An ex-samurai attempts to live in a village in the mountains in everlasting peace. However, when a visit to his cousins gets disturbing and he returns, he finds that this village is not at peace anymore.
Lost Existence
In the age of Azuchi-Momoyama, there is a plot,
To separate the swordsmen from those who are not
Volume 1: 1588; the Foreseen Hell
A village of commoners among commoners, laborers among laborers to whom only the mountains could serve as a nesting place. Me, I sojourned to this peaceful residence, a place of such irreplaceable grace for which, I believed nothing could conquer. And I exist, a wanderer, a ronin with nothing, but my hands and my code. Mountains… beautiful mountains cover the horizon and people here are so benign. Eternal harmony rests within the sun’s motions and the moon’s fluorescence is a spectacle to behold within a wonder such as this mini metropolis I now live in. Undisturbed, unprovoked by the vanity of such fruitless vehemence as a means to settle past disputes, these people are. Bloodshed is no treaty for these people and neither is artillery. Unity is there weapon and they admire each other with all their hearts. Everyone knew everyone and no one was without content. It had always been that way and I was convinced that it would always be, until that day. The day that would refocus time, the day that let me know that peace could not exist where hate flourished inside a solitary soul. On a journey to Urona’s house, that is what transpired to distract me. My cousin Miyaki Urona, a fabled artist who scoured the land for delectable, rare beauty within, that is the one I saw before carnage lit afire on that day. In past times, I was a soldier in the Imperial Army to protect the shogun. However, a crime that was indeed very disgraceful changed it all. The shogun, though it was uncharacteristic of such a man of power, took pity on me. Rather than execute me and do away with my life, he decided to exile me eternally among the mountains of our neighbors. Miraculously I was allowed to keep my sword on account of master Hideyoshi’s plea. Him, my sensei, who taught me everything I knew about the Way. Now it was up to me to uphold my oath, so as the gods would not eternally curse me. For it was said by him, that if I should ever use that sword to bring about dishonor, I shall forever be condemned. I didn’t mind, for my actions were thus far justified. I saw no wrongdoing of me to be exiled from my homeland, though my pride remained dashed and the honor that I had possessed was eternally crippled and diminished. The spirit of the warrior, the principles of Bushido, the art of life and death are still within me, for I know deception exists even where honor flourishes. I have no need to throw my life away for my ideals just yet. I still have much to do, so I’ve decided to keep my sword as an existence of the past, rather the present. I thought warring days were blind to me until that day. I thought peace prevailed until that day. Yes, so let me recreate that day.
