The morning bells tolled three times, a deep and sonorous sound that rolled through the Takeda estate. Eugene stirred from his futon, eyes opening slowly to the gray-blue dawn spilling through the shoji doors. His body still ached from yesterday's training, bruises lining his ribs and shoulders, but the pain was almost welcome. It meant progress. It meant growth.
[Status Update: Physical conditioning improved by 4%. Neural synchronization stable. Combat aptitude rising exponentially.]
The voice of the AI echoed clearly in his mind, calm and unyielding.
Eugene rubbed the back of his neck and let out a low chuckle. "You really don't let me sleep in, do you?"
[Efficiency demands discipline. Historical context: Sengoku-era samurai lived under constant threat. Complacency leads to death.]
"Yeah, yeah. I get it." Eugene pushed himself up and stretched, his joints popping. He dressed quickly, sliding into a dark training gi. By the time he stepped into the courtyard, the sun had just begun to crest the horizon, painting the eastern sky in streaks of gold and crimson.
Several retainers were already there, sparring with bokken, their breaths forming mist in the morning air. They bowed when they noticed him—hesitant bows, stiff and uncertain. He was the lord's son, after all, but also a boy they whispered about when they thought he wasn't listening.
Too sharp for his age, they said.A boy possessed by a kami, others muttered.
Eugene ignored them. Respect wasn't given; it was earned.
After the morning drills, Eugene accompanied his father's chief advisor, old Master Kenji, to the audience hall.
The hall smelled faintly of incense, scrolls stacked neatly on lacquered shelves along the walls. Painted screens depicted tigers prowling through bamboo groves, their fierce eyes staring down anyone who entered.
Kenji sat across from him, his weathered hands folded over his cane. His hair was white, but his eyes were sharp as steel.
"Young master," the old retainer began, "tell me… what is a samurai's duty?"
Eugene blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. He had studied this in school—well, his previous life's school. Bushido, the Way of the Warrior. Loyalty, honor, duty unto death.
But here, sitting across from Kenji in the heart of the Sengoku Jidai, those words carried weight they never had in textbooks.
"A samurai's duty," Eugene said slowly, "is to serve his lord with loyalty, even if it means death. To protect the land, the people, and the honor of his house."
Kenji's lips curved faintly, though his eyes remained probing. "That is the answer of a scholar. But tell me, young master… what do you believe?"
Eugene hesitated. His heart pounded as he weighed his words. He could parrot ideals, or he could reveal his true thoughts.
"…I believe," he said finally, "that a samurai's duty is not only to his lord, but to victory itself. Honor means little if one's clan is destroyed. The dead have no pride, no duty, no future. Only the living can carry honor forward."
Kenji's brows rose. Silence filled the chamber. Then, slowly, the old man laughed. It was a dry, rasping sound, but not unkind.
"You speak like a general already. Perhaps… too much like one." His eyes narrowed. "Be careful, Eugene. Men who place victory above honor can rise high… but they also attract enemies faster than most."
Eugene bowed respectfully. "I understand, Master Kenji."
But in his heart, he knew his words had been true. The Sengoku era was not an age of poetry and ideals. It was an age of blood, betrayal, and ambition. The only rule that mattered was survival—and conquest.
Later that afternoon, Eugene walked through the outer village, accompanied by a single guard. Farmers tilled the fields, women washed clothes in the river, children chased each other through narrow alleys.
The scent of rice paddies mixed with smoke from cooking fires, creating an oddly comforting atmosphere.
The peasants bowed deeply as he passed. Their eyes, however, betrayed something else—fear. Not of him specifically, but of the time they lived in.
The AI whispered statistics in his mind.
[Observation: 70% of peasantry live in poverty. Malnutrition prevalent. Average life expectancy: 28 years. Primary cause of death: war raids, famine, disease.]
Eugene's jaw tightened. He had read about this, of course. But seeing it with his own eyes, seeing children with sunken cheeks and men with missing limbs… it hit differently.
He paused near a blacksmith's forge, watching sparks fly as the man hammered at a crude spearhead. The blacksmith bowed quickly, but Eugene waved a hand.
"What do you lack most?" he asked abruptly.
The man blinked, startled. "Young master?"
"What resource would make your work easier?"
"…Iron, my lord," the blacksmith stammered. "Good ore is scarce. We reuse old blades, melt broken plowshares. But the quality suffers."
Eugene nodded thoughtfully. The AI immediately offered data.
[Nearby iron deposits: detected in the northern hills. Current control: rival clan. Suggestion: secure territory for long-term advantage.]
"Interesting," Eugene murmured.
His guard gave him a curious look, but said nothing.
That evening, Eugene stood atop the wooden palisade of the estate, looking out over the land. The sun was sinking, casting long shadows across the fields.
His hands rested on the railing as the AI's voice returned.
[Summary of observations: This is an age where blood determines borders. Honor is spoken, but power is respected. Survival probability of House Takeda within 20 years: 14%. Without intervention, downfall is inevitable.]
Eugene closed his eyes. His heart beat steadily, a drum echoing with resolve.
"So my clan is doomed, huh?" He smiled bitterly. "Then I'll change fate. That's why I'm here."
The AI hummed.
[Query: Will you pursue personal survival… or absolute conquest?]
Eugene opened his eyes, watching the horizon where rival banners flew in the distance.
"…Conquest," he said firmly. "Survival is meaningless without power. And power means uniting this fractured land under one rule. My rule."
The AI paused, as though processing his words.
[Acknowledged. Primary directive updated: Unification of Japan under Takeda Eugene.][Warning: Path chosen is high-risk, high-reward. Expect constant warfare, betrayal, and assassination attempts.]
"Good," Eugene whispered. His hand clenched into a fist. "Let them come. I'll be ready."
Later that night, as the estate grew quiet, Eugene returned to his chambers. He lit a single lantern and sat cross-legged before the bronze mirror, staring at his reflection.
He saw the face of a boy—still soft, still youthful. But in those dark eyes, he saw something more. Determination. Ambition. The fire of a man reborn with purpose.
This was a world of blood and honor, yes. But Eugene would bend it to his will.
He touched the hilt of his training blade resting beside him.
"In this world," he whispered, "a sword is more than a weapon. It's the key to destiny."
And somewhere deep inside, the AI responded with what felt like a faint, approving pulse.
The path had been chosen. The first steps were complete. And soon, the world would hear the name Takeda Eugene, not as the lord's son, but as the Genius Samurai destined to reshape history.