Chapter 83: Sakamoto Ryoma
Sakamoto Ryoma.
He was born into the Sakamoto family, a lower-ranking samurai house of the Tosa Domain, as the second son.
Ryoma’s fascination with the sword began at the age of three.
Watching his father move gracefully in the garden, blade glinting in the sunlight, something sparked within the boy’s world.
(I want to become a great samurai like Father.)
With that pure dream burning in his chest, he began his training under the guidance of his father, a samurai in his own right, learning the discipline and art of the sword.
Even in his early childhood, Ryoma’s talent was evident, and he grew at an almost unnatural pace. By the age of ten, he was unrivaled in his hometown.
“Oi, Ryoma! Let’s have a sparring match today too!”
“Goroemon! I’ve been waiting for you!”
He had found friends with whom to train, and every day was filled with joy.
One day, as he practiced as usual, his father brought a visitor to the home.
“Mr. Itagaki, this is my son, Ryoma.”
“……Hmm.”
“Father, who is this gentleman?”
“This is Itagaki Taisuke—the current lord of the Tosa Domain.”
“The… lord of Tosa?!”
Ryoma’s eyes widened.
The Tosa Domain was treated much like a ducal house within the Empire. It was akin to the head of a noble house visiting the home of a minor knightly family. Ryoma’s reaction was entirely justified.
His father spoke gently.
“Ryoma, you are not the sort of person to remain confined within the Sakamoto family. From now on, you will be under the care of the Itagaki family.”
“B-but…”
“Ryoma has the potential to become the greatest swordsman in the world. Do not concern yourself with the Sakamoto family. Pursue your dream.”
His father knew perfectly well.
Ryoma’s dream had long since shifted—from wanting to be a respectable samurai to aspiring to become the world’s strongest swordsman.
But kind-hearted Ryoma had considered the Sakamoto family and held back, unwilling to abandon his sense of duty. Simply telling him to forget the Sakamoto family would never have worked; Ryoma was far too stubborn for that. So the only way was for the Itagaki family to take him in, severing the tether of his birth family.
“Father…”
“It’s alright, Ryoma. The Sakamoto house is strong and secure. You may visit occasionally; that will be enough.”
Itagaki spoke.
“Ryoma, if you truly dislike it, you may remain here. I will not force you.”
“……”
“But if your goal is to become the world’s greatest swordsman, my Itagaki family will fully support you. Now, decide.”
“Please, allow me a moment to think.”
“No. Decide now. Choose your own path.”
Itagaki’s eyes, sharp and predatory like a raptor, bore into Ryoma.
“Eh…”
Lingering in thought risked doubt and hesitation.
The most important thing now was instinct.
Did Ryoma truly wish to become the greatest swordsman in the world?
Nothing more, nothing less.
This decision was for Ryoma’s own sake. And, more deeply, it was for the sake of the father who wished for his son’s happiness.
“I… want to go to the Itagaki family.”
“……Very well. Come to the Itagaki estate within the week. You will be welcomed.”
Thus, Ryoma began to refine his swordsmanship under the Itagaki household.
Though he had been unrivaled locally, the Itagaki estate was home to far stronger swordsmen.
For some time, he was easily overpowered, sent sprawling in mud, battered and bruised. Yet, he persevered, swinging his sword with all his strength, learning from every defeat. A few years later, he rose to the pinnacle of Tosa.
Ryoma’s fame spread swiftly, and nearly every day, samurai from across Hinomaru came to challenge him at the Itagaki gates.
He cut down challengers with precision, vanquished renowned monsters, and studied countless martial schools.
He traveled Hinomaru in search of a legendary blade, and at times, even participated in wars.
To further expand his repertoire, he studied sorcery.
In time, he had come to be known as the strongest samurai in all of Hinomaru.
Still, he was never satisfied. He trained relentlessly, day in and day out, whether rain, wind, snow, or storm.
He swung his blade, heedless of others’ opinions, of fatigue, of bruises, of mud.
He trained so that he could hold his head high before the Sakamoto family, and so that he could repay the Itagaki family for their care.
Before he realized it—scales had begun to grow across the back of his hands.
(Is this some kind of disease…?)
Yet, his body only grew stronger by the day.
No medical texts described a disease that caused scales to form. Consulting the Itagaki family was impossible.
And then, an idea struck him.
(Am I… becoming a dragon? If so, then at least let it be a true dragon. Dragons… I’ve heard rumors…)
—Could it be that dragons were once human?—
“！！！！”
(If those rumors are true, then I am currently evolving into a dragon… am I… in the midst of dragonification…?)
Gradually, he began to understand.
He was destined to become a dragon.
Years passed as he yielded to this transformation, little resistance, no solution in sight.
Scales spread over his arms, and even his right eye became that of a dragon.
The slow pace of the transformation was the only comfort.
He wore gauntlets and an eyepatch to conceal the changes, day after day.
Then the news came—an old friend, Goroemon the Hundred-Cutter, had been defeated.
(Goroemon… defeated? By an imperial ambassador, no less?)
Ryoma knew his old friend’s abilities well. Goroemon was not a man to be killed easily.
Yet the reports claimed he was struck down as though a child had been crushed in the hand.
(I must meet this person…)
His soul cried out—“Go to Edo.”
“I shall journey to Edo.”
“Unusual… for you to leave Tosa.”
“I am curious. The one who defeated Goroemon… that person.”
“…Very well. But take care.”
The journey from Tosa to Edo took over a month by carriage.
Yet three days later, Ryoma was walking the streets of Edo, seeking the man by following the wind’s whispers.
“Ah, what a fine aroma…”
(Lunch will be here, then.)
As he entered and began sampling gyūnabe, a drunken man began causing trouble among the tourists.
(A baby dragon familiar and an elf… unusual indeed.)
The black-haired man handled the situation with composure, though the confrontation steadily escalated.
The drunk was identified as the third son of the Asakura family. Ryoma could only see the man from behind.
As the tourists rose to pay their bill, the third son reached toward them.
“You bastard…!”
(He truly intends to strike… I have no choice.)
Ryoma stepped in.
“Hold, hold.”
“Who the hell are you?”
After fending him off, he attempted to return to his seat, when the gentleman in question turned to face him.
And there he was—strikingly like Ryoma himself.
Gauntlets inscribed with magical circles, a black eyepatch.
In that instant, instinct spoke.
(This man… he will follow the same path as me… no, he will challenge fate itself.)
“I am Ryu Ardren. And you?”
“I am Sakamoto Ryoma. Were you the one who stopped Goroemon?”
“Yes. I did. But now, there is something more important.”
“Indeed. First, we must—”
““—fight.””
There was no other way to confirm their abilities.
Despite spending hours in the same space, why had they failed to notice each other’s identities?
Because both possessed unparalleled control over magic.
Ryu had easily discerned the power of the Empire’s third-ranking mage, yet he had failed to sense Ryoma at all.
(The strongest samurai in Hinomaru… the title seems accurate.)
(This man is a monster among monsters… my blood is aflame with anticipation.)
Dragons do not let their guard down.
(Still… I will not lose.)
(Hmph. I am superior, after all.)
At the same time, pride burned high in both of them.
One hour later, they stood in a vast, empty wilderness.
“…………”
“…………”