to lift her head, her muscles still disobedient of her commands. As such the best she could manage, was for her head to slump onto one side, staring toward her right side.

And from there, the forest stared back. A giant pair of olive coloured slitted pupils gazed into her own, even as the forest shuddered from the low rumbling purr of the creature. Whatever it was, it was massive.

Whatever it was, it couldn’t be real.

The sights and sounds far too absurd to process, Musashi closed her eyes and drifted back to unconsciousness, her mind calmed by that forest shaking low purr. She could sleep a few hours more and wake up without these hallucinations, she was sure.

I may have killed my own plothook, but I guess you could say that my desire to write it, died along with the cat my family just lost.

As such, I thought to give her a place in Shimosa, doing what she always loved. Hunting worthless vermin.

I hope you enjoyed, dear appreciated reader.
 

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“Kuhhh…” the ronin groaned softly as the morning sun had begun to peek through the forest cover. And just like an archer that never missed its mark, the sun didn’t either. That one damn beam was there, worming its way through the branches and shrubbery to bring a happy morning shine.

Right into Musashi’s eyes.

“Fiive more minutes..” she groaned, her arm coming up to shield herself from that over-eager alarm clock, as her hand pushed through the shrubbery. “Kuh?” The ronin snapped to reality, her fight or flight triggering as her hand pushed past things she expected not to be there.

Scrambling to her legs, the swordsman heaved herself backwards first, before using the slightly built momentum to leap onto her legs even as her eyes opened. Throughout her rising motion, her left hand reached to hold the saya of her katana, right hand seeking to settle itself onto the blade’s handle.

Only that both hands came to grasp naught but air instead. “Whuh?”

Glancing to her side, the befuddled woman found that her beloved swords were nowhere to be found. As such, she was unarmed.

Despite still having her arms.

Glancing around, her hyper-awareness slowly began to pass as her eyes detected no movement. She couldn’t sense any hostile presences surrounding her either. And as such, her mind finally reeled back the film from sleeping, to snapping to this fight or flight response.

Frame by frame, step by step the camera crew rebuilt the film over the past however many hours in her head, from the moment she’d been yelling in the forest for help in hopes of attracting the bandits, to the moment she had actually succeeded in doing so.

“Tch… Cowards.” she muttered quietly. Not that she was any better honestly. But she would’ve loved to fight them. Speaking of which, where the hell were they?

The Kurosawa film studio in her head returned back to work, the movie playing a distinct amount of nothing but blackness. Until finally, there were a few frames of apparent consciousness, a pair of slitted pupils and an earthquake.

So she’d been hallucinating or dreaming, then. And so, the Kurosawa film crew left her head, their job done in reconstructing her memory as she fell into a crouched position, eyeing the forest floor closely.

Her hands reached to push aside the forest’s lush undergrowth as she sought for any hints of what had happened here. Near instantaneously she deciphered the direction they’d arrived here from, and the direction the brigands had been heading toward. Six pairs of tracks, two of them more heavily compressed than the rest.

It’s just that, the tracks ended abruptly where she was dropped. Pushing to the direction they’d been heading, the compressed tracks ended where she’d woken up from. There were also a few feline tracks larger than her own boot, as one expected to find upon sites like thes...

...There were what now?

“...the hell happened here?” she thought aloud even as she continued to follow around the tracks left across the scene.

Following the trail of events from one track to the next, it became evident that the first feline tracks appeared where Musashi herself had been dropped. And as such, it was reasonable to believe that whatever had left them, had taken her carriers, but not her.

But even as she was dropped, the trail continued onward. The forerunners hadn’t been aware of what had come to pass in the rear. And so, further along the ronin turned investigator found her first corpse. A man who’d bled to death, a giant gash across his chest the most evident reason for death.

Upon closer investigation, it was most certainly a cut from a blade. They’d fought one another for whatever reason?

A few steps past the body revealed a set of tracks that indicated how someone had turned around. Judging from how smudged the prints were, they’d merely spun in place. And judging how circular the track had become, they’d shuffled in circles more than once.

So had they accidentally cut down an ally? Had they been hunted like rats, possessed by terror as the predator approached?

Musashi didn’t know. And as such, she could only investigate the immediate surroundings of these two corpses, once more. With enough careful attention paid to the soil and plants, they eventually fed her with an answer. Cracked branches and fallen flora leading her to what could only be described as a red bean paste that’d developed a fashion sense, rather than a man.

It became very quickly evident that whoever it had been, was now little more than a paste with clothes. But still, from that mess of flesh, bones and drained blood still glimmered traces of purplish blue. Picking up a fallen branch, the swordsman turned stickman made her way to the mess, prodding it until she could clearly see what she sought.

A pair of sheath’s, with swords in them. Or well, a sword.

One of them screamed emptiness as the ronin pulled them free. With the aid of nearby leaves, she cleaned the ornate saya’s of most of the blood and grime, before pushing them through her obi and tying them in place with the sageo - a string that hung off the side of the sword's sheath.

Still, this left her one sword short. And she liked her swords in pairs. All nice things came in pairs, after all. As such, she was left to seek for something either glinting akin to steel, or sticking out with purplish blue and golden decorations.

And sure enough near the tree, her missing sword jotted out of the ground, merely the tip of the handle visible above the under shrubbery. Hastily, the swordsman pulled it free, only to discover that it wasn’t exactly her sword.

It was half of her sword. The blade had been cut cleanly in half at the middle. As such, the sword was more akin to her wakizashi in length now, obviously missing the pointy tip. And as such, at least the blade would need to be reforged.

For which she would either need the materials, or the money to buy the materials. And the money to pay a blacksmith. In the end, it all boiled down to the one thing she’d come to this godforsaken mountain forest for, to begin with.

Money.

Groaning softly, the ronin sheathed her newly acquired short-sword, unpleased with its new appearance and lack of length. “I guess I have some bandits left to slay after all.” she muttered to herself quietly, as she turned to return to the corpses.

The bandits would’ve had more than six members, and even after her little close call, she at least now had a solid heading on the hideout. Judging from how their lives had ended, the brigands had been attempting to beeline to their home through the shortest possible route. And as such, the sell(half)sword now had a new heading.

And now that she had a heading? The bandits would soon find themselves without heads.
 

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The ronin’s heading was based on a simple enough logic. Walk into the general direction that her captors had been going. Sooner or later she’d either run into another trap - or stumble upon their hideout. Alternatively, she’d get completely lost and wander in the mountain forest until she starved.

But hey, that wasn’t an option she liked, so she had zero intention of reaching that particular conclusion to her story. Pushing aside the undergrowth as she moved, her leg guards still continued to get scratched, their colour slowly disappearing as it got claimed by the surrounding nature.

Her eyes irritated by the sudden steel-like glint from the forest, the ronin hastily dropped into a crouch, remaining still.

Her natural camouflage of red and purplish blue fabric melded perfectly into the green’s of the forest. As such, the ronin vanished into the undergrowth as aptly as a wine stain did into a white tablecloth.

She stood out like a sore thumb.

But regardless of it, the swordsman crept forward, her eyes still set upon that glint of steel, only momentarily shifting her eyes off of it as she scanned her surroundings. Trees, bushes, moss. Birds sang in her ears, even as her steps were consumed by the soft ground beneath.

Aside that glint? Nothing pointed toward anything malicious. But given her previous encounter with the vermin had poisoned their relationship, blacking out any of the finer details of comradery that could have existed, Musashi was done taking them too lightly.

Each step she crawled, brought her closer. Her hand continuously rested upon the handle of her still intact sword. There was nothing that could’ve caught her off guard, as her senses blanketed the surrounding area, her eyes watched the minute details of the scenery shift, her ears tuned to the way the branches swayed.

And so, as she reached the source of the glinting light, her eyes widened ever so slightly. Her breath caught as she silently watched, prepared. The tension in her muscles priming itself as she slowly stood up, her hands reaching forward.

In front of her eyes, there was half of a sword stuck in the tree, jotting from the bark it had sunk into with evidently little effort.

Honestly, the sight was as blatant as its owner. It was the other half of her broken sword. Out here, some twenty meters from where she’d seen the last of the tracks.

Stuck in a tree.

“What the hell cut you..?” she pondered aloud as she grasped the blade by its flat side and began to slowly push and pull along the edge of it. She knew better than to bend the blade. It would simply snap, again.

However slowly, the broken blade finally claimed its freedom, aided by its mistress in the escape from that wooden prison. Instead of being left here to rust, the piece of metal had found its way back to its owner.

Upon a close inspection, the cutting point was clean. No fractures, no chipping. It was akin to a bamboo trunk cut cleanly through by a well-practiced Samurai. Clean, smooth, straight. Confusing. Last the Ronin had checked, her swords were made of steel, not bamboo.

And for her steel to be cut through like bamboo? It meant her steel was essentially worthless. It was an attack against her pride, even if she’d not been wielding the sword herself.

“Oh well.” she muttered quietly, noting that if there indeed was anything she needed to be careful of, it was the beast that had caused...whatever all this was. But, she had more imminent concerns to consider. The bandits, mainly.

With the other half of her sword reclaimed, the ronin’s hand came to grip the handle before pulling the sword out of its sheath. Right afterward, Musashi brought the broken steel to the opening of the sheath, before dropping it inside. She had no better place to carry it, than what had always been the intended way in the first place. And so, she re-sheathed the broken sword once more.

Reacquainted with both of her swords, Miyamoto Musashi's journey could now continue.
 

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The ronin was hungry. Her blades grumbled in their sheathes, yearning for their next meal. It had been a long time since they’d actually feasted on flesh and blood the last time. For the longest time now, those poor instruments had been on a vegan diet of bamboo and air. Two of the dullest tastes in the world, if you were to ask them.

Similarly to how her blades hungered for blood, she hungered for food. Now that her blades had been returned to her, the most immediate of threats had passed and the feeling of hunger had returned. The thirst had returned to bother her throat.

And honestly the past two hours she’d spend walking to an unchanging direction through the greenery hadn’t helped. And so, she would have to solve that issue, somehow. At some point.

Preferably before she collapsed of starvation and dehydration.

As the (half)swordsman’s eyes opened, her surroundings dropped back in. The never-ending mountain forest returning to view as she crouched underneath a low-branching pine, her form hidden from watchful eyes despite her subpar camouflage. Her eyes were focused on a rather well concealed door, with moss either slathered onto it, or growing naturally on it, it nearly disappeared into the mountain-side.

Their one flaw in hiding it, was the guard sticking out like a sore thumb, posted standing right in front of the damn thing.

“...Honestly.” she commentated aloud with a hint of disappointment in her voice. Brushing past those feelings, the ronin pushed her way out of her hiding spot and boldly strolled toward the man and his door.

The bandits had sadly abandoned her hat when she’d been abducted, and so now her widely smiling face and pinkish hair glistened in the afternoon sun. Her hands reached behind her head, her fingers interlacing themselves behind the circular wind-mill like disk that held her hair on a ponytail.

Hands behind her head, she sauntered forward with an overjoyed expression. “Oi. I’m supposed to be your prisoner of the day.” she called forward, causing the man to nearly trip over his spear in his startled state. After three days and three nights, the grunt decided to recover, brandishing his spear and poking it toward the ever-smiling swordsman.

“W-who the fuck are you? The hell are you doing here?” the man called. His voice was young - face wasn’t cute. Musashi didn’t care. Short hair, cropped shoddily. Scarred face. He’d practiced, from the looks of it. But judging on the scars, he wasn’t a winner.

No. Just your typical hard worker, and a loser at that. And not even cute. What a waste of her time.

“My formal name? Shinmen Musashi-no-Kami Fujiwara no Harunobu.” she introduced herself, arms still held back behind her head. Her visage remained ever radiant as she continued. “And you? You’re not cute enough to call me Musashi.” she finished, the corners of her mouth curling downward a little.

“H...hauh?” the man simply stared at her in confusion. “Uh...Put your hands up!” he barked, eyes glazing over as his brains seemed to be about as fluid as a block of ice. “I mean, swords down! ...I mean…” he blithered onward, hands still poking his spear toward the ronin.

“You should’ve trained harder. Reached further.” A dry tone, for a dry comment. It was simply the truth. The man - boy, really, had not trained enough.

Not humbly enough.

Not earnestly enough.

Not. Enough.

And he would never reach that enlightenment. Not that he had even begun looking for it yet. Not that he even understood that such a thing existed, yet.

In an instant the swordsman’s right hand shot forward from behind her head, that pinkish hair suddenly flourishing open behind her in the summer breeze.

In regards to the vagabond though? He found a giant metal disk stuck in his forehead, dug right in the center between his eyes. It was practically a giant shuriken, now that one looked at it closer. And she used it as a ponytail fastener.

And just like that, it was too late for him, to look for enlightenment. Now, he could only attempt to seek forgiveness from his victims, in the afterlife.

And so, with little ceremony to it he tumbled limply backwards, crashing through the door with a thud. The ronin cared little, stepping over his body, her foot pushing down onto his chest as she crouched and pulled her hair ornament free from the clutches of the thieving corpse.

With a quick pair of motions, the ronin wiped the bloodied part of her hair ornament in the man’s now useless garment. Sufficiently cleaned, Shinmen Musashi brought it back up and re-tied her hair into that signature mess of a ponytail of hers.
And with the matter of the pink menace sorted, she stepped into the earthen hallway hollowed into the mountain. At first glance, it was just one long hallway lined with torches, with nothing and no one in sight. How boring.

Honestly, if this trash was any indication of the quality of meal her blades would have in this little mountain-base, it was less of an all you can eat buffet, and more of a desperate dumpster dive.

“How boring.” Her expression slowly soured, her smile turned into an expression that conveyed naught but disappointment. Her mouth un-quirked - simply a straight, bored line. Eyes uninterested as they followed her surroundings in this never-ending hallway.

She had expected nothing of them and yet she was still already let down.
 

Miyamoto Musashi

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Throughout the hollow hallways the ronin’s footsteps echoed quietly. The tunnel continued onward until it ended abruptly in a door. It’d been dug this deep to ensure there was enough ground above to withstand the hideout that had been hollowed into the mountain ahead.

Understanding the large was important, so that one could understand the small. To truly understand the sword, one needed to understand the world beyond it, as well as the world within. And for that, understanding the reasons and methods used here, was important.

Standing at the door, the ronin gave paid no heed to traps, ambushes, alarms or the like. It did not matter. At her side, she could feel her blades aching, thirsting for blood. Hungering for the feast of trash they had been promised. Just as she herself hungered for the coin that would be paid in return for that blood.

And so, the door swung open as the swordsman’s heel drove forward.

“Tch. Nothing.” Or rather, something. The emptiness of the room of course indicated that it would be trapped. And as such, the idiotism of her foes in hiding rested plain in sight.
The broom resting against the wall remained unused as the path on the ground remained plain to see for anyone that understood to look.

With lack of visitors, complacency had claimed them. Their security had grown lax. Their procedures marred by laziness and a sense of safety. No one would find them. This mountain was distant enough. The Samurai wouldn’t come knocking on their door. The trap room was a hindrance anyway.

And as such, the Ronin blasted open the next door, strolling inside with little care in the world. Across the room, a pair of stumbling bandits fought off of their seats and scrambled for their weapons. It was clear from their sluggish, panicked movements that for one, they hadn’t expected the door to fling open. And even more so, they had not expected a singular person to make their way through.

Right about now they were wordlessly deciding whether they should alert the others for aid. But of course, with a sole still unarmed girl standing at the doorway, they wouldn’t. That much was clear. There were two of them, and one of her. What could she do?

After all, she didn’t even have her swords drawn. The rookie at the door would’ve fallen for her charms, most likely, but these two, they were professionals. Skilled bandits who gave no quarter. Their pride as men at stake, they would never call for aid. At least not until it was too late.

It was all there in their movements, those small exchanged glances, the slight shifts in their stances toward a more offensive approach, the way they held their weapons. As long as you could understand your opponent and their weapon, you could direct them. You could dictate the rhythm of battle and dance through it as your sword desired.

The bandits? Not cute. Not remarkable. A rusty sword and a worn spear. Older than the ronin. Yet below her. Before her, she saw countless opportunities. The endless steps and missteps of the battle ahead. Their forms were full of openings, some of them true, others false.

A line where she avoided the spear, but instead fell to the sword. Avoided the sword, fell to the spear. Fell to both. Fell to neither, but lost her arm. Broken sword. Skewered eye. Claimed one, died to another. The results flashed before her eyes as she went through the scenarios one by one.

The possibilities were endless as Shinmen Musashi Kami-no-Fujiwara no Harunobu played out the variety of scenarios ahead of her eyes. She couldn’t see the futures - nor could she dictate the end result. Yet she could predict. She could understand the level these brigands were upon. The tactics they’d use.

And so, the result was decided.

The sword and spear alike charged forward. The spear shot forward first as Musashi stepped forward. In minimal motion she took a step to the side, further away from the sword’s reach and lifted her leg, allowing the speartip to pass underneath before she brought it down like a strike of lightning, driving the speartip into the ground. The sword took this chance to circle behind her, for a dead angle was the most obvious to strike from. It was the most difficult to avoid.

Crack. The worn shaft creaked and snapped from the force applied as the ronin ducked, the wide sword swing coming from behind swishing from above her head as the spearman shrieked. The blade had cut straight into his chest, even as the now bleeding bandit stared forward with confusion.

“K-koichi, why?!” he sputtered, even as his hands left the haft of the spear and the remainders of wood clattered onto the floor. All the while his friend stared in horror. His sword arm shook in terror as his childhood friend staggered backwards, now clutching his chest in obvious pain as the dirty tunic he wore began to stain crimson.

“K--ki-kira! I’m sorry! J-just hang on!” screeched the swordsman even as his blade still jittered in the air. Of course, this horror-filled exchange did not go unused by the ronin as she’d spun around, her back straightened once more as she faced the trembling swordsman.

“KYAAAAAAH!” a screech of desperation echoed in the room, along with the sword that surged down toward the ronin from above. Of course, such a jittery blade lacked focus. It lacked commitment.

It was not a cut. It was barely even worthy of being called a slash. It was naught but a last ditch effort of an animal backed to a corner - an animal so frightened that they had lost the advantage of being cornered. Consumed by guilt and terror alike, their sword could’ve been made by Muramasa himself, for all the good it would’ve done.

As such, Shinmen Musashi’s left hand struck from the side, striking the flat of the blade with her palm. The jittery strike possessed no determination. Its course easily averted, the blade swung to the side and missed as the ronin took a step to the opposite direction, further misdirecting the already avoided attack.

Crack! The girl’s right hand surged forward, her fist digging into the for now warm face of her assailant. She could feel the nose bone shattering under the impact, even as it shot backwards from the impact and dug itself deep within the swordsman’s brain, sending him limply reeling backwards before he collapsed, lifeless.

Even so, before the rusty blade could go down with the fallen bandit, Musashi’s hands shot forward and snatched it, only for her to spin around, her arm swung down from above her head. Releasing her grasp from the sword, the sword howled through the air as it grew featherless, rusted wings.

Thunk.

Yet, for such a meaningless distance it was more than enough. The sword sank clean through the spearman’s now turned back, afterward finding a gap among the ribs as it snuck its way through the flesh. With a blood-gurgling howl the man stumbled backwards, only to find himself stumbling against the guard of the blade.

And the door in front of him, that the blade had wedged itself to. Stumbling forward and backward he was hastily sawing himself in half. The poor man’s brains were consumed by the inescapable agony of being nailed to the door with a rusty sword. In addition to that, his major wound was from his best friend. In addition to that, his friend was dead.

He’d be dead.

The panic induced shock finally claimed his consciousness, falling backward with little control. The former spearman’s entire weight was enough to finally wedge the blade free of the wooden door, even as he crashed onto the blade with his full might.

End result? A blade jotting straight up from his chest, with the guard bulging out his chest cavity in a rather ugly fashion.

Regardless, these two had not been worth using her blades on.

“Tch.” Shinmen Musashi tutted herself as the idea attempted to cement itself and was discarded. Every foe was worthy of being cut down with a blade - there was no such thing as a worthy opponent in the first place. There were simply opponents.

For Shinmen Munisai, such a thought may have been true. But for her, it was simply a matter of wanting to give them a chance. A matter of wanting a fight. Yet, even with the handicap she’d given them, they had given her nothing.

A good fight. Such was all Shinmen Musashi Kami-no-Fujiwara no Harunobu’s mind craved right now.

A bath of blood. Such was all Shinmen Musashi Kami-no-Fujiwara no Harunobu’s swords craved right now.
 

Miyamoto Musashi

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Bypassing the impaled corpse Shinmen Musashi pulled open the next door. From behind it emerged a circular room hollowed into the earth. Presenting themselves before her, were three ways forward. One directly in front of her, and two more at each side of the rooms.

Her confident gaunt carried her to the center of the room, where she stopped for now. Closing her eyes, her chest heaved with each breath. Her senses extending beyond each of the entrances. Silence danced heavy in the air, suffocating those of lesser will into inaction through the poison that was known as fear.

Yet, along the lingering fear of the unknown, another scent danced upon the air. A scent that caused her lips to quirk upwards with satisfaction. Beyond her control, the swordsman was already turning upon her heels towards the left door, steps taken without hesitation.

Rice.

What wafted in the air, was boiled rice. Food. Drink. Somewhere beyond this door, she would find what she craved for the most, after all this time. Sustenance. A feast. These disappointments hadn’t provided the ronin with a good fight, but a good meal would suffice as an apology.

With very little effort the door was pushed open, revealing behind it a hallway that opened up shortly into yet another room - judging from where she remained. Now that the door held naught back, her nostrils suffered a heinous attack of resolve-wavering might, as that delicious rice called for her.

Musashi’s stomach answered in return, growling as it ached and jabbed at her painfully from the inside. If this kept going, the beast within her stomach would surely tear through and escape into the wild. She would have to settle this quick, if only to save herself from death by starvation.

Enticed by the promise of food, she sauntered her way through the hallway and into the promised land.
Swish! The moment the ronin emerged from the doorway, a blade howled through the air as it tore for her, coveting for some of the invader’s blood, just like the trespasser craved their rice.

From the corner of her eye, on her right side Musashi could see her assailant. The strike came from above. It would cut her down then and there. A lapse of judgement, however momentary, would have cost her this one precious life of hers.

This one precious chance to get back at her father and reach the ultimate heights of swordsmanship. But as such, she could not fall here. Not for mere rice. Not for a lowly bandit. It was unbefitting of her grudge to drop dead here.

Time already crawled as she reached deeper within. The surrounding world faded from view as she saw the paths available before her. Muddled, but they were there. In most of them, she died without question. Her head cut off. Split open. Arm sliced clean off. Torso slashed open.

The acting outline of herself disappeared from her view as time snapped back into place. Quickly turning in place she revealed her back to the approaching steel. Her arms reached upwards behind her as she caught the other’s wrists before mercilessly pulling forward with her entire weight.

Behind her, the attacker’s balance was offset already from their own attack. As such, they were easy to pull forward and their weight soon bashed onto her back. From there, she continued to pull as she shed the weight from her back forward, hurling the bandit over her shoulders, sending them slamming back first into the ground.

The sword caught by her hands as the assailant crashed, she drove it down mercilessly. An infant of a shriek was aborted into helpless gurgles as the blade dug deep into the bandit’s throat.

“You fail to understand your weapon and its advantages.” Her tone remained dry as could be as her eyes left the vagabond’s simultaneously with the little life they had left. The painful reality was, that she would’ve died there. That stung at her pride like no other.

This had been pure luck. The bandit had not understood to take advantage of her weapon’s reach. She had made the mistake of standing too close. And as such, Shinmen Musashi had survived, if only barely.

Squelllch.

With a disgusting slosh the swordswoman pulled her bandit-loaned blade free from the neck it had been buried in. “I believe I’ve kept you waiting long enough.” the ronin commented dryly as she cut through the air, the blood-soaked blade shining once more as the blood shot off of it and scattered onto the dirt.

“Now then, shall we?” she asked politely as she slowly turned to face another sword brandishing bandit that only now emerged from a hallway that led into the room from...somewhere.

There were two things Shinmen Musashi took note in all of this.

One: These bandits were rich. They had a seemingly extensive hideout. They had manpower. They had food for that manpower. And most importantly, they commonly wore and wielded swords, rather than spears or axes. As such, they were considerably well armed for mere vagabonds.

Two: This man’s mouth was sewn shut cleanly.
 
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