Chapter 3. To Repent

The forest stretched endlessly around them, the glowing fungi casting pale, dreamlike light over the narrow path as Emilia trailed behind Hikarimetsu. Fireflies drifted lazily through the thick, misty air, their soft golden glow occasionally swallowed by the looming, gnarled trees. Each step seemed to echo too loudly in the oppressive silence, and though Emilia’s breath had slowed, her pulse still thudded wildly in her ears.

Emilia’s fingers tightened around the knife roll slung over her shoulder, feeling the familiar weight of the tools she’d carried through countless kitchens and competitions. The leather felt comforting beneath her trembling hands, a small piece of home amid the surreal nightmare she’d been thrown into.

She swallowed, then blurted out the question that had been gnawing at her since Hikarimetsu appeared. “Are… are the other knives in here like you?” Her voice is hesitant, almost hopeful. “Do I have a whole squad of talking swords hiding in my bag?”

Hikarimetsu glanced over her shoulder, her golden eyes shimmering with amusement. A sly, knowing smile tugged at her lips. “No, Master,” she said smoothly, her tone laced with a hint of pride. “They're just ordinary blades. Expensive, yes. Well-crafted, certainly. But in the end…” —she lifted her chin slightly, almost smug—“they are just lifeless steel. Nothing more.”

Emilia’s face heated, her panic temporarily replaced by irritation. “Rude,” she muttered under her breath, shooting the spirit a glare. “They’ve been with me through years of training and competitions, you know. You don’t just go around calling someone’s precious knives ‘ordinary.’”

Hikarimetsu’s laugh rang out, soft and bell-like, yet carrying the same sharpness Emilia had come to expect from her. “Oh? Then perhaps they will serve as fine companions to you still, even if they lack a soul. But none will ever compare to me.”

Emilia rolled her eyes, though secretly, she found some comfort in their banter. It's grounding—almost normal. Almost. Still, the reality of her situation pressed heavily on her shoulders. Just hours ago, Hikarimetsu hadn’t been a regal, terrifying warrior spirit striding through a glowing, alien forest.

She had been Emilia’s favorite chef’s knife, a humble tool she’d used every single day in the warm, busy kitchens of her Sapporo restaurant. Now, that same blade is leading her through a silent, watching wilderness, utterly unshaken by the strange, unsettling world around them, while Emilia’s own heart pounds with fear and disbelief.

It's still so surreal that Emilia half-expected to wake up at any moment, back in her cozy apartment, with the scent of simmering broth on the stove. But the chill of the forest air, the shifting glow of the fungi, and the soft crunch of her boots on the alien soil reminded her with every step that this isn't a dream, this is her new reality.

Emilia’s mind drifted back to the day she’d first received the knife, back when it had seemed like nothing more than a gift from her beloved grandfather. She was sixteen, freshly accepted into a culinary school, her heart filled with dreams and excitement of becoming a world-class chef.

She remembered the smell of oil and old wood in her grandfather’s small workshop, tucked at the back of their family property. The space is filled with tools, rusted swords, and relics from another age. Her grandfather, Heisuke Kato, is a quiet man, his back perpetually bent from years spent at the forge. That day, however, he had stood tall, his gnarled hands presenting her with a wooden box as if it contained a sacred treasure.

Inside lay a simple-looking kitchen knife. Its blade is polished to a mirror sheen, the handle is smooth and dark, and it is perfectly balanced. Emilia had gasped, recognizing the incredible craftsmanship immediately. “Grandpa… this is—this is beautiful,” she’d whispered, awed by its weight and precision.

Haruto had given her a strange, almost haunted smile. “This blade,” he said gravely, “is unlike any other you will ever hold. It is forged from the remnants of a weapon that once bathed in rivers of blood.” His eyes had grown distant, shadowed by memory. “She killed too many. Too many lives cut short, too many wars fueled by her edge. Now, she will repent.”

Emilia had blinked, confused. “Repent? Grandpa, it’s just a knife…”

“No.” His tone had been sharp and final. He gently closed her fingers around the handle. “From this day on, she is no longer a sword of destruction. You, Emilia, will give her purpose anew. Use this blade not to take lives, but to create. Let her repentance flow through the dishes you craft. Feed people, heal them, and bring them joy. Through your hands, this blade will save more lives than it ever took.”

Those words had stayed with her through the years, a guiding star in her career. She had carried the knife into every kitchen, treated it with reverence, and sharpened it with care. In her hands, it had never been a weapon, only a tool for creation, a bridge between cultures and flavors.

But now, the truth stood before her in the form of Hikarimetsu, regal and terrifying. As they walked, Emilia’s lips trembled. “Grandpa knew,” she murmured to herself, barely audible. “He knew what you really are…”

Hikarimetsu glanced back, her golden eyes glimmering faintly in the soft fungal glow. “Your grandfather is a wise man,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “He was a descendant of the line that once forged me, long before you were born. He understood the burden I carried.”

Emilia swallowed hard. “You said I'm chosen. Is… is it because of him?”

“In part,” Hikarimetsu replied, turning her gaze forward again. Her tone is calm, but there is a shadow of sorrow beneath it. “I'm not always what you see now. Long ago, I was the pride of a powerful warlord, a blade forged with the purest steel and tempered in rituals of blood and magic. I'm called Hikarimetsu, the Light that Cuts Through Darkness. With me, kingdoms rose and fell. My edge ended wars but also started them. Men fought and died to wield me, believing I was their salvation.”

Her voice grew quieter, almost wistful. “But I was never salvation. I was hungry. With every life I took, I grew stronger, and with that strength came ruin. Villages burned. Families shattered. I became a cursed relic, a beacon for endless violence. I take thousands of lives.”

Emilia listened, captivated and horrified. She could almost see it: the blood-soaked battlefields, the glint of the katana cutting through armor and flesh, and the warlords who would stop at nothing to claim its power.

“What happened?” Emilia asked softly.

Hikarimetsu paused, her kimono swirling around her like a living shadow as she stopped beneath a massive glowing mushroom. Her golden eyes seemed distant, haunted. “At last, a warrior came who saw me for what I truly am—a monster no different from the tyrants who wielded me. She fought me with her own will, and though she could not destroy me, she broke my form, scattering my essence into fragments.” She placed a graceful hand over her chest. “One fragment found its way to your grandfather. He forged it into a humble kitchen knife, stripping me of my bloodlust. For decades, I slept… until today.”

Emilia’s throat tightened. “And now you’re awake because… because this world has mana or magic, or whatever,” she whispered, recalling Hikarimetsu’s earlier words.

“Correct,” Hikarimetsu said. “The magic here is strong, unrestrained. It called to me, rebuilt me, and gave me form. After thousands of years, stuck inside a blade.” She turned to Emilia, her expression unreadable. “But do not mistake this as a return to my old self. The bond I share with you binds me to your purpose. So long as you wield me to create rather than destroy, my curse will remain dormant.”

Emilia let out a shaky laugh, though it was devoid of humor. “Create? I make food, Hikarimetsu. I’m not a warrior. I don’t save people—I just feed them.”

The spirit’s lips curved into a faint smile. “You underestimate the power of sustenance. Food can heal, inspire, and unite. In this world, your cooking will be more than a luxury; it will be survival itself. And through that, you will save more lives than you can imagine.”

They resumed walking, the forest’s eerie silence broken only by the soft crunch of their footsteps and the distant trickle of a stream. Emilia’s thoughts swirled with memories of her grandfather, of his words that now made painful, perfect sense.

She glanced at Hikarimetsu’s tall, commanding form, then down at the blade still clutched in her hands. “Grandpa believed you could repent,” she murmured. “I… I’ll try to honor that. I don’t know how, but I’ll try.”

Hikarimetsu inclined her head slightly, her expression softening for just a moment. “That is all anyone can ask of you, Master.”

As they pressed deeper into the glowing woods, Emilia felt a strange, fragile thread of resolve weave through her fear. The path ahead is unknown, and the world is vast and hostile, but her grandfather’s dream—and Hikarimetsu’s redemption—rested in her hands.