That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Samurai — Volume 3: Armor of Narrative Convenience
(Or: The Patch That Finally Worked)
1 — System Update
When I came to, the world wasn't glowing, glitching, or screaming.
Just… quiet.
I was lying under a maple tree, its leaves whispering above me in a language older than the code that now ran this world. The air smelled like rain and clean earth. For the first time since Truck-kun's original war crime, I felt like I might actually be in a normal feudal Japan.
Then I looked down and realized I was wearing armor.
Real samurai armor — red, lacquered, shining like an S-tier drop from a limited-time event.
I whispered, "Finally."
A small pop-up blinked in the corner of my vision:
[Achievement Unlocked: Actually a Samurai]
For once, I didn't groan.
The armor felt heavy but alive — like destiny had decided to stop trolling me for one blessed minute. I even had a real sword this time. Not a stick. Not a broom. Not a "beta-testing weapon."
A genuine, soul-humming katana.
When I drew it, the air shifted. The clouds parted like curtains. The world — no, the story itself — was paying attention again.
2 — Takeda Returns
From the road ahead came a troop of soldiers, banners snapping in the wind. At their head rode Takeda — still alive, still smug, still acting like the supporting character who secretly thinks he's the protagonist.
"You've returned," he said, pulling up beside me. "And you've upgraded."
I smirked. "Yeah, no more free trial."
He grinned. "Good. You'll need it. The world's reset — but not completely. The demons have adapted."
I frowned. "Adapted?"
"They've learned… patching."
I blinked. "You're telling me the monsters are downloading updates now?"
Takeda nodded grimly. "Self-repairing entities. The Kodokai called them Versioned Spirits. Every time we kill one, it respawns with a changelog."
I groaned. "Fantastic. Evil just went open-source."
3 — The Road to Kurosaka Castle
We traveled three days through villages that weren't quite right.
The torii gates flickered between wood and chrome.
Monks carried paper lanterns that glowed like battery indicators.
Kids trained with wooden swords that left pixel trails in the air.
Reality felt like a beta build that someone forgot to QA.
"Takeda," I said on the third night, as we sat by a campfire that occasionally tried to buffer. "If this world's rewriting itself, what happens to us?"
He poked at the flames. "Either we stabilize… or we become legacy code."
"That's… comforting."
He gave a faint smile. "You're a stubborn one, Kenji. Even the story couldn't delete you."
"Yeah," I said, staring into the flickering sky. "Maybe it's because I still have something left to do."
"What's that?"
"Finish the damn plot."
4 — Castle.EXE
The next morning, we reached a ruined fortress — black smoke curling from its towers. A giant sigil pulsed across the gates:
CODE: SAMURAI.EXE DETECTED
I sighed. "Subtle."
Takeda drew his blade. "This is your world now. You are the bridge between steel and system."
Inside, the halls pulsed with static. Torches flickered like corrupted GIFs. Every step echoed in digital distortion.
At the throne sat a demon — mask half-bone, half-monitor, cables writhing like veins.
"You again," it said, voice glitching between human and code. "The patch that refuses to uninstall."
"Yeah," I said, raising my sword. "But this time, I brought armor."
The demon chuckled. "Armor is meaningless in a world built on narrative convenience."
"Tell that to my plot development."
5 — Duel in the Datastorm
Steel met static.
Every swing sent ripples through the world — rewriting, repairing, corrupting again. The walls streamed old dialogue, deleted cutscenes, even scrapped character arcs.
"You were supposed to die in Volume One!"
"Yeah, well, Truck-kun missed!"
Each strike felt heavier — as if the story itself resisted my defiance.
The demon's blade turned into a cursor, slashing through my code. My armor flickered. Health bar redlining.
Then something inside me pulsed — the core of my reincarnation.
The voice.
"You have exceeded intended narrative limits. Applying Emergency Protagonist Protocol."
Golden light surged through me. My armor glowed, symbols rewriting themselves into ancient kanji: 守護 — Protection.
I roared and brought my sword down.
The demon shattered into dust and data, whispering:
"Your version… is unstable…"
6 — The Collapse
The castle trembled.
Walls melted into code. Floors broke into light.
Takeda reached for me. "Kenji! The story's collapsing again!"
I smiled, exhausted, half-delirious. "Then we'll just write a better one."
I slashed downward — through the air, through the code, through the narrative itself.
The world went white—
7 — Reload Complete
When I opened my eyes, I was standing in a peaceful village.
Children practiced sword drills under blooming cherry trees. The sky didn't flicker. The grass didn't glitch. And my armor? Still there — gleaming, solid, real.
For once, the patch held.
A farmer bowed as I passed. "Samurai-sama! The world feels… fixed."
I looked at my reflection in the stream. My armor shone like sunset glass. My eyes looked older — tired, but certain.
"Guess I'm finally what the title promised."
Takeda approached from the road, carrying two rice balls. "Peace suits you, Kenji."
"Yeah," I said, sitting by the water. "But it never lasts."
He chuckled. "You think too much in arcs."
"Someone has to."
We ate in silence. The kind of silence that comes right before the credits roll.
8 — The Honk That Ends Worlds
A rustle.
A faint vibration in the earth.
Then — honk.
I froze.
Takeda frowned. "What… was that?"
I turned slowly toward the forest. Between the trees, a faint shimmer — chrome and headlights.
"Oh no."
Another honk. Louder.
The villagers stopped. The blossoms began to swirl backward — rewinding.
Reality itself seemed to tense.
Takeda drew his sword. "Is it another demon?"
"No," I said. "Worse. It's my ride."
The truck emerged, gleaming impossibly clean. Its license plate read:
PROJECT: ISK-02
"Reincarnation Delivery System — Manual Override"
It revved like thunder.
Takeda gawked. "That's… a divine chariot?"
I sighed. "Close enough."
The truck's door opened. A mechanical voice boomed:
"Kenji Sato. Narrative anomaly confirmed. Please enter vehicle for patch rollback."
I raised my sword. "Yeah, that's not happening."
"Final warning: refusal will initiate merge protocol."
"M—merge?"
The truck's headlights flared. Its grill shifted. Metal folded, limbs forming, panels locking.
"Oh no…"
In a storm of light and absurdity, Truck-kun transformed — humanoid, towering, clad in steel plates engraved with traffic symbols.
"Behold," it declared, "Shogun Truck-Kun, Herald of Continuity!"
Takeda whispered, "Kenji… it's a mecha."
I groaned. "Of course it is."
9 — The Final Patch
The sky split.
Lines of code descended like divine script.
Truck-Kun raised a glowing exhaust blade. "Reintegration commencing."
I yelled, "I'm not going back to the menu screen!"
Our swords clashed — sparks, gears, narrative fragments raining down. The villagers screamed as their world desynced, fading into code.
Takeda charged, shouting something heroic before being immediately swatted into a rice field.
"Sorry!" I shouted mid-duel. "Budget constraints!"
Truck-Kun's optics flared.
"Protagonist persistence detected. Countermeasure: Deus Ex Machina."
I felt the armor tremble. The code of the world quaked.
And then —
"System message: Audience retention critical. Commence climactic overdrive."
"Wait—what?"
Everything exploded into pure spectacle. Cherry blossoms turned into rockets. My sword became a beam saber. A random insert song started playing in the distance.
It was glorious. It was nonsense. It was art.
With one final scream — both of rage and meta exhaustion — I leapt, drove my blade through Truck-Kun's engine core, and shouted:
"STAY IN YOUR LANE!"
The explosion shook reality.
Light, fire, and narrative climax blurred into one.
10 — Epilogue: Peace.exe
When the smoke cleared, the world was quiet again.
The truck was gone. Takeda was half-buried in mud, alive but concussed.
I looked down. My armor was cracked, glowing faintly — but still holding.
A final message blinked in the corner of my vision:
[Main Quest Completed: Narrative Balance Restored]
[Optional Quest Unlocked: Enjoy Life, You Idiot]
For the first time since my death-by-delivery-van, I laughed.
I sheathed my sword, looked up at the perfect, non-glitching sky, and whispered:
"Finally."
Then, faintly — from somewhere impossibly distant — came one last honk.
Just enough to keep the sequel bait alive.
End of Volume 3: That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Samurai — Armor of Narrative Convenience
(Next: That Time the Truck Joined the Party.)