Dororo: Part One
Nakamura Masaru
Part 1: Hyakkimaru
Chapter 4
It was the beginning of April. Today was the day when Bōzu would finally emerge from the water. When Bōzu’s little hands gripped the sides of the water tank and propped himself up, Jukai felt a great sense of pride. He’d accomplished something miraculous.
Despite this, Jukai was still disappointed in himself. Bōzu had appendages, but he still lacked senses. His eyes, nose, and ears were nothing more than decoration. Jukai wondered if Bōzu’s senses had been taken along with his body parts, as difficult as that was to believe.
Jukai decided to strengthen his shared mental link with Bōzu as much as possible. That way, Bōzu could see through his eyes, feel through his hands, and smell through his nose. It was difficult at first, but Jukai was soon able to relay sensory input to Bōzu as easily as breathing.
Bōzu also picked up many of Jukai’s opinions about the world in this way. When Jukai saw a flower and relayed that sight to Bōzu, Bōzu understood that his father thought the flower and the field that it grew in were beautiful. Sense impressions gave way to both concrete memories and a more abstract, conceptual understanding of the world.
Bōzu’s ability to project his thoughts and receive those of others was not an ordinary human ability. Sometimes Jukai wondered if he lacked normal senses because he possessed this one.
As time passed, Jukai thought of Bōzu’s progress as being like that of a fish or an insect, hiding in the darkness after hatching or being born and slowly but steadily working his way upward, into the light.
Jukai understood that his initial plan to give Bōzu functional senses had failed, but he wasn’t about to give up. He threw himself into his research, tossing aside methods that had proved ineffective so far and trying out new ones.
Why am I unable to awaken his senses? What is the cause?
Bōzu always sounded concerned about Jukai when he reached out, mind to mind. Dad...
Jukai was Bōzu’s only parent. He had a responsibility to keep Bōzu safe. But the old monk who had given him the sword had said that a time would come when Bōzu might be forced to fight demons.
A few days after Bōzu left the water, Jukai performed surgery to embed two short swords inside his son’s arms. He felt crazy even doing such a thing, but he knew of no better way to help Bōzu defend himself. He removed Bōzu’s new arms, attached the swords at the elbow joint, and fitted very realistic, maneuverable prosthetics over the blade.
Jukai decided to replace one of the swords with Hyakkimaru, the demon-killing sword, when Bōzu was old enough. If the sword really was potent against demons, Jukai didn’t want Bōzu to ever be disarmed.
As Jukai performed these surgeries to embed blades in his son’s arms, he felt a terrible sense of self-hatred. Doing something so monstrous to a child, even to save that child’s life, felt fundamentally wrong. But demons desired Bōzu’s body, which had already been taken from him once. Jukai’s purpose in giving Bōzu swords for arms was to ensure that Bōzu’s body would never be taken from him again.
Once Hyakkimaru was embedded in Bōzu’s left arm, it stayed there. Jukai periodically upgraded the sword in Bōzu’s right arm, though these blades had no magic and were not capable of killing demons. The scabbards for each blade were made of soft paulownia tree wood, which were hidden inside the arm prosthetics. The swords would come of out their scabbards by tugging, just like with ordinary swords.
Jukai found the wood of the paulownia tree particularly suitable for this task because of its unique virtues as a building material. The wood was light, strong, and wouldn’t warp when wet. The paulownia tree was sometimes called the tree of life, since parents often planted one when a new child was born. Jukai liked the idea of the swords that protected Bōzu’s life were enclosed in scabbards made from the wood of that tree.
Parents planted paulownia trees when children were born because they wanted their children to grow up as strong and healthy as the tree. Jukai hoped the same thing for Bōzu.
Jukai completed his work on Bōzu’s right arm first. When he was satisfied with his work, he nodded to himself, then said, “Your left arm is next.” Jukai was uncertain of how useful the demon-killing blade would be until Bōzu was significantly older. He predicted that it would make Bōzu slump to one side.
Bōzu stared at Hyakkimaru for a very long time, like he was trying to figure it out. He scarcely understood the reason he’d been given the first sword, though Jukai had tried to explain it to him. He did understand that having the swords in his arms was a form of protection against danger. He was afraid, but that only increased his desire to defend himself.
“I’m ready,” Bōzu said. He sounded very certain.
“You must grow up and become a strong man,” Jukai said. “Stronger than anyone else. Your body was made with the help of countless children who died in war. You must live for them, and be strong for them, since they can no longer fight for themselves.”
“...war?” Bōzu asked in a voice that Jukai barely heard. Bōzu was looking at Hyakkimaru, the sword, when he asked the question.
“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Jukai said. “And remember to move your mouth when you speak.”
Bōzu had never tried to speak with his voice before, preferring to speak mind-to-mind with Jukai. “War” was the first word he ever uttered aloud. It would take him a long time to learn to speak in a way that didn’t frighten other people.
Jukai took Bōzu’s right hand in his and pulled it up to his mouth. “Ah,” he articulated clearly. “Ah, ee, oo, eh, oh. These are vowel sounds. Repeat them.”
“Ah, ee, oo...” Jukai heard sound, but Bōzu still wasn’t moving his mouth.
“Good,” Jukai said, “but move your lips like mine. Can you feel them?”
Bōzu didn’t really understand what was being asked, but by imitating Jukai, he managed to make his lips form around the shapes of the vowel sounds Jukai was attempting to teach him.
“Ah,” Bōzu said, moving his lips. His voice didn’t come from his throat. Jukai could tell that because nothing in his throat moved. Bōzu was still speaking mind-to-mind, and only appeared to be speaking if no one looked too closely.
Jukai supposed that would have to do, unless or until Bōzu regained his own voice one day. Unless someone was sitting right next to Bōzu, they shouldn’t be able to tell if he was speaking from his throat or from his mind.
“Eee,” Jukai said. “Eee.”
Bōzu struggled, but he finally managed to produce a tentative “eee.”
The more sounds Bōzu learned, the easier the others became. Jukai was impressed at his rapid progress. “You’re really good at this,” he said. “I’m so proud of you. Repeat ‘oo’ for me.”
Bōzu beamed at the praise, then said, “Uh, oo...”
Jukai had never seen Bōzu smile before. His joy was plain to see on his face.
“Try ‘eh,’” Jukai said.
“Eh,” Bōzu said confidently.
Jukai started crying, though he didn’t realize it. “Now ‘oh,’” Jukai said. “If you can do that, I’ll start teaching you words.”
“Oh,” Bōzu said.
Jukai held Bōzu in his arms, still crying. One day, Bōzu would be strong enough to walk out of this place on his own. He would have monsters and demons to face.
But in this moment, Jukai prayed that such a day would never come. He had no wife or other family. He had known women, but his research and work were all-consuming, and he cared more about continuing the great labor of his life than he did about having a wife and a family. He never thought he would have a child of his own.
Jukai was not an ordinary man, but he was still very much human. He’d come to the mountains deliberately to be a solitary hermit, but he was not so cruel a person that he would cast a helpless child out to live on their own.
Life in the mountains was cold and harsh, but Jukai never considered moving, and Bōzu never knew any other kind of life. He didn’t want any other kind of life, either. His father loved him: that was enough. He felt every prayer that his father made for him to grow up healthy and strong.
But health and strength would not guarantee Bōzu a happy life.
When the time came to implant the sword called Hyakkimaru into his left arm, Bōzu endured the surgery in stoic silence. His name after that was Hyakkimaru. He embraced his identity as someone who would fight against demons.
Jukai understood that Hyakkimaru would have to leave home one day, but he prayed fervently every day for Hyakkimaru to be able to stay for just a little longer. The outside world was a terrifying place. Hyakkimaru would never be safe, never mind happy, if he was out there alone. There were times when Jukai wondered if pulling Hyakkimaru from the magical water that had aided his recovery after that first terrible surgery had been the right thing to do. It might have been kinder to let baby Bōzu sleep in that water forever.
Jukai hugged Hyakkimaru tight to his chest and whispered, “You must be strong.”
“I will,” Hyakkimaru said. He usually remembered to move his lips now. “I promise.”
***
When the sword Hyakkimaru was finally in place, Jukai began teaching his son how to use the swords in his arms. Thanks to his long and solitary travels, Jukai was a master swordsman. He had to be, to survive in this world for so long.
Jukai was also an expert researcher and a very thorough teacher. He set aside his alchemical studies to teach Hyakkimaru everything he knew about both fighting and medicine.
Hyakkimaru’s first lessons concerned hunting. Hyakkimaru hated them at first. Jukai was not the only one he could speak with mind-to-mind. Feeling the terror and pain of the beasts he killed was unbearable to him. It didn’t help that he was still so young--too young to understand death, and far too young to cause it. Hyakkimaru was so distressed by these early lessons that he openly opposed Jukai as much as possible.
Jukai remembered how troubled he’d felt when accepting the sword from Biwabōshi. As he’d feared, he had to become a demon himself to save his son from worse demons. No matter how hard Hyakkimaru fought him, Jukai insisted that he must learn hunting for the sake of his own survival. If Hyakkimaru couldn’t cut down animals, he’d never be able to face human opponents, which were far more dangerous.
My son will have to fight monsters one day. The thought made Jukai’s heart hurt.
That was all Jukai could think about while teaching Hyakkimaru the sword, striking him over and over, sometimes cutting so deep that he alarmed even himself.
“Strike,” Jukai commanded. “Never hesitate. To survive in this world, you must sometimes kill. If you don’t, others will kill you instead. An instant of hesitation could cost you your life. Strike.”
Jukai scolded Hyakkimaru continuously until he mastered the skill being taught. His harshness matched the lessons and skills that he was teaching. The agony of killing sentient creatures whose pain he could feel as his own did not lessen over time. Jukai came to understand that Hyakkimaru’s reluctance to kill came from the sensation of pain that he experienced, both from other animals and from within himself.
But Hyakkimaru’s ability to sense pain in others was intriguing from a research standpoint. Jukai had never been able to restore Hyakkimaru’s senses, but he could relate certain sensations by means of their mental connection. He sent many examples of touch, pain, heat, and cold, hoping that Hyakkimaru would learn the physiological signs of these basic sensations.
Hyakkimaru could experience sensation through Jukai, but not through his own body. He never felt cold, heat, or physical pain within his own body, but he could feel it when he was touched. Hyakkimaru’s general lack of sensation made him very tough. He could fall down over and over again, having suffered a dozen cuts or more, and still keep going.
One night, Jukai brought the blade of the sword embedded in Hyakkimaru’s right arm down over his own arm, cutting it open. Blood dripped from the shallow slash.
“Do you understand?” Jukai asked. “This is pain. Living creatures experience it. People experience it. Do you feel it, as I do?”
Hyakkimaru shook all over. Tears streamed from his eyes. Hyakkimaru could feel it. It was like Jukai had thought. Sensations experienced through Jukai seemed to leave a stronger impression than other sensations.
“You must kill without fear or hesitation,” Jukai said roughly. “You can only do that by getting used to it. If the demons you fight have flesh, they will feel pain and agony as well. You must get used to feeling these things, so that they are normal for you. If you’re distracted in a fight by your enemy’s pain, your enemy will seize their chance and kill you. I am teaching you many skills, but all of them are so that you can do one thing: kill.”
Kill.
Learn.
Get used to it.
Hyakkimaru trained constantly. The training did not become easier: it wasn’t like speaking or walking or other, more pleasant activities. Hyakkimaru had to transcend his own physical and mental limitations over and over again to do as Jukai required of him.
Hyakkimaru trained in the sword and calloused over his heart so that he would be strong enough to face whatever threatened him.
There were times when Jukai questioned his own decisions. After all, wasn’t it possible for Hyakkimaru to live with him on the mountain in peace for the rest of his life? But he knew that was an impossible dream. Jukai would not live forever, and failing to prepare Hyakkimaru for the world outside was not just negligent, but dangerous. Biwabōshi would not have given Jukai the sword unless he was certain that Jukai and Hyakkimaru would have to use it.
Jukai was harsh and even cruel during all those long years of training. He could not spare Hyakkimaru so much as a kind word, much less a kind action. The times when he slipped up were rare, and he chastised himself. The world was terrible, and Hyakkimaru had to know that. It had to be ingrained so deeply into his bones that he never forgot it.
More than ten years passed in that way. Hyakkimaru grew up strong, just as his father wanted. It was very difficult to guess his age: he seemed quite a bit older than he was. He was a child who had been raised in seclusion, ignorant of the world outside save for what his father had told him. That he was fierce and tough was a product of his training. He still didn’t have any real idea of what the training was actually for.
One morning in spring, Jukai started coughing up blood. Hyakkimaru had gone out to train and fetch firewood, so he wasn’t there when Jukai fell on the floor of the hut. When he returned, he stood in the doorway, stunned.
“Dad! Are you all right?”
It was early evening, and the inside of the hut was shrouded in gloom. Jukai lay face-down in the main room, skin clammy and cold. There was blood around his mouth, some dried, some fresh. There was so much blood, both on Jukai and splattered around his body. Hyakkimaru guessed that he’d started coughing up blood shortly after he’d left that morning.
“Dad?”
Hyakkimaru crouched down to Jukai and lifted his head into his lap. He could feel the sensation of spreading pain and smell blood through the mental connection he shared with Jukai. He was accustomed to such sensations, but he’d never thought to feel his father in so much pain.
You’re back?
Jukai didn’t speak. He was too weak. He sent his message through the mental link he and Hyakkimaru shared. He’d been suffering from pains in his chest for nearly a month, and there were times when he’d woken up tasting iron at the back of his throat.
“Dad, what’s wrong? Why are you bleeding?” Hyakkimaru sounded like he was about to cry.
If I die…burn this place down. The hut, my tools, everything…
Hyakkimaru didn’t understand what Jukai was saying at all. The words were clear, but the meaning was unfathomable. Burn their home? Why?
Hyakkimaru tried to sense more about his father’s meaning through their mental connection, but Jukai suddenly clamped in on himself internally, and would reveal nothing. Jukai had been disciplining himself to hide his emotions and internal state from Hyakkimaru since he’d resolved to become a demon to save his son’s life.
But Hyakkimaru had never been entirely fooled by Jukai’s façade. He’d felt his father’s love in his infancy and early years and had never forgotten it.
Jukai summoned all his strength and leaned on Hyakkimaru’s arm for support. He tried to stand up.
“Dad, no!” Hyakkimaru insisted. “You need to rest. You’re very sick. I’ll carry you to bed. Just stay still.”
Jukai ignored him. He grabbed Hyakkimaru’s left arm and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. Hyakkimaru tried to support him, but Jukai took a step away.
“Let me be,” he said. “It doesn’t matter anymore if I fall.”
“What?”
“The time has come,” Jukai said. “You must…use Hyakkimaru.” He reached out and supported himself on his son’s left arm, then pulled. The arm separated cleanly at the elbow, revealing the blade. There was no blood. White bubbles formed around the pieces of Hyakkimaru’s arm. Aside from those white bubbles, he appeared to be a completely ordinary young man.
“My…son…” Jukai had avoided giving Hyakkimaru a set name. He rarely ever called Hyakkimaru his son, either. He felt guilty for never discovering the names of Hyakkimaru’s true parents.
Jukai was too exhausted from blood loss to speak aloud. He communicated with Hyakkimaru mind to mind.
Pack those and leave this place.
Jukai was looking at a folded pile of cloth. Hyakkimaru picked up the pile and unfolded the cloth. It was black silk with a pattern of golden anchors. “You want me to pack these? Why? To sell them?”
Never, Jukai said. You must not sell them. You must wear them. It is possible that someone in the outside world will recognize you.
“Wear them? Me? How could I possibly wear something so expensive?”
You’re a man now. Jukai’s voice was faint, even in Hyakkimaru’s mind. You should wear them.
Hyakkimaru had never left the mountain, but Jukai had shared many of his memories of villages, cities and people over the years. That was how Hyakkimaru came to know the meaning of the terrible word war--though he’d never experienced it himself. Not yet. But he knew that people in villages and cities suffered terribly because of war.
As an abstract concept, Hyakkimaru hated war. He was also drawn to the lure of people. He had lived so much of his life in isolation that the thought of going to a town or village made him a little excited.
He could leave the mountain now, but Jukai was dying. He remembered begging his father over and over to take him to town as a child.
“Dad, are you going to the village? Can I come?”
Jukai had always refused him.
He lay down on the floor, red-black blood ringing his mouth, too weak to stand.
"You always said you'd take me to town some day, dad," Hyakkimaru said. "You can't do that unless you rest."
"I...am not your father," Jukai said weakly.
Hyakkimaru went rigid. "That's a joke, right?" He smiled, though it was warped and twisted with bitterness.
But Jukai wasn't lying, and he wasn't hiding his memories from Hyakkimaru any longer. Hyakkimaru saw everything that had happened through Jukai's eyes.
Drifting in the river in a basin.
Finding the baby inside, lacking all limbs and appendages.
The pattern on the cloth he'd been wrapped in, which Jukai had insisted he wear.
The demon-killing sword concealed in his arm.
"You are not...the son of a farmer," Jukai said.
Hyakkimaru felt the world retreat around himself, like it was melting into nothingness. He was terrified. "You're wrong," he said. "You're my father. Of course you are. If you're not my father...who is?"
"Burn it," Jukai said. "Everything. The house, my tools, all of it. Promise."
"Have you gone mad? You must have, thinking I'm not your son, and ordering me to destroy everything. How will I live in a burned house?"
"Burn it."
"I don't want to!"
"You must! What would happen if my research and tools fell into the wrong hands?" When Jukai had first departed from the path of pure medicine to embrace alchemy, he'd realized just how dangerous his discoveries could be.
"Think of men who do nothing but engage in war, heartless and cruel. What would they do if they knew their bodies couldn't die, and that their severed limbs could be restored? What would happen to the world if that knowledge became widely known? It wouldn't be used to help the suffering. Those in power would exploit it for their own purposes. The knowledge would be kept from those who need it and used by those who would only abuse it."
Hyakkimaru felt Jukai's heart beating strongly as he shared his emotions and memories. "As long as the world remains at war, the only people who will benefit from my discoveries are those who would keep the war going forever. The world would become a never-ending hell. People aren't supposed to live forever. They're supposed to die." He paused. "Burn everything. Say you will."
"Dad?"
Jukai's mouth closed. He did not speak again.
"Dad!" Hyakkimaru held Jukai's body in his arms, but that was all it was: a body that was starting to go cold, though Hyakkimaru couldn't feel it.
He was supposed to burn the house. To teach Hyakkimaru the fear of fire, Jukai had scorched his own palm. Hyakkimaru couldn't feel fire, or heat. Even after Jukai's demonstration, he'd never learned to fear it.
Jukai had shielded Hyakkimaru from the dangers of the outside world for his entire life. He wasn't here to do that anymore.
Hyakkimaru did as Jukai had told him to and burned the house down. He stood in a clear spot away from the fire as his home was consumed. He couldn’t sense fire in the usual way, but understanding that it could destroy clothes and dishes and furniture so thoroughly gave him a certain awareness of its terrible power.
The fire went out, leaving Hyakkimaru alone in the dark. He had trained all his life so that he would be strong enough to live on his own, but now, he lacked Jukai’s perceptions. He could no longer experience the world through his father’s senses. He stood in the darkness of the night and had no awareness of how dark the world was around him. For him, the world was always dark except for when Jukai showed him something different.
And yet, Hyakkimaru did feel the oppressive weight of the darkness. That darkness did not come from the world around him, but from within. His father was dead, and he was alone. More than uncertainty of the world surrounding him, Hyakkimaru felt despair at the thought of never talking to Jukai again. He couldn’t hear a single sound: not the house crumbling to ruin or the whispering wings of insects and birds.
Loneliness fell over Hyakkimaru like a shroud. He crouched down, hunching in on himself, waiting for the feeling to pass or something to change. But nothing changed. He kept curling in on himself, making himself smaller and smaller like a baby in a womb.
Hyakkimaru understood, vaguely, that he should move, but he couldn’t. The clothes Jukai had preserved for him and the food he’d taken out of the house gave him no joy. He wondered how long he would have to stay in place before he starved or died of dehydration.
But Hyakkimaru didn’t stay in place for very long. He was distracted by a voice. Hyakkimaru had never heard the voice before. It wasn’t Jukai’s, and Hyakkimaru didn’t remember hearing the voice within Jukai’s memories.
Boy…
The wind picked up, surrounding Hyakkimaru in a cyclone shape. He stepped back and said, “Who’s there?” He could not see or hear, but he spun in a circle, searching for the source of the voice.
Boy…do you know that your body was stolen? Do you know about the Hall of Hell demons?
“Demons? What demons?” Hyakkimaru asked.
Jukai had not mentioned the Hall of Hell to Hyakkimaru, not even once. He hadn’t wanted to burden Hyakkimaru with that knowledge. Some part of Jukai had always hoped that he would be able to protect Hyakkimaru forever. And even if he couldn’t, Jukai hadn’t wanted to tell Hyakkimaru the circumstances of his birth. His life was difficult enough without the knowledge that his birth family had thrown him away.
Forty-eight demons…
The soft voice spoke again, and this time, images overwhelmed Hyakkimaru’s senses. Hyakkimaru’s shoulder’s went rigid. “What…what is this?”
It was the Hall of Hell.
“What…where…”
Biwabōshi’s vision was poor, so he had never truly seen the Hall of Hell in all its terrifying glory. The statues of the forty-eight demons inside moved and writhed as if they were living. Hyakkimaru perceived all of them clearly within his mind. They were so terrifying that Hyakkimaru wanted to run, but physically moving did not alter the vision that he was seeing. He couldn’t leave the Hall of Hell of his own free will.
As each demon came into view, Hyakkimaru felt their spirits. He understood instinctively their evil intent, greed, lust, madness…
Mocking laughter echoed all around Hyakkimaru in the half-darkness. I’m surrounded… Fear kept Hyakkimaru completely still. I’ve never heard of these demons before…why do they seem to know me? That voice said my body was stolen, but when? How?
Hyakkimaru tried to remember everything he’d learned from Jukai. When was my body stolen?
Before the river, the cruel voice whispered. Before your birth, in your mother’s womb.
Hyakkimaru had asked Jukai about his mother, once. Jukai had said nothing in response. He’d given Hyakkimaru a sad sort of smile, then patted him on the head. Whenever Hyakkimaru had tried asking about her again, Jukai had given no reply, and eventually, Hyakkimaru had stopped asking. He thought that the memory of his mother must cause Jukai pain.
As long as I have dad, I’ll be fine. That was what young Hyakkimaru had always believed, but then, Jukai had said…
I...am not your father.
Then who was? This mysterious voice he kept hearing?
“Who are you?” Hyakkimaru asked.
The forty-eight demons stole your body. They use it to deceive and kill other people beyond number, rejoicing in their good fortune. You must choose your own path.You’re probably best off remaining here, far from the rest of the world. But if you wish to reclaim your body, there is a way.
“How?”
Use Hyakkimaru--the sword in your left arm--to kill the Hall of Hell demons. That is the only way you will ever become whole.
“What?” Hyakkimaru didn’t understand the voice at all. “You never said who you were.”
More images flooded into Hyakkimaru’s mind. He saw an old man with a shaved crown like a monk’s. The rest of his hair was pure white. He was carrying a lute on his back.
“Who is that? My father?” Of course not, Hyakkimaru thought. Jukai is my father. No one else. “How do you know the name of the sword?”
There was no reply. Then, If you seek the demons, you will surely find them. With each one you strike down, a piece of your body will return to you. Your stolen flesh and seeking heart long to reunite. It is your destiny.
“But why?” Hyakkimaru asked. “Why was my body stolen by demons?”
That answer will be revealed to you as well, should you seek it. I still believe that it is best for you to remain here, and rebuild your life in ignorance of your past. That is what the doctor would wish. The demons would continue their reign of terror, and that blame would fall on you, though the fault is not truly yours. Everything depends on you now, boy.
The voice grew softer, like it was getting farther away. Hyakkimaru felt the wind swirling around him before it stilled. The owner of the voice was gone.
“Wait!” Hyakkimaru called out. “I have more questions!”
There was silence all around. Hyakkimaru stood alone in the darkness, but he was no longer overwhelmed by despair. He had a choice before him, though he did not understand what the result of his choice might be. He sat down and tried to understand what had just happened.
Who was that? How did they know me? And who was that monk I saw, and what were those demons? Why would they even steal a person’s body in the first place?
One very pressing question pushed itself to the front of Hyakkimaru’s mind: Who am I?
The voice had claimed that if he sought for answers, he would find them--and that if he killed a demon, a piece of his body would return.
But…is that something I want? Hyakkimaru shook his head. Dad made me this body, and it’s more than good enough. I don’t need anything else.
One thing troubled him, and that was that Jukai had embedded the demon-killing sword into his left arm. Had Jukai known something about the demons? Had he expected Hyakkimaru to fight them? He had taught Hyakkimaru swordsmanship with great care, and he’d also insisted that Hyakkimaru burn down the hut so that his knowledge wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. His father cared about fighting evil, and protecting Hyakkimaru from it.
What should I do? Dad, tell me! Tell me what I’m supposed to do!
I...am not your father.
Impossible. It was all impossible. Hyakkimaru sobbed, shoulders shaking as he hunched in on himself. He was tempted to curl into a ball again and remain there, but he couldn’t: not this time.
Hyakkimaru couldn’t see, but it was nearly sunrise. He stood up and started walking down the mountain.
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