In Type-Moon with a Hero Simulator

"Demonic Blade Monk Liaochen, you have nowhere left to run. Hand over the Murasame obediently."

Demonic Blade Monk Liaochen.

As Fujimaru Kyoya listened to the nickname these people had bestowed upon him, he couldn't help but think that, for those unaware, it sounded like a bootleg version of the Demonic Blade Princess.

"This time, I've finally realized that people who love to slap nicknames on others without a second thought are truly disgusting."

Perhaps they believed that giving their opponent a grand moniker would make their own failure seem less humiliating; in this Warring States Period, any person of note had to have a title of their own.

Never mind a commoner like Fujimaru Kyoya—even the Daimyo were all "Dragon of Echigo," "Tiger of Kai," "Kihōshi"... one might think they were still living in the Age of Gods.

"Those who kill must be prepared to be killed. Since you brought your blades, I shall assume you've already made that preparation."

Fujimaru Kyoya looked at the men surrounding him. In truth, the easiest way to resolve this would be to simply hand over the Demonic Blade Murasame.

After all, if he surrendered the blade in plain sight, he would no longer be the target, but that path was not an option.

[You cannot hand over the Demonic Blade Murasame. You understand how bloodthirsty the blade in your hand truly is; in an era of such chaos, leaving such a demonic weapon unchecked would inevitably lead to catastrophe.]

Not everyone could comprehend "Non-form" as Fujimaru Kyoya did. Once they grasped this blade, there was a high probability they would end up like that previous group of Ronin, desperate to test the blade's sharpness on anyone they could find.

As for avoiding the fight and fleeing with "Supernatural Footwork," that was not his style.

If these people could hunt down a stranger today for the sake of a demonic blade, they would just as easily swing their blades at another stranger tomorrow for the sake of wealth.

[You decapitated a man; the Murasame harvested a life and grew stronger. The effect of "Man-slayer" has increased.]

[You pierced a man's heart; the Murasame harvested a life and grew stronger. The effect of "Man-slayer" has increased.]

[You cleaved a man in two; the Murasame harvested a life and grew stronger. The effect of "Man-slayer" has increased.]

Life after life withered like falling flowers in Fujimaru Kyoya's hands. To the onlookers, he seemed to see through the weaknesses of the human body, effortlessly striking the most fragile points with his blade.

This was partly due to the Murasame, and partly due to the enhancement of Fujimaru Kyoya's "Man-slayer" talent.

"A... a Monster!"

Someone shouted this aloud. Perhaps to that person, Fujimaru Kyoya, who killed with clean, emotionless efficiency, was nothing more than a humanoid monster. Yet, that single sentence cast a shadow over the hearts of the remaining Ronin.

Humans are such vicious creatures; when they encounter difficulties, most people's first instinct is to look for external factors rather than reflecting on their own problems.

Even if I'm 99% at fault, don't you have 1% of the blame? .jpg

One could see this clearly just by looking at the nicknames of those various Daimyo.

Boasting about the strong to mask one's own incompetence—what a pathetic, deep-seated flaw of human nature.

[You intentionally let a few of the surrounding Ronin escape. You need these "lucky" survivors to brag about your strength, so that others might fear to challenge you.]

[You feel a strange sensation in your body, one that seems to have begun from that cry of "Monster."]

[Talent "Innocent Monster" awakened: Your body will undergo certain mutations based on rumors; the more potent the rumors, the more pronounced these traits will become.]

Innocent Monster?

Fujimaru Kyoya could naturally sense the subtle changes in his body, though to him, this was not mere rumor, but karma.

Heroes walk through trials, and saints overcome temptations; only then can a hero be a hero, and a saint be a saint.

In this life, Fujimaru Kyoya was less of a swordsman and more of a Buddhist Practitioner. As his cultivation realm deepened, the tribulations meant for him began to arrive in succession.

Initially, the trial was whether he would break his vow against killing while in the temple. Now, as he entered the world, his ability to withstand the distress caused by these rumors served as his next trial.

[Your reputation gradually spreads. Your clean, ruthless fighting style strikes fear into the hearts of men. Legends that you are not human grow, and the effect of "Innocent Monster" increases.]

[In the mouths of others, you are no longer a human, but a Handsome Demon controlled by a demonic blade. The effect of "Innocent Monster" increases.]

[You feel the mutations occurring within you. As your karma deepens, your power grows, your features become more refined, and you look less and less like a man. The effect of "Innocent Monster" increases.]

When Heaven is about to place a great burden on a man, it first tests his heart and will, exhausts his muscles and bones, starves his body, and frustrates his every move, so that he may stir his soul, harden his nature, and improve what he lacks.

Fujimaru Kyoya inexplicably recalled this saying. Considering that his luck in every life had been rather poor, could this be a trial sent by the Heavens?

Though, he wondered why these trials always seemed so fixated on him alone.

At first, only Ronin came for Fujimaru Kyoya, but later, the generals of various Daimyo began to hunt him as well. Fortunately, Fujimaru Kyoya possessed the "Heavenly Eye," and as long as he wished to hide, he could generally avoid them.

The only flaw was that the "Heavenly Eye" consumed too much Mana to keep active all day, so he would occasionally be cornered by small groups of enemies. Those were the times when he had to kill.

For instance, at this very moment, he was blocked by one person.

"Demonic Blade Monk... Liaochen?"

A woman?

Fujimaru Kyoya looked with some surprise at the person trying to seize his blade. In this era, the status of women was extremely low, and martial arts were rarely taught to them.

Did this woman even know the way of the sword?

"Who are you?"

"I have come to seek apprenticeship. Please, no matter what, take me as your disciple."

Before Fujimaru Kyoya could even react, the girl before him dropped into a Fierce Tiger Landing Pose, sliding all the way to his feet.

"Actually, I don't know any sword techniques."

Fujimaru Kyoya had already been about to draw his blade, but he hadn't expected this. Although he had killed countless people since leaving the mountains, he had never killed an innocent.

As for not knowing swordsmanship, that was not exactly a lie; his so-called swordsmanship was merely something akin to "Dismembering an Ox."

That was just a habit, not what one would call a formal sword art.

It was a pity, however, that such an answer would not be enough to brush off the person before him.

Just as Fujimaru Kyoya had previously surmised, the status of women in this era was remarkably low, and the young girl before him was no exception.

She seemed to be born into a samurai family and had harbored the desire to learn the way of the sword since childhood, yet her father had no intention of passing his sword arts down to a daughter, and no other dojo would take in a female disciple, and then...

"So you decided to steal the techniques?"

Fujimaru Kyoya truly did not know whether this woman before him was daring or simply thick-skinned. Stealing techniques was a grave matter in any era; if discovered, having one's hands or feet severed was not considered an act of excessive cruelty.

"I just happened to see them occasionally."

The white-haired girl's eyes shifted, making it obvious that this was certainly not "occasionally"—this person had absolutely gone to steal the techniques on purpose.

"Though it may sound incredible, I must tell you: I am merely a monk and know nothing of the way of the sword."

In this life, Fujimaru Kyoya had always been a monk; even after killing people, he would recite the Rebirth Mantra for them. He had no understanding of what was called the way of the sword.

If one had to say he understood anything, the style of the Flowing Water Sword had no relation to the Japanese way of the sword whatsoever.

"How is that possible? I have heard that you are a grandmaster of the sword, and already quite a few sword masters have come seeking to duel you."

Immediately, the white-haired girl told Fujimaru Kyoya the latest rumors, which clearly indicated that someone was pulling the strings behind the scenes.

Someone wanted Fujimaru Kyoya to continue killing, using human blood to nourish this cursed blade.

"Since you understand that countless sword masters will come to challenge me next, are you not afraid of being dragged into it?"

"Though I am a little afraid, I am quite confident in my ability to run away. When the time comes, I will definitely flee far away and will not cause Master any trouble."

What a thick-skinned person; Fujimaru Kyoya... truly admired it.

In all the years Fujimaru Kyoya had been in this world, even counting his simulated lives, there were few who could compare to her in terms of thick-skinned persistence. This girl before him was indeed someone with "fate." If it were ordinary times, taking her as a disciple would be no issue, but at this moment, he was being hunted—there was no need to add a burden to his situation.

Let her retreat in the face of difficulties.

"You may follow me, but you must abide by a few conditions."

"Understood, Master, please, speak your mind."

Upon hearing that she could stay, the girl's eyes instantly lit up. When she left home, she had decided that she would learn great skills so that she could properly slap her bastard father in the face.

"First, I am not your master."

"Yes, Master, no problem, Master."

It was a done deal; talking to her was as good as talking to the air.

"Second, when engaging with enemies, you must look after yourself. I will not be responsible for your safety."

"No problem."

Very well, even the threat of death could not scare her off.

"Third, from now on, you will draw your blade one thousand times, swing it one thousand times, and sheath it one thousand times every day. The day you cannot do it, you will roll away."

Drawing, swinging, and sheathing a blade one thousand times each did not seem like much, but the difficulty lay in the consistency. The day this girl could no longer keep up, Fujimaru Kyoya would have a reason to chase her away.

As for why Fujimaru Kyoya did not simply use Supernatural Footwork to leave?

It was because he could see the girl's stubbornness. Unless she achieved her goal or gave up entirely, she would absolutely continue to pester him.

Supernatural Footwork was merely a stopgap measure, not a permanent cure.

"Of course, but what is the purpose of practicing these?"

"The so-called way of the sword is nothing more than drawing, swinging, and sheathing. If you cannot even do these, then do not speak of the way of the sword."

"As expected of Master! At least I stole a blade from home, otherwise, I wouldn't even have a way to train."

The white-haired girl did not seem intimidated by this training; instead, she proudly displayed the samurai sword she had stolen from her family.

Looking at her smug expression, her father had truly sired an Unfilial Daughter.

"By the way, I still don't know your name."

Although Fujimaru Kyoya did not think the girl could last long, he still felt he should ask for her name.

"Miyamoto Musashi. Master can just call me Musashi."

"Musashi?"

Fujimaru Kyoya looked at the girl before him with a hint of suspicion. Encountering someone named Miyamoto Musashi in this era—other than the gender being slightly off, everything else seemed to align.

"It's strange, right? Actually, my father always wanted to have a boy, but he didn't expect it to be a girl."

Musashi did not mind Fujimaru Kyoya's surprised gaze; it was clear that many such incidents had occurred because of this name.

[You once considered the possibility of this being a coincidence, as the idea that the renowned sword master could be a woman was simply unimaginable, yet you quickly dismissed this conjecture.]

[You gave Musashi the training task, and she did not slack off in the slightest. Even without systematic instruction, you could sense that the girl before you was improving at a truly astonishing speed every day.]

[You began to ponder whether you should teach this person in front of you seriously.]

It is indeed her, it is truly her.

Fujimaru Kyoya sat under the shade of a tree, watching the young girl repeat her dull practice. By this point, he had fully confirmed that the girl before him was none other than Miyamoto Musashi.

Although she was not yet the strongest swordsman of this era, in the eyes of future generations, she would become the greatest under the heavens.

This already spoke to the potential of the girl before him; it was a talent that absolutely should not be buried.

Fujimaru Kyoya had her practicing the basics, but he had no true swordsmanship to impart to her. Perhaps, in doing so, he was only harming this girl.

But it did not matter; today was the day Miyamoto Musashi was meant to depart.

"That is enough for now."

Fujimaru Kyoya interrupted Musashi's training. The sweat-drenched girl did not understand why her Master would make her stop; this was the first time such a thing had ever happened.

"A formidable swordsman is coming to challenge me today. Rest well and watch the duel from the sidelines."

"A formidable swordsman?"

By now, the reputation of Fujimaru Kyoya was gradually spreading. To be called a formidable swordsman by him—what level of skill would that imply?

Miyamoto Musashi was dying to know.

"Yagyu Shinkage-ryu, Yagyu Munenori."

"Munenori? The disciple of the Sword Saint, the founder of the Yagyu Shinkage-ryu?"

Miyamoto Musashi was astonished. That Yagyu Munenori had never known defeat before meeting Kamiizumi Nobutsuna, had pioneered the Yagyu Shinkage-ryu, and was now known as Yagyu Sekishusai, the martial arts instructor for the Tokugawa Clan.

"Little girl, have you heard of my name as well?"

Just as Miyamoto Musashi's voice faded, a swordsman with slightly graying hair arrived in the vicinity, accompanied by a younger man who bore a striking resemblance to him.

"Yagyu Shinkage-ryu, Yagyu Munenori, has come specifically to claim the Demonic Blade Murasame."