Typemoon: Starting Out as the Lion King's Personal Knight [392] (Patreon)

Musashi’s expression never wavered, as if she were merely recounting a trivial daily matter.

In response, Alaric, as if savoring a delicious meal, clapped and sighed, saying, “A godlike technique—”

To witness such a divine technique firsthand—this experience was more precious than any battle.

Having resolved the matter with Yagyū Tajima-no-Kami Munenori, Musashi and Alaric did not linger. Together with Senji Muramasa, who had been observing not far away, they arrived at the top floor where the sorcerer was.

There, besides the sorcerer, was Princess Matsudaira-no-Kiyohime, a blood relative of Tokugawa.

Unconcerned about the presence of this royal blood, Alaric, upon stepping onto the top floor, immediately saw the so-called sorcerer—

“Amakusa Shirou Tokisada—no, that’s not quite right.”

Alaric sized up the man, whose entire being seemed wreathed in resentment, like a manifestation of pure hatred, and said, “You are Amakusa Shirou, yet not Amakusa Shirou.”

“Huh?”

Upon hearing how Alaric addressed the sorcerer, Senji Muramasa tugged the corner of his mouth, disbelief on his face.

After all, Amakusa Shirou Tokisada was a participant in the Shimabara Rebellion, an unrecognized saint, so to speak.

Even Muramasa knew of such a man.

But how could he be this thing before their eyes, more like an evil spirit than a man?

“Oh? You recognize my face?”

The man called Amakusa Shirou Tokisada grinned. “You must have seen the Heroic Spirit of the Amakusa Shirou from proper history.”

“Mm, well, that’s right.”

Alaric recalled his experience in the Holy Grail War, nodded, and asked, “Then which Amakusa Shirou Tokisada are you?”

“The moment he stood as a Heroic Spirit on the side of humanity, he became a completely different person from me!”

With blood-red eyes, Amakusa Shirou roared: “Even after experiencing the hell of Shimabara, he didn’t turn his anger into flames. He obediently became a Heroic Spirit—what a joke—”

It was an utterly unforgivable act, as laughable as betraying your side.

“I think Amakusa was a decent person—he gave up his anger and chose to save all of humanity.”

Alaric spread his hands. “It’s just that, it seems your experiences and choices were quite different.”

“Miyamoto Musashi—so Saber Empireo was defeated, huh.”

Amakusa’s gaze swept over Musashi, the ferocity fading, replaced by a mocking tone: “Foolishness. If only he’d truly devoted everything to the Morning Star, to Satan, he could never have lost.

Just a guy from Edo times, a mediocrity not even fit to be cannon fodder.”

Regarding Yagyū Tajima-no-Kami’s defeat, Amakusa’s sarcasm knew no bounds.

Naturally, this provoked Musashi’s displeasure.

“—A mediocrity? You say that sword god was a mediocrity.”

Musashi’s face was cold, her words tinged with indignation: “So this is what they call a guilty conscience. You can’t expect vulgar people to understand the lonely pride of the sword; even if I fell to become a demon, I’d never twist my pride in the sword.

As for you—your worth as a Heroic Spirit swordsman is obvious.

That man was a true sword saint—someone even Houzouin Inshun could only dream of matching!”

On this point, Musashi could never compromise—the sword saint should not be insulted.

Musashi’s eyes widened as she rebuked: “Someone like you has no right to evaluate Lord Yagyū! If you hate this world, go ahead and slaughter! But turning humans into monsters, toying with their fate, isn’t born of anger, but of envy and jealousy!

How dare you utter such vulgarity in the castle meant to govern the people!”

Musashi’s reprimand echoed through the floors, but Amakusa merely sneered, showing little reaction: “Hmph, the man who shamed himself at Shimabara dares to bluster. No, you’re not the same Musashi as him.

—Shinmen Musashi. It seems you are the swordsman of legend—a man who gave up everything but the pursuit of the ultimate in swordsmanship.

Most martial artists are fools, but you are different.

A swordsman lacking skill has no right to discuss the affairs of the world; only one who has mastered a hundred arts can discuss the ultimate ‘One.’

To master every martial art, to reach the highest sword, you learned much and acquired many skills.

Though an enemy, you are worthy of respect—your spirit is admirable.”

Amakusa did not hold back in his praise for Musashi.

“That’s true. If you had that sort of awareness, we wouldn’t be standing here as opponents.”

Amakusa’s lips curled slightly: “You called me a wraith, Musashi. I return that to you unchanged.

It’s true—I crossed countless worlds for revenge, and in the end, I became something no longer human, a being apart.

But you’re the same. For whatever reason you cross worlds, I don’t care—

But you are already neither human nor non-human—a foreign object outside the human framework.

‘This body wanted by no one,’ you must be aware of this, right?”

“—”

Musashi did not speak, only gazed quietly at Amakusa.

“Of course. You’re just a wanderer—wherever you go, to the world, you’re just an unwelcome stranger.”

Amakusa seemed to relish Musashi’s reaction, continuing, “Judging by your face, you still hope to return to your original world, but that’s impossible.

Musashi, it’s not that you’ve lost your way home. Those like us who wander into other worlds are always returned to our ‘original world’ by the world’s corrective force. Yet, you always end up in other worlds. That can only mean one thing—”

“That is, it’s not that you lost your way home, but that your world has abandoned you, disappeared completely.”

Even Amakusa’s expression grew heavy as he spoke: “No place to return, no one to remember you—you no longer belong to any world.

That’s your true face, Shinmen Musashi—like me, a wraith hated by the world.”

The sorcerer named Amakusa Shirou revealed Musashi’s true nature.

It was a disheartening truth, but—

“It is odd, isn’t it? How could a being able to cross worlds still be human—”

Musashi nudged Alaric in the side, smiling: “Don’t you think so?”

“I don’t think so.”

Alaric pressed Musashi’s elbow down, smiling: “That’s just subjective, in my opinion.”

“Yeah, of course—so I don’t mind.”

Musashi looked at Amakusa, smiling: “Maybe you cross worlds out of hatred, but I just walk freely, searching for a home I know doesn’t exist. That’s all.

This journey could end at any time.

Though, it does make my heart ache—”

Musashi stuck out her tongue, trying to play it off.

At that very moment, an old man found clarity.

“Ah, I see, so that’s it—ah, so it’s you.”

Having finally figured it out, Senji Muramasa looked at Amakusa Shirou Tokisada and laughed: “I never understood why I was summoned here, but now I do.

Amakusa Shirou Tokisada, it’s all because of you—carrying all those vengeful spirits, becoming a world-walker or a moving singularity or something like that.

You became a threat to the world, so the world, or the Counter Force or whatever, just—damn.”

Unable to articulate himself, Muramasa grew impatient: “What a pain. Anyway, I don’t get it, but I hear Heroic Spirits summoned by the Counter Force as guardians aren’t like Servants—they have no personality, right?

It’s about pruning phenomena or parallel worlds or something—so troublesome, let’s drop it.

Amakusa Shirou Tokisada, I’ll cut you down right here.”

Senji Muramasa declared death upon the wraith-like Amakusa.

He was truly Amakusa Shirou Tokisada, a tragic figure from the Shimabara Rebellion.

However, he was not a Heroic Spirit etched in humanity, but an existence from another history, lacking a spiritual foundation.

He survived the hellish Shimabara alone, filled with regret, a man driven mad by rage.

A person belonging to a pruned timeline with no future.

He, unknown to all, crossed many worlds, journeyed through the unknown—living, growing into a being of vengeful resentment, unconsciously surpassing humanity.

Just like Shinmen Musashi.

“Exactly, you’ve finally realized your purpose, Senji Muramasa!”

Amakusa, turning his attention from Musashi, sneered: “The Counter Force even reaches places outside singularities! That’s why you were summoned by the world.

If only you’d lived quietly as a humble blacksmith, I’d have left you alone until the end of the world.

But you came to die—how ridiculous!

I’ve long since surpassed humanity, confident I’m a match for a Heroic Spirit swordsman—don’t think your battered blade can cut me down, Muramasa!”

“You’re no longer human, but whether you live or die is none of my concern.”

Muramasa drew his sword: “You’re a mass of resentment, a wraith in human form, that’s all.

Just by existing, you corrupt the world. You’re a terrible monster, just like that Caster. But this is the world where Onui and Tasuke live, not your playground!”

Besides his mission, Muramasa also had people he wanted to protect.

Even on a whim, he wanted to protect those two children.

“Hahaha, of course, it’s a playground! I’ll destroy every Tokugawa world!”

Amakusa, face growing ever more twisted, finally turned from Muramasa to Alaric, laughing: “Pruned phenomena! The correct history of humanity! After destroying this place, I’ll consume your world too!”

He knew from the start he couldn’t win alone, not when even Heroic Spirit swordsmen had fallen to them.

But—

Now the time was ripe!

After this long conversation, Amakusa had finally finished preparing his magecraft!

“Now see for yourselves what kind of hellish existence I am!”

With his magical energy boiling over, he shouted: “Savor this—my wailing! Reality Marble—Shimabara Hell Picture Scroll!”

With terrifying speed, the Reality Marble was unleashed—neither Muramasa nor Musashi could stop it. Unlike a mere battlefield of death, this was a true Reality Marble.

It reflected the unforgettable landscape of someone’s heart.

As the blinding light faded, what appeared before Muramasa and the others was a boundless sea of flames—hell itself.

Mountains and fields burned, and countless wails rose and fell with the fire—the hell of the Shimabara Rebellion.

“What is this—?”

Muramasa, letting down his guard, stared at the hellscape in shock. “It’s all a blur—mist and fire everywhere, can’t see a thing.”

Not only did the mist and fire obscure everything, but Muramasa was also separated from Alaric and Musashi as if completely cut off.

“Slashing is useless. Looks like this is a closed world, or maybe—”

Holding her breath, Musashi scanned the surroundings. “This must be the sorcerer’s original world. Mine’s gone, but he is still imprinted deep in his soul?—”

Such obsession—it had utterly turned him into a demon.

Though he could not see Musashi, Muramasa heard her speak and smirked: “So that’s why it’s called the Shimabara Hell Picture Scroll. No wonder it feels familiar.

For you, this is hell—Shimabara—”

“Exactly! You hear me, Senji Muramasa!”

A voice from the void, was Amakusa, unfolding his hellish scroll.

“This is the domain of my resentment at its peak. Here, the living are unforgivable! My Reality Marble—Shimabara Hell Picture Scroll—has no exit, an endless hell, waves of pain and hatred. Disappear as one of its bubbles, you wretches!

You living, all apologize to us!

Now behold the gospel that appears before me! The Pure Land Castle of Aversion is fully activated!”

Amakusa left alone outside the barrier, stood with arms spread to the heavens, ecstatic.

A miracle only he could appreciate.

But not quite—

Another, who also chose to remain outside the barrier, stood behind Amakusa, gazing up at the silent miracle.

It was something summoned with the full activation of the Pure Land Castle.

The night sky melted away, and something brilliant fell from beyond the sky, trailing fine light into the heavens—what was it—

“Ah, the sky is melting and dripping, the Root of Imagination falls from the cosmos!”

Unable to contain his excitement, Amakusa shouted: “—How beautiful! This is the end of the world—is this Satan’s messenger?

Hahaha! I’ve waited so long for this moment! My endless wandering is finally rewarded!

To be able to witness such a sight in this world—what a miracle!

Now, nothing can stop it! Nothing can stop it!”

Ding.

The sound wasn’t anything else, but the clash of metal.

In the burst of fire, Musashi instinctively called out, “Grandpa?”

“Oh, I don’t know where you all are, but be quiet now—it’s my turn—”

Like a hammer striking a sword blank, Muramasa spoke slowly: “No, I’ve been holding back and waiting all this time. Finally, I’ve made it.

You thought we had no trump cards? Fool, of course, we do.”

As if mocking someone not present, Muramasa hammered the sword blank in rhythm, the clear sound of the sword ringing out, echoing as the only thing in that world.

“Not the invincible swordsman Jūbei, nor the famous ninja Hanzō, nor the legendary Caster Abe no Seimei—why was I, a swordsmith, summoned? You never figured that out, and you’ve already lost.”

His spiritual foundation burned, but Muramasa ignored it, silently applying the skills accumulated over a lifetime.

“The ultimate cut I once pursued was not a blade for tearing flesh and bone. What I sought was the reckoning with resentment—to cut karma, fate, and destiny.

—In other words, liberation from karma.”

Zheng.

From the blazing fire, the sword blank was drawn, faint green magical circuits appearing on his body, as Muramasa declared: “—I reached this point by forging thousands of swords, building up a mound of blades.

Arrived here through countless efforts;

Displayed here are all aspirations;

Gathered here, all misfortune—

All the meaning of my life is for this blade. The pulse of the sword is here—

Take this! This is my Tsumukari Muramasa!”

It was the ultimate blade, the swordsmith’s life’s work.

Not a divine sword technique to sever causality, but a demonic sword forged at the cost of his spiritual foundation—its name: Tsumukari Muramasa.

So mighty, it could cut karma, fate, destiny, and even—

Cut the world itself!

The Reality Marble Shimabara Hell Picture Scroll was sliced open in an instant, the unstoppable sword light shooting further and further—without end—until it reached the very edge.

Boom!

The terrifying sword light, under Amakusa’s gaze, slashed open the Pure Land Castle!

Flames erupted, burning the castle from the sword wound!

With its destruction, Amakusa’s end came unnoticed.

Muramasa, having unleashed that strike, also returned to the Throne of Heroes as his spiritual foundation collapsed.

Alaric could only offer respect.

He could glimpse the style of that one sword.

Truly a man who attained the realm of the gods.

——

“So hot, so hot!”

Returning to herself, Musashi found herself surrounded by yet another sea of fire, and shouted instinctively, “Why is the whole castle burning when I get back from the battlefield~!”

Soon, Musashi sensed the ominous miasma in the air fading—the sorcerer, the source, was gone.

Realizing this, Musashi understood Amakusa was dead.

Next, she had to escape the castle.

Just as Musashi was about to move—

“Eh?”

Musashi, stunned, looked across the flames at the man standing tall with a long sword.

“Sorry, as long as I’m here, this staircase is off-limits.”

The nameless man spoke casually as if stating a daily routine.

“Incredible—”

Musashi’s face was incredulous: “To meet two sword saints, both far stronger than me, in such a short time in a place like this—”

The sword aura around that man was unmistakable—he was a sword saint who had reached the realm of the gods.

How could two such swordsmen appear in this remote place in quick succession?

“I don’t know where you came from, but you must be looking for me, right?”

Musashi stared hard at the nameless man: “If you don’t escape soon, you won’t survive this fire.”

“I treasure my life, and I know the situation well. So, after our duel, I’ll leave this castle right away.”

The nameless man had no intention of leaving: “You’re a beautiful lady, but I’m not one for dying for love. Prepare yourself, Lady Musashi.”

“—Must it be this way?”

Musashi seemed troubled: “I don’t see any reason why we have to fight to the death.”

“There isn’t one. Though the sorcerer did me a favor, I’ll just pay my respects at his grave later; I’m sure he’ll forgive me.”

He knew Amakusa was dead, but wasn’t fighting for him. He drew his sword for only one reason.

“The only reason for our duel is that two swordsmen, proud of their skill, have met.”

His words were calm, his reason without purpose.

But that was enough.

No need for further excuses. This alone sufficed.

“—True.

I take it back—there’s no better reason.”

Musashi closed her eyes, relaxed, and said: “Though I’ve never seen you before, I know your name—as if fate has caught up with me.”

Call it fate, or coincidence.

Across the burning flames stood a swordsman, calmly upright.

You know his stature.

You know his name.

A man said to have perfected a single technique to infinity—rumored to be able to instantly slay countless flying swallows, a master of terrifying skill.

Some say even history cannot confirm if he ever truly existed.

His name—

“In that case, we have no choice but to fight to the death—sorry to keep you waiting, Sasaki Kojirō!”

“—So that is my name, huh.”

As Musashi finally spoke her rival’s name, Sasaki Kojirō learned his own: “Let me introduce myself again—I am Sasaki Kojirō, the swordsman famed for wielding the ‘Monohoshi Zao.’

But I am not of the Ganryū school—please forgive me for using my style.”

Musashi shook her head: “Schools and styles are just later fabrications. You are Kojirō—that’s enough.”

Miyamoto Musashi and Sasaki Kojirō—destined rivals. Nothing else matters.

“Likewise, who you are, man or woman is irrelevant.”

Kojirō said calmly: “As long as your sword is Niten Ichi-ryū, it’s worth defeating here.

My path has been an illusory journey. My way of existence, that of a phantom swordsman—

Ephemeral, like a dream.

Only in the cracks of history—perfecting the Swallow Reversal.

But Musashi, Musashi—

Right now, before me, is a beautiful flower.”

A destined duel—the thought filled both hearts.

Alaric, watching from not far away, could see it too.

Even he knew—

This was a destined duel.

The place did not matter; the time did not matter.

Even the meaning of the fight was meaningless to them.

Because, as long as these two met—

“Now that Musashi has finally met Kojirō—”

Sasaki Kojirō’s eyes locked on the flower in the flames: “There’s only one thing that can happen.”

“Mm, yes, you’re right!”

Musashi finally smiled, slowly drew her two swords, her face solemn, and shouted, “That is—!”

Kojirō also drew his Monohoshi Zao and said deeply: “Neither Heroic Spirit nor Swordmaster! We are two sword demons!”

“A duel that shakes the soul!”

Musashi stared at her fate: “Unprecedented, earth-shattering—this is our testament!

This is—a true fight to the death!!!”

Alaric made no move to interfere, simply watching the collision of two swords at the godly domain, so different yet so alike.

—Clashing blades, power, and skill, perfectly matched.

No, their swords transcended time, space, existence, and concept—their paths opposites.

One sought the unique sword of zero, the path to the only correct answer—

Testing and discarding countless options, reaching the unique ‘correct answer,’ the sword of finitude.

To reach the ultimate, reducing existence to its barest point—what remained was Musashi’s ‘Zero,’ the sword that confirms the inevitable ‘end’ even the gods cannot escape.

The other wielded infinite mirrored strikes, the way of acknowledging countless possibilities, converting a single move, normally used only once, into countless simultaneous ‘correct answers’—the sword of infinity.

To reach the limit, making his existence so transparent as to be nearly void, and yet still grasp something.

That was Kojirō’s ‘Swallow Reversal.’

The sword that weaves an inescapable ‘future’ even the gods must accept.

When these two meet, the path to infinity opens.

Infinite domain, or rather, the domain of nothingness.

No time, no space.

No causality, no good or evil.

Only those who entrust their souls to the blade can reach this state—no thoughts, no distractions.

Or perhaps—the vision of a dying man, a glimpse of paradise, at the end of his dreams.

“Musashi!!!”

“Kojirō!!!”

Swords clashed—just once.

And yet, it was a thrust toward infinity.

If it were just these two, they would fight forever, repeating this infinite moment without end.

This was not the world, not a phenomenon to be recorded or pruned.

A rift between the world and a dream.

An impossible place, where infinity and zero meet.

Yet, yet.

There was still another, watching them.

Bear witness to this once-in-an-eternity miracle of swords.

At the end of the strong, only one victor.

He, who saw both the finite and infinite—who would he see in his eyes?

“Musashi—”

Under his gaze, the sword of zero defeated the sword of infinity!

“Oooooooh!!!!”

With a final, desperate strike, the girl reached the end.

Announce the parting of the two destined always to meet.

“The winner—Shinmen Musashi no Kami Fujiwara no Genshin.”

The silent third godlike being judged the battle.

The fated duel was over.

“Oho—”

The man, his figure hidden by flames, laughed softly: “Such satisfying in brief, time. I hope you feel the same,

Shinmen Musashi.

I’ll take this feeling with me, this undeniable emotion, and go ahead. Perhaps I’ll vanish into the cracks where sunlight never reaches—if only that were possible.

Is this the so-called pruned phenomenon? If there is a man like me among those on the Throne of Heroes, even just one, I hope he can taste this fleeting flavor.

Oho, truly, truly, a woman as brilliant as a celestial flower, Musashi—”

The man called Sasaki Kojirō disappeared.

“Now’s not the time to sleep, Musashi.”

Alaric gently picked up the drowsy girl and walked out, his gentle words brushing her ear: “You’ve found the realm of zero, have you lost your future goal now that Niten Ichi-ryū is complete?”

“You’re still teasing me—”

Resting on Alaric’s arms, Musashi was completely spent. She had wagered everything in her battle with Kojirō.

“I’ve found zero, found what I sought—”

Eyes closed, Musashi murmured: “With that, my journey should end. After reaching the realm of zero, there’s nothing left to do. The world I could return to is long gone.

Sorry, big brother, we had a promise—”

“Just make a new one. I look forward to crossing swords with you, Musashi.”

Leaping from the ruined tower, Alaric carried the nearly lifeless Musashi toward the outside.

“I’m greedier than I thought—”

Musashi opened her eyes a little, seeing a pure white world—the lingering dream of the stars, and said: “If the last thing I see could be a clear, blue sky, that would be nice—”

“There’ll be a day like that, Musashi.”

Listening to her wish, Alaric smiled softly: “Blue skies, the future—they’ll come, on the day we meet again.”

“Then it’s a promise—”

Just before falling asleep, Musashi said with a smile: “I want to eat udon so badly.”