Every dawn, the mountain busily greeted the dim light before sunrise.
The trainees of the ‘Sword Circle’ had blended well into this natural rhythm. Only when men and women in martial uniforms began appearing one by one would the roosters finally crow and morning arrive.
Burned places could be seen everywhere.
The buildings reduced to ashes had yet to be rebuilt, and the scorched marks upon the forest would likely take several years before their traces disappeared.
Even so, life continued no differently than before.
Heavenly Sword Mountain had endured countless hardships over thousands of years. Even if dozens had died or been injured, there was no reason its daily routine would change overnight.
After all, the extraordinary always began in hidden places.
Like this small bedroom, for instance, where I was meeting the old swordsman alone.
“……Beware the ‘mud’?”
Tap, tap.
The old man sat upon a wooden chair, tapping the armrest twice with his index finger.
His blue pupils, lost in thought, had sunk into a grave light.
I was here to share the information I had obtained from my little sister the previous night.