The Inner Sea of Stars, Avalon
To resolve the crisis of the Lostbelt, I had followed the "Child of Prophecy" here as one of her attendants, witnessing the final journey of the girl named Artoria.
I watched her small shoulders bear a pressure they were never meant to carry, giving everything to save these fae who had never once brought her joy.
My gaze shifted to the Magus of Flowers standing nearby, and I spoke.
"Is it right, letting a little girl like that carry so much?"
He returned my question with a lifeless stare, his tone flippant as he recited their usual spiel about fate and destiny.
It was sickening.
And to think, he specifically had me, an Apostle of the Alien God, follow them all the way here. His intentions were disgustingly clear.
But, it didn't matter.
How could I not care? Whether it was this body or my own soul, neither could bring itself to ignore that girl's plight.
So, I'll play along with his plan.
Taking a step forward, it was time for the final task.
"Mr. Muramasa, why are you here—"
"Why? You can't forge a blade without a smith, can you?"
Ignoring the shock in the girl's eyes, I forcibly took on my final "commission" in the last moments before the Holy Sword's manifestation.
"To sever fate, to sever karma. My entire life has been dedicated to the sword. Don't you dare underestimate Senji Muramasa."
I swung the forging hammer. Just once.
CLANG—
My dominant right arm melted, forged into the very steel of the blade. The heat, intense enough to liquefy a star, consumed the flesh that dared to touch it.
"No! I'm grateful, but you can't—"
"Muramasa, you'll be burned to ash!"
"I couldn't ask for more!"
With my right hand gone, I gripped the hammer with my left, pouring my entire Spirit Origin into the Holy Sword before me as fuel.
CLANG, CLANG—
I couldn't hear their words anymore. My fracturing Spirit Origin was losing its ability to perceive sound.
My three Spirit Origins, and this vessel of a body, all became materials fused into the Holy Sword.
I ignored the warning signals my soul screamed as pain. I didn't think about what would become of the Spirit Origins stitched together inside me as they truly became one—
After all, once I disappear, I won't know a thing.
In response, the Holy Sword greedily devoured all that remained of me, so voracious it nearly left not even dust behind.
As my final vessel was incinerated, I felt a sense of completion as the sword's final forging step was finished. A profound satisfaction filled my heart, leaving only a single, faint regret that drifted away as words on the wind:
"It's just… a shame… I never got to make you that hair ornament…"
I knew nothing of what happened after.
If there was ever a chance to be summoned again, a "me" who carried these memories might learn what transpired.
However, even that was likely a foolish hope.
It was only natural, wasn't it? The "Senji Muramasa" who existed as a Pseudo-Servant, summoned by the Alien God and stitched together from other Spirit Origins, was a completely different individual from the man recorded in history.
He could only be seen as another being who shared the same face and a similar personality.
Without leaving behind even a shred of memory, the story of "Senji Muramasa," Apostle of the Alien God, was meant to end here.
...
As the fragmented remnants of my soul, now lacking a body, hovered like a will-o'-the-wisp in the void, about to return to the outside of the World and dissipate naturally, a voice spoke.
"You are not a being who should vanish in a place like this, you know?"
Slender, youthful hands materialized from nothingness, gently enveloping the tiny fragment.
"You've never once lived for yourself, pouring everything you have into others… Hehe, no matter the possibility, you always choose the same path, don't you?"
The delicate, ethereal female voice carried a trace of weariness and a smile. It stirred the surrounding sea, which shimmered like a mirror's surface.
An immense, boundless tide of magical energy surged from all directions, flowing into the palm of that delicate hand. It reconstructed all that had been plundered, injecting it back into my tiny, fragmented Spirit Origin.
"Consider it a new commission, perhaps?"
"Even if the path behind you is shattered, and the road ahead remains uncertain."
"Please, you must ascend the throne of 'Celestia'..."
She opened her hands, revealing a small black box. Her long, silver-white hair began to float, whipping more violently with the rising, turbulent wind.
The small black box drifted towards the infinitely vast starry sky, looking down upon a desolate land of black mud and churning tides, where the horizon was the only feature.
The only thing that rose from the wasteland was a colossal black box, identical to the small one but infinitely larger. At this moment, it too trembled restlessly, watching as the smaller one merged with the cosmos.
...
"So why in the hell was I summoned again?"
Muramasa's complaint echoed across the empty beach. The desolate sea breeze carried the relentless crashing of the waves, as if they too had no answers.
"Honestly. I was fully prepared to die. What is this? Did that unreasonable client drag me back for overtime?"
Naturally, no reply came.
After losing his body, he had expected to return to the Throne of Heroes immediately, as he had before, or perhaps to dissipate completely.
This time was different. He only felt an immense passage of time, aware of nothing but his own consciousness, until he suddenly found himself with a body once more, right here.
Grumbling aside, Muramasa assessed his physical condition and ruled out his earlier complaints.
His Spirit Origin was restored enough for him to move freely, and it felt even lighter than before.
However, he had no magical energy link to any Master. The magical energy sustaining his manifestation was constantly draining away, with no way to replenish it.
If he just stood here and did nothing, he would dissipate for a second time in less than an hour.
And he had a gut feeling that if he dissipated again, he would truly "cease to exist anywhere."
"I wasn't pulled here by the Ley Lines or the Counter Force, nor was I summoned by some magus…"
Muramasa extended his senses. He could feel the atmosphere was saturated with a "magical energy" different from that of his own world, but he couldn't absorb or utilize it.
"Projection…"
He slowly raised his right hand, trying to draw on the magical energy within his body. A faint, blue schematic of a blade materialized in the air.
As long as he could push more power into it, he could use his signature magecraft.
"Well, that's one piece of good news, at least."
Muramasa clenched his fist, and the blue schematic solidified into a small knife. With a flick of his wrist, it shot out like a white streak of light, piercing a white rabbit that had been watching him from a distance.
It didn't even have time to react. The blade struck a vital point, and its soul departed.
"I'd love to roast this, but…"
Muramasa walked over and knelt beside the rabbit. He used its bodily fluids as a source of magical energy, drinking it all down.
The main source of magical energy in living creatures is their bodily fluids. Roasting it would have been a luxury he couldn't afford right now.
"Cough, cough… That's gamey as hell."
After his grim meal, Muramasa wiped a smear of crimson from his lips. His ears caught an unusual sound on the wind.
The sea breeze had drowned out the cry for help before, but now that he was further inland, it was clear.
"A call for help…"
Pinpointing the direction, Muramasa's body dematerialized, and he moved as a spirit to investigate.
...
In the Forest
A white-haired girl stumbled through a maze of holly trees. Her lips, pale from exertion, parted and closed as she repeated a futile cry:
"Help me…"
Her voice was weak, punctuated by heavy, ragged breaths.
She was dressed in a simple linen garment, which was now torn with several large gashes, revealing wounded skin beneath. The cuts ran from her back down to her waist, clearly intended to sever the sash there, but the swordsman's lack of skill had resulted in the blade cutting more than just cloth.
"Heh heh… I was just trying to get her clothes to fall off. Didn't expect an accidental bonus."
Following her were two men armed with katanas. They kept a leisurely, unhurried pace, toying with the girl.
On her back, besides the torn linen, several ribbons that held her clothes together had been severed by the blade, releasing the "fruit" they had bound. Her figure, far more developed than her age would suggest, forced her to hug her chest as she ran to keep from losing her balance and falling.
Even so, the motion was enough to give the two men behind her a glimpse of snowy white flesh under her arms.
"Heh, good thing we let her run first. Otherwise, a prize like this would never fall to us."
"Hah, one last bet. Who's it gonna be?"
"Me, me!"
The sound of a sword being sheathed came from behind the girl. The bet, of course, was whether this next move would make her fall.
"Fine, fine, you go. If you don't knock her down… heh, then I get to enjoy her first, yeah?"
Even without thinking, she knew what their bet was about, and her heart sank to the depths of despair.
I can't… I can't run anymore…
No… anyone… please…
"Here I come,"
After sheathing his sword, the man took the scabbard off his belt, tied the hilt and scabbard together with a rope, and raised it high.
"Playtime's over, little sister!"
CRACK!
A sharp impact rang out, making the girl's heart skip a beat. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the searing pain to come.
However, the expected pain never arrived. Instead, a new voice, different from the two devils behind her, spoke:
"Bullying a helpless little girl like this… you ronin… you're really pissing me off."
The girl, already exhausted, was startled by the voice and collapsed to the ground. She instinctively looked back.
A strong back belonging to a red-haired man stood between her and the two ronin who meant her harm. The descending scabbard was now held firmly in his hand, completely still.
"And who the hell are you, kid? You dare interfere with our business?" the other man, who had given his partner the chance to strike, roared. He clearly didn't take this man, who called himself "old me" but looked barely out of his twenties, seriously.
He was unarmed, and they had the numbers, two against one. There was nothing to worry about.
He glanced at his companion, only to see a strange look on his face.
"What are you doing? Draw your damn sword and cut him down!"
"I… I'm trying… but…"
The man's face was beet red, veins popping on his arms. He pulled so hard the rope holding the sword and scabbard together was about to snap, yet the other man's hand didn't budge an inch. It was as if no force was being applied at all.
"I can't… pull it… agh!"
The rope couldn't take the strain and snapped with a sharp twang. The sword and scabbard separated, and the man who had been pulling was sent tumbling backward, landing flat on his back.
"You alright, little girl?"
Ignoring the ronin, the red-haired man tilted his head slightly, his gaze falling on the girl behind him.
"I'm…"
She managed only half a word before her body's reaction forced her to stop, her eyes conveying her confusion.
"You want to know about me? Ah… well, the name's Senji Muramasa. We can talk about the rest later."
As he spoke, without even looking back, he raised the now-empty scabbard in his hand. The other ronin was just bringing his sword down in a powerful slash, which was perfectly blocked by the scabbard Muramasa had raised.
"Now then…"
He finally turned his gaze back to the two men.
"You two… will let me cut you seven times."
-------
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