Chapter 63 - Median Steel

Aden contemplated, The fact that this reconnaissance unit of the empire was also called the Wyvern unit made it look like they had been guided by an invisible hand of a greater force.Aden believed there was no such thing as a coincidence, just like the teaching of Ruhim about Lua.Wyverns came from the dragons, descendants of the Serpent, primordial beings as old as the angels and demons. and Lua stated in The News that men are blessed with horses and dragons.Gilbert couldn't hold to give his insight also about the wyvern and their role in this unique ecosystem, he shared an academic perspective. "In the wyverns' territorial conflicts, they scorch the earth and create a kind of hell on earth. Everything burns to the ground, reduced to ashes. But from those ashes, the land is reborn, becoming incredibly fertile with grown with various vegetatives. filled the earth with greens after scorched the earth into grey.""Poetic," Aden praised Gilbert's insight.It was a stark reminder of the delicate balance of life and death in this ancient forest, a balance that had led to its eerie reputation.Leaving behind the scene of the wyvern's demise, the foraging party continued their task, venturing deeper into the Forest of Silent.The forest's name was well-earned; it seemed as if even the whispers of the wind were silenced here. Yet, despite the eerie quiet, there was an undeniable sense of reverence for the untamed beauty of nature that surrounded them.After a brief debate over where it could be found, it was settled that they could find Yarrow in abundance at Wailing Willow Pass.Their path eventually led them to the Wailing Widow Pass, a place known for its stark, haunting beauty. Here, the winds howled through the rocky crevices, creating an eerie, mournful sound that lent an air of solemnity to the place. Aden, Ser Parcival, Gilbert, Hjalmar, and Maeda began to forage once more, their senses heightened by the peculiar ambiance of this desolate landscape.In their quest for resources and discoveries in the Forest of Silent, the foraging party knew they walked a fine line between the mystical and the perilous. The wyverns, as both protectors and destroyers of this unique ecosystem, were a reminder that nature, in all its beauty and brutality, demanded respect and understanding.⁕⁕⁕The foraging party fanned out across the verdant expanse, carefully harvesting the precious herbs and flora that would replenish Serendale's dwindling medicinal stores, Aden found his gaze drawn to the enigmatic figure of Maeda. The ronin moved with a fluidity that belied his gruff exterior, his calloused hands deftly plucking the delicate greenery with a gentleness one might not expect."Hey, Maeda," Aden called out, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.The wandering samurai paused, his eyes finding Aden's as he answered with a simple, "Hai?"Emboldened by the ronin's acknowledgment, Aden gestured towards the blade at Maeda's side. "Can I take a look at that katana?"Without hesitation, Maeda unsheathed the sleek steel, offering the hilt to Aden with a casual flourish. As the weight of the blade settled into Aden's palm, he couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship, his fingers tracing the intricate etchings that adorned the tsuba."Nice," he murmured, unable to conceal his appreciation.Brandishing the katana skyward, Aden drank in the sight of the immaculate steel catching the dappled sunlight. "It's a blade—""Katana," Maeda interjected, correcting him with a subtle hint of pride."A katana's blade made with Median steel," Aden amended, his brow furrowing as he scrutinized the exquisite metalwork more closely. This was no ordinary alloy, he realized, but something far more refined, more precious.At that moment, Aden felt a strange kinship with the young Oliver, who had so often gazed upon him with a mixture of awe and longing. Now, it was Aden who found himself in the thrall of a master craftsman's work, his admiration evident in every reverent caress of the blade.Giving the katana an experimental swing, he marveled at the effortless arc it carved through the air, the blade singing with a deadly whisper. Emboldened, he turned his focus towards a nearby tree trunk, and with a single, fluid motion, the steel cleaved through the wood as if it were mere smoke."This sword—I mean, katana—is magical," he breathed, his eyes alight with wonder. "It's as if it's begging me to swing it again and again."Obliging the blade's silent beckoning, Aden unleashed a flurry of strikes, each one more graceful and precise than the last. Even as the sweat beaded upon his brow, he felt no fatigue, only a mounting exhilaration that seemed to feed upon itself with every sweep of the katana.A trio of leaves, dislodged by the airborne dance, drifted lazily towards the forest floor. In a flash of steel, Aden lashed out, and the delicate foliage parted with surgical precision, sliced cleanly in twain before his prowess."How much do you think it's worth?" Hjalmar's gruff voice cut through Aden's reverie, dragging him back to reality.Aden's gaze swept over the wondrous blade once more, his expression one of solemn reverence. "How much?" he echoed, shaking his head slowly. "It's priceless. No one in their right mind would trade this one-of-a-kind blade for...I don't know, a hall full of treasures couldn't even match its worth."Hjalmar, the burly Vjordic berserker, scoffed at the notion. "You mean even a treasure of Valuel couldn't match the sword's value?""The legendary Valuel Gate?" Aden's eyes widened at the mere mention of the fabled repository said to hold mountains of gold and priceless artifacts. "Yes, this katana is worth more than that to a true swordsman."As if sensing the weight of the conversation, Maeda stepped forward, his gaze drifting to the intricate swallow etched into the tsuba. "Ryuarashi and Tsubame clan, not so much in good terms," he admitted with a solemn dip of his head. "But we respect each other. It was fate. This sword finds me."Hjalmar snorted a bit of derisive. "You got your payment, why don't you just...you know, leave? Like that ugly, burly prisoner."Aden's hackles rose at the berserker's blunt words, and he rounded on Hjalmar with a fierceness that seemed to startle even the grizzled warrior. "He is a samurai," he bit out, his voice laced with a newfound respect for the ronin's ways. "Samurai don't leave their post like some dishonored sellsword.""Hai'," Maeda affirmed with a grave nod. "From the people who need us most, no honor...running away." His gaze held Hjalmar's, an unspoken challenge burning in those inscrutable depths.A samurai may not be as over-glorified warrior class as foreigners love to see them. thanks to the stageplays and storytelling, the foreigners tended to see samurai as honorable warriors who were strict to bushido, their code of honor, while the truth was they came from a very wide array of people.From the most honorable samurai to the most scum who would betray anyone on a whim.Although honor was an exaggerated concept stereotype for the Hi-on people by the foreigners it was not all lies. Honor might be fluid in Hi-on tradition regarding war and society but when it came to the innocent people, everyone would agree that they have to help the innocents.Leaving innocent people who clung to their lives would put an unbearable shame and could only be redeemed by killing oneself, a seppuku.it was not about the honor of clan, land state, or people, it was about the honor of oneself, how could one face himself in the mirror if he left innocent people behind to save his own skin while he has the strength to fight."Hey! No one talks about mutiny," Ser Percival's stern voice cut through the air, his expression grave. "It's bad luck."Survival instincts dictated sticking together, lest they meet a grisly fate like the burly prisoner on the mountain road to the village. Hjalmar's gaze settled on Maeda, the enigmatic samurai, his curiosity piqued. "How did you end up arrested by the empire, anyway? We know about the rest of us, but you're a mystery."Ser Percival held up a hand, halting Hjalmar's inquiry. "You don't have to tell us, Maeda."Crouching beside a mound, foraging, Hjalmar shrugged. "Well, plucking plants is dull. We need something to pass the time while trekking to the Wailing Widow Pass. And what better than a tale? We might find entertainment in his side of the story." The foraging party's interest was piqued—not just Hjalmar's—even Aden harbored a subtle curiosity about how the samurai became an imperial prisoner. He was keen to hear Maeda's perspective.The foraging party carried out their tasks in silence for the remainder of their work in the Silent Forest, gathering all the herbs they required. They were moving on to their next destination, the Wailing Widow Pass."Scorched earth," Maeda muttered as they exited the Silent Forest, heading towards the Wailing Willow Pass. A fading light shone upon them, the transition from a damp, eerie quiet forest to a rocky field drizzled by rain."What?" Hjalmar blinked, caught off guard by the samurai's words."Scorched. Earth." Maeda repeated, taking a deep breath and gazing skyward through the canopy. He reminisced about several months prior.As Maeda and the foraging party trekked down the path of the Wailing Widow Pass, a sense of familiarity washed over him, as if he'd experienced this before. Raindrops pelted him, and a bitter chill permeated the air. Trees swayed in gusting winds, and thunder clapped overhead. Nature seemed to warn him away from this strange place, yet an unseen force drew him back.On the march towards the Wailing Widow Pass, Maeda's gaze fell upon a massive mountain summit shaped like a hook or claw before him. It was the same summit he'd seen during his mission to vanquish the Leverette Revolt, but then it had been southward of Lapinwood. Now, the summit loomed northward, where he stood...A place with a story he needed to unburden, even through his broken common tongue.⁕⁕⁕