Chapter 1: illusion

Oshimaru trudged through the shadowed mountain forest, his eyes scanning for signs of evil spirits. 

His mission was simple: hunt them down and seal them away. 

These spirits stirred chaos between the human world and the realm of the dead, twisting lives into nightmares.

He was travelling through a mountain. A chill wind rustled the leaves, but Oshimaru stayed sharp. Every snap of a twig could mean danger.

Birds were singing, insects making loud noises. And the wind made the trees sing. 

Then, the world hushed. Birds cut off their songs. Insects fell still. The forest held its breath, as if afraid to exhale.

Oshimaru froze. His skin prickled. He pressed on, steps slow and careful. The straight path ahead bent into wild zigzags. 

The path was looking like it was changing. The air thickened like fog, pulling at his mind. 

Dizziness hit him hard, but he shook it off. No time for weakness. He knew this sprite. 

"It's Mujin Yamaju," he whispered. The spirit that lurked in these peaks, preying on lost souls to feed its hunger.

His hands were on his twin swords. Ready to slice anything. His eyes darted down. 

His twin swords lay on the dirt but he hadn't drawn them. Impossible. 

The spirit was messing with his head, weaving illusions.

He closed his eyes, recalling his master's gravelly voice from years ago: "When a spirit twists your senses, stop thinking. Trust your raw instincts alone."

Oshimaru breathed deep, shoving away the doubt. He reached out blindly, fingers closing around the hilts. 

He lifted the blades, feeling their familiar weight. A gust of icy wind howled through the trees.

The leaves murmured faintly: "It escaped." Mujin Yamaju had fled. Oshimaru's jaw clenched. "You got away this time," he growled, "but not for long."

He continued searching. He plunged deeper into the forest, where the trees grew denser and the light faded. 

No one returned from these depths not even seasoned samurai. 

It was foolish, but Oshimaru had no choice. Skills meant nothing here if illusions shattered your mind, showing glimpses of the spirit world: twisted faces, endless voids.

It's illusions weren't just trick of light. But glimpse of Otherworld. 

For a moment, he paused at a gnarled oak, pressing his palm against its bark. Memories flashed his village burned by spirits, his family gone. 

"I won't stop," he muttered to himself. The hunt fueled him.The forest seemed alive again. 

Birds chirped. Insects buzzed. A river roared nearby, its crash the loudest of all. Mujin Yamaju despised noise like that; it disrupted its tricks. 

Oshimaru smiled faintly, relief washing over him. Even warriors felt fear, but conquering it meant survival.

He set up camp by the water's edge. He speared a few fish from the stream, roasting them over a small fire. 

The meat was warm and flaky. Exhausted, he lay down and slept, the river's rumble a lullaby. Morning light pierced his eyes. 

And he saw something unbelievable. 

He sat up and stared. No river. Just dry earth. The "fish" bones? Crumbled leaves.

He didn't ate no fish. It was all leaves. 

Horror gripped him. "What's happening?" Fear, cold and real, twisted in his gut for the first time.

The forest silenced once more. Mountains in the distance swayed like drunken dancers. Trees stretched upward, branches clawing the sky.

Oshimaru yanked for his swords, but they floated away, darting like playful birds. He chased them, heart pounding, hope slipping.

His hopes. His swords. they were on the air floating. 

In a quiet moment by a fallen log, he sank to his knees. "Master... help me," he whispered, the words a desperate plea.

Then, the advice echoed again. Stop thinking. Instincts only. He stopped thinking. And without thinking there is no fear. Fear comes from within. 

He lunged without sight, hands grasping air. Metal met his palms the swords. 

He swung wildly, blades whistling through illusions. Steel bit into something unseen.

The world snapped back. Trees normal. Mountains still. Swords firm in his grip.

He knew he had cut the spirit. 

No hesitation. Oshimaru chanted the sealing spell, words ancient and binding. 

Mujin Yamaju fought, desperate. Illusions flooded: brutal executions, rivers of blood, screams of the damned. Enough to break any mind.

It used everything to escape. Everything to make oshimaru feel fear and give up. 

But Oshimaru stayed calm, eyes shut, voice steady. The spirit wailed, fading.

Sealed... 

"Finally," Oshimaru breathed, "one more spirit exhausted and bound."

Now he could tap its power illusions of his own but sparingly. Overuse risked its escape, a deadly gamble. He could never fully master it.

Only in life threatening situation he could use it's powers. 

Wiping sweat from his brow, Oshimaru sheathed his swords. The forest whispered on. He walked forward, ready for the next hunt.

End of chapter 1