The Raven's Curse

Chapter Forty Two

Kiku sat in the dojo quietly. His eyes never leaving the blade he owned for centuries. Honestly, he felt dissapointed with it, the katana that he had wielded in numerous fights and battles. The one that had brought him many victories. It almost never failed him. But why now? Why did his trusted friend betrayed him now in this crucial time? He pressed a finger at the tip of the blade, it didn't shed a single drop of blood. He was confused. The katana was fine. But why wasn't it fine when he fought Kuro the other day? He knew he could have killed the villain and then save (y/n). But his katana failed him. Just like how it failed him during WWII.

"Still wondering the reason, my dear country?" an old japanese man said.

Kiku nodded, making the old man laugh. He went to sit infront of his beloved country.

"Haven't you learn anything from your WWII?" he asked.

"I..." Kiku said hesitently. " am not so sure."

The old man could only smile as he shook his head. "Always remember, the katana is not only a wielder's trusted friend but also a wielder's soul. In order to succeed, your souls needed to be one -to think alike. You should know that katanas can read the owner's mind. And the blades I created are meant to protect, not to kill."

Kiku's face was emotionless. But his mind was confused. And the old man knew that. He still smiled amusingly. His eyes twinkled with answers that Kiku desire to know. Answers that Kiku were asked to find himself though. The old man turned away from his country and soon dissappear from his sight.

"Japan."

Kiku felt his shoulder shook. He turned his face to see Arthur. The englishman was crouch beside his lying figure. Kiku rubbed his heavy eyes.  He was lying on the dojo floor, with the katana unsheated beside him. Kiku realised he had actually fallen asleep and he couldn't remember when. He went to the dojo this morning to confront his katana. And now night had veiled the sky whislt the snowstrom still hasn't died down since the beginning of it.

"Japan." Arthur called once more. "You're not thinking of performing harakiri, right?"

Kiku glanced at his katana. Arthur must have misunderstood the situation. Kiku shook his head in denial. Arthur sighed gratefully. Thank god. He thought Kiku must have felt guilty unable to save (y/n) that day and decided to disembowel himself like how fail samurais used to do in the old days.

"Did anything happened?" Kiku asked as he sheated his weapon.

"Nothing much." Arthur replied. "The rest of the team is practising. Romania, Norway and I are searching for ways to break this curse and escape from here. So far, we found nothing."

Arthur cringed at the thought of their vain efforts. They tried every spell and every counter curse methods. Teleportation failed with every try. Norway even took the risk to take a boat to cross the borders of the island. Only to end up confused when his rowing led him back to the island.

"You should join us in the meeting room. China's making dinner tonight." Arthur gave a light pat on Kiku's shoulder and left the dojo.

With Arthur's figure diminishing from his sight, Kiku was reminded of the old man he dreamt a few minutes ago. Though he never told anyone in his life, he knew who that old man was. It was centuries ago since he last seen him before his death. The wise old man was the creator of his sacred katana. Gorou Nyuudou Masamune, his greatest swordsmith. Master and rival to Muramasa ;in which one of his blades was in the hands of 2p Japan. Kuro must be sneering the moment he defeated Kiku at that frozen lake. Just like how Muramasa scoffed at his master when his katana didn't cut the leaves that passed it in the river.