Chapter 82: RashoMon, Obsession
Open her eyes, the scenery before her has already changed.
"Where am I?"
In the morning, she was calming her mind and adjusting her breath, circulating her inner energy, performing the daily essential exercises. However, once again, she was abruptly thrust into unfamiliar surroundings.
She wasn't surprised, merely astonished that there would be two additional challenges on this particular day.
However, soon she realized that this place was unlike any of her previous imaginings. It had a more tangible landscape, and she could even perceive the scent in the air.
The aroma of gunpowder, charred scent, bloodiness, and earthiness.
She looked around and found herself in an unfamiliar place. It seemed to be a battlefield ravaged by the flames of war, with collapsed city walls and burning wooden structures. Although she couldn't see any corpses, the scent of blood permeated the entire area.
Yagyū Simozi looked around, but didn't see that wandering samurai.
She increasingly doubted whether she was involved in some mysterious event. She had this suspicion from the beginning, and now it grew even stronger.
"Where exactly is this place?" she murmured to herself.
"This is RashoMon," an aged voice answered her question.
Yagyū Simozi cautiously turned her head towards the source of the sound, only to find an old man seated ten paces away. He was dressed modestly, with graying hair and a slender figure. In his left hand, he grasped a severely worn-out blade, while beside his right hand stood a statue of Ksitigarbha adorned with a red scarf.
"Who are you?" Yagyū Simozi inquired apprehensively. Last time it was a wandering samurai, and now it's an elderly person?
She could roughly sense the danger emanating from this elderly person. Some swordsmen become even more perilous as they grow older, remaining resilient like ancient, deeply rooted trees.
"Saizō."
The old man's visage was concealed by a worn-out mask, its pigments eroded to a point where the original design was indiscernible. His voice sounded both aged and chilly, resembling a shamisen that had lost its pitch.
He announced his presence, repeating once more, "This is RashoMon."
"You've mentioned it before, but what exactly is RashoMon?" Yagyū Simozi asked with a puzzled expression.
The old man raised his hand, pointing towards the fiery black iron gate not far away, saying, "That is RashoMon… behind that gate dwell eight million wicked spirits."
"Eight million?" Yagyū Simozi disbelieved, "It can't be possible to have that many."
"RashoMon opens its gate, revealing the calamities endured by countless lives," the old man said in an indifferent tone, "Once you pass through the gate, you shall know."
"Why must I go?" Yagyū Simozi frowned, as the dreamscape she had been envisioning started to take on an increasingly eerie twist. Could there be a plot unfolding?
"What brings you here?"
"I don't know," Yagyū Simozi asked, "Who pulled me in? I still want to clarify."
"Wasn't your desire to become stronger?" the elderly Saizō continued to inquire.
"Yes," Yagyū Simozi admitted readily, expressing her intense craving for power.
"After going through the RashoMon, the more one kills, the stronger they become," Saizō continued to point towards that door, as if hinting at the ultimate answer to the world hidden behind it.
…Perhaps behind the door, there is a number engraved: forty-two (Translator: this is a famous meme from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy).
Saizō continued, "On the way to the door, you will encounter a puppet, adorned with the weaponry you require and also accompanying you to ensure your safety."
Yagyū Simozi fell into contemplation, and after pausing for a moment, a faint hint of interest arose within her. Though unsure of its authenticity, she was already here, so why not proceed?
She was unsure how to escape from this place. After walking around the vicinity for a few rounds, she collided with a dense wall of white fog, confirming that there was no way to leave.
Before arriving at RashoMon, she truly witnessed the presence of a humanoid puppet. The puppet was adorned in a black overcoat, with its entire body constructed of mechanical mechanisms. Instead of flesh and skin, its face was covered by a fox mask.
The puppet was half-kneeling on the ground, a blade piercing through its heart, seemingly still dripping with blood.
How could a puppet have blood?
Without overthinking, she approached and stretched out her hand, pulling out the blade. The edge of the sword fell into her hand, emitting a melodious sword hum.
"What a splendidly beautiful blade."
Yagyū Simozi's gaze was captivated, as she looked at the ancient inscription on the sword. Although the script was unfamiliar, she immediately pronounced its name.
"Tengu Cut?"
The naming of famous swords is often simple - they are named by adding a noun in front of what they cut. For example, the renowned blade Azuki Nagamitsu is named after cutting through azuki beans, while Tōji-giri is associated with cutting through young boys… like the legendary Ibaraki-dōji.
Yagyū Simozi felt that this sword was not only beautiful, but also incredibly well-balanced, indescribably comfortable in both its weight and feel.
She pulled out the blade, and as the bloodstains on the sword splattered onto the ground, she gazed at the weapon. Suddenly, she heard the sound of a mechanical mechanism being activated.
The puppet stood up.
Like an activated Gundam or Titan.
At that moment, Yagyū Simozi instinctively pointed her blade toward the puppet, half-expecting it to rush toward her.
However, the puppet merely straightened its body, devoid of any expression or vibrancy on its fox mask.
"After all, it's just a puppet," Yagyū Simozi thought to herself as she sensed no hostility from it, and thus she lowered her Tengu Cut.
She turned, bypassing the puppet, and headed towards the direction of RashoMon. The puppet followed closely behind her, maintaining a measured distance of approximately three steps, neither too close nor too far.
Standing before the formidable Daimon of black iron, she reached out her hand to caress its rough textures, sensing its ancient and enigmatic nature.
Then, the door opened.
"Uh?" Yagyū Simozi widened her eyes in surprise, wondering how the door had opened. She was certain she hadn't pushed it… Was it automatic sensing?
A strong scent of blood wafted from behind the door, like the beam of a flashlight in the dead of night cast upon a riverbank, reflecting countless twinkling lights on the water's surface. At first glance, it appeared beautiful, but upon closer inspection, it was evident that those were the eyes of cannibalistic beasts, glinting in reverse.
Her initial response was not to rush in, but rather to instinctively step back. However, a sudden surge of force from behind pushed her into the doorway.
It's that puppet!
After Yagyū Simozi stepped into RashoMon, the puppet followed suit, and she could only hear the clanging sound as the door closed.
No matter how hard she kicked and pounded on the door this time, there was no response.
"Damn it!" Yagyū Simozi gritted her teeth and cursed silently. This time, she had no choice but to draw her sword to confront the situation.
Suddenly, a flash of red light approached. With steadfast composure, Yagyū Simozi, forged through a month-long battle of real swordsmanship, had been thoroughly honed. It was not that she lacked fear of life and death, but rather she understood how to maintain a calm mind and control the current situation. Without hesitation, she chose to wield her sword.
As the sword light intersected with the red light, she heard a chilling scream, and indeed, she felt the sensation of flesh and bones being severed on her blade. With no time to evade, the blood splattered onto her face, prompting her to instinctively shut her eyes and hold her breath. Due to her mouth being open, she even tasted the metallic tang of blood.
At that moment, Yagyū Simozi experienced a strong sense of discomfort for the first time - nausea and repulsion that triggered an intense psychological resistance, resulting in physical reactions.
Her mind was blank, and only later did she belatedly remember that she had been engaged in real sword matches for so long, yet she had never actually landed a blow on anyone, nor had she ever taken a life.
She paused, but the assailant would not.
In the dark expanse, the odors were overwhelmingly palpable, the scent of blood and the metallic aroma emanating from swords all served as excellent guides.
After merely a few seconds, Yagyū Simozi found herself completely surrounded.
She had now begun to adapt to the darkness, able to make out, albeit faintly, the movements of these creatures in the dim light. Though they appeared humanoid, they were anything but human.
At this moment, she could not find a favorable angle to counterattack, so she could only clutch her sword and crouch backward.
At that moment, a rigid sensation was felt against her back, and she had forgotten that behind her was the door, leaving no distance to retreat.
Oh no… Yagyū Simozi widened her eyes, realizing that she had overestimated her own abilities. Just as she had stepped through the door, she was about to be taken down?!
In the moment of almost giving up, she heard a chilling sound of the wind, as a heavy sword swept across. In an instant, it was as if a brush dipped in ink had made a sweeping stroke, instantly erasing the red dots flickering at close range.
It is the puppet.
It remained silent, effortlessly sweeping away the obstacles in front with a swing of its heavy sword.
A stoic warrior stood steadfastly by her side, guarding her vulnerabilities and vital points, resolute and reliable in their silence.
Yagyū Simozi's heart was somewhat conflicted, this puppet had deceived her, yet also saved her. Should she say thank you?
Forget it, after all, it's just a puppet.
She took a deep breath, momentarily disoriented, and was compelled to adapt to the surroundings, be it the bloodshed or the darkness.
Before life and death, she began to evolve rapidly, holding onto the determination to survive and return. The girl rallied her spirits and pressed forward.
Taking a brief respite, she ventured into the depths of RashoMon's darkness.
An unending succession of deadly battles awaits.
…
Meanwhile, on the other side…
Bai Wei sat before the tea table, where a cup of hot tea was placed. Across from him sat another person.
It was also himself.
The two sat face to face, one a living being, while the other embodied memories and echoes.
In Bai Wei's eyes, another silent version of himself hung a towering exclamation mark above his head, with its name duly marked below.
[Obsessive Impasse]
[As a person approaches death, desires remain unextinguished, hatred doesn't cease, fond memories persist eternally, and yearnings continue to entangle. These are all manifestations of an obsessive impasse.]
[And death, preserving this fervent attachment, intertwines it into an impasse.]
[Inheriting the past, revisiting bygone times, also signifies swallowing this fervent attachment…]
[To resolve attachments, untangle the impasse, how could it be easy? The impasse is difficult to unravel, and attachments have no place to reside.]
"Hiss…"
