The run-down hut stood weathered by time and sea salt, its wooden exterior clinging to memories of storms and resiliently weathering each passing season. It huddled on the side of the sea, its thatched roof, once vibrant and robust, now patched with materials that whispered tales of makeshift repairs.
The cold breeze, like a ghostly whisper from the open sea, crept through the gaps in the hut's walls, causing a symphony of creaks and groans. Inside, the air held the unmistakable scent of the ocean—briny, untamed, and alive. The sound of distant waves crashing against the shore harmonized with the symphony of the hut, creating an ambiance that spoke of both solitude and the relentless power of nature.
The blacksmith's home, a refuge worn by the elements, embodied the solitude and simplicity of a life spent creating amidst the vast expanse of the sea. The entrance, marked by a half-broken door, swung open with a haunting screech as the guards and the nameless knight were welcomed into the dimly lit abode.
The blacksmith, a figure seasoned by age and experience, gestured for his unexpected guests to enter. The flickering light of a single lantern cast dancing shadows on the worn-out walls, revealing tools hanging haphazardly and various pieces of half-forged metal scattered around.
Within this humble dwelling, the heart of the blacksmith's craft revealed itself. An anvil, battered and proud, stood as a silent witness to countless hours of labor. Rusty tongs, scattered across a makeshift table, bore the marks of innumerable repairs. The forge, a relic of craftsmanship, remained dormant, awaiting the touch of flames and the transformation of raw metal.
The nameless knight's gaze fixated on the forge, a sight that triggered a twinge of nostalgia. It reminded him of the forges in his homeland, the rhythmic pounding of hammers against metal, a symphony that echoed in the vast halls of European smithies. Yet, amidst the familiarity, a profound sense of loneliness settled within him.
The old man, sensing the sudden gloom that engulfed the knight, offered no questions. Instead, he led the way, beckoning the guests to a worn-out table, scarred by years of use. The guards reiterated their request, the language barrier still a formidable wall.
Taking advantage of the blacksmith's high spirits, the nameless knight placed the disassembled parts of his foreign armor on the wooden table, one by one. The guards' voices hushed, and the blacksmith's eyes gleamed with curiosity and admiration. The longsword, an emblem of foreign craftsmanship, was the last to be laid upon the table, silencing the hut.
The blacksmith, his eyes scrutinizing each part, began the meticulous inspection from the helmet. As he examined the intricate pieces, he admitted, in a language unknown to the knight, that repairing such items was a formidable task—perhaps beyond his capacity.
The nameless knight, oblivious to the nuances of the conversation, remained hopeful. However, the guards, comprehending the blacksmith's dilemma, wore expressions of surprise. The old man, noticing their concern, smiled reassuringly and began explaining the intricate repairs needed.
"...if the master swordsman here permits. I could use a different material for repairs. However, this will take time to finish."
Upon sensing this urgency, Ryu interjected on the knight's behalf, acknowledging the old man to do what he sees fit.
"Very well. I shall accept your request. But where is my payment?"
Already familiar with how trade works, nameless knight tossed a small pouch filled with coins onto the table. The clinking of coins drew a big smile on the old man's face.
Undeterred by the challenges, the blacksmith's eyes sparked with determination. With practiced hands, he started preparing for the repairs, slowly lighting up the forge. The nameless knight, now delighted to witness the blacksmith's commitment, decided to leave the hut to allow the old man to work without hindrance.
As he departed, the knight felt a sense of reassurance, trusting that with the guards assisting, the blacksmith would succeed in breathing new life into his equipment. Little did he know that complications would arise when attempting to repair an armor forged in advanced metallurgy in an era centuries behind.
As several minutes passed, the ambiance in Yoshiwara Manor underwent a subtle transformation. Within the vermillion doors of Lady Umi's chamber, the room resonated with the muted sounds of laughter and lively chatter. The noblewoman's bedroom, a haven of refinement and grace, bore witness to the delicate intricacies of Heian-period Japan's noble lifestyle.
Lady Umi's chamber, adorned with opulent silk tapestries, featured a low wooden table, elegantly carved with motifs of cherry blossoms. The soft glow of lanterns illuminated the room, casting gentle shadows on the intricately woven tatami mats. The sliding paper doors, painted with scenes of nature, allowed for a glimpse of the morning outside—the delicate chirping of birds and the gentle sway of cherry blossoms.
The three women inside—Lady Umi, Lady Ame, and the mysterious shrine priestess, Miko—engaged in animated conversation. Their laughter, like the melodious notes of a distant flute, remained confined within the chamber. The refined upbringing of these ladies dictated the concealment of their mirth beyond the walls, a practice characteristic of noble households during this era.
Lady Umi, a woman of grace and poise, observed Miko with a discerning eye. She couldn't help but notice the shrine priestess's impeccable etiquette, a refinement not often associated with those outside noble circles. Miko, engrossed in narrating tales of the world beyond, shared her experiences with Lady Ame, who lay comfortably on her lap.
"Hey hey, tell me about the story of The Monkey King."
"As you wish my lady. In the eastern lands, there is a tale—"
The reserved nature of noblewomen during the Heian period was deeply ingrained in societal expectations. The women, secluded within their chambers, engaged in leisurely pursuits to alleviate the monotony of their days. This reserved demeanor, often described as "miyabi" or courtly refinement, was deemed essential for noblewomen, shaping their conduct and expressions.
Lady Umi, content with her daughter's growing attachment to Miko, saw an opportunity for Ame to learn from the shrine priestess. The mysteries behind Miko's upbringing began to unfold in Lady Umi's mind, prompting her to question the origins of the shrine priestess's refined mannerisms.
As Miko continued to share stories, Lady Umi pondered the possibility that Miko might be a noblewoman masquerading as a shrine priestess—a notion that seemed improbable yet lingered in her thoughts. Miko's tales, a captivating blend of folklore and personal experiences, enthralled both Lady Ame and her stepmother.
The reason why stories from far away lands draw attention has something to do with their status. Daughters of nobles in this era, with ample time for leisure activities, often found themselves grappling with boredom. The lack of active roles in politics or public affairs led to a surplus of time, filled with poetry, games, and artistic pursuits. This leisurely lifestyle, while seemingly luxurious, also bred a sense of monotony and yearning for intellectual stimulation.