Muramasa Shirou / Jeanne d'Arc's Spring Wildcat

In this dream world, Shirou cannot fully control this body. Sometimes he is influenced by the residual memories and consciousness within the body. Although Shirou is driving the body, if he does something that goes against the residual will of the original owner of this body, the action may stop.

While Shirou was influencing this body, the residual will of the body's original owner was also influencing Shirou's judgment. It was a state of reverse possession and summoning, but the body's original will seemed to be hidden, with only some consciousness remaining.

The original owner of this body was a man of steel, yet he possessed compassion for all living beings and a burning desire to change the times.

Similar to Shirou, but also different, for example, he really likes blacksmithing and forging, and he has a strong sense of identity with the samurai class. If Shirou had grown up with the concept of equality for all, he generally wouldn't have been able to accept this class system, but now he has indeed accepted this identity as a matter of course.

Compared to Shirou's yearning for justice and inability to let go of his immediate concerns, his identity as a samurai is more about taking it upon himself to change society, change the world, and change others.

As a samurai, although he was kind-hearted and would not show any superiority over the common people on the street, he was also aware that he could not be equated with them. He had stricter requirements for himself and a more reserved moral code.

However, in most cases, the residual consciousness of this body is very similar to Shirou's thoughts, and its actions are often the same as Shirou's. At other times, it also carries the style of the samurai of this era, which is very similar to the state of Iroha Isshiki that we met before.

The owner of this body was the swordsmith who was famous throughout the world for forging high-quality weapons.

The evolution of Japanese samurai swords can be traced back to their origins as imported ancient swords not classified as samurai swords. They evolved into ancient swords forged by the Tang Dynasty immigrants fleeing war. Through generations of swordsmiths, the essence of these swords was gathered and the dross discarded, constantly refining and developing new technologies, ultimately leading to their status as one of the world's three most famous swords.

The Muramasa sword, among these samurai swords, is also a standout that holds a very high position in history.

Moreover, as the first generation of the Muramasa clan, he was the one who forged the "Demon Blade Muramasa," which is arguably the most famous samurai sword in the world besides the Ame no Murakumo no Tsurugi- no-Tsurugi. He was also the founder of the forging clan collectively known as the "Muramasa."

If the Ame no Murakumo no Tsurugi is Three Sacred Treasures symbolizing imperial power, Kogarasu Maru is the progenitor of Japanese swords forged by the Heavenly Kingdom's swordsmiths, Dojigiri Yasutsuna is the enigmatic sword that slays demons, then Muramasa is the most famous weapon named after a swordsmith.

At this time, however, he was just a young man in his early thirties born into a samurai family, living as a samurai. Although he loved forging, he had not yet regarded it as a lifelong profession, but simply relied on forging the most suitable samurai swords as his weapons.

He left home at the age of fifteen and traveled to various vassal states, where he studied under many famous masters and met renowned swordsmiths from all over the world. His martial arts skills were not top-notch, but his forging techniques were getting better and better, especially in sword forging. Perhaps there were few people in the world who could beat him.

In his early years, he fought for the daimyo of his hometown or was conscripted as a mercenary to fight for local lords. Now he is a veteran warrior.

Wherever he went, powerful figures sought him out, offering him positions ranging from swordsmithing to military command. He excelled in both. He could easily have risen to a high-ranking official position if he so desired, but he refused them all. He remained caught in a dilemma, searching for a way to change this chaotic and war-torn era.

This is not a temporary peace, but a breaking of the age-old, unchangeable fate that has persisted for thousands of years: when the world prospers, the people suffer; when the world perishes, the people suffer.

In the dream world, where there is no clear concept of time, Shirou, as a samurai named Muramasa, travels to various places and witnesses all sorts of things. Because he cannot use Magecraft, his understanding of swordsmanship has been elevated to a new level through these journeys.

This time, he passed through a remote town surrounded by mountains. Before he even entered the town, he was surrounded by a group of farmers living nearby, dressed in patched and tattered clothes. They were carrying hoes, carrying poles, sickles, or pitchforks, and they all looked very nervous and excited.

Shirou was about to ask them what was wrong?

At this moment, a family from the group of farmers stepped forward and knelt down on the ground, placing their palms flat on the ground and burying their heads in the mud, as if they would inhale the dust from the ground with every breath, and respectfully made their request.

"Sir Samurai, please, we beg you to help us!"

"Get up and talk first," Shirou said as he stepped forward. Among those kneeling on the ground were a sallow-faced, emaciated woman and an elderly farmer in his fifties or sixties leaning on a cane. He couldn't bear to see them kneeling like that.

The farmers remained kneeling on the ground, refusing to get up. The old farmer, with a mournful face, revealed his few remaining teeth and said pitifully.

"My four-year-old grandson has been kidnapped by thieves. Please, you must save them! Although we farmers don't have much money, we are willing to exchange all of this year's tax revenue for cash, or offer fine grain as payment. Please, Sir Samurai!"

The old farmer and his family kowtowed repeatedly, pleading.

"Kid, this is indeed a tricky situation. I understand. Anyway, take me to see where the thief escaped into," Shirou nodded and said.

"Yes! Yes! Thank you very much." The farmer quickly helped the old farmer up from the ground and led Shirou into the village surrounded by a fence.

"That's it," the old farmer said, pointing inside.

In the village, which consisted of more than twenty small wooden houses built with wood and thatch, there was a smaller, simpler wooden house next to the road in the middle. That was the village's woodshed where timber was stored.

The woodshed had only one exit, so narrow that only one adult could pass through at a time. The faint sound of a child crying could be heard coming from the window; the child's voice was hoarse from crying and sounded very weak.

"When were the thieves driven there?" Shirou asked.

"He was found in the early morning. He was running around with a knife, and I never thought he would catch my grandson. That child hasn't eaten a single bite of food since noon today. My grandson is so unlucky," the old farmer said with tears in his eyes. Farming families rely on raising children to support them in their old age, and for the elderly, nothing is more important than their grandson. They never expected to encounter such a thing.

Shirou hesitated for a moment, then turned to the woman and instructed, "We don't need money or food. Please go and get two large rice balls now. If you have them, add some oil and minced meat, and try to make them as fragrant as possible."

"Rice ball? Are you going to eat now? Could you please save the child before you eat?" The woman looked at the man in surprise and suspicion. Was he going to eat a meal and then just leave? If so, her son would really be beyond saving.

"No, these rice balls are for the thieves and children inside," Shirou explained.

"Hurry! Do as the samurai says! We can only rely on him now!" the old farmer shouted, tapping the ground with his cane.

"Yes!!" The woman hurriedly ran towards her home, nearly falling several times along the way.

"Let's find someone else to switch clothes with," Shirou said.

"Clothes? What kind of clothes do you want?" the farmer, whose son had been kidnapped, asked in confusion.

"Yes, ordinary farm clothes will do. If I go dressed like a samurai, it might provoke the thief," Shirou nodded and said.

"Take it off! Take it off now! You stupid son!" the old farmer shouted, raising his cane to strike his son.

"Yes, yes!" The farmer, thinking of his child, stripped himself naked, leaving only his loincloth, showing no shame whatsoever in front of so many people.

Shirou also changed out of his clothes, and the old farmer's wife next to him quickly rubbed her hands on the clothes a few times before respectfully accepting Shirou's samurai attire.

Shirou wasn't worried about the money or valuables on his clothes; no one here would dare steal from a samurai, especially since it concerned the very lifeblood of his family.

Dozens of households living nearby on the outskirts of the village, as well as passersby, gathered to watch. Among those who came after seeing the crowd were a young man dressed as a samurai with a black ponytail and four farmers from out of town.

"With so many people, why are you afraid of a thief?" the outsider asked, puzzled.

"You don't know, a family's child was captured by thieves. He's only four or five years old, the only boy in the family. He hasn't eaten a single bite of food since last night. It's so pitiful." The local man shook his head regretfully.

"What's that muscular man doing changing clothes?" the out-of-towner asked curiously.

"Those are the samurai who were called in to rescue the child," the local said.

"Samurai! Are there any samurai willing to help farmers like us?" the outsider asked excitedly upon hearing this.

"Well, there are all kinds of people in this world. They were lucky to run into a meddlesome samurai. But with the child being coerced, what can even a samurai do?" the local man said.

"Yes, sir! The rice balls are here." At this moment, the lady brought over two rice balls wrapped in vegetable leaves, topped with some chopped green onions and drizzled with meat oil. They smelled delicious.

"Very well, I'll be right back." Fortunately, Shirou, dressed as a farmer, had changed the way he tied his katana, attaching it to his back so that the sword was not visible from the front.

So he took the rice ball and walked towards the door of the woodshed.

The thief inside was sitting on the haystack, holding a knife in one hand against the child's front, and gripping the child's back tightly with the other.

"Don't come any closer! If you come any closer, I'll kill this child!" the man inside shouted hysterically.

Surrounded by villagers and starving after a day, the thieves were on edge. If they were to be subjected to any further provocation, it wouldn't be surprising if they did something rash.

"Don't come any closer! Don't come any closer!"

Shirou raised his hands and said softly, "Don't worry, I won't go into the woodshed. I'm just here to bring you food. The child with you hasn't eaten all day and will starve to death if this continues, so his family sent me to bring you rice balls."

"You must be starving. Here, one is for you, and the other is for the child." Shirou said, tossing the rice ball in.

The rice ball was tossed directly in front of the thief, about below his knees where he was sitting, requiring him to bend down to pick it up.

"Back off! Now!" The thief swallowed hard, brandishing his knife and yelling menacingly at the door.

"Okay, okay, as long as the child can be released, everything is negotiable." Shirou raised his hands and took three steps back.

Seeing the farmer at the door retreat, the thief, who was already starving, smelled the aroma of food and could no longer resist. He released his grip on the child, leaned forward to pick up the rice ball that had fallen on the straw, and relaxed his grip just as he was about to take a bite.

In that instant, a glint flashed in Shirou's eyes, and he lunged forward in a single step. Maintaining his forward momentum, he reached behind his back with his left hand, raising the scabbard forward, and a flash of cold light appeared the moment his right hand touched the hilt.

Drawing Sword Slash!

"Waaaaah, don't come any closer!!" the man roared, raising his knife to stab the child's face.

However, at that moment, the tip of the blade fell off due to the wobbling. Shirou's sharp blade easily severed the long sword in the thief's hand and stopped at the tip of his nose.

"Waaah! Don't kill me! Don't kill me!" The thief felt the chill of the blade and screamed in despair.

"If you stop now, I can still send you to the authorities and give you a chance to start over," Shirou said coldly to the thief.

"I know I was wrong, sir! Please forgive me! I was so hungry I had no choice but to do this!" The thief knelt on the ground, begging for mercy repeatedly.

"I understand. Since you've admitted your mistake, I'll hand you over to the authorities." Shirou moved his sword slightly aside and then said to the child, "Alright, child, come behind me."

"Yes... Waaah!" The frightened toddler cried, his body trembling as he moved slowly towards the adult holding the knife. He should have been terrifying, but he also gave the toddler a sense of security.

'The government? If it weren't for the government, I wouldn't have to resort to thievery! You're forcing me to my death... then you should die first!' A vicious glint flashed in the thief's eyes.

He suddenly attacked as the child walked in front of him!

"Waaaaah!!! Die!" The thief grabbed the child and shoved him in front of Shirou's blade.

Shirou quickly stepped back, moving the blade away from his hand.

"Even if I have to die, I'll take you all with me! Die! I'll kill you all, and then I'll kill all the villagers outside!" The thief reached behind his back and pulled out a small knife that was tied there, thrusting it straight at Shirou's vital abdomen.

Chapter 211 Jeanne d'Arc, Spring, Wildcat

This is a world without Magecraft. Humans are no match for the naked eye; even the bravest hero, if struck in a vital spot, will simply die.

The thief knew from the start that the samurai would back down for the child; after all, a fool who would stand up for a peasant from the lower class must be full of a sense of justice.

Just as he expected, the long sword was now blocked by the child's body, making it impossible to raise it all at once.

The short sword in his hand would pierce the samurai's body directly.

With a ripping sound!

Blood spilled onto the straw-covered ground.

Overjoyed, the thief revealed a twisted, maniacal smile, thinking: Now that the samurai is dead, no one will dare to stop him anymore.

"Blame yourself for meddling in my way! Hahaha!!"

"Yes! I'm not wrong! This world is a dog-eat-dog world! The honest are bullied by the cunning! Those who follow the rules are defeated by those who break them!"

"Ah, once we reach a mountain where we can escape, I'll kill the children too. Perhaps I'm more suited to be a bandit... I'll give up the days of stealing in fear. From now on, I'll be a bandit, and anyone who disobeys me will have their children kidnapped and killed!"

"Hey! How long are you going to keep going like this?" Shirou said coldly to the thief who was talking to himself.

"What!" the thief exclaimed in surprise, looking down.

The knife in his hand hadn't pierced the other person's abdomen at all; instead, the blade was being gripped by his palm, and the blood was from a cut on his hand.

Shirou grabbed the knife simply because he felt it was the best way to protect the child. His swordsmanship at that moment seemed to be the straightforward, aggressive type, so to prevent the thief from harming the child again, he simply seized the weapon.

"Whoaaaaah!!" The thief tried to pull the knife out of the man's hand, but found it was as if it were embedded in a block of iron, fixed in place, and he couldn't pull it out no matter how hard he tried.

His repeated failure to repent seemed to ignite the rage within his lingering consciousness. As a samurai from a time of war, Muramasa was even more ruthless and decisive than Shirou.

The panicked thief looked up and saw Shirou's eyes, which now resembled those of a demon.

"Whoa! Monster!" The thief was so frightened that he dared not linger for another moment, turned around and ran out of the woodshed.

The thief had just run out when he saw farmers with carrying poles and hoes surrounding him. He tried to escape to the other side, but then he felt a pain in his back and collapsed to the ground, powerless.

The child dressed as a samurai walked up and examined the motionless man. He discovered a deep cut on the man's back, piercing through a vital organ, killing him instantly.

"Honestly, I told you to give up. You have no chance of beating me. This chaotic world has even driven cowardly lone thieves to madness and become outlaws..." Shirou said helplessly, because the Muramasa in his hand had a unique pattern on its silver-white blade, and red blood droplets lingered on the tip.

Shirou flicked his self-forged sword, 'Muramasa,' and the blood-red water splashed onto the ground. The blade returned to its original cleanness, as if it had just been drawn, and even seemed to glow faintly in the dim woodshed.

Perhaps because the knife was so sharp, even after it had just cut someone, the blade was completely unstained.

This is neither a demonic sword nor a divine weapon; it's a failed creation. As a killing weapon, it's certainly first-rate. But for him, it's far from enough. Just like now, he killed a thief in the process of helping a village chief save a child.

Amidst the villagers' tears of gratitude and the cries of children and their mothers, Shirou sheathed his sword, changed back into his samurai attire with the help of the farmers, nodded slightly to everyone, said nothing more, and turned to walk into the small town.

Apart from the family who were overjoyed at having their only son rescued, the farmers and travelers behind them all stared blankly at the departing figure.

They couldn't understand why the samurai was acting this way, or what his intentions were in helping the farmers.

Despite going through numerous difficulties, donning clothes that were considered disgraceful and belonging to the lower class of peasants, and even injuring his hand, he saved the child, only to leave without accepting any reward.

Although I couldn't understand it, I always felt that the figure from behind looked so majestic and tall.

However, when faced with things they cannot understand, people often attribute them to abnormality, taking what they have learned from their limited knowledge as a matter of course.

"Let's disperse, let's disperse, the thieves are dead anyway. What good luck, Abe, we actually ran into a nosy samurai who doesn't even ask for money." The farmers laughed and said, carrying their hoes and lunchboxes as they left.

"Bring out all the liquor you've been hiding tonight, let's all have a proper celebration!"

But it's not like no one has discovered anything within them. It's precisely these rare and unusual things that are most needed in this world.

For example, a young samurai who has just left home, still holds hope for the world, and yearns for justice.

"That sir is truly remarkable! No, I must follow him. That is a true warrior, the kind of virtuous and talented warrior I admire, who upholds justice!"

For example, a person in distress who is trapped in despair and wants to find a messenger of justice.

The four out-of-towners who were passing by exchanged glances, and they all saw surprise on each other's trembling faces and hope in each other's eyes.

"We've finally found a warrior who's both willing and capable of helping us!"