Rebirth of the Sword Saint: A Reincarnation Epic Fantasy Saga

by DB King

  Then again, the presence of an enemy mage should produce some level of detectable magical trail in the air, but there was nothing.

  Ah well, I could just walk in and kill every living thing in the cave. If the survivors disperse into the surrounding lands, I’ll just have to hunt them down and—

  A random thought occurred to him. Did he really need to kill them at all? After all, human life was a valuable commodity that shouldn’t be taken or thrown away so easily. Jin paused and leaned against a tree, considering his options, whilst his eyes drifted up at the stars twinkling in the night sky.

  Why should I kill them when I can take over their enterprise, instead? He thought. In his previous world, before his rise to the highest throne, Jin had briefly been a part of underground societies, secret organizations, and assassin brotherhoods. He knew the ins and outs of managing a shadow group probably more than he knew how to manage a village. If he could somehow get the bandits to submit to him, then he’d gain a very useful set of resources – one he could throw at the lands of neighboring lords to pillage and plunder, without anyone the wiser.

  But they’d never bow down to a child, he supposed. No matter how much strength I display, these bandits would never allow themselves to submit to a nine-year old. I need… a stand in—

  Wait.

  His lips widened into a wicked grin. Oh yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do.

  * * *

  “You think anyone’s gonna pay the ransom for these old coots?” Jin listened in on the conversation between two of the bandits as he walked on. Beside him walked a fire-replica of Hamada, only much more refined and lordly, projecting an air of arrogance and security. When they reached the mouth of the cave, the bandits stiffened, grabbed their weapons, and aimed their little bamboo spears at Jin’s fiery creation. Of course, they elected to ignore the nine-year-old child. Well, I am rather short. The miscreants are likely thinking I’m of no threat. At least my plan’s working out so far.

  If Jin wasn’t trying to be grave and serious about the whole thing, he would have laughed at their faces. Their attempt at making themselves appear threatening was honestly quite cute, like a pair of angry kittens baring their teeth at an approaching elephant. Jin had to hold himself from wheezing as they approached. Get it together! he told himself.

  One of them, a ragged man with an equally ragged beard, stepped forward. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?” he demanded.

  Another bandit raised an eyebrow and glanced at him for a moment, before turning his full attention toward Jin’s life-sized replica of Hamada, complete with the man’s favorite clothes and his tachi. Though, if anyone were to reach out and touch the replica, their hand would not fare well. While the replica was not just a fiery human being and did, in fact, look exactly like how Jin imagined Hamada to be, it was ultimately made of fire.

  “I wish to parley with your leader. You will take me to him, knave.” Hamada spoke with as much disdain and arrogance as Jin could feasibly shove into it. Jin even made the replica point at the man’s exposed chest for emphasis.

  The bearded bandit seemed outraged, but the sudden, bubbling anger died down almost as quickly as it surfaced as Hamada loomed over them like a giant. Meanwhile, the bandit’s partner visibly shrunk back, sweat dripping down the side of his head, even dropping his spear. Huh, I have to admit. Hamada can be incredibly intimidating when you’re not used to him.

  The bearded bandit shook his head and aimed his spear right at Hamada’s throat, though the point of it was shaking wildly. “I don’t c-c-care who you think you are, but no one gives me orders!”

  Hamada turned toward Jin, before turning back to bandits, smirking. “Student, please relieve this man of his weapon and his consciousness. My patience is running thin.”

  Jin smiled. “With pleasure, my master.”

  Jin flashed upward, sending a powerful left kick to the bearded bandit’s right temple and sending him flying away. The man crashed against a boulder, before sliding and slumping down on the soil, unconscious. The whole thing took less than a second.

  Jin brushed off the dust that’d clung onto the edges of his sleeves. “It is finished, master.”

  “That is very good, my student.” Hamada then turned toward the remaining bandit and smiled. “You don’t want to end up like your little friend, right?”

  Throat and mouth practically frozen in fear, the bandit could only muster enough strength to nod his head frantically, cold sweat dripping all over his body and drenching his ragged clothes.

  Hamada took a single step forward, still smirking. “Take me to your leader, before I lose what little remains of my patience.”

  He turned toward the bearded bandit’s downed form. “If you don’t, I’ll make sure my student does something far worse to you.”

  “I’ll take you to the boss immediately!” The bandit yelped, profusely bowing his head up and down, sweating buckets. The man was lucky they were this far south that the northern winds couldn’t just freeze him after a single blow. The bandit’s face was pale and dreadful, like fish taken out of water and left in the sun for too long.

  Jin resisted the urge to fall down and laugh. This was too good. Ah, I wonder what it’d take to make him soil his pants…

  The man led them into the mouth of the cave, where a musky scent met Jin’s nose. It was almost like the smell of a drill station in his previous world, where soldiers marched and practiced their skills under the command of a Drill Sergeant, a high-ranking officer who often carried a whip and a sharp tongue. Well, the cave probably had the smell for a more mundane reason: these bandits likely hadn’t taken a bath in months.

  “Who the hell are these people, Kira?” A commotion was brewing. They had crossed the mouth of the cave and found themselves in a wide cavern, where numerous wooden installations were built upon the ground—sleeping places and treasure hoards. There were tents and futons and fireplaces. Of the numerous tents, one stood higher and more pristine than the others. Trinkets and other strange items adorned it.

  Close to a hundred bandits made their home here.

  And now, those hundred had surrounded Jin and Hamada. Each one of them was armed, but unarmored. Most of them wore raggedy kimonos or just outright wraps. Despite their successful raids and lootings, these people were still very much in poverty. And why would they not be? They weren’t merchants - whatever goods they stole would soon rot away in this blasted cave. No one would buy things that were obviously stolen, unless said buyer wanted the whole Merchant’s Guild up in arms against them.The only sure way for them to earn money was through ransoms. Taking control of the horde of unwashed and untrained barbarians would prove to be rather easy.

  Jin smirked, but no one was looking at him – no one was paying attention to him.

  The pale and gaunt bandit who’d led them inside, whose name was apparently Kira, paled further before turning to Hamada and pointing a weak finger at the very imposing fire-clone. Jin glanced at his to-scale replica of Hamada and wondered if perhaps he’d overdone the whole thing and made it too terrifying for the lowly thugs.

  Kira shuddered as he spoke, “He… he wants to see the boss.”

  “Eh? What for?” One of the bandits stepped forward, a burly man with a protruding belly. His arms were thick and muscular, and he carried with him a gruesome wooden club, which he pointed at Hamada’s chest. “What the hell do you want with the boss?”

  “It’s quite simple really,” Hamada answered, smirking. If anyone had bothered to compare his face with Jin’s, they would have seen the exact same smirk. Alas, no one even bothered to look at the nine-year-old child beside him. Hamada reached forward and grabbed the tip of the bandit’s kanabo club, the hardwood hissing and smoking at his touch. Almost immediately, the other bandits stepped away. Whispers of witches, magic, and curses fluttered all around. As the wooden club burst into flame, Hamada took a single step forward and spoke, “I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

  C
hapter 18

  “What brings you this far south, Northerner?” The boss of the bandits was not as Jin had expected; he was short and stout, and his hands lacked the calluses of a warrior. He looked almost like a stereotypical merchant with how his belly seemed to protrude forward. He did, however, exude an aura of calm and confidence – the aura of one with years and experience behind them. His eyes spoke much as well – calculating. He took a cup of rice wine into his mouth, whilst sliding one over toward Jin’s fire replica of Hamada.

  They sat upon the floor of a hide tent, sewn together from the tanned hides of large animals, ranging from bears to deer. Despite the rustic and primitive look, however, the inside of the tent swelled with riches and elegant baubles that would not look out of place in the personal quarters of some gaudy noble whose treasury overflowed with gold – in this bandit’s case, he just skipped ahead to getting what he wanted without having to buy it off someone else. There were glass and porcelain cups, inlaid with gold filigree and silver streaks – chopsticks and knives made of master-forged steel, meant for the personal weapons of bushi and noblemen. Honestly, the tent’s interior was a stark contrast to the rugged band that dwelled just outside.

  Jin grinned inwardly. This bandit boss was someone he could get along with quite well. Hamada spoke, “Before we discuss business, I would like to know what you’re called, bandit leader.”

  “Of course, of course, where are my manners?” The bandit leader chuckled to himself. But Jin saw through the façade almost immediately. A part of him wanted the whole thing to end immediately, for them to speak as they should, but another part of him was kind of enjoying the little farce. After all, they were both acting; one was acting in such a way as to make others underestimate his true intelligence, and the other one was literally acting the role of his own father.

  Still, why had this man referred to Hamada as ‘Northerner’? He wasn’t exactly wrong, since their family did come from the north, but how had he figured it out so quickly? Was it in his demeanor? Was it in the clothes? The proverbial wheels in Jin’s mind were spinning so rapidly that his control over the fire replica had wavered for but the briefest of moments in such a way that flecks of flames shimmered in the air from Hamada’s clothes, before quickly dissipating as Jin regained his self-control. That was close.

  The bandit boss didn’t seem to notice, however, but Jin wasn’t counting on it; he had to act as though his cover was already blown.

  Hamada took the rice wine and gulped it down at once – the liquid sizzled, hissed, and steamed inside him, but the vapors were dispersed so that the bandit boss didn’t notice anything – even then, there were vapors emanating from the scented candles that adorned his tent.

  “My men call me boss, my colleagues call me Yojimbo; my real name is lost and will remain lost. So, what are you doing this far in the Southlands, Northerner?”

  Jin considered the question for a moment; it didn’t matter how this Yojimbo person seemed to know immediately that Hamada was a northerner. What really mattered was his answer to that question. With a simple mental command, Jin’s fire-replica of Hamada spoke, “Power – it drives me further from my home as I suspect it drove you far from yours. I seek – in the simplest of terms – power above all else.”

  Yojimbo grinned, his aura seemingly shifting instantly. His demeanor changed as well, gone was the bandit leader and the toothy smile that came with the façade, revealing the man beneath the illusion; the true Yojimbo, the cold and calculating man, who viewed people as resources to be spent or thrown away. He was very much like Jin, himself, except for the fact that he wasn’t physically inclined; it was honestly quite refreshing to finally meet another ruthless thinker. I wonder what his grand plan is by managing this group of miscreants. There has to be some sort of higher goal to this whole thing if we are anything alike.

  “We are the same then. So, on to business; I see no more sense in this little game we’re playing…” To Jin’s utter surprise, Yojimo tore his gaze from Hamada and locked eyes with him, instead. “This magical construct of yours is quite good, if I may say so myself; it reacts so fluidly and so lifelike that I’m certain my men would not have noticed anything amiss about it. However, I have dealt with more mages than I’d like and such paltry tricks are not beneath my notice; next time, it’d be wise for you to remember, little mage, that you simply cannot replicate the life in a person’s eyes – you can replicate everything else, but not that. When I look at this… construct of yours, it is as though I am looking at a reanimated corpse.”

  Jin was torn between gritting his teeth in frustration or just outright clapping at Yojimbo’s perceptiveness. Whatever the case, the bandit leader had truly elevated himself in Jin’s eyes, solidifying his position as an equal of the mind – definitely not an equal of strength, but the mind was mankind’s most potent weapon. With it, even the weak could bring down the strong. Yojimbo’s mind was one he could not look down on.

  Jin smiled and spoke for the first time in what must have been an hour, “I didn’t think anyone would actually notice that little trick. Whatever the case, I’m not going to dispel it, if you don’t mind?”

  Yojimbo shrugged, but took away the cup of sake he’d passed toward Hamada. “You’re too young to be drinking. Anyway, what are you doing here? My men told me you were going to give me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Of course, with you being a potent mage, just ordering them to kill you and be done with it wasn’t an option; so, may I hear this offer of yours, now?”

  Jin dropped his smile and made his fire-replica pause and stop moving. With his attention now firmly on Yojimbo, Jin leaned forward and placed his chin between his palms, elbows planted on his thighs. “I’d like to – shall we say – hire your little band of ruffians and miscreants, and give the lot of you an actual direction. See, you’ve been attacking, robbing, or even kidnapping a few of the merchants headed toward Hirata and I don’t want that. When I arrived here, it was with the express wish to kill you all, impale your bodies on bamboo shoots, and rush back home.”

  Yojimbo grinned, utterly unperturbed by Jin’s admission to wanting to skewer him and his lackeys. He spoke with a cunning, business-like tone, leaning forward as well, “Instead, you saw an opportunity in my little merry band, correct?”

  Jin nodded. “Yes, with you and your bandits in my employ, I would direct you to the lands of my enemies and arm you with proper weapons and provisions; I’d even sell your stolen goods for you and give you a sizeable cut of the profits. Of course, the lot of you will be given proper payment for your services rendered, alongside my… personal protection – I am a powerful mage, after all. In return, you will go where I tell you to and attack who I tell you to. Other than that, I will outline the lands you can raid and plunder to your hearts’ contentment.”

  Jin did not doubt his ability; he was powerful and he knew it. There were likely to be plenty of others who were stronger than him, but none of them would be of his age and were likely to be at least two decades older. Compared to just about everyone else in his age-range and anyone else under the age of twenty-five, Jin was certain of his superiority. However, he wasn’t taking down an entire clan – a very powerful and influential one at that – by himself. No, he needed an army.

  Yojimbo’s bandit band was… not an army, but Jin could mold them to be one – a regiment, at least, since their numbers were paltry. However, given proper resources, equipment, and some training; Jin would have a very effective force of guerilla warriors – a mode of warfare that the people of Moyatani have never conceived nor heard of due to all the honorable tenets that dictated how they fought. Jin’s experience in his previous world, however, had taught him the simple and bitter fact that honor had no place in war; the only thing that mattered was that you won and your enemy was crushed. In that same line of thought, even the most powerful and skilled of bushi would be wholly unprepared for the demon that was guerilla warfare.

  After all, what was the point of a powerful cavalry charge
by noble and courageous bushi if they all fell into a spiked pitfall and died? What was the point of martial skill with a blade if one’s throat was slit in the night in one’s bed? Jin would mold this crew of motley bandits into something more – a proper shadow organization of saboteurs, assassins, and raiders.

  “You certainly know how to make an offer,” Yojimbo said. “The goods we’ve stolen are mostly useless, unless it’s food or wine; everything else is given away to everyone, equally. While I won’t share my reasons for starting this crew of mine, I will admit that it has grown quite beyond what I intended it to be – beyond the scope of my goals. A good direction is what we need – and a patron.”

  Jin nodded, pleased that his fellow thinker understood his position. “I will also train your men in the arts of ambushing, trapping, and sabotage; I’m sure their skill is adequate for catching merchants and their ilk, but mediocrity has no place in my plans.”

  “You wish to make those fools into something that resembles the shinobi?” Yojimbo asked, a single eyebrow raised.

  Jin considered the question for a moment. While it was true that the Shadow Warriors were known for their assassination skills and their ability to attack unseen, unheard, and undetected, they were simply unsuited to Jin’s plans. They could kill individuals, poison food stores and water sources easily enough, but against large groups of disciplined men and moving armies, the Shinobi’s mode of combat almost always never worked. Whereas a group of guerilla fighters could slowly eat away at the flanks of a moving army without ever revealing themselves or placing themselves in the way of danger – even do so in broad daylight when the Shadow Warriors would only strike in the safety of the shadows of the night.

  Jin shook his head. “No, not like the Shinobi; I don’t need assassins. What I need is a dedicated force to strike at the weak points of the enemy; this could be anything from exposed flanks, isolated regiments, baggage trains, loot carriages, under-guarded treasures, and whatever else I deem fit for them to do.”