Musashi's POV
Morning came too soon, and I stumbled out of the cabin the village chief had given me. Soft bed, warm stew, people smiling everywhere. Too nice. Way too nice. That's the problem.
"Food's good, roof doesn't leak, everyone greets me like I'm their favorite drunk uncle. Suspicious as hell." I scratched the back of my head and laughed out loud, scaring some woman with a basket of apples. She hurried past, muttering something. "Yeah, yeah, good morning to you too, potential traitor."
Kurt's words gnawed at me like rats chewing on rice sacks: Not all allies are friends. Every time a villager handed me bread, I imagined poison. Every handshake felt like a hidden knife. I needed air before I accused the whole place of plotting against me.
So I wandered out of the village, down by the riverbank, and plopped myself under a tree. Tossed a pebble into the water. Ripples spread out, mocking me. "Alright Musashi, think. Dropped into crazy land, given wooden swords, free food, and loud cheers. Perfect recipe for betrayal. Question is—who's cooking it? The villagers? The chief? Or maybe that Kurt bastard was just screwing with me."
Heavy footsteps shuffled behind me. I didn't bother reaching for my swords, though the urge twitched in my hands. Just the chief. Robes dragging, bones creaking, and all. He eased down beside me like the river was suddenly holy.
"Enjoying the morning air, young hero?" he asked.
"Yeah, love it. Air's the best. Can't live without it." I shot him a grin. "But you didn't come all this way to discuss oxygen, did you, gramps?"
He chuckled, too calmly. "No. I wanted to hear more about your homeland. Earth, you called it?"
I groaned, leaning back. "Storytime, huh? Fine. Earth's got castles, greedy lords, merchants shouting nonsense, peasants chewing rice until they choke. And swordsmen. Lots of swordsmen. I cut most of them down. Fertilized the dirt with their pride." I twirled grass between my fingers. "There, exciting enough for you?"
His eyes glowed with curiosity. "And you... you were a warrior?"
"Warrior? Hah. Just a swordsman with too much free time. Fought duels, picked fights, made enemies, killed boredom. Won most of 'em. Lost none. That's Musashi."
The mood shifted fast. His voice grew heavy, his fists trembling. "The elves... they raid us. They come with their twisted beasts from the forest. They kill our men, burn our homes, and laugh at our suffering. My people bleed, Musashi. And I cannot stop it."
I studied him carefully. Rage in his eyes, grief in his tone. It looked real. But reality's a tricky mask. I leaned forward, pointing the blade of grass like a dagger. "So let me get this straight. Pointy-eared forest folk and their pet monsters smash your villages, and you want me to be your exterminator?"
He met my stare with pleading eyes. "You are the hero foretold. Help us. I beg of you."
Silence stretched. I smirked. "Sure. I'll... look into it."
The chief's shoulders eased, but my head screamed: Look into it, yeah. Doesn't mean I'll play the fool. Something reeks. And Kurt—the half-dead bastard—he knows more than he let on. Until I hear it from him, I'm trusting nobody. Not the chief. Not his villagers. Not even the stew.
I rose, dusted my clothes, and slung my swords across my back. "Well, thanks for the talk, old man. I'll think about your elf problem."
"Think about it?" His voice cracked.
"Yup. Thinking's free. Doing costs extra." I gave a lazy salute and turned away.
"Musashi! Our people's lives depend on you!"
"Yeah, yeah, put it on my tab."
I walked into the trees, grin fading, thoughts sharpening. Too many smiles. Too much kindness. Either they're hiding something, or I'm losing my mind. Probably both. Either way, Kurt's the key. Find him, get answers.
With that, I disappeared into the forest, humming a cheerful tune completely unfit for a man convinced the world was about to betray him.
***
The cabin where Kurt disappeared last night was easy to find—just follow the stink of mystery. The cabin smelled like damp wood and bad secrets. I didn't even bother knocking politely—my fist thundered against the door like I was trying to wake the dead. Which, considering Kurt, might not have been far off.
The door creaked open, and there he was. Pale face, half-lidded eyes, looking like he hadn't slept since the gods farted out this world. Before he could mumble a word, I grabbed him by the collar, slammed him against the wall, and pressed my forearm into his neck.
"Now you better explain everything, you creepy bastard." My voice came out low, sharp. Almost serious. Almost.
Kurt blinked at me. Not a flinch, not a gasp. Just those hollow eyes staring like he'd been waiting for this exact scene.
I pressed harder. "Don't make me repeat myself. I'll do it, you know. I'll shove this wooden stick so far up your eye socket you'll be sneezing splinters for a week."
He still didn't answer. Just... blank. Like a corpse that forgot it was supposed to stay still.
I sighed, stepping back and releasing him. "Fine. Sit your bony ass down and talk before I lose what little patience I have left."
Kurt moved like a puppet with cut strings, slumping down onto the bed. Silence stretched, thick as old blood. Then he muttered it, the same cursed words as before, voice scraping like a prayer carved into stone:
"Not all allies are friends. Not all enemies are foe. Thou shan't be deceived by flowery words."
I froze. The exact damn lines from my so-called 'quest.' Hearing them from his lips made my skin crawl. He looked up, those tired eyes suddenly sharp, boring into me.
"Do you really believe that the people in this village are that pure?" he asked softly. "That they are innocent? That they are just that outgoing?"
I stayed silent, but my jaw clenched.
He leaned forward. "The elves... they are kind. They are never hostile. They would never attack unless provoked. Never."
My gut twisted. His words slithered through my skull, poking at doubts I was already feeding. Damn him.
"You should know the answer by now." His tone wasn't pleading. It was accusing. Like I was the slowest student in class and he'd repeated the lesson three times already.
Then—he pulled back his hair.
Pointed ears.
I blinked. My grin split open almost instantly. "Well, shit. You've been holding out on me, elf-boy."
"Half-elf," he corrected quietly. "I am... a half-elf. Musashi, please. Save them."
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Save them, huh? The elves? Cute. Real cute. But riddle me this: if your pointy-eared friends are all peace and flower crowns, why the hell did they raid this village like a pack of rabid wolves? What did these smiling idiots do to piss them off?"
Kurt's eyes dimmed again. He leaned back, dragging the blanket over himself like he wanted to disappear. "It's for you to find out."
I stared at him for a long moment, then barked out a laugh. "You're really gonna pull the cryptic oracle act on me? Damn, you're good. Almost had me respecting you there for a second."
He said nothing, the blanket swallowing him whole. A lump of secrets wrapped in wool.
I paced the room, running a hand through my hair. So that's how it is... A half-dead, half-elf bastard telling me to save his forest buddies. Villagers swearing the elves are demons. And me, stuck in the middle like a gambler who lost the dice.
I stopped, glancing back at him. His breathing was steady, his face unreadable. Almost peaceful. Like he'd dumped his burden on me and decided to nap through the apocalypse.
"Fine," I muttered, gripping the wooden sword on my hip. "I'll find out. But if you're lying to me, Kurt... I'll make sure the next blanket you crawl under is six feet deep."
No answer. Just the faint sound of wind rattling the cabin walls.
I grinned anyway. Chaos was coming, and I could smell it. And I, Musashi... was ready to dance in it...
The village was too damn clean. Too cheerful. Too normal. Which made it all the more suspicious.
Everywhere I looked, people were smiling, waving, living like a painting out of some storybook. The kind where the baker gives kids free bread and the blacksmith whistles while hammering away at horseshoes. The kind that doesn't exist. Not really. Not in this world.
And definitely not where I stood.
I'd been pacing around Clavel like a stray dog for hours—sniffing, eavesdropping, pressing my ear against doors like some cut‑rate burglar. But nothing. No shady meetings, no whispers of forbidden rituals, no drunks muttering, "yeah, we secretly eat elves on Tuesdays." Just normal village life. Kids chasing chickens, women hanging laundry, men chopping wood.
Too perfect. It made my teeth itch.
I muttered under my breath, "If I see one more happy couple holding hands, I'm burning this place down."
Frustration boiling, I stomped out behind the village where the noise of daily life thinned out. Quieter here. Colder too, though maybe that was just me. My hands itched, so I swung one of my wooden swords like I was trying to cut the morning in half. WHACK. The blade cracked against a massive tree. Didn't even leave a dent.
"...The hell? Tree made of iron?" I frowned, tapping it again. Hollow. Weird. I circled around, running my palm across the bark. The trunk was monstrous, wider than a house, roots curling like the fingers of a buried giant. And then—I saw it. A seam. A slit half-hidden under vines. Not natural.
Curiosity beat out common sense, as usual. I shoved my fingers in and pushed.
The tree… opened.
"Alright, that's not creepy at all," I muttered. My voice echoed inside the hollow like the place was laughing at me.
The passage inside twisted downward, spiraling like some throat swallowing me whole. Wooden steps creaked underfoot, torches stuck into the walls flickering with sickly light. And then—the smell hit me. Coppery. Rotten. Like blood that had been sitting too long under the sun. Thick enough to taste.
I stopped at the bottom. And I wished I hadn't.
Heads. Eyes. Ears. Organs. All neatly displayed, preserved, bottled like some butcher's twisted collection. Pointed ears, cloudy eyes—all elven. All staring at me from glass prisons.
My gut twisted, bile clawing at my throat. Still, I forced a grin because that's what I do when everything feels like it's about to break. "Well, shit. Guess Kurt wasn't full of crap after all."
Movement tugged at my eye. In the corner, two figures chained to the wall. Alive. Elves. Thin as sticks, bruised, battered—but alive. Their eyes sharpened when they saw me, like candles flaring in the dark.
I crouched, tilted my head. "Well now… what do we have here? Prisoners in a tree cellar. Classy. You two speak human?"
One spat words sharp and fast in another tongue. Didn't matter—I understood. Goddess-given 'Language Comprehension.' Lucky me.
"Stay back, human! You won't carve us like the others!"
I raised my hands slowly, palms open. "Relax, pointy. I didn't carve anything. Yet." Then I leaned forward, voice dropping low. "But I'll ask you once—why raid the village? Why spill blood?"
The other one coughed, voice raw but defiant. "Because your kind steal us. Drag us from our homes. Rip us apart for trophies. We came to take back our kin. To stop the abductions."
I whistled low, glancing at the butcher's gallery. "Yeah… that checks out."
Their eyes widened as I slashed through their bindings with one sharp swing. Chains clattered to the floor. They stumbled forward, staring at me like I'd just grown wings.
"You… you speak our tongue…" one whispered, disbelief bleeding through.
"Convenient skill," I shrugged, sheathing the wooden blade. "Don't thank me yet. Just run. Get the hell out before I change my mind."
They bolted, footsteps hammering up the passage, fading into the light above. Their freedom rang louder than any thanks ever could. I stayed behind. Couldn't move just yet. My eyes lingered on the jars, the bones, the mockery of lives once lived.
For a long moment, I stood silent. Then I lifted my wooden sword and smashed the nearest shelf.
Glass shattered. Preserved organs spilled like rotten fruit, splattering across the floor. Again and again, I swung, wrecking everything—tables, jars, bones—until the chamber was nothing but rubble and gore. I dug with my bare hands, piling dirt over the mess. Not neat. Not holy. But a grave. A grave for the nameless.
When I finally climbed out, covered in dust and sweat, I leaned against the tree, gasping. A grin tugged at my lips, bitter as it was.
"Not all allies are friends, huh? Makes sense now."
I wiped my hands on my clothes, turned toward the village. Someone here had been keeping a very big, very bloody secret. And now, I had one of my own.
I started walking back, whistling a cheerful tune that felt wrong in my throat. Before I left the grove, though, something pricked at my senses. A shadow. A flicker. A pair of eyes, sharp and cold, watching me from the treeline.
I stopped, turned my head just enough, and grinned wide.
"...Found you."
*****
End of Chapter 3