From the man’s matter-of-fact tone, it was hard to believe he was announcing the disownment of his own flesh and blood. No trace of conflict or regret could be seen on the face of Shikibu Mitsurugi—the seventeenth Sword Saint—as he stared at me. He might as well have been looking at a pebble on the side of the road. As one who had devoted his entire life to the sword, those without talent were nothing more than garbage in his eyes. Even his own child was no exception.
I’d already known that for some time, of course. After all, for as long as I could remember, that was exactly how my father had seen me. He’d kept me in the family hoping that even a moronic, thickheaded son like me would eventually show some sort of promise, and I’d worked as hard as I possibly could to get him to acknowledge me at least a little, but in the end it had all been for naught. Crying, screaming, throwing a tantrum, begging for a second chance—I already knew all of that would be pointless. Nothing would change his mind now.
Moreover, my father wasn’t the only one. The Sword Saint’s other disciples, including his favored pupils sitting in a row on either side of him, were also staring down at me coldly, some with indifference, some with pity, and some with a hint of scorn.
Just as my father had said, the first Sword Saint had sealed the evil Demon God away long ago. But the Demon God’s curse continued to leak through the Demonic Gate, encroaching upon the world even today. This island in particular was infested with more apparitions and magical beasts than the entire continent due to the gate’s influence.
The island was called Onigashima. To its residents, weakness itself was a sin. Public opinion was that someone so incompetent as to drag others down didn’t belong there.
After fleeing the dojo in tears, I made it back to my room and gathered my things. By the time the sun showed itself in the east the next morning, I was out of my home—or more accurately, I was being thrown out.
“This is my room from now on, so you’re technically trespassing. That’s right, I’m the heir to the Mitsurugi bloodline now, making this my room. Father said so.”
Smirking before me was my younger brother, Ragna Mitsurugi. Despite us being related, his hair was golden while mine was black. As one might guess from the difference in our appearances, Ragna had a different mother. He was thirteen, just like me, and funnily enough, we shared the same birthday. But the similarities ended there. Between the two of us, Ragna had indisputably been the one to inherit our father’s skill with the blade, as well as his physique and intelligence. Plus, Ragna’s mother was the daughter of one of the empire’s leading aristocrats, so in that sense, his lineage was superior.
Yet despite all that, I had been the Mitsurugi family’s heir, solely because I was the only son that Shikibu Mitsurugi had with his legal wife. Ragna had never found this amusing, and he made sure that I knew it whenever we saw each other. The look in his blue eyes was always filled with hatred and contempt.
“Hmph. Finally, I’m free of the embarrassment of having a talentless older brother like you. Despite having the fortune to be born to father, time and time again you’ve besmirched the Mitsurugi name with your hopeless incompetence. Never show your face to me again. Rest assured, I’ll fulfill my duty as heir in your place—and be a fine husband to your betrothed, Ayaka.”
“Ragna...you little—”
“Ha ha, from that look in your eyes, I’m guessing you want to hit me. Go right ahead and do your worst. But don’t think I won’t hit back. You couldn’t even beat a Dragon Fang Soldier. Do you really think you could prevail against me? Shinsou Reiki!”
No sooner had he shouted than a magnificent two-handed sword, glittering gold, materialized in his hands. How many times had I laid eyes on that brilliance? How many times had it made me keenly aware of my own wretchedness?
The sword was like another Ragna made manifest. Deep within the souls of humans resided a second self called the anima. To master the path of the Illusory Blade was to master the perception, control, and embodiment of this other self. This process was called “Shinsou,” and Ragna had learned how to do it almost immediately after turning thirteen.
It hadn’t just been Ragna either. My fiancée, Ayaka, had also learned it, as well as my father’s other five pupils. Ours was poised to be the most successful generation of any in the Illusory Blade’s history: the golden generation, it was said. Talent drew out talent, and when that talent collided, it became more polished and honed as it developed. Those on the island had placed their hopes and expectations for the future on all the young students of this promising generation—all except for one.
“Hmph. Your legs are shaking and I haven’t even made a move yet. Oh well, that’s fine. If I went any further, it’d just be bullying. The Illusory Blade is meant for crushing evil and protecting the people. As heir to the Mitsurugi family, I must be kind to the weak. So here, a parting gift.”
Ragna tossed three gold coins onto the floor. It would be enough for me to live on comfortably for three months.
“Go on, pick it up. Or not... I suppose you still have a modicum of pride, don’t you? You won’t accept a handout like this in front of me. I’ll leave you alone so you can scrabble for those coins like a beggar once I’m gone...dear brother. Ha ha ha!”
Ragna strode away, cackling. I glared at his back, fists tightly clenched, but I couldn’t do anything. I stayed rooted to the spot, watching as the coins on the floor glinted dully in the eastern sun.
After parting ways with Ragna, I trudged over to my mother’s grave. I hadn’t picked up the coins. As loath as I was to admit it, Ragna was right—I was too proud for that. Yet even as I made the trip to my mother’s resting place, I was already regretting my decision. Truly, I was pathetic.
A voice suddenly called out to me. “Sora.”
The sound grazed my ears like a cool breeze rushing along a plain. All of the gloom in my heart evaporated upon hearing it. I looked up to see a young girl, black hair fluttering in the wind, already in front of my mother’s grave. It was Ayaka Azurite, my betrothed.
“Oh, you’re already here, Ayaka?”
“Yes. I felt the need to apologize to Lady Shizuya, you see.”
“Apologize...to my mother?”
“Yes. I promised her I would be your strength like she asked, yet in the end, I couldn’t do anything for you. So I need to apologize to her.”
As she looked at me, there was sadness in her eyes. Ayaka, also thirteen years of age, was my bride-to-be. Her skill with the sword rivaled Ragna’s, yet she’d never lorded it over anyone. I couldn’t even count the number of times she had helped me out. When the time came for us students to pair up and hold mock duels, she had always volunteered to team up with me. Occasionally, she had helped me train until late at night and even dragged me out with her to see the town on our days off, suggesting it would be a good change of pace for me.