The city of Outo, southern capital of the Far East island nation of Fusou, held many sights that demanded seeing beyond just the cooperation of three disparate races. The architecture here was similar to, yet distinct from, that of the Ancient Gold Empire, and the same went for their weaponry. There were numerous dojos teaching martial arts, the sight of which brought back plenty of memories of the Yosogi dojo. However, the weapons they used were not like the sword I had at my hip. They were proper katana, as well as several variations.
Now that I thought about it, my master in blacksmithing, Oswald, had taught me once how to make a katana. They were weapons from a far distant kingdom, so he hadn’t devoted much time to teaching it, but how had he known how to make them in the first place? He had taught me about a weapon unique to this Far East island country, but nothing about the weapons of its neighbor, the Ancient Gold Empire. That was a curious decision. Were the dwarves somehow connected to the Yosogi School’s arrival in Ludoria? Maybe when I returned to the mainland, I’d pay him a visit and ask.
Besides the dojos teaching the katana, there were many that specialized in spears, bows, and other long weapons, each active and full of students. Normally, schools like this would be wary of spies coming to steal their secrets, but perhaps because of their proximity to the front lines, they were all happy to welcome any observers. “If you plan on going to the front lines, come learn here so that you’ll survive and make a name for yourself,” they all declared.
Time flew by as I walked around watching them train, and before I knew it, I had spent a full week in Outo. Unfortunately, none of the schools I observed seemed to have much in common with the Yosogi school.
“Hey, glad to see you here again, Mr. Pointy Ears,” someone called out to me as I passed through the curtain leading into the restaurant. A man I had met three days ago, Old Gon, was beckoning me over to his table. He had regaled me with all sorts of stories about the history of Fusou while we enjoyed our drinks...and while the content of his stories was another matter, his bold storytelling was entertaining enough that I had come back to listen every day. He was a human, already in his seventies, but still indulged himself in food and drink like a man half his age.
After asking a waitress for two orders of food and drink, I sat down across from him. “Hey, Old Gon. I’m back to hear more stories. And I guess we might as well eat while we’re here.”
Gon laughed, stroking his short white beard. Judging by his good mood, it seemed he was already quite deep into the alcohol. That said, I had only known him for three days, so it wasn’t like I had ever seen him in a bad mood.
The waitress wasted no time in bringing out our drinks and some snacks, so I added an order of fish on top of them. Thanks to the channels that allowed merfolk access to the capital, seafood was surprisingly cheap here. The grilled fish would go great with some rice...but today I had sake, so I decided to pass.
Popping some of the pickled vegetables in front of me into my mouth, I enjoyed the nice crunch before following them up with a mouthful of sake. Old Gon then reached out his glass, so I poured more drink for him.
For a time, we sat together quietly enjoying the food and drink. Well, we didn’t speak a word, but the crunching of the pickles made it anything but quiet. There was nothing wrong with talking while we drank, but I wanted to enjoy wetting my whistle a bit first, and Old Gon was all too happy to join me. He ate with gusto, but there was nothing rude or coarse in his manners, so sharing a table with him was always a pleasant experience.
Before long, the grilled fish came along, so I got to work taking off its head and removing the bones.
“You’re pretty good at using those chopsticks, aren’t you? I was thinking the same thing yesterday too,” Old Gon said as I dismantled the fish in front of him. Well, I suppose seeing a foreigner like me be so adept at taking a fish apart with chopsticks would be rather surprising.
“Ah, well. At the school where I learned my swordsmanship, we always ate with chopsticks. I also spent a few years living in the Ancient Gold Empire.” My knowledge of how to do this actually came from my past life, but for now this explanation was easier. I doubted he’d believe me if I told him the truth, and it wouldn’t make much difference if he did.
Old Gon gave me a veiled expression, sharing nothing of how he liked my answer, as he nodded. “Eh, whatever. You learned swordsmanship, did you? You do look quite skilled.”
As he took another drink, I started eating the fish with a smile. As much as he called me skilled, I could tell he had some talent himself. Though of course, it was nothing compared to Wanggui Xuannu in the empire, every casual movement Old Gon made seemed precise and calculated, leaving no openings.
He had told me many a drunk story of his exploits on the battlefield, and I doubted there were any lies among them. Well okay, he had been drunk while telling them, so there was probably at least a little exaggeration.
Judging by the way he carried himself, I suspected he fought with a spear rather than a sword or bow. Whether he could still do so—at an age beyond the average life span of humans in this world—was another question. I got the impression that he’d whirl a spear around like it was nothing...and that even a light pole would be sufficiently deadly in his hands.
“You wanted to learn about the history of Fusou, right?” About halfway through my meal, Old Gon seemed to decide it was time to start talking. Nodding to his question, I refilled his glass, which he emptied again immediately with a satisfied laugh. “All right then. I should introduce you to my friend. She started staying at my place just last night. She’s one of you long-lived folk, so you can talk all you like about the old days with her,” he said.
Here in Fusou, assuming you weren’t talking about the oni, there was only one long-lived species. Humans here lived to about the same age as humans everywhere, while the skyfolk actually matured much quicker, only living to about forty years. That left only one candidate: the merfolk.
The merfolk had long enough life spans that many people believed they were simply immortal. According to the mystics in the Ancient Gold Empire, they typically lived up to four or five centuries. My first impression had been “Oh, so they don’t live that long at all,” but of course, that was only in comparison to elves and high elves. Even for long-lived species, five hundred years was actually one of the higher life spans.
If a merfolk was well educated, there was a good chance they would know a lot about what I wanted to learn. Even if they didn’t know much about history, there were plenty of other topics I’d love to discuss with them. From the underwater city of Shin to their culture around food, I had a mountain of questions to ask.
Finishing off the fish while Old Gon finished his drink, we cleared the bill and left the restaurant behind. I had only barely started to fill my stomach, but curiosity for what lay ahead drove me onward.