Arima was still trying to understand what had happened to him. He was in a whole new world, a different planet, or maybe he was dead and this was an afterlife. He didn't know what to believe anymore.
But one thing was clear to him, he needed to find a way to survive, to adapt to this new world. He had no idea where he was, or what kind of people lived here. All he could do was explore and try to find a way to survive.
He had been walking for hours now, the sun was beginning to set, and the air was getting colder. He needed to find a place to rest for the night. He came across a small village, and he was relieved to see people there.
As he entered the village, he was greeted by strange looks and whispers from the villagers. He didn't understand what they were saying, but he could tell they weren't happy to see him.
He found a small tavern and decided to go inside. The tavern was dimly lit, and it was filled with the smell of ale and stale tobacco. He walked up to the bar and ordered a drink. The bartender handed him a mug of ale, and he took a long drink.
He could feel the eyes of the other patrons on him. He knew he didn't belong here, but he didn't care. He was just glad to be out of the cold. He continued to drink his ale, ignoring the stares and whispers of the other patrons.
He was a Yakuza, and he was used to being disliked and feared. He knew how to handle himself in a hostile environment.
He finished his drink and placed a gold coin on the bar. He wasn't sure if it was enough to pay for the drink, but it was all he had. The bartender's eyes widened at the sight of the gold coin, and he quickly took it.
Arima turned to leave, but he was stopped by a large, burly man who blocked his path. "Where do you think you're going, stranger?" the man snarled.
Arima looked the man up and down. He was a big guy, but he was all fat and no muscle. Arima could take him down without breaking a sweat.
"I'm leaving," Arima said, his voice calm and even.
"Not so fast," the man said, cracking his knuckles. "You need to pay the toll."
"What toll?" Arima asked, his patience wearing thin.
"The toll for entering our village," the man said, a greedy glint in his eyes. "And that gold coin you gave the bartender will do nicely."
Arima sighed. He didn't have time for this. He had more important things to do than deal with a two-bit thug.
"Look, I'm not looking for trouble," Arima said. "I just want to pass through your village and be on my way."
"Too bad," the man said, lunging at him.
Arima sidestepped the man's clumsy attack and swept his legs out from under him. The man crashed to the floor with a loud thud, the tavern erupting in laughter.
Arima stepped over the man and walked out of the tavern, leaving the would-be robber groaning on the floor. He had better things to do than waste his time with such petty criminals.
He walked through the village, the villagers giving him a wide berth. He could see the fear in their eyes, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for them. They were a weak people, living in fear of bullies like the man in the tavern.
He found a quiet spot outside the village and decided to camp there for the night. He had a lot to think about, and he needed to clear his head. He had a new life now, and he had to decide what he was going to do with it.
He was used to living a life of crime. But he was also a man of honour, and he had a code that he lived by. He wasn't a mindless thug, and he wouldn't become one in this new world.
He sat by the fire, staring into the flames. He was alone in this new world, but he wasn't lonely. He was a survivor, and he would find a way to thrive in this new world.
He had the skills, and he had the will. He would make a name for himself in this new world, and he would live the life he had always dreamed of. A life of excitement, adventure, and danger.
He closed his eyes and let the warmth of the fire wash over him. He was ready for whatever this new world had in store for him. He was a Yakuza, and he would not be defeated.
The next morning, Arima decided to head back to the village. He needed to gather more information about this new world he found himself in. He needed to learn the customs and the laws of this land. He needed to know who was in charge and who he needed to avoid.
As he walked into the village, he saw a group of men gathering in the town square. They were armed with swords and spears, and they looked like they were ready for a fight.
He saw the man from the tavern standing at the front of the group, a smug look on his face. He was pointing at a small, frail-looking old man who was cowering in fear.
"Pay up, old man," the burly man snarled. "Or we'll take it by force."
"I... I don't have any money," the old man stammered. "Please, just leave me alone."
Arima watched as the men closed in on the old man, their weapons raised. He knew he had to do something. He couldn't just stand by and watch an innocent man be harmed.
"Hey," Arima called out, his voice cutting through the morning air. "Leave him alone."
The burly man turned to face him, a sneer on his face. "Well, well, if it isn't the stranger from the tavern. Come back for more, have you?"
"I'm giving you one chance to walk away," Arima said, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Leave the old man alone and get out of my sight."
The burly man laughed. "Or what? You'll take us all on by yourself?"
Arima didn't answer. He just stood there, his eyes cold and hard.
The burly man hesitated for a moment, then he shrugged. "Fine. Have it your way."
He charged at Arima, his sword raised high. Arima drew his own sword in a blur of motion, the steel singing as it left its scabbard. He parried the burly man's attack with ease, the clang of their blades echoing through the square.
The fight was over in seconds. Arima moved with a grace and speed that belied his muscular frame, his sword a blur of deadly steel. The burly man and his cronies were no match for him, and they soon found themselves disarmed and groaning on the ground.
Arima stood over them, his sword dripping with blood. He looked at the old man, who was staring at him with a mixture of fear and awe.
"Are you alright?" Arima asked, his voice gruff.
The old man nodded, unable to speak.
Arima looked around at the villagers, who were all staring at him with a mix of fear and awe. He could see that they were a simple people, living in fear of the local thugs.
He had a choice to make. He could walk away and leave them to their fate, or he could stay and try to make a difference. He had a code of honour. He couldn't just walk away and leave these people at the mercy of these bullies.
He looked at the burly man, who was struggling to his feet. "This village is under my protection now," Arima said, his voice cold and hard. "If I ever see you or your men here again, I'll kill you."
The burly man paled, and he scrambled to his feet, running away as fast as he could.
Arima watched him go, then he turned back to the villagers. "Who's in charge here?"
An old woman, her face wrinkled with age, stepped forward. "I am," she said. "I am the village elder."
Arima nodded. "I need a place to stay," he said. "And I need information."
The old woman looked at him for a long moment, then she nodded. "Follow me," she said.
She led him to a small hut at the edge of the village. "This is where you will stay," she said. "It's not much, but it's clean and dry."
"It'll do," Arima said, stepping inside the hut. He looked around the small space, taking in the simple furnishings. It was a far cry from the luxurious apartment he had back in Tokyo, but it would have to do.
The old woman watched him for a moment, then she spoke again. "You have my thanks for what you did back there," she said. "Those men have been terrorising our village for months."
Arima looked at her, his expression unreadable. "I didn't do it for you," he said. "I did it because I don't like bullies."
The old woman nodded, a small smile on her lips. "Nevertheless, you have our thanks."
Arima grunted in response. He wasn't used to being thanked. he was more accustomed to being feared and hated than being appreciated.
The old woman left him alone, and he sat down on the simple bed, his mind racing. He had a lot to think about. He had a new life now, and he had to decide what he was going to do with it.
He thought about the old days of the Yakuza, about the honour and the brotherhood. He had been searching for that in his old life, but he had never found it. Maybe he could find it here.
He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of it all. He was in a new world. He was excited about the possibilities, but he was also wary. He was a stranger in a strange land, and he had a lot to learn.
He drifted off to sleep, the sounds of the village lulling him into a peaceful slumber. He had a long day ahead of him, and he needed his rest.