Solitude and Love

(Warning: intense themes of strength, solitude, and love ahead)

"Can feelings like that be called love?"

As Fenghua's words fell, Kashimo stopped.

He did not turn around, still looking at her over his shoulder. The twilight cast faint shadows across his face, lending depth to eyes that rarely betrayed any emotion.

"What is love?"

He spoke softly, as though asking Fenghua, yet also asking himself.

Whether as someone who had transmigrated into this world or as the person whose body he now inhabited.

Kashimo could not understand love.

For seventeen years in his previous life, he had lived in a leukemia ward. The smell of disinfectant, the pale walls, his parents' exhausted faces. What was love? The meals delivered on time each day, the retreating figures with reddened eyes after signing a critical condition notice, the sobbing at that final funeral.

He remembered, but he did not understand.

After transmigrating, he understood even less.

Four years of slaughter, four years as the strongest. Ever since he had run away from home at thirteen, he had never considered the question again. As he saw it now, the strong could neither hope for love nor escape solitude. Strength meant inevitable solitude, with no one to stand beside him, no one to surpass him, no one to understand him.

He had savored that solitude alone for four years.

How could he understand what love was?

Fenghua stood rooted to the spot.

Tears still clung to her face, but she had forgotten to wipe them away. She watched the figure looking back at her, that expressionless face, those eyes that seemed to be pondering something deeply yet also seemed utterly empty.

Her lips parted, but she found she could not utter a single word.

"You might not understand if I put it this way."

Kashimo's voice drifted through the twilight, neither soft nor loud, as though he were stating something that had nothing to do with him.

"Because I've never known what it feels like to be weak, I don't know how to connect with others."

He paused.

"Because I've never known what it feels like to be weak, I don't know how to empathize with others."

He raised a hand and casually pointed at the corpse in the distance, already cold, then at himself.

"Everyone other than me is like a lump of meat. One gentle push, and they collapse."

Fenghua stood rooted to the spot.

"So I believe strength means solitude."

Kashimo's gaze left her and settled somewhere deep in the twilight, though what he was looking at was unclear.

"To feel empty and lonely in the pursuit of power, to grieve because no one can stand beside me."

He paused.

"That is the punishment the strong must accept."

The woods were quiet, save for the rustle of wind through the leaves.

"Many strong people have come to challenge me," Kashimo continued. "They all wanted to understand where they stood, to prove they were among the best of this era."

One corner of his mouth twitched, though whether it was a smile or something else was unclear.

"But before they could show everything they had, I'd already slaughtered them."

"Gojo Arashi is a lucky man."

Kashimo's gaze returned to Fenghua.

"He found love, so he's no longer alone."

"But he isn't someone who can stand beside me."

His gaze fixed on her face. For the first time, something indescribable appeared in those eyes marked with purple patterns, as though he were asking a question he would never ask, waiting for something he would never wait for.

"What about you, Fenghua?"

His voice was soft.

"Can you stand beside me?"

He paused.

"Can you teach me what love is?"

Fenghua stood there, tears still clinging to her face, unable to say a word.

Kashimo watched her.

He waited for two breaths.

The light in his eyes dimmed a little.

He withdrew his gaze and turned away.

"Let's go."

His voice returned to its usual languid tone.

"Get some rest early."

December 22.

The mountain road in Izumo Country had been blocked midway.

What stopped the Zenin Clan's convoy was neither a checkpoint nor a wall of people, but three corpses.

The corpses of headless sorcerers.

They lay across the center of the road, arranged at grotesque angles. The blood at their severed necks had already congealed, gleaming a dull black-red in the morning light. Their three heads were nowhere to be found, leaving only their bodies sprawled on the ground like discarded lumps of meat.

The convoy fell into disarray.

The sounds of guards drawing their swords rang out one after another. Horses snorted uneasily. Some people shouted, some cried out, and others shrank back.

"Just as I thought-"

A voice cut through the clamor.

Zenin Sawa stepped out of the carriage.

He had short hair and wore black-and-white robes, their hems swaying gently with his steps. At the sight of him, the panicked guards seemed to find their anchor and hurried to clear a path.

He passed through the crowd, walked to the front, and raised his head.

"You came after all."

A figure stood on a rocky outcrop nearby.

Backlit, his features were impossible to make out. Only an overwhelmingly imposing silhouette was visible. He carried something over his shoulder, and faint flashes of lightning flickered around him, like a divine statue born from a thunderstorm.

Kashimo.

Zenin Sawa narrowed his eyes.

The next instant, the figure vanished.

An instant later, he stood before him.

Too fast.

So fast that the surrounding guards had no time to react. By the time they came to their senses, the man with blue-green hair and white robes stood just three paces from their clan head, his eyes marked with purple patterns fixed on Zenin Sawa.

"Protect the clan head!"

Someone shouted.

More than a dozen swords were drawn at once, pointing at the uninvited guest.

Kashimo looked at the sword tips aimed at him and curled his lip.

"I'm not the type to launch a sneak attack."

As he spoke, his gaze passed over the swords and settled on Zenin Sawa's face. He bared his teeth in a decidedly unfriendly grin.

"But the two of us are going to fight. Pick a time."

The guards around them froze for a moment.

This man... had come to issue a challenge?

Zenin Sawa raised a hand and pressed down the still-trembling sword of the guard beside him. The guard's grip slackened and the tip dipped, but he still refused to sheathe it.

"You arrogant brat."

Zenin Sawa stared at the blue-green-haired man in white before him, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

"You think the corpses of three third-rate sorcerers will scare me?"

He paused.

"Then I'll humor you-"

Kashimo tilted his head and waited.

"How about December 24?"

Zenin Sawa's voice was not loud, but every word reached everyone present with perfect clarity.

Kashimo's smile deepened a little.

"Sounds good."