A stone skipped across the surface of the crystal-clear lake, dancing over the water.
"One, two, three, four, five, six…"
A young boy stood in a throwing stance, muttering under his breath. Just as he was about to count the seventh skip, a thunderous gust from a palm strike roared along the shore. It tore through the air, splitting the lake's surface down the middle. A massive wall of water surged upward before crashing back down, and the skipping stone was—unsurprisingly—swallowed by the waves.
"Failed again, huh?" The boy stood up and let out a long sigh. "Hey, Old Man."
The boy was about five-foot-seven with a youthful face and bright, spirited eyes. His voice, however, was in that awkward, cracking transition phase of puberty.
"Why do you have to practice your punches toward the lake every single time?"
…
"Whew."
A white stream of breath escaped Hasegumo's lips, sharp and condensed like an arrow. It traveled nearly five meters through the air before finally dissipating over the now-placid water.
He relaxed his stance and found a large boulder nearby to sit on. He was about to begin his next exercise when the boy's question made him pause.
"Uh…" He stalled for a good three to five minutes, staring back at the boy's deadpan expression, before finally offering an answer. "I guess hearing the sound of the waves makes it easier to relax."
"Well, hurry it up. Kiritsugu and Ise are waiting."
"I'll be there once I finish my meditation. Go on ahead and get the gear ready."
Ignoring whatever reaction the boy might have had, Hasegumo closed his eyes, rested his hands on his knees, and slipped into meditation.
Once it became clear that he had truly traveled back to the Heian Period, Hasegumo actually stopped feeling so rushed. He knew that he couldn't solve this on his own; he either needed to find a time-related Cursed Tool or find someone reliable enough to help him brainstorm. Either way, this wasn't something that could be fixed overnight.
Besides, it was winter, and the mountain passes were choked with snow. Without a guide—and given his own near-catastrophic lack of a sense of direction—it was impossible for him to find the way to Heian-kyo alone.
And so, he settled in at Ise Genshin's home. He had originally intended to teach the boy jujutsu as payment for his stay, but to his disappointment, the person he had sensed with En that first night hadn't been Ise Genshin. It was another child staying there named Fujiwara Kiritsugu. Ise Genshin, much like his grandfather, was a completely normal person without a drop of Cursed Energy.
Since the teaching plan had fallen through, Hasegumo spent his days doing more than just punching the air and meditating. He took to the mountains to chop wood and hunt game to earn his keep.
…
One day, after hauling home a wild boar the size of a small hill, Genshin started pestering him, begging to go into the mountains for "fun." After clearing it with old man Hiramori, Hasegumo agreed.
He hadn't expected three kids to show up at the departure time. Joining Genshin were his two village playmates: Fujiwara Kiritsugu, who was being fostered by the Ise family, and an orphan named Rikka, who survived on the charity of the villagers.
"Rikka" sounded like a girl's name, but he was very much a boy.
He had no surname, and no one knew who his parents were. He had named himself after a discovery he made while playing by the water: no matter how hard he threw a stone, he could only ever get it to skip six times. Thus, he called himself Rikka—Six Flowers.
As for Kiritsugu, Hasegumo gathered that Hiramori had been entrusted with the boy's care by someone else.
In any case, after following Hasegumo on one hunting trip, the trio became obsessed with the thrill of adventure. They pestered him to go out every single day. Hasegumo, having nothing better to do, figured that "babysitting" was just another way to hone his skills as a professional educator.
Eventually, he became a sort of glorified nanny, taking the three kids out to play every day. Since Hasegumo was strong enough to bring down mountain-sized boars, Hiramori wasn't worried about their safety. The old man was happy for the peace and quiet, spending his days cooking or visiting neighbors.
…
It was now early spring, and the heavy snow had finally melted from the peaks.
Chirp, chirp!
A few birds fluttered away as Hasegumo stood up, ending his morning meditation. He made his way toward a nearby valley.
Just as he entered the valley mouth, he was met with a profoundly weary face.
A boy, nearly five-foot-three, stood there with an expression that screamed "done with the world." He gripped a rusted, broken katana, swinging it repeatedly against a boulder half his height.
With every strike, the broken blade let out a vibrating hum that made you worry it would shatter at any second.
Yet, it held. And the swings never stopped.
As Hasegumo approached the wooden hut in the valley, he called out, "Still at it, Kiritsugu-kun?"
"Yeah… two hundred more to go. I want to die~" Kiritsugu replied, his voice trailing off in a miserable drone as he continued to swing.
Bonk!
"Ow…" The boy rubbed his head, looking up at Hasegumo with confusion, not understanding why he'd just been flicked.
"Focus on the swing. Don't let your mind wander."
"Cloud-bro, you're just a bully… I want to die even more now." Despite the whining, Kiritsugu immediately adjusted his stance and went back to striking the rock with newfound intensity.
The look of utter exhaustion never left his face.
However, if one looked closely at the boulder, a microscopic, almost imperceptible crack had begun to form.
The kid likes to talk about quitting, but he's actually doing a damn good job, Hasegumo thought.
He scanned the surroundings. Every stone wall within Kiritsugu's reach was covered in the gouges and scars of countless strikes. Even before Hasegumo had arrived, Kiritsugu had been here every day, coating that broken blade in Cursed Energy to practice his swings.
As a sorcerer without an innate technique, Kiritsugu seemed to be carrying some sort of heavy burden. Though he claimed to hate the work, his effort surpassed ninety-nine percent of his peers.
Hasegumo had set a regimen for him: three thousand identical swings a day. Since the boy had no technique and no immediate chance for real combat, Hasegumo figured that if Kiritsugu wanted to be a swordsman, he might as well focus everything on a single, perfect strike. He didn't know why the boy chased power and he didn't care to ask—but if the kid was willing to put in the work, Hasegumo was willing to point the way.
"I wonder how Rikka is coming along."
"Yo, Old Man, you're finally here." At the door of the hut, Rikka and Ise Genshin were busy tying knots in a length of rope. Seeing Hasegumo, Rikka gave an excited wave. "What are we catching today?"
"How many times do I have to tell you to call me 'Big Brother'?" Hasegumo reached out and pinched Rikka's cheek. The boy was a bit scrawny; the skin didn't have much give.
It seemed to be a gut instinct for Rikka. He could sense that beneath Hasegumo's youthful appearance lived the soul of a middle-aged man. Even though his two friends called him "Cloud-bro," Rikka stubbornly stuck to "Old Man."
"You literally smell like an old man," Rikka shot back, grabbing the finished rope and spinning it over his head like a cowboy's lasso.
"We're leaving as soon as Kiritsugu finishes. You spotted those wild horse tracks in Sector 7 last time, right? Today, we go horse hunting."
Hasegumo unrolled a hand-drawn map to show the boys. Looking up at their gear, he frowned. "I thought I told you to get ready early. Where are the bear traps?"
"Under Rikka's bed," Ise Genshin answered. He was busy looping the other end of the rope around his arm and hopping in place to make sure his wicker backpack wouldn't rattle or slow him down. "If we left them outside, someone might step on them."
Genshin was a meticulous child. Before every trip, he checked every tool twice. Ever since Hasegumo had accidentally walked into one of Rikka's traps, Genshin had taken over the responsibility of trap-setting and gear management.
Kiritsugu was a sorcerer. Rikka, though lacking Cursed Energy, possessed a natural physical prowess that made him more dangerous than most average sorcerers—even the active-duty sorcerers in the village admitted Rikka was stronger than them.
Only Genshin was normal. Truly normal. He had no special talents. Though Rikka and Kiritsugu never said a word about it, Genshin was painfully aware of how far behind he was. That was why he worked so hard on the logistics and the tools—it was the only way he could make sure he didn't get left behind.
…
Hasegumo pushed open the door to the shack. The space was cramped, containing nothing but a single bed. A wooden plank was fixed to the wall at the head of the bed—likely where Rikka ate his meals. On it sat a pair of chopsticks, a battered wooden bowl, and a small iron kettle for water.
There was nothing else. The place was so barren it made "humble abodes" described in classical poetry look like luxury villas.
The kid has it rough, Hasegumo thought. No matter how many times he came here, he felt a twinge of discomfort. It was even more primitive than the place he'd shared with the old man when he was a kid.
He reached under the bed and pulled out the traps. They were closed and thoughtfully wrapped in animal hides to prevent noise.
Hasegumo applied some animal fat to the axles to keep them smooth, then stepped out of the hut with the traps in hand. Just then, Kiritsugu came trudging back from his boulder, dragging his broken sword behind him like a zombie.
"Preparations complete."
Under the eager gazes of the two boys and the lazy, lingering yawn of Kiritsugu, Hasegumo pointed toward the treeline and gave the order.
"Horse hunters, move out!"
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
patreon.com/Shinobi_Scrolls