Multi-World Swordsman - Chapter 3

In this autumn month, the sun was setting, bathing the world in a beautiful red light, at this time of the year, the trees had already lost their leaves, a cool wind announcing the arrival of winter was crossing Usui Mountain.

On one of the roads of this mountain, a young boy of about 10 years of age

with short black hair, with a calm look like the surface of a lake, a boken on his belt, walked with a bamboo basket on his back.

“Yare, Yare, behold, winter is coming.” whispered the young boy as he came to the entrance of a village.

The rice paddies covered half the area of the village, the houses had architecture typical of the Japanese Taisho era.

There were about thirty families in this mountain village, at this time of day the young children helped their parents as they left the field, the village was quite peaceful at this time of day because of the cold winter wind that blew in the evening.

The young boy walked quietly through the village before suddenly stopped by a group of kids, among them a smiling little girl approached him with a angry face.

“Ibuki, we’ve been looking for you all day. Where were you?”

“I was picking mushrooms.” Says Ibuki lazily pointing to his basket.

“But you promised to play with us, you’re mean!”

Drops of tears then fell from the little girl’s eyes.

“Ibuki bastard, you dare to make my sister cry!” Shouted a young boy about eleven years old with a shaved head and a height and physique abnormal for his age who raising his fist and ran towards Ibuki

It was Ibuki’s Boken hitting him on the head.

“Ouch Ibuki bastard Ouch, it hurts!”

The boy rolled on the ground while painfully rubbing his skull.

When Nana saw this, she could not help but laugh as she wiped away his tears.

“Oni-chan, you’ve never beaten Ibuki, that’s not going to happen today.”

“Nana, how can you discourage your brother so much? You can at least take my side!” Said the boy rubbing his head.

“I refuse!”

The other children then began to laugh when they saw the two brothers and sister arguing. Ibuki then smiled and shook his head before going to his house.

“Ibuki-Kun, come play with us tomorrow! If you don’t come I’ll beat you!” Said the little girl showing her frail right arm imitating a muscular man’s posture while inflating her cheeks with a menacing air, but it was cuter than anything else.

His house was slightly further away from the village, it was a building with a thatched roof, quite small, about 12m/8.

In front of the house was a man in his early thirties with a badly shaved beard and shaggy hair who was smoking a pipe in front of a fire while a pot of vegetables was boiling on the it.

“Ibuki hurry up and wash the mushrooms, I was waiting for you.”

“Yes, father.” Says Ibuki as he removes the mushrooms from the basket while taking a wooden bucket full of water.

And after he washed them, he sliced them up before pouring them into the pan.

“You did a good job, son, I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”

“No, father.” Said the young boy as he approached the fire.

The man smiled as he took a puff of smoke while looking at his son who was always calm in all circumstances.

Indeed his son was quite special.

His child had never cried even on the day of his birth, the other villagers saw this as a bad omen, and rumors began to spread that his son was possessed by Yokai, but all this was soon swept away by the child’s genius.

He walked when he was 3 months old, spoke when he was 4 months old, he asked to learn to read, but he himself was illiterate, so he respectfully asked the village chief to teach his son to read.

The latter laughed and refused at first, but after he begged him, he reluctantly accepted.

Her son then learned to read and write the kanjis at the age of eight months, even prompting the village chief to exclaim to the child’s genius.

Thinking about it Tatsugoro smiles proudly before pouring the vegetable soup into a large bowl and giving it to Ibuki.

“Itadakimasu”

“Itadakimasu”

Then the two ate silently, after finishing dinner Ibuki took off his full outfit and went to bed. By the crackling fire in the house, while her father carved a piece of wood beside the fire.

Ibuki watched his father carve the wood until his eyes slowly closed.

“Good night, son.”

Asleep he had not dream, for him who in another life had taken part in a murderous war, for him who had never had parents, for him who had never felt the sweet sensation of being loved apart from his master, this new life was already the only dream he needed, but every dream has an end, called reality.

And the unrelenting reality always strikes when you least expect it.

“Son, run away! Run away! Agh!”