Chapter 1: Sayonara
April 2nd, 1880.
Mount Yuzuruha, Awaji Island, Japan.
The vibrant bloom of cherry blossoms scattered the mountain with petals like pink droplets of rain. With a subtle southern breeze from the ocean, the air felt timeless - captivating the nostrils with the fragrance of the forest. Sitting at the summit, surrounded by all this beauty, was a small, well-kept temple. Monks tended the gardens with smiles on their faces as fruits fell from trees in abundance. In the courtyard, a tranquil pool reflected the sky above like a mirror of ice. It was here where the students practiced their martial arts under the watchful eye of their masters.
They called it Yugen Temple, but any outsider would aptly describe it as a Garden of Eden. The mysterious origin of Yugen Temple was unknown. It was all one big question mark from the who to the why. Some said it was where the first sword master found enlightenment. Others purport the ancients to have built it after recognizing the area as sacred ground. Regardless of what you believe, it could not be denied by anyone after visiting that it was a truly holy and spiritual place that left you speechless.
At the end of the tranquil pool sat an old man meditating in the lotus position, his long white hair shining clean against the dark red kimono. Despite his apparent old age, his olive skin looked as youthful as it were back in his twenties. He sat with his eyes closed, a fulfilled smile on his face. Nothing could break his bliss - not the songs of the tweeting birds, not the grunts of the students as they trained, not the voices in his mind. Nothing.
Until death came knocking.
"Master, master!"
Interrupting the peace came young warrior monk. His shaved head drenched in sweat; his white cheeks flushed red with panic.
The old master kept his eyes closed, "What is it, Benjiro?"
"We got trouble coming up the mountain," Benjiro said after catching his breath, "There's a whole army of them. They've killed everyone in their path!"
"Then our greatest fears have come true," said the old master with an unchanged serene tone.
"What do we do, master?"
The old master took in a deep breath before answering, "Instruct everyone to do as they please. No one need throw their life away to protect the temple. Their choices are their own."
"And you, master?"
The old master opened his eyes, and although they were as brown as the earth, they gleamed with a light unexplainable.
"I shall greet our guests."
The answer created a bottomless pit in Benjiro's heart. This man, his master, even after being faced with the possibility of his temple's destruction, still smiled so warmly. As he watched the old master slowly climb toward the temple, Benjiro clenched his fist so tight that his hands drew blood.
'Not yet!'
His heart, now bursting with conviction, Benjiro shouted to his fellow disciples, "Listen up! Death is coming for us all. Master has instructed us to run and save ourselves."
Everyone gasped and gathered, mumbling their concerning theories.
Benjiro continued, "... But I say, to hell with that! This is our mountain, this is our temple! And that's our master who is staying behind!"
"Yeah!"
Everyone agreed, from the students as young as five to the old masters who would rather keep their age on the down low. Before everyone realized it, they armed themselves with katana and polearm and bow, roaring their battle cries as they marched out, ready to fight.
Inside the temple, the old master marveled at it. Simple, clean, and quiet. Upon the only altar in the room was a katana sheathed in a sleek black scabbard. The old master approached it tentatively. How long had it been since he last held his sword? It had to have been close to a hundred years by now. Yet, although generations of students have come and gone without even seeing the old master wield the blade, the consensus never changed. No one could claim the title of greatest swordsman while the old master drew breath.
And now, after nearly a century since he retired his blade, the old master took hold of it one last time.
'Hello, old friend...'
At that very moment, the temple doors behind him busted open, and countless soldiers dressed in imperial uniforms came inside.
"Hattori Yozo," said the general once the old master was surrounded, "You're under arrest. Please come with us quietly. Don't make this more difficult than it has to b-."
Before the general could finish his sentence, a sleek black scabbard flew at his face at high speeds, shattering his two front teeth instantly on impact.
Then the slaughter began. The old master, known as Hattori Yozo, sprang into action. His blade too quick for the following eye, and his body moved with the spirit of a prime athlete. He dodged stabs from bayonets, carved through men as if slicing cake, and killed anyone before they had the chance to fire their rifles. By the end, blood decorated virtually every inch of Yugen Temple.
Hattori Yozo thought that was the end until he stepped outside and saw Mount Yuzuruha blanketed in flames. Dead bodies of soldiers and disciples alike littered the ground like a morbid landfill. The surrounding forest burned terribly, with cherry blossom petals raging in the air like the fiery rain of the underworld until they disintegrated into ash.
A scene from hell, a nightmare Hattori Yozo could not wake from. As the flames reflected in his eyes, a single tear fell like a lonely sayonara.
"Line up!"
Soldiers took their positions.
"Aim!"
Rifles at the ready.
"Fire!"
And so, the famed Yugen Temple and all its disciples got obliterated. If you were to visit Mount Yuruzuha now, you would not find a trace of the cherry blossoms that once so magnificently flowered in the spring. Any and all records of Yugen Temple were erased, and the sacred tombs that contained thousands of years worth of esoteric knowledge were either confiscated or lost to history.
The legend did manage to live on (even if only just), repeated by savvy researchers who have access to fringe regions of the internet. Astute new-age spiritualists might believe the Japanese imperial government found instructions at Yugen Temple, which detail the secrets to a healthier body and longer life. Sadly, any who express interest in such topics get labeled as conspiracy theorists, or worse, they go on vacation and never come back.
Whatever the case, knowing that the story never faded into obscurity may offer some solace to this tragedy.
As for Hattori Yozo? His soul wasn't ready to rest quite just yet.
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Next Chapter: Yozo wakes up in... Westeros?
Hittori Yozo: "Westa-what-now?"
Yozo's westerosi mother: "His name shall be _____ ?!?!"
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