"As I thought… there's nothing here but cliffs and snow. Not even a hint of something new."
Whether it was her imagination or not, the wind seemed to be picking up even more than before.
Okita judged this based on how often her scarf whipped against her ear. The conditions up here were truly harsh, maybe even absurdly so.
Following the steep mountain wall, she climbed down carefully. There were almost no footholds, yet each step she took was steady, grounded.
"It's surprising… I didn't know these things could be concealed."
Okita patted her waist, where she usually kept two small jet propulsion devices, reminiscent of those carried by the Survey Corps from Attack on Titan, albeit much smaller.
The device was hidden—or rather, it had been Spiritronized, much like her weapon. She could summon it directly as needed, saving both space and mana.
Mana conservation was essential, after all. She didn't have a Holy Grail to fuel her endlessly.
Okita Souji, being a modern Heroic Spirit, didn't have the strongest magical presence or Mystery level. Her mana stat was a measly D—barely enough to keep her going even with the jet propulsion made by the enigmatic XX of the Servant Universe. Her original version, unmodified, had an E-rank in mana.
She couldn't help but think back to her former self—Baobhan Sith—with practically unlimited mana. Okita felt a sharp pang at the memory.
It was like going from feasting on delicacies one day to scrapping for instant noodles and rice at the discount store the next.
The fall from grace…
It was enough to bring tears to one's eyes…
Of course, Okita Souji had her strengths, too.
This swimsuit form had six attributes, two at D, two at C, and a dismal E in Endurance. But her Agility was a stunning A+!
Apart from the untouchable EX rank, A+ was as high as it got.
Achilles, who had the title of "fastest Heroic Spirit," had the same A+ Agility, meaning Okita was right up there with the best.
Simply put, among Heroic Spirits, Okita Souji's agility was among the top!
"Hmph! This is why Master trusts Okita the most! The most reliable and strongest guard who'll take down any scoundrel that dares to approach! Leave it all to me!"
Lifting her head proudly, she tapped her fist against her heart.
"Though… this place is ridiculously hard to get through… huh?"
Okita murmured in surprise.
Despite the thick cloud cover, she saw a patch of clear ground below. Judging by the height, it looked safe to jump without injury.
"When Okita thinks, Okita acts!"
Releasing her grip on the wall, she leaned to one side and let herself fall.
Plummeting through the bone-chilling air, she felt the cold pierce her skin like daggers, sharper than any beast's fangs or warrior's blade.
The flapping of her clothes, the fierce whistling of wind against her cheeks—all of it made Okita feel like a bird, stretching its wings against the sky, breaking free of the chains of wind, clouds, and snow.
Free, untethered, boundless.
With a flick of her jet pack, twin streaks of flame shot from her back, executing a flawless 540-degree flip as she landed.
"Perfect!"
The snow was deep here, swallowing her feet past her ankles.
Okita continued to walk, searching for a path down the mountain.
"Master! Master!"
"Hm? What is it, Da Vinci?"
Okita tugged at her loose sleeve, muttering in annoyance as the wind rushed up her sleeve, billowing it and making walking difficult.
But when those wide sleeves and flowing coat tails fluttered in the wind—well, she looked impressive, no denying that.
That's why she loved long-coat outfits so much.
She'd always wanted to try on historical clothing too, though she'd never gotten the chance…
"Master, while scanning the area, we detected what might be traces of human activity nearby."
"Really?" Okita blinked, glancing around in confusion.
"Are you sure, Da Vinci? How could anyone live here?"
Here, Okita couldn't sense even the faintest trace of life.
No plants, no wandering animals, not even a whiff of organic presence.
If someone were living here, it couldn't possibly be a large settlement. At most, there'd be one person.
But then—who would live alone in such a desolate place?
Before she could think it through… it arrived.
There were no words to describe it, but in an instant, Okita knew—she'd been locked onto.
By a "sword."
Its sharpness was such that it could split the heavens and rend the earth.
Its strength was vast as the ocean.
Its weight, deep as a thousand-year mountain.
And wielding this "sword" was an unsullied vision of pure white.
Waist-length snow-white hair, pure white eyes, ivory skin, a white armored skirt, and dual snow-white swords.
This was a Valkyrie clothed entirely in white.
The moment her eyes fell upon that snowy figure, Okita understood.
The peak of the "sword"… or, more accurately, the peak she had not yet reached, now stood before her.
Ah… what should I do?
Her legs trembled uncontrollably, her teeth chattered, her fingers shook.
I should run away, shouldn't I? If I swing my sword at that towering mountain, I'd be crushed beneath the falling avalanche, right?
Running would be the wise decision. Doesn't the old saying go, "as long as there's life, there's hope"? With my agility, escaping would be easy enough.
Then why hesitate?
"Wasn't the choice made from the beginning?"
Her sleeves and scarf whipped in the wind, ringing in her ears.
She lowered her stance, took a breath, her left hand on the scabbard, her right hand slowly moving toward her hilt.
Such a summit, such a blade—how could she resist trying to climb? How could she not try to sever it?
Her fingers were about to touch the hilt when the "sword" that had locked onto her grew even more ferocious.
It was as if the entire sea… no, the whole world had become her opponent's "sword." To draw her blade, she first had to brace herself against this mountainous pressure!
It was as if, the instant she gripped her sword, her opponent would strike with a thunderous, dazzling blow.
Perfect—that's how it should be. This was a battle between swordsmen; if there wasn't a strike like that, she might cough up blood from frustration.
Because if there wasn't, it meant she hadn't been acknowledged as a fellow "swordsman."
"Honestly, this isn't 'me' at all… if I were my usual self, I'd have bolted long ago. It seems Okita Souji's Spirit Origin is affecting me… or maybe I'm still not used to this form."
But that didn't matter. This was no time for hesitation.
Fear, uncertainty, regret, worry—none of it had any place in her sword. A swordsman who couldn't cut through illusions would never hold their sword steady!
In the end, her hand found the hilt.
It wasn't a divine weapon, but a simple blade. It bore no traces of gods or monsters, nor was it forged by a legendary craftsman. It was just a sword that had stayed by her side the longest, the one that suited her best.
Kiku-Ichimonji Norimune. That was the name of her sword, famed as the greatest of the "Twenty-One Great Swords." But it was only a name, holding no special mystery.
The worn hilt fit her hand perfectly, the grooves recording her years of wielding it in battle.
A hint of blood seemed to linger in the air, her hand feeling slick and sticky.
"Those who died by my hand, whose blood this sword has drunk… are you unwilling to reincarnate? Do you curse me still?"
A crazed smile, one that should never grace a human face, twisted Okita Souji's features.
"Too bad for you. Your resentment only makes me more thrilled!"
A blood-drenched demon, a sword-wielding fiend.
Body mired in the path of slaughter, soul eternally tormented by hell's flames.
The silvery blade slid slowly from its scabbard, emitting a clear, ethereal hum. Her fingers, whitened with exertion, gripped the hilt tightly, raising it until it was level with her shoulders, parallel to the ground, aligned with her sight.
"You're not going to make the first move? Giving me a chance?"
Seeing her opponent only grip their twin blades without striking, Okita turned her body, right leg stepping forward, feet shoulder-width apart, adopting a middle stance.
"Then bear witness to the culmination of Okita Souji's life—a strike as radiant as cherry blossoms, as fleeting as a shooting star. My proud, secret technique!"
Ah, it feels so good to have a healthy body again.
A shimmer of cold light flowed like water down the length of her blade to the tip.
An invisible pressure—Okita Souji's "sword intent"—split a seam in the towering wave of energy surrounding her.
Compared to her opponent, she was like a lone boat in a storm.
Which was all the more reason to sharpen her sword to the utmost.
With her first step, she surged forward.
With her second step, her sword intent spiked.
With her third step, it reached its peak!
First step, swifter than sound...
Second step, infinite suffering...
Third step, the absolute sword!
This was the dazzling culmination of the sword known as Okita Souji.
This was the ultimate strike of the strongest swordsman of the Bakumatsu era.
"Avidyā Three-Stage Thrust!"