The next morning, Gintaro woke up to a soft rain falling upon his tent. He had not slept well and felt uneasy and nauseous. He gathered his things and went outside. Many of the people of Akai were already packing their things and breaking down their tents. They were preparing to follow Saru back north to their homeland. Gintaro went to Nō’s tent and roused him with a command. Then, he went to work packing their horses and prepared for the journey to come. The people of Akai had previously given them stores of food to take with them, and Nō had already filled their water skins full. It would be just enough to get them to Oboroshi. Gin knew that it was not enough to make it back, but he paid little thought to that now.

  Saru was nowhere to be seen, but as Gintaro and Nō were about to leave, she emerged from the encampment.

  She stared at Gintaro for several moments but did not say a word. Nō, sensing the tension between the two, decided not to ask. He had already been told that she would not be coming with them and had assumed she would head north to help her people. Instead, he hopped down from his horse and greeted Saru with a formal bow.

  “Now that it comes to it, I must admit I have grown fond of traveling with you,” the young man admitted. “I’m sure it will be a bit quieter without you.”

  Saru could not help but smile. “For a Truist, you’re not half bad,” she replied. “If you survive, come to Akai and we’ll show you how to properly receive a guest. You won’t have to sit under a waterfall, that’s for sure.

  The words, “If you survive,” hung in the air for some time. Nō forced a smile and then turned around. “May the All-Kami guide you,” he said. He then mounted his steed, and the two departed from the encampment of the Akai.

  Though his heart burned, Gintaro forced himself on ahead, and he did not look back. They took the western path towards Mount Oboroshi, while Saru would continue north. It was a bitter parting.

  For the next few days, Gin was nearly silent. Nō, understanding the reason for his master’s gloomy disposition, tried not to bother him and kept to himself. They did not practice those days, nor did they speak, even at mealtimes. They had come to the foothills of Oboroshi, and the lofty mountain now loomed above them like a formidable tower of stone. Similar to the foothills of Osoroshi in the Middle Country, the land about them took on a haunted, eerie look. The trees seemed gnarled and dead, and no living thing could be seen or heard.

  “It is well that Saru did not come with us. She could not abide this silence,” said Nō one evening as a lighthearted jest.

  Gintaro barely looked at him and forced a nod but did not smile or laugh. He seemed as if he had lost something and could not remember where he put it.

  The following day, as they continued their climb, they spotted a thin plume of smoke in the distance ahead. This was bewildering, for it was widely believed by all that none lived near the Mountain of Oboroshi or even round about. The two decided to make their way towards the smoke, as their curiosity to see this marvel could not be assuaged. As they grew nearer, they could see that the smoke was rising from an old wooden structure. It appeared to be a house based on its quaint size, but it had the ornamentation of a Truist temple.

  “Curious,” Gintaro muttered, being his first word since they left Saru at the encampment.

  They approached cautiously, not knowing who or what was inside this aged structure. When they were close enough, they hid no longer and came forward in an unassuming manner.

  “Hello!” Gintaro cried. There was no immediate answer, so the two drew nearer. “Is anyone there?” he continued. “We are two weary travelers, and we mean no harm. One of us is a consecrated Truist.”

  To this, there came some response from within, but from the feeblest of voices.

  It sounded like the voice was beckoning them inside, so the two carefully continued forward and up the few steps towards the entryway. Gintaro opened the outer door, then they both removed their footwear at the entryway, and proceeded inside.

  They were immediately greeted by the smell of incense that had been used for so many years that it had permeated every fiber of the building. This house, or temple as they soon discovered it to be, contained only one room. There was a hearth in the center of the temple, with a smoldering fire and smoke rising to the ceiling. On the left, there were two bookshelves and several hanging scrolls. In the far back of the room, there were supplies and a little store of food, and to the right was a futon for sleeping. Sitting upright before the cot was an old man, covered in layers of robes and heavy blankets.

  “Come in,” the old man repeated, but he did not move nor gesture in any way.

  In the light of the hearth fire, both could see that this man was almost unbelievably aged.

  “If Fuji-san from Kokoro was old,” thought Gintaro, “Then this man is ancient.”

  Indeed, he was so shriveled that his eyes could hardly be seen under the layers of wrinkles. He might have been tall once, but now he sat unmoving in a pile of clothes, which made him seem almost like a kind of wizened turtle.

  “Come sit,” the old man instructed, and both Gintaro and Nō came even closer. It appeared as if the old man was trying to see them, but was having a difficult time. “I apologize, but my vision has been failing me for the last few years. I can only see what is right in front of me.” He said this in a dry, cracked voice that seemed more like a whisper.

  Both teacher and student sat down as they were told. Gintaro did not sense any kind of menace to this elder and sat before him without trepidation.

  The old man stared at them for several moments before speaking. He seemed to be scrutinizing them with great effort.

  “So, you are real then,” he finally confirmed. “Very well. I have been looking forward to seeing you for such a long time. I might have imagined you. But my imagination is not so good to create the heat coming off you and the smell of your hair.”

  Both Nō and Gintaro looked at each other with confusion.

  “After all this time, I am finally relieved of my charge,” the old man continued, with a soft sigh. “When I got the news, I was elated. I thought they had forgotten me.”

  “Relieved?” Nō repeated, unable to contain himself.

  “Who are you?” Gin asked gently. “What is this place?”

  The old man seemed to furrow his brow, creating several more cracks in his already withered forehead. “Surely you must know, since it is you who have come to replace me.”

  “Replace you?” Nō repeated, this time with more astonishment.

  “I am sorry,” Gintaro ventured. “But you are mistaken. We have not come to replace you.”

  “Then why on earth are you here?” queried the old man.

  Gintaro looked around. One of the wall scrolls had caught his attention early when he had entered the room. It was an old painting of a great serpent with gleaming red eyes. “I have come to slay the beast under the mountain,” he said with some effort.

  “And this young man here?”

  “He is my apprentice,” Gin answered.

  The old man let out a long sigh, but this was one of exasperation, not of relief.

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  “I am sorry,” the swordsman said once again. “I wish I had better tidings.”

  The old man sat silent for a few minutes and then, as if suddenly invigorated by some supernatural power, he straightened up in his mound of blankets.

  “Very well, if I am still on duty, I shall fulfill it to the best of my ability until I am relieved. My name is Okuto, of the Truists. It is my duty to maintain this temple here and provide aid to any who comes this way. It has been many years since I have met any had dared to descend into Oboroshi. Of course, there have been those who have tried. In my one hundred and twenty-one years abiding here, I have seen quite a few robust young men, like yourselves, come to accomplish the task. More came in the past, almost none come now.

  Let’s see, it’s been at least two years since the last. There were five of them. Mashige’s men they were, but they did not heed my words. Insolent and self-confident they were. Yet another snack for the great wyrm.”

  “You have been here for more than a hundred years?” Nō marveled.

  “This one likes to repeat things, no?” Okuto quipped.

  This caused Gin to chuckle, and Nō to frown.

  “Ah well, that might be good for an apprentice. But only if his master is worth repeating.”

  “I must slay this creature,” Gintaro said as confidently as he could. “And reclaim the Sword of the Emperor.”

  “I am sure. I am sure. But many have told me the same and have not done so. You might see why I have come to be so skeptical, and why I’d like relief from this post. Nevertheless, it is my duty to inform you what I may if you are willing to hear it. Some are not.”

  Gintaro did not hesitate. “I am willing.”

  “Very well. First, tell me what you already know.”

  Gintaro shifted, as speaking of his past seemed to make him uncomfortable. “I was once trained to be a Kaijin. My master often told me that all yomi have their origin as kami. Kami have existed since the Primordial Age, before the time when man. The Akuma was great among the Yomi and became their king, but there were others who rivaled the strength and power of the Akuma and did not heed him. One of these was the great serpent, Orochi. Kaijin are supposed to help cleanse the land of yomi, but there were some that were too great even for us, and my master forbade us to approach them. The Orochi was among these. That is all I know.”

  “Ah yes, that is true, and how interesting! I do not think, yes, I do not think I have ever had a Kaijin attempt this feat. Your teacher was wise to forbid it. That was well. Yet, I find it intriguing that you now disobey his instructions.”

  “He is no longer my teacher,” Gin said darkly. “And my motivations are my own.”

  “Very well, very well. But you carry consecrated swords, do you not?”

  Gintaro nodded.

  “Ha! Well then, there is a chance then, perhaps? As I tell most who come here, the Orochi cannot be easily hurt. It is covered in scales that are like metallic shields. But perhaps a consecrated sword… anyways, I am forgetting myself. Now, you are mostly correct. The Orochi is a powerful yomi, and yes, it rivals even the Akuma in terms of raw power, but it is not of the same order. The Orochi was once a divine being, and its job was to make the tunnels and deep places of the earth. It is said that at some point, it thought it could claim dominion over the deeps and slowly slipped into darkness and became the yomi it is today. The Orochi did not heed the summons of the Akuma, nor did it fight for him. This infuriated the Akuma, for he was jealous of Orochi’s power and even feared him. Therefore, he used his cunning and trapped Orochi within the halls of this mountain by way of deceit. He then used Orochi as a defense for his fortress, for any who came to Oboroshi through the depths would be met by the fierce monster and thus destroyed.

  Many years later, the Chisatsu, the Bloodslayer he is sometimes called, came to this place. He was wise and climbed up the mountain, and then slowly made his way down. From there, he could see the trap that the Akuma had devised. The Akuma had made the bottom and the walls of the mountain impenetrable and also sheer, using some powerful sorcery. Therefore, the Orochi could not bore his way out, nor could his great bulk permit it to climb its way out. All that it could do was sit at the bottom of the great abyss and wait.

  The Chisatsu then made a verbal pact with the Orochi. He commissioned the creature to guard the Sword of the Emperor. He predicted that if he did this thing, one day a warrior would come and slay him. This would give the Orochi freedom from imprisonment and perhaps a chance at redemption. The Orochi apparently agreed to this pact, and ever since, the serpent has guarded the Sacred Treasure, awaiting a worthy adversary.

  But from my view, I am not so sure the Orochi desires death nor freedom, for it had killed every warrior who had dared to brave the deeps of that wretched place.”

  The old man paused. “My first job is to insist that you turn back. If you cannot abide this, then my second job is to tell you to turn back.”

  “And if I wish to go anyway?”

  “Then it is my final task to tell you of the entrance.”

  “What entrance?”

  “There is a cave mouth on the west side of the mountain, about halfway up. It is the same entrance that the Chisatsu took, and it will allow you at least some advantage in fighting the Orochi. The serpent is terrestrial, and if you approach from above, then you might have the initiative. But that is all you will get. From there, you are on your own. May I remind you that no one has ever come back from this?”

  Gin smiled grimly. “I understand that it is hopeless. But do you truly believe that the Sword of the Emperor is down there? That is what I am doing this for.”

  The old man shrugged, and this, besides the facial movements required for talking, was the first movement his body made since he straightened up a few minutes earlier.

  “I have not seen it, if that is what you are asking. But I believe it to be there.”

  “Why?” Gin pressed. “Why do you believe?”

  “Well…” the old Truist began. “Once, about ninety years ago, I decided to enter the mountain. I wanted to see if all these scrolls and texts strewn about were true. I had been strictly prohibited by my predecessor from going any further up the mountain, but I was young then, and curiosity got the best of me. So I went, the same way I am telling you now, and I found the upper entrance to Oboroshi.

  I went in and then went down. Down and down in a kind of ever-ending spiral. At first, it was not so bad, but then I encountered the smell. The smell alone has stayed with me even all these years later. It was like the refuse of a thousand animals mingled with some foul odor unbeknownst to me.

  Then there came the voice. I am not sure if I heard the voice audibly or if I sensed it. But it was a soothing, hypnotizing kind of voice. It told me to descend, and I reluctantly obeyed.

  I went further and further, and at first, I could see nothing in the black abyss, and I might have gone down to my doom, if not for the small chime I had around my neck.”

  A withered hand appeared from the layers of clothing and reached up towards his throat. With an effort, the old monk retrieved a small silver bell that he wore around his neck. For its size, it made a remarkably clear, high-pitched ring.

  “This was enough to rouse me from my stupor, and not a moment too soon, for as I went to turn around and return, I felt a surge of dark energy beneath me. The great serpent, coiled and ready to strike, lurched upwards. How long the strange monster is, I cannot rightly guess. All I knew was that the depth of that pit was still unfathomable to me, and yet its ugly maw nearly snatched me where I stood. I managed to jump back just in time and fled with all haste up the stairs. I did not look back down until I reached the cave’s entrance, and then only once. As the light of day shone brightly at that time, it partially illuminated the cavern below. All I could perceive was a never-ending coiling, like a bucket of eels, and somewhere in the midst of them, two blood red eyes.

  I tell you this as a long-winded answer to your question. If such a monster can exist on this earth, then why not the fabled Sword of the Emperor? If there is utter darkness, then surely there must also be heavenly light.”

  Gin nodded. This seemed well-reasoned enough. “Thank you for your help, Okuto-sensei.”

  The old man ventured a toothless smile, but then his face turned stern once again. “And what about this young man here? Surely you have lived long enough. You have contributed something to this world. But what about him? Will you suffer him to die along with you?”

  This caused Nō to flush red. “My teacher will not die, and neither will I. I will go with him whether he wills it or no. I am his apprentice, and he is my teacher. We shall not be separated.”

  “Oh!” the old man cried, with a short chortle of laughter. “So, he can think on his own, eh? Yet what thinking he does is foolish. He had better stick with repetition, I think.”

  “I do not advise him to go with me,” Gintaro explained. “But he will not heed me in this.”

  “Perhaps then it cannot be helped,” the old man said, considering. “Then it is settled. Stay tonight and rest. The entrance is less than a few hours' march north. Bring with you only what you need for the battle. Food, water, and items of comfort can stay here, or if you wish, you may donate them to the temple.”

  “It seems an ill omen to donate everything we have on the eve of battle,” Nō said under his breath.

  “I disagree,” Gintaro said in his plain voice. “I hereby donate all I have with me to the Truist Order. If I return, I may need some minor provision to live, but all I have brought with me, save my swords, is forfeit.”

  “Ah,” the old monk said, and there seemed to be a momentary gleam in his eye. “This is true wisdom. For what does a horse or bridal matter if you have the Sword of the Emperor? And what does food and water matter to the dead? But for your generosity, I will give you this.”

  The old man took the silver bell from his neck and carefully handed it to Gintaro. “Beware the voice of the serpent. It is old and fell. This saved me once; perhaps it can save you as well.”

  Gintaro took it with gratitude and put it over his head so that the bell rested on his chest next to his magatama.

  “May the All-kami guide you and keep you,” the monk intoned, his frail voice suddenly filling the entirety of the temple like a rush of wind. “May His face shine upon you. May you tread in his footsteps. May his mighty hands guide yours. May he satisfy your needs. May he forgive your debts. May he keep you from temptation, and may he rescue you from evil.”