Swordsman's Tale - Kenshimonogatari

Episode II: Trials of the Warrior

Fleabag reappeared on the other side of the wall. He felt a bit dizzy, but he shook it off.

He looked at the world around him. It was winter, and despite their sky being only a simulation, the real horizon felt a bit darker and gloomier. There was something about the air that felt unsettling and heavy. The sky was burdened with grey clouds and the wind was howling with such strength that it slightly bent the trees around him. The poor boy was rattling in cold. He tried to run forward but his knees felt frozen and slow.

A dark mist curled up on Fleabag's back. The burden of doubt was crushing him.

He tried to lift his leg forward, but he could barely twitch it.

Suddenly, it started to snow. The wind got even stronger and pushed everything in its path. The trees forcefully bent to the back from the force of nature and the grass flied into the air. The merciless gusts howled through the forests like starving wolves stalking their prey. It seemed as if the elemental spirits themselves didn't want anyone to cross this path.

The poor kid collapsed. As he slowly fainted, he remembered every negative thing that his peers ever said about him.

Maybe they were right to laugh. He wasn't prepared. He closed his eyes.

He woke up a while later, tucked on a bed. He stood upright and scratched his head.

"Ohhh... Where am I...?"

He inspected the area around him. He was on a cotton bed, in the middle of a cottage built with logs. The entire house was barely as spacious as a bathroom. There were a few old painting hung on the wall and a small trapdoor. The room had a very strong smell of dust and cobwebs that dangled in the stagnant air. There were no windows, so the only source of fresh air was the door. Fleabag hastily got up on his feet and walked out. The sky was clear now, and the winter was slowly fading into spring. Although February wasn't over yet, the grass was brightly green and the birds were chirping. The cottage was surrounded from every side by thick woods.

An old man was sitting in a lotus position in front of the shack. He was very short, barely four inches in height. His thick white eyebrows completely covered his eyes. His head was bald and shiny, but his white beard was long and flowed to the ground. He worse long red robes with a star shaped on it. He tilted his head upwards and looked at Fleabag.

"Who are you? Where am I?" asked Fleabag.

The old man got up and slowly scanned the catboy with his eyes.

"Up so soon? The storm is over. You have nothing to fear. I found you laying on the snow. You should be careful next time."

Fleabag knew it was this old man that sheltered him in.

"Thanks, mister. May I at least know your name?"

The old dwarf laughed a bit.

"You'll know that in time. But for now, there's a little something I want to ask of you in return."

Fleabag definitely knew that all heroes start up by doing small jobs for the elderly.

"Of course!"

The old man pointed at the trapdoor inside his shack.

"I've been having a little infestation problem in there. Go kill whatever is making those noises and bring me a proof that you did."

Fleabag chuckled audibly. He was pretty used to chasing mice around his home when he was little. Getting rid of another parasite would be pretty easy! He turned back to the trapdoor and quickly lifted it. He reached for his broomstick and delved down the stairs.

Once he made it to the cellar, he inspected around him. The air in here was ten times as heavy as in the shack. The entire room was filled with dust and cobweb. Many rolled up carpets were resting in a line along the cobblestone wall. At the end of the room was a small pile of dust and bone meal. Fleabag wasn't the type to get scared easily, but still, the cellar was pretty chilling.

"LEAVE AT ONCE" muttered an dry, echoing voice.

As soon as the cat-boy blinked, the pile of bone meal suddenly reverted and took shape into a horrifying skeleton whose head reached the ceiling. The bony figure was tall and slender, and wore nothing. It was just a bare skeleton with yellow decaying bones. His skull was partially cracked and his jaws were missing many teeth. His fingertips were apparently shaped into sharp claws. The undead thing, surrounded by a swirling black fog, reached for Fleabag.

"LEAVE, OR DIE."

The boy was in shock. He firmly gasped his broomstick staff and closed his eyes. He shook his weapon around wildly while screaming until he felt a strong crack. When he opened his eyes, the skeleton was returned to dust once again. This time, hopefully, for good. Fleabag grabbed some of the remains in the palm of his hand and climbed back up. Nevertheless, he was out of breath. He wasn't used to fighting anything other than mice!

The old man greeted him with open arms.

"I knew you'd make it, young boy! That skeleton has been troubling me for a while."

"Wait, so you knew there was an undead skeleton inside!?"

"Of course I did! I just didn't have the time to go kill it myself. You did a great job, you should rest some more with me."

Fleabag tightened his fist.

"No! There's no way I can rest now. I must become a hero and shine bright!"

"I see. I rarely ever meet children with that willpower. Are you really confident in your own strength, boy?"

"It's not that I'm confident of myself. It's that I have nothing else to do. I want to become a hero so that I can break myself free of the miserable life that I lived, which only got worse after the last member of my family passed away."

The old man scratched his beard.

"If you're that determined, then I guess I can't stop you from going. At least have this, as a parting gift from me. It's dangerous to go alone, take this."

He sunk his hand into his beard, and pulled out a beautiful brown leather jacket. It fit Fleabag perfectly. It was apparently a masterwork, handmade from the finest leather. As soon as the cat-boy put it on, he felt a strange yet extremely pleasant warmth.

"Thanks again!"

The old man inspected Fleabag again. He felt the fire of determination burning inside of the cat-boy, and the ashes of every misery he had lived slowly kindling the flames inside him. Fleabag seemed somewhat promising. But then, who else would dare defy the laws of his own people and brave through a frost storm just for the sake of change? The old man said with a smile:

"I've heard of a wonderful treasure, not very far from here, if you're interested."

Fleabag's ears pointed upright.

"Really? Can you guide me there?"

The old man said with a playful yet challenging tone:

"Oh, I'm not sure. You know, it might be dangerous for a youngster like you."

A glimmer of light sparked in Fleabag's feline eyes.

"Please tell me! I promise I'll do my best to retrieve it! My whole life will depend on that, as I am an adventurer that fears nothing!"

The old man felt the determination radiating off of the cat-boy.

"Alright, then. Face the east, and keep going. When the night falls, go to sleep as soon as possible. They say that if the spirits take a liking to you, they will call you."

Once the old man finished his words, Fleabag rushed to grab his staff and frantically ran towards the east. From afar, he wildly shook his hands and yelled goodbye.