The man was young, maybe around twenty, and fresh-faced. There was something vaguely Eastern, almost Japanese, about his features. He resembled the archer from Ares’s party.
The man had quickly grasped their situation. Glancing at his chest, the girls spotted an Aegis Guard badge on his own lapel. He was dressed in a lightweight outfit resembling a rustic kimono, and he even had a katana strapped to his waist.
“It really is like Japan in here…,” Homura muttered.
“We heard you made blades in this village similar to this one,” Jin said, explaining the reason for their visit as she drew her broken ebony katana from its sheath. The man scrutinized it closely.
“I don’t recognize the design or workmanship, but it does resemble the blades we make here… If that’s what you’re looking for, you should probably go talk to the village headman, though. I’ll take you now.”
The young man let them in without further difficulty.
“My thanks.”
Homura and the others wheeled their wagon inside and then followed the young man on foot.
“Is it just my imagination, or is everyone staring at us?”
As they made their way through the village, Homura realized they were drawing the attention of the villagers.
“Of course they’re staring,” said Psycho. “We were just through a knock-down, drag-out fight to the death, remember?”
“Oh yeah. I forgot how we must look right now.”
Now she remembered. They were all “banged up,” just like the man had said. The villagers weren’t staring out of nosiness, they were staring out of concern.
The tears in their clothing had already been mended thanks to Psycho, who was secretly a wiz at sewing, but the stains—especially the bloodstains—still remained. At a glance, it was obvious the girls had been through some pretty intense combat. Homura didn’t blame the villagers for staring.
“Except for you, Psycho, we all look like we’ve been put through a meat grinder.”
“…Yeah, except for me. I guess I’m not much for the front lines.”
Something about the way Psycho paused before responding felt off to Homura.
“…?”
Psycho just kept walking like her normal self, though. Homura figured she must have imagined it.
“By the way, everyone’s clothing here kind of reminds me of a swim class bathing suit…”
Homura would have preferred to ignore this fact, but as they made their way through the village, it was hard not to notice that everyone’s clothing was the same standard dark blue generally used for PE class swimsuits back in Japan. Maybe the color came from a traditional village dye.
Something else that caught Homura’s eye was the occasional building topped with ceramic tiles instead of a thatched roof. Most of these tiled roofs featured chimneys with their own small crowns from which rose thin wisps of smoke. They could hear the sound of metal being pounded coming from one of these buildings nearby.
“Sorry, what is that building there with the tiled roof?”
“Oh, that’s a forge. All the buildings with different roofs are things like workshops or prayer huts,” the man said, explaining the makeup of the village to them.
“Oh, of course. I see.”
Homura stared at the buildings and nodded. There was probably some reason the roofs had to be different.
The young man soon led them to a house in the heart of the village that was significantly fancier than the others. They entered through a recessed work area with an earthen floor, where they removed their footwear before ascending to the rest of the house.
“There’s something comforting about taking off your shoes before entering a house, isn’t there?”
“Is there? Except for school, I spent most of my time buried in a lab, so the feeling is foreign to me.”
“I find it comforting, too,” Jin said.
“It’s pretty rare to find people around here who are already used to this custom!” the young man said, unable to hide his surprise as the girls removed their footwear without being asked. Homura just smiled noncommittally. She could hardly tell him they had come from a part of a different world with similar customs.
The room the young man led them to had an irori—a traditional sunken hearth—located in the center. A small elderly man, wearing what looked like a jinbei, sat on the other side of the hearth. He was apparently the leader of this village. He clutched a narrow kiseru-style pipe between his teeth, puffing out violet smoke.
“Gramps, these girls are here to—”
“Say no more! Say no more!” The headman let out a huge puff of smoke before tapping the pipe in his hand, removing the ash. “You’re here because you want to try on some of our School swimsuits, aren’t you?”
“No, we are not,” Homura said, taking a seat on one of the floor cushions laid out for them.
“You’re not?! Yes, of course… I knew that!” the headman said, shocked by Homura’s unexpectedly tepid response. In fact, he was so taken aback that he even sucked at his pipe, which no longer had any tobacco in it. “For some reason, no one from outside the village seems to take much interest in our swimsuits.”
“They sell them in Aurerich, don’t they?”
“So I’ve been told. They are actually a traditional costume, made out of a fabric called ulu and dyed with a substance we called suku.”
Come to think of it, ulu sounded like the Japanese word for wool. And suku was a kind of indigo dye. That explained why the villagers’ clothing was all the same color.
“Suku…ulu…suku ulu… Ah! School! So that’s where the name comes from! That’s so stupid!”
So that was why the village was called School Village even though it wasn’t a school. How would Homura have lived without knowing such stupid information?!
“Precisely… They are holy garments, you know, blessed with a benediction that allows the wearer to move more freely while in water.”
“Wait, they’re magic items?!”
Homura was officially gobsmacked. Who knew these bathing suits were such high-performance swimwear?
“Hmph…”
The headman took a deep puff on his pipe, which seemed to be getting a lot of airflow at the moment, before getting down to business.
“Tomfoolery aside, it’s obvious what you’ve come for. It’s about your sword, isn’t it?”
Despite his clowning around, the headman seemed to have already worked out the situation for himself. As his gaze fell on the katana at Jin’s waist, his eyebrows twitched briefly in surprise.
“I’m glad you understand.” Jin held out her broken sword. “We heard that you make weapons similar to this one here at the village. I was hoping to obtain such a blade.”
The headman took the katana from Jin and peered at it closely.
“Well, well… A fine piece of craftsmanship indeed,” the headman said, humming in appreciation. Unfortunately, his answer was disappointing. “I’m afraid you won’t find anything of this same quality here. If you were to visit our homeland, perhaps. If you would be willing to settle for an inferior piece, however, we have plenty of other blades to choose from.”
There was a hint of regret in the headman’s voice. It sounded like the village was unable to make katanas of the same caliber because they lacked something—either the technology or the facilities or the material.
“I would be very grateful.”
“Well, then… Hurry, go fetch a blade.”
“Right away!”
The young man exited the room at the headman’s bidding.
“This truly is a fine piece, though. I can see at a glance how sharp it is. How did they do it…?” The headman ran a finger along the blade, as if to test its sharpness. “Whoever crafted this blade must have—ah! Yow! It cut me! It really cut me!”
The blade must have been even sharper than the old man had thought. He pressed the sleeve of his jinbei against the bleeding finger as his eyes welled up with tears.
“That was a silly thing to do,” Homura commented.
“Yes, yes, I suppose it was.”
The girls stared at the strange old man.
“Owwww… In any case, we’ll need a writ. I can’t let just anyone walk out with a weapon! Hold on a second now. Let’s see… Ah, here it is!”
Once the old man’s bleeding had slowed, he began rifling through a tansu-style cabinet set against the wall, eventually pulling out a single slip of paper. It was a document apparently necessary for keeping track of one of the village’s weapons.
The headman also pulled out a small black pot. He added a bit of water to it and then dipped his writing brush inside. As his brush raced across the page, it was bizarre to see that the characters were not, in fact, Japanese, but there was still something nostalgic about the sight of the calligraphy and the smell of the ink.
“You know, since I’ve already got blood on my finger, I might as well add a seal!”
Homura was pretty sure that wasn’t necessary, but the headman pressed his bloody finger against the page for a moment before nodding with a grunt of satisfaction. She wished he would just stick to business.
“Now then, write your name here.”
The headman passed the piece of paper that he had just unnecessarily smeared with blood over to Jin. Soiled or not, it was still an official document. Jin took the brush and quickly wrote her name.
“There, the weapon is yours now. Don’t forget to submit the writ to the appropriate registrar.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
Jin folded up the writ and placed it inside her shirt.
“Would you mind if I keep your broken sword for now? I’d like to try taking it back to our homeland, if I get the chance,” the old man said.
“To search for someone capable of working on it?”
“Yes. Not that many such craftsmen exist.”
Jin’s expression seemed to brighten somewhat in response.
“I know I shouldn’t ask, but I would appreciate if the blade and mountings were kept similar. I’ve grown attached to it.”
“Leave it to me. A fine craftsman has a way of working his soul into the blade.”
“Thank you. You have my gratitude.”
Jin bowed her head. Now that they had accomplished what they’d come for, Tsutsumi’s stomach saw its chance and growled.
“Food…”
The headman laughed, apparently pleased.
“Ha-ha, that’s the sound of a good, healthy appetite! I’ll have something prepared for you. While you’re waiting, why not take a nice, long bath—?”
The sound of something being smashed suddenly came from outside.
“This again?!” the headman shouted in irritation, his face growing tense.
The man at the gate had mentioned things had been hectic lately; maybe this was what he had meant. The five girls rushed outside.