The Rise of the Ronin

The Death

I don't know how long I've been thinking about this story... if I think about it, probably more than a year. I'm the kind of person that when I have an idea in my mind, I can't be at peace. I couldn't control myself and just started writing a few days ago and found myself writing non-stop. You will see that this chapter is VERY long, although I hope it won't be tedious. I recommend you find a good window of time to be able to read it uninterrupted and find some playlist to go with it. At this point I already have 3 more chapters written from beginning to end and the summary of half the story. And if I continue at the rate I'm going I'll finish writing in record time.

I hope the few fans that exist of this ship are eager to read a new story and have patience with this author for not finishing the previous ones. I promised myself that I was going to get this out of my head once and for all before I could continue anything else. I like to take advantage of my moments of inspiration and as long as my mind is thinking about this 24/7, I can't write anything else.

It only remains for me to tell you that I personally like this story a hell of a lot more than Disenchantment. If you liked that story I'm sure you'll like this one too, thank you very much for coming to read!

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Permanently alert, he walks almost wandering through the polished stone paths silently meditating. And although his thoughts are of an ominous nature and extremely disturbing for any chonin, the darkness does not manage to take away his smile. The gloomy ideas that are created in his mind are embodied in a person and without realizing it he clenches his fist on the hilt of his katana.

As he passes, he conscientiously ignores the admiring glances and a few envious ones, although the light female laughter manages to curl the corners of his lips even more. Perhaps he can't actually see them, all the people wandering around the market, and it's almost a miracle that he doesn't bump into any of them without a cane pressed under his palm. But, it's just that this fellow is not one of the bunch and it is evident to see him strolling among the common people with a kamishimo, black and gray, to the unknowing eye. However, the merchants, who know the fabrics much better than the common people, can recognize the purple flash beneath the weave of that fine cloth. The silver embroidery running down his sleeves like a vine must have cost hours of hard work by hundreds of seamstresses and their pricked fingers.

After a while of walking, he stops in front of the store of the best blacksmith in the imperial city and leaves his katana on the table while the blacksmith works with his back to him.

"I need to give it a sharpening. The blade is a bit deteriorated, but it's my favorite, could you have it for tomorrow? I need it urgently."

He recognizes his voice, and does so with some annoyance. He doesn't let go of the activity at hand, but gives himself a second to look over his shoulder at him.

"I can sense your annoyance all the way over here," he says again, twisting his lips.

"Couldn't you have come here a week ago? I have work here, I know you hear my hammer clearly."

And he hears the burning embers releasing sparks, and smells the wood burning with frightening precision.

"I thought I was the only one giving work to this crusty old blacksmith."

"I'm the best blacksmith in town, that's why you always come here."

"I'll come early tomorrow morning for it, take good care of it. Did I tell you it's my favorite? "