Chapter Eighteen: Lord Yoshiwara, Part Two

Under the relentless gaze of the summer sun, Nameless Knight stood motionless by the tranquil pond, his reflection shimmering upon the still waters.

In the quiet moments of this contemplation, he couldn't help but drift back to the harrowing encounter with the Jorōgumo under the cover of last night's darkness. The wounds inflicted by the yokai upon his shoulder still throbbed with persistent agony. A tightly bound sarashi had become his constant companion, providing the only respite from the persistent pain.

But, amidst the echoes of that battle, a sense of nostalgia crept over the Nameless Knight. His heart yearned for the distant familiarity of his homeland. The relentless onslaught of demons that had plagued him since his arrival in this mystical realm threatened to unravel his sanity. The land of Mythical Japan was proving to be a relentless adversary.

As he stood there, lost in thought, the koi fish danced playfully upon the pond's surface, offering a fleeting distraction. Nameless Knight's desire to return home burned brighter with each passing moment, but duty bound him to Miko. She was the solitary beacon of trust in this unfamiliar world, the shrine maiden who had extended her hand to the outsider.

Recollections of the morning replayed in his mind like an old, weathered scroll. Seeking a skilled hand to mend his battered armor, Nameless Knight had embarked on a journey through the village, guided by a determination to find a local blacksmith. Inexplicably, guards had materialized, their words unintelligible to him. Yet, Miko's unbridled enthusiasm had led him to believe that this unexpected encounter held promise – a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows of uncertainty.

The Nameless Knight, lost in a moment of profound introspection, stood like an ancient oak, silently witnessing the dance of serene trees beneath the boundless canvas of the heavens. Within his soul, he clung to Miko's words, finding solace in her unwavering faith. Likewise, the shrine maiden, adrift in the tumultuous sea of uncertainty, had placed her trust in him, forming a bond born of necessity. She had chosen him, and in turn, he had chosen her, recognizing her as the linchpin to his very existence.

His gaze extended past the delicate bridge that spanned the pond, where a familiar figure emerged into view. A bald pate glistened in the dappled sunlight, a robe adorned in hues of azure tinged with the wisdom of age, a staff embellished with clinking metal rings, and an aura that exuded an enigmatic mystique – there was no mistaking it. The Buddhist monk, encountered by both Nameless Knight and Miko on the previous night, had arrived.

Passing through vermilion gates, flanked by the solemn vigil of two sentinels, the monk displayed an air of amiable familiarity, a testament to the reverence bestowed upon him by the guards. His steps led him into the garden, and there, amidst the tranquil beauty, he spotted the solitary figure of the knight.

A genial wave beckoned the Nameless Knight, drawing him closer. As he approached, the monk executed a graceful bow, a gesture of courtesy.

"Greetings, valiant warrior," he began, his voice tinged with genuine concern, as if addressing a dear friend. "What a fortuitous day to reunite after the events of last night. Are you well?"

The Nameless Knight grappled with how to respond, having just discerned the local custom of returning the bow in greeting. A bemused chuckle escaped the monk, who seemed to take the knight's actions in stride.

"No need for such formality," the monk insisted, noting the foreigner's unfamiliarity with their language. A gleam of inspiration danced in his eyes. "Ah, I have an idea! Yokai, yokai!"

The utterance of this word sparked recognition within the knight, summoning memories of beings he despised above all else. A raised eyebrow betrayed his sudden vigilance, signaling to the monk that he was on high alert.

Swiftly grasping the misunderstanding, the monk endeavored to dispel the tension, using gestures to convey warmth and openness, drawing the knight into their unspoken charade. Slowly, the tension ebbed from the knight's posture, and he reluctantly let his guard down, though he still maintained a cautious distance.

"It appears I needlessly alarmed you," the monk conceded with a genial smile. "In that case, please, take these." With a flourish, he produced a pouch of melon seeds, extending it toward the knight. The monk helped himself to a handful, savoring their savory essence right before the Nameless Knight's eyes.

Understanding the message behind this offering, the Nameless Knight accepted with a nod. He selected a seed, cracked it open, and savored the salty core, his lips curling into an appreciative smile.

The monk, observing this transformation, breathed a silent sigh of relief, knowing that the language of camaraderie had transcended barriers, uniting two souls in a moment of shared understanding.