Chapter 6: To Prepare

From what I could recall, the Yokai responsible for my mother's death was dubbed the "Yokai of Bridgeville." Its existence was both constant and mysterious, slipping through the cracks of our reality like a shadow. Of course, I hadn't heard of this Yokai, nor encountered it in my past life, until it had claimed my mother's life.

"Yokai... those damned spirits. Why the hell do they have to be so clingy?" I muttered to myself, the bitterness of the thought seeping into my words as I trudged through the slums, heading toward the shopping district.

The streets of Bridgeville were a far cry from the memory I had of them. Crumbling houses lined the narrow paths—if you could even call them houses. They were more like dilapidated shelters, their walls sagging like weary old men. I walked slowly, my thoughts wandering, trying to recall whatever details I could about this town—a place I hadn't set foot in for years. The last time I had been here, I'd been dealing with a group of kids who decided to test me, before I was whisked away to... well, Heaven, my mother's home.

But now, I had the time to think.

Bridgeville was a town built in a circular formation. It wasn't fortified by thick walls like other towns I'd seen. There was no grandeur to it like Bloomfield, the "Town of Beauty," or Ironhold, the "Town of Weaponry." No, Bridgeville had none of that refinement. Instead, it was a place where the Demigorg Kingdom—who ruled over this area and its surrounding towns—dumped their unwanted goods and people. It wasn't a town of nobility or elegance; it was a trading hub. That was its purpose, its reason for existing.

I couldn't say I was particularly fond of this town, but it had its charm in a way—if you could call it that. The center of the town was the town square, the heart of Bridgeville. From there, the districts expanded outward in rings. The first was the Gold District, where the upper class and nobles lived—shiny and pristine. Next came the Common Area, a place for those of reasonable status, where most people could afford to live comfortably. And then, the slums—where people like me and my mother scraped by.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck as I glanced toward the far end of the slums, where our home was. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, my mother and I lived just outside the slums, in a small house next to an estate that looked far too grand for our modest lives. I wasn't sure why Grandfather had left us that house, but it felt like some cruel joke. It wasn't a place anyone would want to live, and the thought of him hanging over us like a shadow only made it worse.

Still, I couldn't afford to dwell on that now. My mother's death was at the forefront of my mind. The Yokai were a threat, and if I wanted to protect her, I had to prepare.

I stopped for a moment, standing still in the middle of the street, my eyes tracing the skyline of Bridgeville, feeling a mix of resentment and uncertainty. How was I supposed to face the future, knowing what was coming? How could I change it? I wasn't sure, but I had to try. For her.

I made my way toward the shopping district, my boots stirring up dust as I walked. The town seemed to be stuck in a perpetual state of decay. You could almost feel the weight of years of neglect in the air. Still, the hustle and bustle of traders and townsfolk in the market square made it clear that life here went on, despite the crumbling surroundings.

I frowned as my thoughts returned to the Yokai. I could feel the memories of that cursed spirit like a shadow following me. The very presence of it haunted me—haunted the memory of my mother's death.

"How does something like that get tied to a place like this?" I wondered aloud, shaking my head. I couldn't recall encountering this specific Yokai in my previous life. But that was the problem, wasn't it? In my first life, I was too focused on my envy, on Lorian, on betraying him… I never thought about the quiet threats lurking around us.

As I walked through the marketplace, my eyes caught the figure of a man selling strange trinkets. One of the items, a dagger with a chain attached to it, caught my eye. The chain dangled lazily from the hilt, as though it were waiting to be swung with deadly precision. It reminded me of a weapon I used in my past life—though then, I wielded a much heavier, thicker chain, and instead of a dagger, I used a stake with a sharpened point, or a blade on the other end. It was the weapon I relied on the most. I didn't have the talent to train with a sword, so I had to settle for something more unconventional. This dagger seemed... familiar. I stared at it, and it felt as though it was staring back.

I approached the stall and spoke to the vendor, an older man with a grizzled face and weary eyes. "How much for that?" I asked, pointing to the chained dagger.

The man looked me over, his gaze appraising. "For a man with your looks, the price is steep. 15 copper." He held out his hand in a 'gimme' motion.

"Too much," I muttered, glancing at my worn boots and tattered jacket. Money was a luxury I couldn't afford. The currency in this world cascaded from copper to silver to gold, and 15 copper was a lot for something as small as this.

"Three silver for some dagger to a chain..." I questioned aloud, but even I had to admit, the weapon's quality seemed decent.

I sighed and decided to play the only card I had left—my past life's experience in trade.

...

I had none!

"You see these boots I have on, sir?" I said, pointing to my feet.

The old man looked unimpressed.

He wasn't intrigued, and I couldn't blame him. They were more hole than boot at this point.

"Well, they're worth a pretty penny, and so is this jacket I'm wearing. So, how about it? A pair of boots, and a jacket of the highest quality." It was stupid—even a beggar could see that all this was just exaggeration. My boots had more holes than a hound's chew toy, and my jacket looked like it had been through the same fate, only worse. But to my surprise, the old man leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he considered it.

It was awkward for a second but the old man chuckled, no doubt thinking I was pulling his leg, before agreeing anyway. "Alright, kid. Boots, jacket, and shirt. You've got yourself a deal."

The shirt wasn't part of the bargain, but I had not the will to challenge him. He was already giving me the dagger and chain at a loss.

I nearly laughed at how ridiculous this exchange was. My boots had holes you could stick your fist through, and my jacket—well, it looked like it had seen better days... in a manure pit.

But I got the weapon, and for now, that was all that mattered.

"Besides," he muttered, almost as if to himself, "Nobody ever buys this kind of weapon. It's unconventional, it has a steep learning curve, and is difficult to use. So... Take it, kid." He said, handing me the dagger.

I left that stall with a sense of pride… well, maybe not so much, as I walked away with only my pants to my name.

As I turned to leave, the man's voice called out to me.

"It's a fine weapon, lad. But be careful. The chain's as deadly as the blade."

I gave a noncommittal grunt and tucked the Kusarigama into my belt. The weight of it felt familiar, a reminder of the power I once wielded—and the mistakes I had to avoid.

I wasn't just here to buy a weapon. I was here to survive.

And survive? I would. No matter what it took.

I hadn't trained, not a lick of muscle had been worked since coming here. Maybe I'd exercised my mind a little, but everything else was lacking. Why? I didn't have grand ambitions since arriving in this world, and I certainly didn't expect to be facing off with a Yokai at the age of ten!

TEN!

Training had never seemed urgent. I had hoped for a simple, quiet life—like those characters in the novels. But now, here I was, about to face a Yokai, completely unprepared. I had a weapon, sure, something I was familiar with, but my body was struggling to keep up with the movements of my past life. And let's not even talk about my mana capacity. It was... well, let's call it "dogshit."

But there was hope. The Art of the Sage—something I had mastered in my previous life. I came into this world with the physical fortitude of a chihuahua—lots of energy and anger but not a lot of muscle. I didn't have talent in the traditional sense. And let's face it, hard work is easier said than done.

The Art of the Sage was something I learned during my time with Lorian, running around doing quests, doing his nails and pampering him with foot massages. The dog. But despite the annoyances, the Art was a brilliant discovery. It allowed me to use my physical body as a vessel for mana, rather than relying on the traditional "mana heart." Genius, right?

In this world, mana was the lifeblood of every living thing and the environment itself. Whether you practiced sorcery, martial arts, or swordsmanship, mana was essential. You could draw it from your surroundings, but that required a certain Art. Even if you could draw in all the mana in the world, if your capacity was as pathetic as mine, it wouldn't do much. It's like trying to fill the ocean with a kiddie cup.

The Art of the Sage bypassed my limited mana heart by replacing it with my body as the vessel for mana. This meant that even with my "dogshit" stamina, I could train my strength and gradually boost my mana at the same time. It was like getting two for the price of one. The Art was practically divine in a world where mana capacity is usually fixed—impossible to change without some rare artifact or miracle.

But there was a catch.

If my body couldn't handle the mana—whether it was because I wasn't strong enough to hold it or the purity of the mana was too much—it would break. And by "break," I mean my body would shatter, quite literally. So, I had to train my body until it could handle the flow of mana without falling apart.

The Art also taught me how to use a variety of weapons, not just one. I wasn't restricted to any single tool. It was all about utilizing physical strength to the max, which was perfect for someone like me who had a weaker mana heart but was determined to make it work.

Everyone has their own unique way of using mana. Not everyone even uses it. There are those who draw from spiritual power, like the Church, or the Knights, who use Oathfire. These methods are all referred to as "Arts."

Unfortunately for me, I had to face this Yokai without any of the advantages I'd hoped for. No Arts. No mana. No proper training. All I had was muscle memory—if that even counted for anything.

The truth was, I had no idea when or where my mother would die. I didn't know if it would be tomorrow, today, or even right now. That uncertainty… it terrified me. The thought that I might fail to protect her because I wasn't ready—because I hadn't trained properly—was the worst kind of fear. It wasn't just the Yokai I was facing. It was my own inadequacy, and the crushing weight of knowing that I was running out of time.

So…

To the bar it is. I need information.