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Miyamoto Musashi, also known as Miyamoto Bennosuke and by his Buddhist name, Niten Dōraku,
Was a Japanese swordsman, strategist, artist, and writer who became renowned through stories of his unique double-bladed swordsmanship and undefeated record in his 62 duels during the 15th century.
Musashi is considered a kensei (sword saint) of Japan. He was the founder of the Niten Ichi-ryū or in english "The Two Heavens Sword Art", style of swordsmanship.
Later, during the great war between the mana-beast and the sages, there appeared one human, who wasn't a sage but defeated a millions of mana beast in a blink of a seconds.
It was Yoemon Takemura, one of the son, an adopted son and one of the student of Miyamoto Musashi, also, the inheritor of the "Two Heavens Sword art".
Later that year, Yoemon forged two new sword arts, each a meticulous replica of the original, yet altered through distinct elemental attributes.
The first was designed for the odachi, the long sword revered for its reach and power.
Within this art lay twelve intricate techniques, each a manifestation of Yoemon's mastery, flowing seamlessly from one form to another.
This style embodied precision, grace, and overwhelming strength, its every motion carrying the essence of a storm restrained within a blade.
The second art, however, was of an entirely different nature.
It involved the simultaneous wielding of both a short sword and an odachi, harmonizing offense and defense with terrifying fluidity.
Its resemblance to the original was astonishing, a 98% replication, but that remaining 2% divergence was what made it even more formidable.
This dual-blade art transcended the limitations of its predecessor, becoming a weaponized embodiment of destruction and balance alike.
What made it truly fearsome was its dual-energy infusion, both Mana and Qi.
Mana, the manifestation of one's mental and spiritual essence, and Qi, the life force coursing within all living beings, were fundamentally incompatible.
Nature itself forbade their coexistence, for they were born from opposing origins, mind and body, thought and life.
Yet, Yoemon accomplished the impossible. Through refinement beyond mortal comprehension, he intertwined Mana and Qi into a single, unified current, allowing both energies to coexist within the flow of his art.
The result was a technique so deadly, so transcendent, that even the gods might tremble before its execution.
And though the original sword art would one day fall into the hands of the protagonist, for Lyrium… his path would begin with this forbidden masterpiece, the fusion of mind, life, and blade.
"I don't want to mess up the plotline,"
Lyrium muttered, leaning back against the smooth rail of the yacht.
The breeze brushed his silver hair as the golden rays of sunset reflected on the surface of his lemon juice.
"So, I'll not take the original sword art, since it'll eventually belong to the main protagonist."
His lips curved into a sly grin as he raised the glass slightly, watching the sea shimmer below.
"But… who said I won't be taking the replicas?"
A faint smirk tugged at his face as he took a slow sip, the tang of lemon lingering on his tongue.
His gaze stayed fixed on the endless expanse of blue, calm yet sharp, like a predator waiting for the right time to strike.
There was a reason he had chosen the odachi, the long sword, from that secretive weapon store in the Black Market.
From the very beginning, Lyrium had planned everything.
He wasn't the type to move without purpose.
He had already set his eyes on the replica version of the Two Heavens Sword Art, a technique said to rival the gods themselves.
And unlike the original, which was pure yet incomplete, the replica was more dangerous, more refined, and, in the right hands… infinitely more lethal.
"It sure is nice to be omniscient,"
He said with a chuckle, swirling the glass in his hand as if toasting the sea.
"And who would've thought I'd end up with a private, ultra high-tech, fourth-dimensional space, high-quality engine yacht of all things?"
His laughter echoed softly across the waves.
Lyrium had been shameless in his previous world, and it seemed that no amount of death or reincarnation could change that.
At this point, his personality could only be summed up in one simple truth:
"Once a shameless, always a shameless."
He placed the glass down on a small floating tray beside him, the lemon slice tilting slightly against the rim.
His eyes narrowed as he gazed toward the faint silhouette on the horizon, a distant dot growing clearer with each passing moment.
"Jeju Island, huh…"
He murmured, his voice quiet but laced with anticipation.
The sea wind carried his words away, but the grin remained, calm, knowing, and unmistakably shameless.
.
.
.
.
Upon arriving at the quiet, desolate beach of Jeju Island, Lyrium stepped off the yacht with a soft thud, his boots sinking slightly into the damp sand.
The salty breeze brushed past him, carrying an eerie silence that didn't belong to the Jeju he once knew.
With his usual unbothered expression, he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and began walking inland, straight toward the forest that concealed a towering mountain at the heart of the island.
"Instead of Jeju Island…"
He muttered, glancing around as his footsteps echoed faintly through the wind,
"…it should've been called Ghost Island."
In his previous life, Jeju had been a peaceful island, a tourist haven where people lived normal lives and took pictures beside the sea.
But here, in this twisted version within the novel, Jeju Island had become a death field, a hunting ground for Mana Beasts.
There wasn't even a single living creature to be seen.
Not an animal, not even an insect.
The air was thick and heavy, the silence suffocating.
The entire island felt… wrong.
The atmosphere carried an unnatural chill, the kind that seeps through your bones.
The clouds above were thick and gray, swallowing the sun whole, while the wind whispered faintly through the dead trees.
It was dark.
Cold.
Almost like the world itself had stopped breathing.
Lyrium narrowed his eyes.
"What's with the climate?"
He grumbled, folding his arms as he tilted his head toward the gloomy sky.
"Does the author think Jeju Island is the city from The Dark Knight?"
He sighed, staring at the towering mountain before him, its peak swallowed by a thick gray fog that brushed against the clouds.
The entire scenery was an eerie imitation of Gotham's eternal night.
"The climate, the weather, the atmosphere…"
He muttered, shaking his head.
"It's literally Gotham Island. I'm half expecting Batman to jump out from the mist."
From his wristband, Lyrium tapped a small rune, and a rope coiled out smoothly into his hand.
With a casual swing, he hurled it upward, and the tip, equipped with a crisscross-shaped metal hook, latched firmly onto one of the jagged rocks high above.
If anyone saw him using such a primitive tool in this technologically advanced era, they would've laughed their heads off.
And honestly, he wouldn't blame them.
"Who the hell uses an old-fashioned rope in an age of flight runes and gravity boots?"
He muttered sarcastically, tugging the rope to test its strength.
The hook held firm.
"Perfect… but damn…"
He glanced up, his neck straining as his eyes followed the rope that disappeared into the mist.
"Why is this so high?!"
The mountain seemed to pierce the heavens themselves, its tip hidden beyond the clouds.
He stood there for a moment, exhaling a long breath, his expression wavering between irritation and disbelief.
"Haa… it's not like I'm going to die, right?"
He said to himself, forcing a smirk as he placed a hand on his chest.
"I already died once. This is nothing. Just another climb… another bad decision."
Still, his lips twitched into a faint, bitter smile.
The higher he looked, the tighter his stomach churned.
He pressed a hand over his belly button, wincing.
Of course, it was nausea.
Lyrium Blackwood, the all-knowing, the shameless, the omniscient, was terrified of heights.
He stood in silence for a moment, staring up at the impossible climb ahead of him.
Then, with a resigned sigh, he gripped the rope and began his ascent.
"Alright, Lyrium,"
He muttered to himself, pulling himself upward,
"Just climb the stupid mountain. Don't look down. Don't think. Don't puke. Easy, right? Totally easy… heh."
"Haha… The great extra character, Lyrium Blackwood, the one who knows everything that's going to happen in the future and will supposedly save the world… is scared of heights."
He laughed weakly, his voice trembling along with his grip on the rope.
"For real… everyone would make fun of me if they saw this."
His hands were shaking, his entire body trembling as cold sweat rolled down his forehead.
His stomach twisted painfully from nervousness.
Every pull upward made his heart pound faster, and his legs felt like jelly even though they weren't doing most of the climbing.
After about half an hour, he had already climbed high enough to set up a camp if he wanted to.
The view below was just a blur of clouds and fog, but he didn't dare look down.
'Don't look down, Lyrium. Just don't. If you look down, the fear's only gonna get worse… and your stomach's going to feel like it's turning inside out.'
He gritted his teeth and kept his eyes locked forward, climbing steadily despite the fear.
His body showed no signs of fatigue, his mana control made sure of that, but his mind was another story.
The fear of falling clung to him like a curse.
At this height, even mana wouldn't save him if he slipped.
One wrong move, and that would be it.
"Haaa… haaa… haaa… F-Finally…"
He gasped, his voice cracking as he reached for the last ledge.
"I–I r-reached the p-peak…"
He hauled himself over the edge, collapsing onto the rocky surface.
His limbs were stiff, and his breathing was uneven.
His voice trembled, words barely coming out straight.
Was he really that scared of heights?
Yes.
Completely.
Everyone has something they fear, something that reminds them they're still human, no matter how powerful they are.
For Lyrium, that fear was heights.
He sat there for a few moments, clutching his chest as he took deep breaths, forcing his body to calm down.
Slowly, the trembling stopped.
"Haaaa…"
He exhaled heavily, a tired smile spreading across his face.
"Let's go then…"
With one last steadying breath, Lyrium stood up, dusted off his clothes, and began walking toward the heart of the mountain's peak.
.
.
.
.
After roaming for a few minutes across the rocky surface of the mountain peak, Lyrium finally came across something unusual, a dark opening carved into the cliffside.
He stopped, tilting his head slightly.
"Nope… that doesn't look like a cave,"
He muttered, squinting into the darkness.
"More like… a dungeon?"
The entrance was wide and hollow, its interior stretching deep into the mountain like a tunnel instead of a natural cave.
The air that drifted out from it was cold and thick with mana, carrying an unsettling stillness.
"But please…"
He groaned under his breath, rubbing his temples.
"Don't tell me there's also a fourth-dimensional space inside this cave…"
He was honestly sick of those things.
What once used to be a rare, mysterious artifact, something that should've been considered priceless, was lying around everywhere in this world like a common light bulb.
The sense of rarity was long gone.
"Haaa..."
With a resigned sigh, Lyrium stood in front of the cave's entrance and tapped his wristband.
A small torch flickered to life in his hand, illuminating the first few meters of the tunnel.
"Alright then… here goes nothing,"
He muttered, stepping inside.
The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly against the cave walls.
"But seriously,"
He whispered, half-praying as he walked deeper,
"Please don't let me run into a mana-beast right now…"
Of course, his prayers meant nothing.
In this world, mana-beasts were everywhere.
Every place where thick mana accumulated, mana-beasts would naturally appear.
It was an unbreakable rule of nature, where there is light, there will always be darkness.
The cave walls were rough but unnaturally structured, and as Lyrium went deeper, he noticed several branching pathways carved into the stone.
They twisted and connected like veins through the mountain.
"More like a maze, huh?"
He murmured, running his hand along the wall.
But to him, it wasn't a problem.
He already knew every path, every corner, every dead end, this place had been clearly described in the novel.
"It feels so good to be omniscient…"
He said with a confident grin.
"If I remember correctly, this cave was discovered by the protagonist during the development arc. I already know everything that happens here."
But as that thought crossed his mind, his smile slowly faded.
That wasn't entirely true anymore.
A single change in his actions, like taking the replica sword art or visiting this place too early, could alter the entire plotline.
The Black Market incident alone had already caused ripples he couldn't fully predict.
"Haaa..."
He sighed softly, his expression turning a little serious.
"I've probably already changed everything… the Black Market, the flow, even the protagonist's route."
He walked deeper into the darkness, the torchlight flickering against the cold stone.
"Still, it's surprising,"
He added after a moment, chuckling to himself,
"That the author didn't even bother putting any obstacles here during the development arc."
He could still remember reading those old comments, the readers cursing the author for making the protagonist's growth too easy.
"Well,"
He said with a smirk, his voice echoing faintly in the quiet cave,
"Guess I'm about to fix that for him."
Whish—!
The air grew suddenly heavy, almost suffocating, as Lyrium stepped further into the dim cave. In the faint torchlight, he saw a figure seated on a stone throne, a skeleton.
Its empty eye sockets stared forward, hands resting on the hilt of a wooden sword thrust deep into the ground.
"This is… without a doubt the place,"
Lyrium muttered, his eyes narrowing.
"Since the dead skeleton of 'that' person is here, the sword art has to be on that sword."
In the novel, this place had been described simply. No beasts, no traps, no obstacles, just an empty chamber with a legendary sword waiting to be claimed.
Trusting that knowledge, Lyrium cautiously stepped forward, approaching the skeletal figure.
A chill ran down his spine, sweat forming at the nape of his neck as he drew closer.
In the original illustrations, the scene had been depicted in a shounen-seinin style,nheroic, dramatic, but not particularly terrifying.
Lyrium had expected the same.
But seeing it in reality, with the echo of his own footsteps and the oppressive silence of the cave, the place felt entirely different.
Darker.
Deadlier.
He extended his hand toward the sword, brushing his fingers over the worn wood.
Whoosh—!
An instant surge of energy radiated from the weapon, a thick, suffocating aura.
But it wasn't fear.
It wasn't anger.
It was… guilt.
Guilt.
Lyrium froze.
Why guilt? What had happened to Yoemon? How had he died? There was no information in the novel.
No extra chapters, no side stories, nothing.
The skeleton, according to Lyrium's knowledge, was the remains of Takemura Yoemon, a descendant of the legendary Musashi Miyamoto.
The man who had slain thousands of Mana beasts in the blink of an eye, brutally, without mercy.
Lyrium stood calm, his expression unreadable, as the skeleton slowly crumbled, dusting away into nothingness.
The sword was now in his hands, solid and real, humming faintly with deadly potential.
But before he could even process it, a sharp whistling split the air.
Xiu—! Xiu—!
Two black arrows shot toward him from opposite directions, aimed directly at his chest.
Reflexively, Lyrium swung the wooden sword, barely dodging both projectiles by the narrowest margin.
"What the hell was that?!"
He exclaimed, falling backward onto his butt, eyes darting to both sides.
"…Did something happen with the plotline?!"
In the novel, there had been no traps, no ambushes when the protagonist obtained the Two Heavens Sword Art.
Yet here he was, narrowly surviving an attack he hadn't expected.
The conclusion was unavoidable, the plotline had shifted entirely.
"Haaa…"
He exhaled heavily, scanning the cave.
Figures began to emerge from the shadows, countless in number.
And behind them, one figure stood alone, a dark silhouette, enveloped in a swirling aura, wearing a black hooded cape.
Its face was obscured, and in its hands glinted a scythe that seemed to drink the very light around it.
Death itself had come.
Lyrium's eyes widened, disbelief and irritation crossing his features.
"The… the fuck is a Grim Reaper doing here in the world of the living?!"
He shouted, gripping the sword tighter.
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Sorry readers for the irregular chapters update, since my exams are currently ongoing, please bear with it till 19th of December...and...thanks...for reading...