Chapter 90: Sanjo Kokaji Munechika

Sanjō Kokaji Munechika.

According to Ryoma, the surname Sanjō Kokaji was identical to that of the legendary swordsmith said to have forged the divine blades Futsunomitama and Kurikara—blades whispered of in myth and battlefields alike, their names etched into history alongside blood and glory.

What connection could there possibly be between such a master swordsmith and a pharmacist researching forbidden medicines?

In order to uncover the truth behind that mystery, they decided to follow the address recorded in an old domain registry and made their way toward a remote village on the far outskirts of Tosa.

Ryoma stroked his chin as he walked, his brow furrowed in thought.

“To think that Sanjō Kokaji was originally from Tosa…” he murmured, almost to himself, as if still struggling to reconcile legend with geography.

“Considering she even used a false name in her pharmacology texts, she was probably the type who preferred to keep her origins hidden,” Ryu replied casually. “Someone who erased her own tracks.”

“Still, Ryoma,” Esther interjected thoughtfully, “the registry listing Sanjō Kokaji dates back six hundred years, does it not? It is difficult to imagine that her descendants would still be living there after so many generations.”

Her observation was painfully reasonable.

“…There is only one way to know,” Ryoma said at last. “We must see for ourselves.”

“I’m with Esther on this,” Ryu added with a shrug. “Sanjō Kokaji is a famous name in Hinomaru, right? If someone with that surname were still living in a Tosa village, there would be rumors at the very least. No way the Tosa domain samurai would overlook that. The fact that nothing is known now… well, that tells you enough.”

“Gnnn…” Ryoma groaned, visibly dissatisfied with the logic but unable to refute it.

“Well,” Esther said more lightly, “if even a single tool, book, or building used by Sanjō Kokaji remains, that would already be a tremendous discovery.”

Before a full day had passed, the village in question came into view.

It was a small, peaceful settlement surrounded by rice paddies shimmering under the sun and neat vegetable fields stretching toward the horizon. A place where time seemed to move at a gentler pace.

“It’s… quite small,” Ryu observed. “Are we sure this is the right place?”

“There is no mistake,” Ryoma replied confidently.

“Our hopes grow thinner by the minute,” Esther sighed.

They followed the narrow earthen ridges between the rice paddies and entered the village proper.

A handful of children were running about, chasing each other with shrill laughter that rang clear through the afternoon air.

Their first villagers.

“Hey there, boys,” Ryoma called out amiably.

“Who’s that old guy?”

“Dunno.”

“Where’d he come from?”

“O-old…?” Ryoma’s expression twitched.

Ryu and Esther exchanged wicked grins.

“Go on,” Ryu prodded. “Tell them what we’re here for, ojisan.”

“Kah, kah, kah! Children are honest creatures,” Esther chuckled. “Isn’t that right, ‘Ryoma-ojisan’?”

“I am still in my twenties…” Ryoma muttered weakly, forcing a strained smile that looked painfully glued to his face.

Composing himself, he asked politely, “Do any of you know the name Sanjō Kokaji Munechika?”

“Never heard it!”

“That’s a really long name!”

“Maybe the village chief would know?”

And so, they asked the children to fetch the chief.

What returned, led by children tugging excitedly at his sleeves, was an elderly man whose age showed in every careful step.

“I heard there were visitors,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “But you are a rather suspicious-looking group…”

Two eyepatched samurai. A small elf girl. A massive, intimidating warhorse. And a crimson infant dragon.

Trust would not come easily.

A perfectly natural reaction.

“I am Sakamoto of the Tosa domain,” Ryoma said respectfully. “We have come because there is something we wish to ask you directly, Village Chief.”

“Sakamoto of Tosa…? Surely not… Could you be… Sakamoto Ryoma?”

“You are correct.”

“!!!!”

The old man’s jaw dropped so far it seemed it might detach entirely.

“Wait—Sakamoto Ryoma? The strongest one?”

“Old guy’s amazing!”

“Old guy’s insane!”

The children exploded with excitement, swarming him with renewed admiration.

However, time was limited. They quickly explained their purpose.

“I am terribly sorry,” the chief said after listening carefully, “but I have never heard that name.”

Ryu frowned. “Are there no old records? Family registries?”

“The oldest registry in our possession dates back two hundred years. Everything before that was ruined by moisture over time…”

“That’s normal,” Ryu nodded. “If anything, the fact that you still have records from two centuries ago is impressive. What about old buildings? Anything that might fit?”

“A swordsmith from six hundred years ago… That would be difficult…”

At that moment, one of the children raised a hand eagerly.

“Hey, Chief! What about the ruins in the western forest?”

“Ah! Good catch!” The chief smiled and patted the child’s head. “Thank you.”

“Hehe~”

“Ruins in the western forest?” Esther repeated.

“Yes. There are stone ruins in the forest west of here. To be honest, I hesitate to recommend that domain samurai visit them…”

“And why is that?” Ryoma asked.

“There is a legend associated with those ruins.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

The chief paused, his expression growing solemn.

“They say that if anyone approaches those ruins… ‘a dragon will grow enraged and come to destroy the village.’”

“““What?!”””

“…Of course,” he added quickly, “it is surely nothing more than an old superstition devised by villagers long ago. There cannot possibly be a dragon in such a remote place. You are free to investigate.”

“I am grateful,” Ryoma said. “We swear not to bring harm upon your village.”

“Very well. Children, guide our guests—”

“No need,” Ryu interrupted calmly. “Homura, scout the western forest from above.”

“Gyau!”
(Understood!)

Homura launched into the sky, crimson wings cutting through the air as she flew westward.

The chief stared in astonishment, while the children’s eyes sparkled with wonder.

“The monster… obeyed?”

“Ah, I suppose the culture of familiars hasn’t spread through Hinomaru yet,” Ryu explained. “On the continent, it’s common to live alongside intelligent magical beasts.”

“I see… The world truly is vast.”

After parting from the villagers, the three followed Homura’s path.

Several kilometers into the forest—

“We’re almost there,” Ryu said.

“I find myself strangely nervous,” Ryoma admitted.

“To walk so smoothly through such dense forest… Axel is truly remarkable,” Esther observed.

“Brrr,” Axel snorted proudly.

Soon, they emerged into a small clearing.

Before them stood large stone ruins, draped in thick vines that clung like skeletal fingers. Above, Homura hovered patiently in the air.

“Good work, Homura.”

“Gyau!”
(I have been waiting!)

She returned to Esther’s shoulder.

“…It really does resemble your house,” Ryu muttered under his breath.

“W-What?! Does Esther live in a haunted mansion like this?!” Ryoma gasped.

“Silence! You will cause misunderstandings!” Esther snapped furiously.

Yet… Ryu’s comment was not entirely inaccurate.

They cut away the vines blocking the entrance and stepped inside.

Parts of the structure had collapsed over the centuries, and shafts of sunlight streamed through holes in the walls, illuminating the interior with an unexpected brightness.

And there—

Rust-eaten swordsmithing tools lay scattered across the floor.

On the old furnace, clearly engraved into the stone, were the words:

Sanjō Kokaji

“…We’ve struck gold,” Ryu breathed.

“There is no doubt. This was Sanjō Kokaji Munechika’s hideout,” Ryoma said.

In a sense, this was the birthplace of Kurikara and Futsunomitama.

Their homecoming after six centuries.

For just a moment, Kurikara seemed almost… pleased.

An indescribable sense of fulfillment swelled quietly within their chests.

But—

“There are no pharmacology texts. No alchemical tools,” Esther said softly.

Their true objective had been to find research regarding the memory retention drug.

On the shelves before her lay only layers of fine sand-like dust.

Was it simple decay?

Or the final remains of books that had crumbled into nothingness?

“If this is all, then this has become nothing more than a sentimental homecoming…” Ryoma murmured.

“Hm…”

Ryu suddenly began tapping the floor with his heel.

“What are you doing?” Ryoma asked.

“In places like this, there’s usually a hidden door beneath the floor.”

“Surely not…”

Clunk.

“…Bingo.”

A section of the floor shifted.

“A hidden door?! Truly?!”

“Well done, Ryu!”

“Gyau!”
(Master!)

They left Axel outside and descended the staircase hidden below.

“It’s so damp…”

“Feels like bugs could crawl out any second. Cockroaches and all that.”

“Do not say such things! What if they truly appear?!”

The stairs were not long, and within a minute they reached the bottom.

Ahead stood a heavy stone door.

Two slots—one above, one below—clearly shaped to fit blades.

“So we insert Kurikara and Futsunomitama there.”

However, between them and the door lay a distance of about ten meters.

They stopped.

“Quite the dangerous-looking barrier,” Ryu observed.

“Sanjō Kokaji would never leave this unprotected,” Ryoma said.

“A final trial,” Esther murmured.

For ten full meters, the air shimmered with a densely woven magical barrier.

“I’ll go—”

“Wait,” Ryoma interrupted firmly. “I will not allow a friend to step forward first.”

“Are you sure? That barrier was made by Sanjō Kokaji.”

“Leave it to me.”

“Perhaps I should test it first—”

““Absolutely not.””

“Gyau.”
(Absolutely not, Lady Esther.)

Esther shrank under the pressure of unanimous refusal.

Ryoma stepped into the barrier.

“GAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!”

A scream tore from his throat.

He froze mid-step, body rigid, face contorted in agony.

“!?”

Ryu immediately grabbed him and pulled him back.

“…I see.”

Ryoma collapsed against the wall, drenched in sweat, gasping for air.

“Is he alright?! Where does it hurt? Tell me!” Esther cried.

“Esther. There is no need to heal him,” Ryu said calmly.

“What are you saying? He is clearly—”

Ryoma slowly raised his head.

“Forgive me for worrying you. I am unharmed.”

“…?”

Esther blinked, confused.

“It’s a mental assault-type barrier,” Ryu explained quietly. “Isn’t that right, Ryoma?”

When Ryu had reached in to pull him out, his right arm had experienced an instant of unbearable pain—enough to understand.

The trap did not wound the flesh.

It attacked the mind.

“Mm. Ryu speaks the truth,” came the grave reply. “It does not physically wound the body, yet it sends an unimaginable agony coursing through every inch of one’s being. A barrier of the most malicious temperament.”

“How could such a thing…?”

Esther was struck speechless.

(Agony so severe that even Sakamoto Ryoma could not keep his sanity…? What in the world was Sanjō Kokaji thinking…!?)

A fierce blaze of anger ignited within her heart, silent yet searing.

“I have shown you a most disgraceful sight… Forgive me.”

“What are you saying, idiot? Because of you, we were able to figure out how to deal with the barrier. That was unbelievably cool.”

“Indeed, indeed! We are overflowing with gratitude.”

“Gyau.”

(If it were me, I’m certain I’d have fainted in an instant!)

“Everyone…”

(So… this is what it means to have friends…)

A warmth, unfamiliar yet undeniable, swelled quietly in the depths of his chest.

Ryu bent down and picked up Futsunomitama.

“And so, I’ll handle the rest.”

““Huh?””

He had spoken earlier of countermeasures—but he had no need of such things.

“It’s awkward to say this myself, but I don’t have any talent whatsoever. If I had to name one thing, I suppose I’m good at speed-reading.”

“That is quite a stretch…”

“Unfortunately, it’s the truth. I’ve only trained and studied more desperately than anyone else. That’s all I am. Just an ordinary man who clawed his way up through grit. A mud-stained fool. Ryoma, you’ve crossed blades with me—you should understand that.”

““…………””

Ryu drew in a slow breath and declared:

“Even so, there’s one thing I can proudly boast about. I am absurdly strong when it comes to enduring pain.”

Without another word, he stepped forward—straight into the barrier.

“H-Hey, Ryu!!!”

“Wait!!!”

An unspeakable agony tore through his entire body.

With each step he forced forward, the pain multiplied.

It was as though needles pierced through him from every direction.

As though his flesh were being sliced apart a hundred times over.

As though molten magma burned him alive.

As though corrosive acid dissolved him from within.

As though his organs were gouged out with invisible claws.

As though an immense force crushed him from above.

As though his body were snapped cleanly in two.

Countless forms of torment fused together, transcending language, ascending into a suffering beyond all description.

Ryu endured.

He endured, and endured.

For his friends.

For his family.

He clung desperately to his fading consciousness.

I will not fall. Not here.

(Do not underestimate me, Sanjō Kokaji. I have lived with far worse for years.)

The days he had been defeated by the Dragon King, crawling pathetically along the ground, broken and humiliated—those years had not been meaningless.

They had carved into him a resilience no barrier could shatter.

Through dimming vision, Ryu fitted the two blades into the designated hollows.

A sharp crack rang out—Bach!—and the barrier shattered.

With a deep, grinding rumble—Gogogogo—the stone door slowly opened.

Ryu turned back toward them.

With trembling but unwavering resolve, he raised his thumb in a firm gesture of triumph.

“Ryu!!!!!”

“Ryu!!!!!”

“Gyau!”

(Lord Dragon God!!!!!)

The three of them rushed to him at once.

From one perspective, it might have looked ridiculous—uncool, even foolish.

But—

This was Ryu Ardren.

Beyond the stone door lay a small chamber.

Shelves lined the walls, filled to the brim with pharmacology texts and pharmaceutical instruments.

Not a single item had deteriorated with time.

Judging from their pristine condition, preservation magic must have been cast over the entire room.

At the center stood a table.

Upon it rested a pharmacology manuscript, left unfinished.

On the open page were the following words:

“To the one who resists dragonification.

If you have reached this place, then surely you have grasped the truth of this world. Regrettably, I did not make it in time. That is why I forged two supreme blades—Futsunomitama and Kurikara. I know not whether it will be hundreds of years hence, but I believe these twin swords will guide the ‘next dragon’ to this place.

And so, I entrust everything to you.

Forgive me that my research remains incomplete, but I leave the rest in your hands. You must complete it—

the Memory Retention Elixir.

—Sanjō Kokaji Munetaka.”

It seemed that the apothecary and the swordsmith had been one and the same.

She had resisted dragonification alone.

Yet she had not made it in time.

And so she entrusted her will to the one who would come after.

A pharmacologist superior even to Esther.

A swordsmith capable of forging supreme blades.

A genius who, without any guidance, had reached the profound truth of memory preservation.

There was no way such a person would not have evolved into a dragon.

“…………” “…………” “…………”

“Esther.”

“Esther.”

“Yes. Leave the rest to me. I swear… I will not let your efforts be in vain…!”

The one entrusted with her will stood alongside the world’s greatest swordsman, who defied the same fate—

And a monster who surpassed even the Dragon King.

And—

The elf cherished by those two dragons.

What kind of tale would be woven from here?