Rebirth of the Sword Saint: A Reincarnation Epic Fantasy Saga

by DB King

  Regardless, he wasn’t ready, as he was now, to deal with possibly sentient books with sinister intentions. In time, however, he’d bind that thing to his will as well.

  But not yet.

  After all, there were other books that deserved his attention.

  After around five minutes of looking over the numerous scrolls and tomes available to him, Jin walked out and greeted his father with a curt bow. Hamada smiled and bowed back, “What do you think of the library, my son?”

  Jin smiled. “The library is amazing, father. There is so much for me to learn—so much. And I will learn everything! When I’m done, all the knowledge in our clan library will be in my memories. I will be the greatest scholar in Moyatani!”

  There was a mode of mind partitioning he’d yet to use in this new world, but he’d used extensively in the previous. It was called a mindscape, where all his knowledge was stored in the form of books. He could access it at any time and spend hours and hours in his mindscape, whilst only a few seconds would pass in the real world. It seemed he’d finally found a use for that trick.

  Hamada nodded and smiled. The pride in his father’s voice had not dissipated when he spoke, “That is good, my son. The Kensei is more than just a powerful warrior; he is also the most knowledgeable of scholars. This is good. You shall not lack tutors, Jin. I will scour all of Moyatani to find you all that you need to become the Kensei.”

  Without prompting, the library door closed behind him and the demon’s fiery eyes dissipated. A cold wind blew over Jin. Whispers and echoes of distant battles and screams sounded in his ears for only a single moment as he turned to look over his shoulders. The library door was looking at him—the Asura’s demonic face almost taunted him.

  I have to be careful when I’m studying in that place.

  They headed for the clan treasury, where Jin knew for a fact that numerous magical artifacts and other strange things were kept far from prying eyes.

  As opposed to the library, which was built in one of the top floors of the castle, the treasury was placed in an underground chamber, where it could only be accessed through a single, heavily guarded entrance. Jin and Hamada passed the Murasaki Retainers, who bowed their heads as they went down a descent of stairs.

  They followed a circular descent, illuminated by faint lamps that emitted a vaguely yellowish color. The Murasaki Treasury was at the bottom. The first thing Jin noticed was that the vault door was definitely not magical in nature. It was just a simple, but effective, heavily reinforced steel door that could probably withstand siege weaponry. The door itself was rectangular, filled with odd knobs and tubes. Odd metallic shapes and formations marred its surface—most of which were likely related to an overly complicated locking mechanism that only his father could open.

  Mages could probably force their way through the locks and reinforced steel, but doing so might just compromise the treasure and the jewels on the other side. Jin mused. A concentrated cone of flame could probably melt the whole thing after a while, but that didn’t seem like a very effective method of busting open vault doors. Looking back over his previous life, Jin couldn’t recall a single memory of his youth where he’d participated in any sort of theft.

  A Guild of Thieves had invited him at some point, but he turned down their offer and he’d never heard from them since. A stray thought came to mind. Could I be an effective thief if I ever wanted to be one?

  Well, probably, but he didn’t need to be a thief in this new world. Though far from the richest family, most of what he wanted and needed could easily be provided by his father.

  But a thief’s skills might come in handy someday…

  Hamada approached first this time, gesturing for Jin to stay in place. His father bent down slightly and fumbled with a strange locking mechanism at the center of the door that seemed to resemble a constellation of some kind. Hamada was moving the stars and planets into another formation. Unfortunately, most of it was obscured by his father’s wide shoulders and Jin never saw much of it as a loud click echoed from the door, followed by a dull, metallic groan.

  Jin took a single step forward, but Hamada held out his left hand. “In time, my son, I will teach you how to open this door. For now, however, it is my responsibility to be its lock and key. Stay back, Jin.”

  Nodding, Jin obeyed and looked on as the door opened to reveal another door. Wow… that’s… well, one can never be too careful when guarding one’s wealth—especially without the aid of creepy enchanted doors.

  Another click echoed and the last door finally opened. Hamada turned toward Jin, grabbed a torch, and gestured for him to follow.

  Wasting no time, Jin excitedly walked into the doorway, noting the intricate locks and patterns on the door as he strode by. The treasury itself was obscured by shadows, though Jin had already spotted the glinting silver and gold jewelry by the light of Hamada’s torch.

  His father leaned forward and dropped the torch onto a wide metal bowl.

  Flames sprouted from the bowl and illuminated their side of the treasury instantly. But it didn’t stop there. The fires followed a raised furrow and began setting alight a series of other bowls all around the treasury, each one illuminating a different section of the massive underground room.

  Gold, silver, and precious stones glimmered in the light of the flames, but Jin paid them no heed. Not even the ancient swords and the magical artifacts caught his eye—no. At the very center of the room was the statue of a dark figure. It had the face of a snarling demon. Horns sprouted out of its forehead and bent back. It wore a crown of flames and bore a black tachi, wreathed in blood. Its armor was thick and blackened by soot. Its crimson eyes glinted and pulsed red for just a moment, but Jin did not miss it.

  He couldn’t understand it. The whole thing didn’t make any sense to him. How come his father revered the Kensei so much, when there was an actual statue of the Asura in their own treasury?

  What the hell does it all mean?

  Chapter 6

  Lying at the foot of the demonic statue was an unassuming wooden box, about five inches in length, width, and height. The whole thing looked to be out of place; the one object in the treasury that… didn’t look like it was a treasure. Curious, Jin strode forward and reached for the plain wooden box, when Hamada’s massive hand clamped over Jin’s forearm, stopping him.

  Jin’s eyes widened briefly as he looked up to meet his father’s gaze. “Father, is there something wrong?”

  “Do not touch that box. You are not ready for it—not yet,” Hamada replied sternly, allowing no room for argument or protest. Knowing this, Jin bowed his head and took a single step back.

  “As you say, father,” he said as he bowed. Though, having said that, Jin could not quite understand what made that particular artifact so special that he could not touch it. Jin extended his senses toward it and found nothing magical about the thing; so, it must’ve been some kind of heirloom that was passed down through the generations, unchanged since its creation. The Murasaki Clan, like every other clan, would’ve had humble beginnings, which would’ve explained the wooden box’s overall lack of design—ancient or otherwise. It wasn’t even polished. The wood was rough and grainy near the edges.

  Jin simply couldn’t help himself. “Father, what’s so important about that box? It’s… very plain. It sticks out in our treasury. I’m assuming it holds something important inside it, since the box itself doesn’t seem to be impressive. What is it?”

  Hamada sighed and glanced at the box, before shaking his head. “In time, you will know what it holds, my son. In truth, I cannot answer your question, because I truly do not know the answer. It is an heirloom that has been passed down through the generations. My father gave it to me, just as his father gave it to him. I, however, like my father before me and his father before him, am not allowed to open it—for only a Murasaki with magical blood may receive the gift from our forebears, but only when he’s of proper age.”

  Jin nodded. So, it was an heirloom
—whether or not it was magical was still up in the air, but, at the very least, his curiosity about the damn thing was sated. “Alright, father. I won’t touch the box and neither will I try to open it. I swear.”

  Hamada smiled and nodded. “Good. The object will be yours—in time. For now, I have a gift for you.”

  Jin followed his father deeper into the treasury, passing by literal piles of gold, silver, and other precious stones that glinted under the light of the burning bowls. At the far edge of the treasury was a place that looked more like an armory, where weapons of ancient designs and shapes hung in racks. The straight swords were likely thousands of years old, forged in the old Imperial Dynastic Age, when Moyatani was still under the rule of an actual Emperor and not a Shogun.

  Three katanas stuck out among the myriad of weapons: a massive nodachi that was almost as tall as Hamada; its scabbard seemed to be black lacquered wood of some kind. Directly beneath it was a tachi, whose scabbard was made of some sort of silvery material that glimmered as though it was made of a thousand diamonds. The tachi was as beautiful as it was elegant. Below it was a wakizashi that oozed bloodshed and murder. It had no scabbard and the blade itself was stained crimson, glinting faintly.

  Even as Jin stood still, without his senses reaching for it, the blade’s innate darkness seemed to reach out to him on its own.

  It was an evil weapon, but it wasn’t always so. The soul of the wakizashi had become tainted by all the lives it had taken. What was once a beautiful, soulful, blade was now a sick and twisted instrument of death.

  Jin almost found it ironic that, out of all the weapons here, the most evil one would call out to him.

  “These weapons were forged by our ancestors,” Hamada said. “Each of them is… alive, for a lack of a better term. They will grow with you, learn with you, and—if given proper care and attention—they will never fail you.”

  Jin gulped. He had a feeling he knew where this conversation was heading.

  “We do not choose the weapons,” Hamada continued. “They choose us, instead. I know you’ve heard the call the moment you laid eyes upon them, my son. Which of these weapons called out to you?”

  Sighing, Jin pointed toward the wakizashi with the disturbing aura. Honestly, the weapon’s aura reminded him too much of the stench of a battlefield—the smell of blood, gore, entrails, and rotting corpses upon the ground as carrion birds feasted and made merry. It brought out the dark memories he’d rather not remember.

  In a strange way, the weapon was very much like himself—a veteran of so many battles that blood and death had become an integral part of it. That was why it called out to him. They were kindred spirits; two souls that’d somehow found each other amidst a great ocean. Jin huffed. He’d killed so many people in his previous life that death now seemed so tiny—so worthless.

  And yet I am trying to be a better man. This was his second chance and, maybe, he was this hateful weapon’s second chance as well. If someone as detestable as I am deserves a shot at a new life, then something as innocent as a sword should have the same.

  Jin pointed at the crimson bladed wakizashi. “That one… it’s… calling to me.”

  Hamada paused, eyes narrowing as he eyed the weapon that’d chosen Jin to be its wielder. “My son, that blade carries with it the bloodiest history of our clan. There are many who would claim it was our greatest victory, but many more would say that it was our greatest shame.”

  Jin’s gaze drifted to the weapon, then returned to his father.

  “But…” Hamada seemed doubtful and hesitant. Jin’s father shook his head, sighed, and spoke, “It has chosen you to be its next wielder and I cannot stand in the way of your destiny.”

  Hamada gestured forth toward the weapon’s rack. “Its name is Agito. It was wielded by your great-great grandfather, who singlehandedly slaughtered the entire Kofun Clan.”

  Jin’s eyes widened. He’d never even heard of the Kofun Clan. There was a region up north that was known as the Kofun Mountains, where revenants and angry ghosts were said to dwell. Merchants and hunters avoided that place. People who wandered there were said to never return.

  “How—how many?” Jin muttered absentmindedly. How many people had to die to corrupt such a beautiful weapon? “How many people were killed by my ancestor?”

  Hamada sighed. “A thousand… warriors, servants, women, and children. The whole Kofun Clan was destroyed, down to the last child. None were spared. All their holdings were destroyed, all their fortresses were burned down, and all their farmlands were given over to the forests… Everything about them was erased from history. All that remains of them, I believe, are the Kofun Mountains, which were once the seat of their power.”

  It was truly poetic how he’d crossed paths with a weapon that reflected his own past back at him. It suffered just as he suffered—suffering from the bloodstains that’d clung onto its blade.

  A bloody blade with a bloody past for a man whose soul is stained with blood…. Almost as though something else had driven his body, Jin strode forward, his eyes blank. The wakizashi, Agito, called out to him, like a long lost friend, reunited at last.

  Jin reached forward. When his fingertips touched the edges of the sword’s hilt, flashes of bloodied battlefields, frenzied warriors, suffering women, and broken children made themselves at home in his mind’s eye. Agito wanted him to know its suffering, its pain, its sins, and so Jin gladly did the same. If this weapon was to be at one with him, then it needed to be at one with his mind as well. When he opened his memories to the bloodstained sword, he was no longer Murasaki Jin—he was the Mage-Emperor, the conqueror and the destroyer, the bane of nations, and the usurper of the gods.

  His thoughts laid bare—his memories, his fears, his sorrows, and his regrets. And Agito resonated. An accord was struck between them, a goal and a promise. They were both sinners and murderers. Rhey were both bloody monsters, whose souls were burdened with shame and guilt. You are a long way from home, Mage-Emperor.

  I know… but I do not miss my previous life. I do not long for that place. I wish only to be better than who I was—than who I still am. Would you stand by me, Agito, as we strive to find our better selves?

  I will fight with you, Murasaki Jin.

  When his eyes snapped open, Jin found the crimson-bladed wakizashi firmly in his grasp.

  Agito, you and I will change this world.

  And so, for the next two years, Jin trained and studied relentlessly—day and night, barely allowing himself to rest. With the library at his disposal, Jin absorbed all the knowledge of the Murasaki Clan—from magic and sword fighting, all the way down to medicine, farming, engineering, and administration. Many of his tutors looked at him and saw a child prodigy, whose future was bright and filled with achievements; here was a child, who will someday bring great changes to the Moyatani people. Whilst others shuddered at the thought of his extreme growth; for here was a boy who would someday become a terrifying monster.

  Hamada pushed Jin to the absolute brink of his physical ability, teaching him all there was to learn about the Murasaki Clan’s Kenjutsu. Alongside his family’s signature form of swordsmanship, Jin had two other tutors, who taught him very different forms of fighting: Nobito No Yoritsumo, who taught him the art of assassination, stealth, and espionage, which were the pillars of the Feather-Moon Blade; and Keikuri Seijuro, who taught him the Water-Flowing Sword, a variant of Kenjutsu that seemed to rely on constant, fluid, and flexible movements, a graceful dance that greatly improved the quality of his footwork and the elasticity of his muscles, if nothing else.

  Jin’s bond with Agito grew as well. With their minds intertwined, Jin’s movements and maneuvers with the short sword became far deadlier and more effective than they otherwise would’ve been. Agito, after all, was a living weapon, and so it was not only Jin, who attacked or defended, but Agito as well. Their promise to themselves and to each other would flash through Jin’s mind’s eye each time he grasped the sword’s hilt. It had become
a permanent brand upon his mind. Though, try as they might, the blade’s crimson stain could not be removed.

  His knowledge of magic increased drastically. Jin found that his earlier assumption about the nature of magical enchantments in this world were correct: Magical Beasts could indeed be placed inside weapons to grant it powerful attacks and abilities, just as his body could house a myriad of Magical Beasts and take their attributes for himself. Jin also found that his fire-salamander tattoo, which oddly seemed to grow with him as it now sported a pair of wings and a tiny crown of curved horns, could be transferred to three other places on his body, each time changing whatever magical effects it granted him.

  When the fire-salamander tattoo was transferred to his right forearm, Jin was able to create a whip of solid fire. When placed on his chest, heat would permeate his body so intensely that he was able to stand outside, naked, even on cold winter nights when pools of water turned to ice and plants withered and froze after the gentlest of breezes. When placed on his face, or just his head in general, the fire-salamander tattoo granted him an extremely enhanced sense of smell and the ability to taste the air with his tongue. Both abilities were… not nearly as useful as he’d hoped, especially the latter, but still useful in the right conditions.

  His physical growth in those two years was immense. Muscles rippled under his skin and he had grown tall—far taller than other children his age. Though, Jin wasn’t quite sure if this was due to his genetics or just his borderline abusive training, which he only survived due to his magic’s passive regeneration. Whatever the cause, Jin had grown stronger and faster in the two years that’d passed.

  And today, after 730 days of intense training, Hamada would put him to the test once more.

  His father’s latest test, however, was a little different.

  “Tomorrow, you will go out into the woods, with nothing but your wakizashi and the clothes on your back, and survive for two days and a single night. When the sun sets on the second day, you will return to the Murasaki Castle and you will not be welcomed by the guards,” Hamada declared sternly. “Instead, you will use all the skills available to you and attempt to sneak inside the castle and steal the family heirloom in the treasury. Do you understand, my son?”