"Pa… pa!"
Inside a dim cave, a campfire burned brightly, crackling softly as its light illuminated the whole place.
In one corner of the cave, a boy of about twelve or thirteen curled up by the fire. He was wrapped in a huge black animal hide, which, under the firelight, revealed traces of uncleaned animal fat.
It was a rough fur blanket, crudely made, still carrying a faint stench of blood and rot.
The boy's skin was pale, his features delicate and handsome. His long red hair was thick and soft, but what stood out most was the large flame-shaped mark spreading from his left temple down to his cheek. The crimson flame pattern gave his face a mysterious aura.
At the moment, the boy's eyes were tightly shut, his body trembling slightly as if he was enduring great pain.
After a long while, he slowly opened his eyes. His bright pupils flickered with confusion before turning into shock, disbelief—and even fear.
"This… how is this possible?!" he muttered, breaking the silence of the cave. His voice trembled as if he couldn't believe what he saw. He reached out from under the fur and rubbed his eyes.
He closed them again, then opened them once more, rubbing harder before slapping himself across the face. The sting confirmed what he feared—this was real.
Soon, the shock in his eyes faded, replaced by curiosity. He whispered softly to himself:
"I guess… I traveled again."
---
"My name is Taiichi."
"A blind fortune-teller in the village gave me that name. He said my fate was noble, and I needed a name worthy of it. As a kid, I totally believed that nonsense."
"When I was little, I thought I was chosen by destiny—that someday, the Digimon from another world would need my help."
"But as I grew older, I realized I was just fate's punching bag."
"At only twenty-four, my life came to an end. And right after I finally passed the civil service exam!"
"I suspect my name cursed me to death…"
"I thought my life was a tragedy—until I lived again."
"My second name was Yoriichi Tsugikuni."
"That was a world where humans and demons coexisted. From the moment I was born, I knew my purpose."
"In just over twenty years, I cut from one end of the sea to the other."
"Finally, after completing my mission, I lived out my days in peace, hidden deep in the mountains."
"Years later, when I closed my eyes for the last time… I woke up again."
"At this point, I think I really might be chosen by fate! Even if I don't have any Digimon beside me…"
---
In the dim cave, Yoriichi stood up slowly, wrapped in thick fur, carefully observing his surroundings.
He was a solitary man who had already made peace with life and death, so he quickly accepted his situation.
What mattered most now was figuring out where he was.
The cave was about seven square meters. Judging by the cold air, it was winter. Even with the campfire burning brightly and the fur around his body, the chill still seeped through, making him shiver.
"Is this… primitive times?"
Yoriichi scanned the cave. There were no modern tools—only a crude wooden fork and knife beside the fire, clearly hand-carved. Next to them sat a rough wooden bowl half-filled with some thick yellow paste.
"Food, maybe? Curry?" he thought, before shifting his gaze elsewhere.
In one corner lay a pile of dry firewood about two meters long and half a meter high. The air was filled with the scent of burning wood mixed with a faint salty tang.
"The smell of the sea?" Yoriichi sniffed and frowned. Soon, something by his feet caught his attention—a black long sword.
"A sword?"
He crouched and picked it up. It was a two-meter-long, double-handed straight sword. The black sheath was carved with wave-like patterns, and the handle, around forty centimeters long, was too thick to grip fully.
He unsheathed it—no flash of cold light, only a dark blade.
"A black blade? Even the edge is black? Matte?"
He drew it out further and found that not only the scabbard and handle but also the blade itself was completely black, giving off a solemn feeling.
The blade was about five centimeters wide and over a centimeter thick. Normally, a sword like this should've been heavy—but surprisingly, it felt light in his hands.
Near the base was a single character: "Destroy."
The design looked similar to the weapons forged in the Swordsmith Village of his previous world.
Yoriichi gripped the handle with both hands and made a light cutting motion.
The blade sliced through the air without a sound, leaving a deep scar across the cave's ceiling.
"Crack!"
Small stones crumbled and fell to the ground.
"Hm?" Yoriichi shielded his eyes and looked up after a while. The ceiling now had a long, clean cut.
"Not a bad sword."
"With this craftsmanship… this world's civilization might not be too primitive. Or maybe… this sword came with me?"
"And my strength…"
He examined the sword carefully, then gently stroked the blade. After sitting quietly for a bit, he stood and walked toward the cave entrance.
Outside was nothing but pitch-black darkness. The freezing wind howled through, forcing him to retreat inside.
"Too cold. I'll rest for the night and check the surroundings tomorrow."
He added more firewood and curled up near the fire for warmth. Before long, exhaustion took over, and he drifted into a deep sleep.
---
That night, Yoriichi dreamed.
The sea, the sunlight, the beach—and a quiet seaside town. The townsfolk were kind and simple, living peaceful, self-sufficient lives. Not rich, but content.
And Yoriichi was one of them. Peaceful. Calm.
That world in his dream—was paradise.
---
When dawn broke and light spilled into the cave, Yoriichi slowly opened his eyes.
"Looks like… I really did tr
avel again."
He sat up on the stone bed, staring blankly at the faint smoke rising from the campfire's ashes, lost in thought.