Epilogue: What We Fought For

The mountain path wound through pine trees bowed low under heavy snow. In the distance, a frozen river stretched toward the horizon like a strip of pale glass beneath the afternoon sun.

Renji stopped walking and stared up at the “resort” with visible skepticism.

A rugged stone fortress perched on the cliff’s edge. Arrow slits had been converted into windows, cheerful flower boxes bolted beneath them. Heavy oak doors were painted a sunny yellow.

“I doubt this is a resort,” Renji said.

“They have beds,” Erika said, reading from a brochure.

“So does a barrack,” Renji retorted.

“They have a mountainside view,” Gio commented.

“That is what a watchtower is supposed to have,” Renji said.

They paused for a moment, the cold air biting at their cheeks.

“What’s the matter?” Miko asked, pulling her scarf tighter.

Renji pointed toward the valley below. “About two months back, we fought a horde down in that valley. Colonel Yamamoto held the line until the end.”

Erika glanced at her brochure. “He is a model soldier. They named the resort to honor him.”

“I didn’t join you at that time,” Miko said quietly.

“No,” Renji agreed. “You were busy learning the truth about our homeland.” He turned away from the valley. “Now you’re part of our team for this mission.”

“Three days and two nights to check residual dark mana,” Miko said. “This mission seems fishy.”

“I think the mission implicitly told us to do a test run for this resort,” Erika commented, folding the brochure.

They entered the building. Warm air washed over them, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and cooking food. Renji’s eyes adjusted to the interior, and then he saw a familiar face in the lobby.

“Furuta,” Renji said. “What are you doing here?”

“I want to ask the same of you,” Furuta replied. “I’m accompanying my students to this resort. Suzuki-kun got free tickets for eight people.”

“You’re a teacher?” Renji said. “I can imagine you ripping those children off.”

“I am a kendo instructor,” Furuta retorted. “I also run a kabuki troupe in Suzaku City, and I charge reasonable rates.”

“Good for you,” Renji said.

“Good for them, too. Their form is atrocious.” Furuta flicked a thumb toward the corner where Suzuki’s group had gathered. “The plain one shows promise.”

Suzuki perked up from across the room. “Really?!”

“No. I lied,” Furuta said. “But you pay anyway.”

“Tohoho,” Suzuki muttered, deflating.

***

A sleigh pulled up to the resort’s entrance, bells jingling softly. Princess Aoi stepped out, wrapped in an elaborate fur-lined kimono. Two women in sleek black winter gear flanked her, eyes scanning the surroundings.

“Mister Kamiya,” Aoi said, spotting him. “Long time no see.”

“Good afternoon, Princess,” Renji said. “Nice to meet you again. Do you have business here?”

“I’m just relaxing,” she replied. “The crisis in Kinto has calmed down.”

“What’s the news, Princess?” Miko stepped closer.

“The shogunate has fallen,” Aoi explained. “The Kinto lords have consolidated. We will have parliamentary democracy with the Emperor as Head of State and a Prime Minister as Head of Government.”

“What happened to the former shogun?” Renji asked.

“He surrendered, and the Emperor granted leniency.” Aoi offered a thin smile. “His sentence was commuted from seppuku to a firing squad.”

“Well, that’s good news,” Renji muttered.

***

In the lobby, a middle-aged woman bowed profusely. “We’re terribly sorry! Some of our rooms aren’t ready yet. You’ll need to share accommodations.”

Suzuki and his entourage immediately made a scene. The plain-faced boy sat in the lobby amidst the emerging chaos

“Suzuki-kun,” Takahashi said, brushing her long hair backward with practiced grace. “Let’s share a room! It’ll be so cozy!”

“As if!” Aoyama retorted, crossing her arms. “He’d freeze to death with your selfishness.”

“I’ll room with Suzuki!” Kirisaki declared, throwing an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Bros before... other things!”

Three other girls stood nearby in various states of swooning, scheming, or resigned sighing. Suzuki himself looked like a man who had long since accepted his fate as the center of a gravitational anomaly.

***

At midday, Renji’s team checked residual mana on the top of the slope. The wind had picked up, carrying fine snow that stung exposed skin.

“Dark mana residue far below the threshold,” Erika reported, checking the detector’s readings. “We’re clear.”

“After the Prime Rift was sealed, the world became a better place,” Renji muttered, watching the horizon.

“The other smaller rifts are disappearing,” Miko added. “Soon, the monster plague will become a legend.”

“The work is done,” Gio said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s go back to fun!”

They descended the slope, and Gio promptly demonstrated her skiing prowess, carving elegant arcs through the powder.

“How did you do that?” Miko called down, awestruck.

“I have more than forty years of experience in skiing,” Gio called back.

“That’s twice my age,” Renji commented.

“You’re catching on!”

***

At night, the resort’s dining hall revealed its origins as a converted armory. A massive hearth roared at one end, filling the room with warmth and the smell of pine smoke. The long table was packed with guests, plates clattering and conversation flowing.

Furuta sat alone at the far end, eating quietly.

After dinner, Princess Aoi suggested a group activity.

“How about we tell a story?” she announced.

“That’s a good idea,” Renji commented. “I also suggest that we can interrupt and criticize the story to make it more interesting.”

“Let’s draw these chopsticks,” Gio offered, producing a container. “The one who gets the red-colored end tells the story first.”

“Gio,” Erika said, snatching the container. “Let’s shake it first for fairness!”

Everyone drew lots. Gio got the red-tipped one.

“Alright,” Gio began, settling into her seat. “I will tell you about an Epic Tragic Hero. Long ago, there was a hero named Oti Hakab. Though his heroic feats went untold in the story, his skill in archery was unmatched. He could shoot a fly while somersaulting midair. He could kill a dragon with a single shot. So he was called the One-Shot Man.”

“I have some concerns about that last line,” Renji said. “But let’s move on.”

“He was very forgiving and always ready to sacrifice himself to save others,” Gio continued. “One day, bandits ambushed children playing in the woods. An archer aimed directly at a young boy near Oti. The hero faced a choice: pick off the bandit, or throw himself in front of the arrow.”

“He chose to protect the child?” Aoi guessed.

“Precisely,” Gio said. “He dove into the line of fire and took a dozen arrows to the chest. His last words to the boy were, ‘Next, it’s your turn!’”

“That’s such a heroic feat,” Aoi commented. “He sacrificed himself and had a fulfilling death.”

“What happened after Oti died?” Renji asked.

“Because the hero was dead, the bandits killed all the children, including the one Oti tried to save. Then they pillaged the nearby village, killing many inhabitants.”

“That’s not a hero story,” Furuta commented from his corner. “That’s a fool’s story.”

“After that, his records were erased. The newspapers reported his failure,” Gio continued.

“Did newspapers exist back then?” Erika interrupted. “Isn’t that an anachronism?”

“It’s just a story,” Miko argued. “The main purpose is to engage the listener. If we focus too much on small details, the creative process stalls.”

“Okay,” Gio approved. “In the end, his name and heroic feat were erased from history. Oti Hakab was a placeholder name. His flaw was his self-sacrificing nature.”

“I think his flaw, as well as his tragedy, was his idiocy,” Renji concluded. “By the way, that was a wonderful story.”

They clapped their hands.

The resort glowed with warm light. Laughter echoed from the dining hall. Erika argued with Gio about something trivial. Aoi sipped tea with her bodyguards, a faint smile on her face. Furuta was... somewhere. Probably.

Renji stepped outside onto the balcony, letting the cold air wash over him. The snow had stopped, leaving the world blanketed in pristine white. Above, the stars emerged from behind the clouds, scattered across the sky like diamonds on black velvet. Pochi leaned against the railing beside him.

“Not bad,” Renji muttered to the night air.

“What isn’t?” Miko stepped up beside the railing, her breath pluming in the frost.

“This. Being here.” Renji gestured vaguely at the resort, the mountains, the sky. “With everyone.”

Miko leaned against the railing. “You’re getting sentimental in your old age.”

“I’m twenty.”

“Same thing.”

They laughed, quiet and warm.

Pochi offered silent judgment.

And as the snow began to fall again, soft flakes drifting down from the darkness, Renji allowed himself a moment of peace.

Inside, Suzuki drew the next lot.

“Suzuki-kun is bad at storytelling,” Aoyama announced. “Let’s have someone else!”

“You’re so mean, Aoyama,” Suzuki replied, clutching the chopstick like a drowning man clinging to driftwood.

“This time I agree with you,” Takahashi said. “My dog can tell a better story than him.”

“Tohoho.”