Crack… crack!
In a dimly lit cavern, a blazing campfire crackled softly, its flickering glow brightening the darkness and illuminating the cave walls.
In one corner of the cave, a boy of about twelve or thirteen huddled close to the fire. Wrapped around him was a massive black animal pelt. In the shifting firelight, one could glimpse patches of unprocessed animal fat still clinging to the inside of the hide.
It was a crude fur blanket, roughly made, carrying a faint, lingering odor of blood and musk.
The boy's skin was as smooth as polished jade, his features delicate and strikingly handsome. His long crimson hair fell in soft, tousled waves. Yet despite his beautiful face, a large flame-shaped birthmark sprawled across the left side of his forehead, stretching down to the corner of his eye and continuing along his cheek. The vivid red of the mark lent him an air of mysterious intensity.
At that moment, his eyes were tightly shut, his body curled up, trembling as if he were enduring immense pain.
After quite some time, the boy finally opened his eyes and cast a dazed look around the cave. A fleeting shadow of melancholy passed through his bright gaze, quickly replaced by confusion, shock, and… disbelief.
"How… how is this possible?!"
A low murmur broke the silence of the cavern, his voice trembling with astonishment. As though unwilling to accept the reality before him, he stretched his hands out from beneath the pelt and rubbed his eyes hard.
He shut them again, then opened them once more. He rubbed his eyes yet again, then gave himself a sharp slap across the cheek. Feeling the sting radiating across his face, he seemed to resign himself to his circumstances.
Before long, the bewilderment in his eyes faded, replaced by a growing curiosity. He muttered under his breath, his voice echoing faintly in the cave:
"I guess… I've transmigrated again."
"I'm called Taiyi."
"That name was given to me by a blind fortune-teller in the village. According to him, I was destined for greatness, so I needed a name worthy of my fate. Back then, my childish, adolescent self believed every word he said."
"When I was little, I thought I was chosen by destiny, and that one day, Digimon from another world would come seeking my help."
"But as I grew older, I realized I was just a child mocked by fate."
"At only twenty-four, my life had already come to an end. And this, just after I'd finally passed the civil service exam!"
"I can't help wondering… was I doomed by my own name?"
"I used to think my life was a tragedy."
"Until I lived a second one."
"My second name… was Yoriichi Tsugikuni."
"That was a world where humans and demons coexisted. From the moment I was born, I understood my mission."
"In just a couple of decades, I cut my way from one end of the coastline to the other."
"Finally, having fulfilled my purpose, I retreated into the mountains, living the peaceful life I had always dreamed of."
"Years later, as an old man, I closed my eyes for the last time. But when I opened them again… I discovered I was alive once more."
"I'm beginning to think… I really might be someone chosen by fate. Even though, sadly, there are no Digimon around me…"
In the dim cavern, Yoriichi Tsugikuni, draped in his thick animal pelt, slowly rose to his feet and began examining his surroundings with care.
Solitude had been his constant companion in his previous life. Having lived to old age without regrets, he adapted quickly to his new reality.
Clearly, the most urgent matter at hand was to figure out where exactly he was.
The cave measured roughly seven square meters. It was winter now, the air bitterly cold. Even with the roaring fire before him and the thick fur around his shoulders, the chill seeped into his bones, making him shiver despite himself.
"Is this… a primitive society?"
Yoriichi scanned the cave carefully, noticing the complete absence of anything modern. Beside the campfire, he spotted a set of wooden utensils a crude knife and fork, clearly handmade rather than machine-produced. Next to them sat a low-quality wooden bowl, half-filled with a yellowish paste.
"That's probably food… Is it curry?"
Yoriichi wondered silently, shifting his gaze to the rest of the cave.
In one corner, a pile of dry firewood about two meters long and half a meter high was stacked neatly. The air smelled strongly of smoke, mixed with a faint briny scent of the sea.
"That's… the smell of the ocean?"
Yoriichi wrinkled his nose slightly, thinking to himself. Before long, something lying by his feet caught his attention a black longsword.
"A sword?"
Yoriichi quickly crouched down and picked it up, examining it closely. The sword was about two meters long and designed to be wielded with both hands. Judging by its shape, it was a straight-edged blade. Intricate wave patterns were etched into the black scabbard. The hilt, about forty centimeters long, was thick enough that even gripping it with both hands left space uncovered.
Drawing the blade, Yoriichi expected to see a glint of cold steel, but instead, his eyes met a surface of deep, matte black.
"A black blade? Even the cutting edge is black? Matte finish?"
He pulled the sword further out of its scabbard, discovering that not just the sheath and hilt, but the entire blade, from spine to edge, was uniformly black, emanating a solemn, almost oppressive presence.
The blade measured about five centimeters across, with a spine more than a centimeter thick. Normally, a sword of this length and dimensions would be incredibly heavy.
But to Yoriichi's surprise, it felt astonishingly light, as though it weighed nothing at all.
Near the base of the blade, a single character was engraved: "Metsu" (meaning "Destruction"). Its style closely resembled the weaponry once produced in the Swordsmith Village of his previous world.
With one hand gripping the hilt, Yoriichi drew the sword fully and, as if guided by instinct, shifted his stance and performed a gentle downward slash.
The sword tip silently traced a line across the cave ceiling, leaving a deep gouge in the rock.
Clatter!
As the sword cut through stone, small fragments and pebbles rained down, scattering across the ground.
"Hm?"
Yoriichi reflexively shielded his eyes. When the shower of debris finally ceased, he looked up and saw a long gash stretching across the cavern ceiling.
"A fine sword indeed!"
"The craftsmanship required to forge such a blade suggests this world has a fairly advanced civilization… or could it be that I brought this sword with me?"
"And my strength…"
Yoriichi's eyes lingered on the dark blade as he traced its surface with his fingertips. After a long silence, he rose and walked to the cave entrance, sword in hand, peering out into the night.
Before him lay a pitch-black world, the darkness so dense that it seemed to swallow all light. A bitter, icy wind howled past, forcing Yoriichi to retreat quickly back into the cave.
"It's freezing out there. No point venturing out in the middle of the night. I'll check out the surroundings when it's light."
Shivering, Yoriichi hurried back to the fireside. He fed several more pieces of dry wood into the flames, then curled up beside the fire to warm himself. Before long, exhaustion enveloped his entire body. His eyelids grew heavy, and he soon slipped into a deep sleep.
That night, Yoriichi had a dream.
There was an ocean, sunlight, a beach, and a small seaside town. The townsfolk were kind and simple, living a modest, self-sufficient life. They weren't wealthy, but they were content and at peace.
In that dream, Yoriichi was one of them, living a tranquil, serene existence.
That dream world… was paradise.
As the first pale light of dawn spread across the sky, Yoriichi awoke from his sleep.
"I really have… transmigrated again."
Sitting up slowly from his stone bed, he stared at the faint tendrils of smoke drifting from the campfire's embers. His expression turned distant, as though lost in thought, stunned by his new reality.