The little doll continued to gaze out from behind the glass window. Up north, the harrowing frost and unyielding icy wind ruled over the empty plains. Only the charcoal-stained fireplace, so tired and so old after enduring so many of such winters, could hope to starve off their malignant influence upon the small shed the fake girl found itself in. From the moment she was crafted, the only things she knew were the logs of wood stacked together into bleary walls, the large woll chair that dominated the living room ends beginning to come undone from constant use, and other such mundane things one could find just about anywhere and thus weren't worth mentioning. And it wasn't that such a room was unpleasant to her, but just perhaps a little boring.
If there was something that the little doll could liven up the dullness of her daily life, it was the young craftsman that would sometimes visit her, coming in and making sure to repair any damage that she might have sustained. According to him, her creator had been a close friend of his, but since he wasn't around any longer it was up to him to take care of her and her little shed. The little doll didn't much care for repairs, she could already know that she would not survive the winter, but the company of the clumsy strawberry-haired man was precious beyond belief. She told her stories of places far away, of knights in shining armor and of great beasts that roamed the earth and the sky alike, tells of love and hatred, of hardships and betrayal; in short, stories of humans. And he told her of the star-filled sky.
So now she gazed outside her window, toward the endless snow and grey-dull clouds that covered the heavens, and she prayed. The young craftsmen told her that, should she want to wish for something, she should wish to become human, but the enormity of such a desire startled the poor little doll, who was a humble soul down to her very core. No, all she prayed for was that she may last until the winter ended, so perhaps, just once, she may witness the beauty of numerous lights, far too many to count, as they pierced throw the dull monotony of her life. And then one day... a white squirrel appeared?
"WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING!" Hans exclaimed as he ripped the offending manuscript to shreds. His sudden outburst startled the poor steed he was currently saddled to. It shook violently, much to the dismay of the blue midget, who was too busy with his hands to grab hold of anything and subsequently ate a mouthful of dirt.
"I once heard tales of a master blacksmith who lived in a nearby village," an irritatingly level voice called out to him from behind, "It was said that his level of dedication to his craft was so great, you could pinch his side with a hot iron rod and he wouldn't have noticed, so engrossed he was in polishing a sword." The face of a good-for-nothing samurai was hovering above him, blocking out the sun from his eyes. Even a blind person couldn't have mistaken the mirth in his expression, much less Hans. "It seems, my good companion, you are slowly reaching that level of prowess yourself."
"I don't want to hear that from an idiot who spent his whole life swinging a sword thinking it was by any means a productive activity." Hans shot back, as he got back to his feet. He looked back at his horse, who to his stature could have very well have been an elephant in disguise. With a scowl, he snapped his fingers, tree roots sprouting from the ground to assist him in climbing back onto the saddle.
"And, in case you've recently gotten a concussion and are suffering from severe memory loss, you're the reason we're forced to ride on horseback in the first place!" Hans dearly missed his carriage: magic that prevented feeling any bumps on the road, nice cushions and a designated writing table for him, and their whole monthly supply of coffee. The Danish author felt his heart tighten remembering the last one. He idly wondered if this was more of a mental block than anything, a habit born from a lifetime experience of Pavlovian conditioning. He was a spirit right now, it wasn't supposed to be possible to get addicted to caffeine, just as a whole day on the back of a horse shouldn't make him feel like his hips were on fire. Yet there he was.
"I certainly don't recall playing any part in having our previous ride stolen" Sasaki Kojirou responded, shoulders raised in faux innocence. "Unless of course, you imply that I might have been the one to hire those thieves to commit such an act?"
"No," Hans said slowly, "what I am implying was that you were supposed to guard the carriage, but forgot about it as soon as you heard about the bandits stationed at the edge of the village in order to satisfy your damn battle fetish!"
"I fail to realize how that's relevant."
Hans briefly grasped his old quill, pondering whether it was sharp enough to warrant sticking it into the Assassin's eye. Alas, his short stature proved yet again to be his greatest foil.
"How did I end up with such an uninspired, self-important wraith playing at being a warrior as a bodyguard?"
"Because all of our other colleagues would have not taken as kindly to the sharpness of your tongue. In fact, I suspect most of them would have tried to separate it from its master," came the serene reply.
Hans glared back but ultimately decided there was no value in continuing this conversation. Unlike proper human beings, who desperately attempted to hide away their ugliness and their imperfections, putting on a paper-thin facade in order to satisfy their egos and their instincts as social creatures, this man wore his very heart on his sleeve. Not that he could do much else, something as a proper personality or complexity was unnecessary for the role he was given to play. The rival, someone who the hero must overcome, his equal and his opposite in all regards to the point that it became cartoonish. A sword of infinity to rival the void, that was the existence known as "Sasaki Kojirou" was born to achieve, a legend so powerful in its simplicity that it seamlessly combined with the man who stood as its base for it to the point even his eyes could no longer discern them apart. As a writer himself, Hans felt no desire to pick apart a character's narrative when it was already openly displayed for everyone to see.
Instead, as their courses resumed their agonizingly slow journey, the fairytale writer found himself lazily taking in the sights around him, hoping for some sudden flare of inspiration that would prevent his next draft to end up as confetti, unlike its 17 predecessors. Since the kingdom won't last for much longer, in its current state at least, he had decided to make Re-Estize his first major visiting point in his temporary-with-an-as-of-yet-unestablished-duration journey, while stopping by all the villages on their way. It was on their way to such a village that Andersen found himself stuck looking over the same badly-paved roads and endless farming fields. Needless to say, he thought them underwhelming.
For someone like him, who specializes in observing people, he could see nothing of his surroundings except for the constant marks that humans leave on them. While not invisible, such marks would be hidden from any other person, who would not have bothered to search for them, content with simply taking in the views and sights. Hans, on the other hand, had no such choice. He didn't need to go looking for marks or signs, they practically jumped at him, covering his entire worldview until he couldn't make out anything else.
It was all too easy to see how the road was made. The kingdom had probably hired some low ranking adventuring to help with the chopping of trees and be on the lookout for any monsters. It was an easy job that was bound to have decent pay, so naturally, the actual carpenters and run-off mill workers would get offended by a bunch of carefree stuck-up people stepping on their toes. This would result in some tension between the groups, nothing major, just tiny inconveniences that built up towards a nasty argument or even a fight before things cool down again and the work is resumed. The patches of road where the ground was cracked were no doubt the result of the adventuring party, eager to show off their inhuman capabilities, but lacking the knowledge of the craft to actually do a proper job. On the other hand, the neat portions were the worker's response, their overzealousness in their effort to prove superiority evident in all the little fancy engravings that popped up on the boulders near the road, too washed away by rain and wind to be eligible any longer.
The farming fields were very much the same. Considering where they were, most lands around this part were inherited and passed down from family to family along with the secrets of bountiful reapings. It wasn't the type of reaping that ended up taken by the merchants to the big cities. Their purpose was mainly to feed the family that lived off of them, with the surplus being sold in the town square in order to secure savings if the winter proves to be especially harsh. Most of the crops were what you'd normally expect: wheat, barley, and potatoes; but there were a couple of outliers like cauliflower or celery. These ones were not in as good a shape as the others. Not surprising since they are plants that are quite hard to grow properly. Most likely these were the products of some retired knights who received land in order to live a modest and content life, meager thanks for their hard work and devotion to their country. Since they lacked the proper knowledge and experience to care for a farm, they probably had chosen some seeds at random to plant and were either too stubborn or too proud to admit that their effort wasn't quite bearing fruit. Their neighbors would be too intimated of them to tell them of their mistake, but not so intimated that they would not share a laugh at their expense in the confines of similar company and down a couple of drinks in the gutter.
Everywhere he looked, Hans could see only the records of people living simple and quiet lives, unconcerned with the world at large outside of their hard-earned bubble of blissful ignorance. What did they care for a serpent monster slaughtering thousands down south when they were too busy arguing about whether they should sell their cow or keep it for another year? There was a certain tranquility in such a way of life, he would agree, but it was not what he was searching for. It was not what he was aching to write.
That was the crux of the matter. Every time he let his mind wander, every time his quill touched the paper, all he could envision were fragments half-forgotten, memories of a previous summon. They were few and far between, but they all left him with the same impression: those events meant something to him, something powerful enough to imprint themselves unto his Spirit Origin. They whispered of a tell worth transcribing, of a struggle of fate and history, of something far greater than himself that he nonetheless had been a part of. But he was never given enough. Only flashes, drops of water dangling in front of a man dying of thirst: never enough to satisfy him, but too addicting not to scrabble on to try and lick them clean. "So there I am. Too stuck up in a past that doesn't even belong to this version of myself, unable to live on in the present. Good grief, I knew I had a troublesome personality, but this just takes the cake."
"Something on your mind? You look quite aggravated. More than your usual self, I mean" asked the purple-haired swordsman.
Hans half-heartedly grumbled an answer. He visibly brightened up however as the match-girl materialized next to him and set fire to a certain someone's robes. If Hans closed his eyes, he could imagine the frantic scrambling and yelling belonged to that tramp nun, a mental exercise that does wonders for the soul.
"Thank you very much, dear! I never would have imagined you can brew such tea with only a handful of dried leaves." The old shopkeep did her best to perform a proper bow, ignoring her knees' agonizing protests as she did. Her vision, much like the rest of her body, was not as it was once anymore, but even she could make out the shape of the large sword strapped to the young man sitting across from her. She considered he must have been a part of the garrison that arrived recently into the village, and the wisdom of her age had told her what would happen if she accidentally disrespected one of them, even one as polite as her current tea partner.
"Think nothing of it, I am just glad to be enjoying some proper refreshments after a long journey. There are many enjoyments this part of the kingdom should be praised for, but unfortunately, alcohol does not number amongst them." Replied the man in his slightly accented voice. In one smooth motion, he raised from the table and grabbed a small pouch from behind his robe. "This is one of my personal blends," he said as he slid the offending item next to the kettle. "Remember, the value of the ingredients is important, but so is choosing the proper combination of herbs, boiling the water at the right temperature, and the method of pouring. Only when all of these elements can achieve perfect harmony with each other can the beverage be rightfully called tea."
"Goes to show, even with age does not always come wisdom. Had this place open for 30 years, yet I'm shown up by a youngster who just walks in someday. I'm looking forward to when my son gets back from his trip, I'll be showing her that this old dog can still pick up some new tricks." the woman laughed good-naturedly as she studied the small bag in wonder.
"How much do I owe you?" Kojirou asked
"Consider granting some company to a lonely old lady payment enough. I must say, I for one am certainly feeling more assured knowing we have such proper men protecting us regular folk. Have a good evening!" The owner bid him goodbye as the man gave her a thankful smile and exited the small shop.
The swordsman made his way onto the slightly busy streets, deftly avoiding the small pockets of people that would sometime block his way. They were currently in a place called Volung, the sort of settlement that tittered the line between a small city and a large village. It was the sort of small town where while everybody knew each other and their families, outsiders were not quite so uncommon as to warrant anything more than a brief glance. So while there were plenty of people that looked curiously at his obviously foreign attire, it wasn't to the point where he would start receiving any unwanted attention, a fact that he was grateful for. Unlike the old lady from the tea shop, these people would rather mistake him for an adventurer looking for trouble than a member of the knights, and causing a commotion was not really desirable for him. Not that he would mind, but it would interfere with his duties, considering the person he was chapero- protecting was currently looking for an inn for the two of them to spend the night in.
Kojirou wasn't worried about letting the foul-mouthed writer on his own for a little while. The man was no warrior by any means, but between his unexpected craftiness and the small insurance their Master had provided for him, Sasaki doubted Andersen would find himself in some serious danger before he'd manage to make his way back to him. Which left him with some free time that he could use to explore the town at his leisure. He found aimlessly wandering about, just taking in the slow and agitated life happening around him, a surprisingly enjoyable experience.
During his supposed life, he had lived first as the son of a humble farmer, then later as a recluse, practicing his swordsmanship deep in the heart of the mountains, so he did not have many opportunities to explore the more mundane sides of society. Even his brief time in the city called 'Fuyuki' had been entirely spent acting as a doormat for a temple's entrance. Of course, the reason for his irritation had been the boorish woman, not the temple itself. On the contrary, he found himself looking back fondly towards the temple. He idly wondered whether they'd stumble across a similar place on their travels, as he would like to visit.
As the sun began to set properly and the lamplighters began making their appearance throughout the town, Kojirou felt it was time to start heading back in search of his companion. As he began to make his way back, however, a small glint of light caught his eye as he turned at the perfect time to see a couple of empty bottles shattering into a nearby wall with a resounding cry.
"Get lost! I don't want you moping around my bar, scaring away good-paying customers." a fat bearded man shouted toward the drunk, currently in the process of shielding his eyes from the incoming pieces of glass. With a guttural rumble, the barman went back inside the building, closing the door beside him with a large thud.
"You don't have to -*hic*-, you don't have to shout so loud. Just wanted a refill, that's all!" said drunk managed to grumble, speaking out loud in an effort to gather his thoughts. If the glassy, half-closed eyes were any indications, he wasn't having much success.
Sasaki halted in his step, taking in the figure pitifully littering about in a reclusive corner of the street. At first glance, he wasn't anything special. An unkempt beard, disheveled and greasy blue hair, wrinkled clothes deeply stained with dirt and booze alike, large bags under his eyes, and a rather unpleasant body odor. He wasn't anything you couldn't find in any tavern's back alley, the sort of person mothers would cover their children's eyes and hasting their step when passing by on the street. Yet that wasn't what Kojirou focused on. No, what he saw was the slight bulge of his muscles that peeked out from behind his shirt, the way his body shifted involuntarily to ensure proper balance and leverage, the now closed-up callouses on his hands the type that could be achieved only by a religious training regiment. He didn't even need to see the sword hidden by the man's figure to tell that he was facing a fellow warrior, by far the most skilled he had encountered thus far in the New World.
The man in question didn't notice him approaching until he was right beside him. Kojirou would have liked to attribute that to the skill that qualified him for his frankly insulting class, but it was more likely that the person in front of him was just that out of it.
"You certainly don't look like you're in need of another drink, but if you still desire it I wouldn't mind picking up the tab," Kojirou asked, fishing in his pockets for a couple of coins.
The man's eyes darted around, struggling to put a face to the voice addressing him, but when he did his expression turned scornful.
"I can pay with my own damn money," he barked, shuffling a bit to get a better grip on his sword.
"It seems like you finally spotted my own armament. I like the spirit, but I doubt you'd make for a proper challenger in this state" Kojirou thought. Out loud, he said.
"Ah, my apologies! It seems I have misread the situation. I mean no disrespect I assure you, I was just curious as to the reason you're currently rummaging around in your own filth."
"You certainly don't sound like you mean no disrespect. What's it to you?"
"A passing interest, nothing more. After all, a proper swordsman wouldn't normally let the liquor get the better of him." Kojirou said, his voice taking on an almost admonishing tone.
"Well, sorry to say, but you'd find no proper swordsman here." the man laughed bitterly. "Not anymore. He was probably never here anyway."
"I see" the Assassin hummed non-committedly. He then lunged in a seiza position on the ground across from the drunk, his eyes gaining a slight sharpness to them. "But if there ever were such a fighter, what would his name have been?"
the man scoffed and turned away, but Kojirou's stare didn't falter. He could feel the intensity of the stranger's gaze boring into his skull, forcing his lips to move without his permission.
"Brain. Brain Unglaus." The name was spat with a healthy dose of resentment, that barely covered the sense of shame and defeat from underneath. Yet despite all of it, there was still a hint of pride.
"Not a name I recognize unfortunately, but I'm sure I would have enjoyed crossing swords with him."
Brain's right hand let go of the sword's handle as if only now realizing it had been gripping it the whole time.
"Look, a hint of advice from me." Despite the way his words still slurred a bit and his breath stank, Kojirou continued to listen patiently. "I know what you're doing. Looking for strong opponents to fight, did the same when I was younger. That thing you carry around? It's good against your run-of-the-mill bandit, but when you're face to face with something truly powerful something that humans would have no chance of beating, it might as well be a stick. So you better go hole yourself up back to where you got that weird robe from and give up on the whole thing. Who knows, with a bit of luck you might make it out alive."
His spiel said, Brain looked at the man across from him expectantly, but Kojirou seemed content to let the silence linger. Considering the talk over, the drunk got up on unsteady feet, to the point he had to hold onto the wall to stand upright, and prepared to leave. Yet before he could make a step, Sasaki replied:
"A stick, hm? I always thought of it as a washing pole myself, but I suppose it's an apt description. However, Brain Unglaus, I have come to experience for myself how dangerous a mere stick can be when wielded properly. Who knows, maybe one day I will be able to split the heavens using one."
Brain looked ready to discharge on the crazy man spouting nonsense next to him, but he didn't get the chance. The street echoed with the sound of armored boots hitting the pavement at high speed and of people running away confused. Both of them turned toward the commotion, and both had different reactions. Brain rubbed his fingers to his eyes, thinking the alcohol was playing tricks on them, while Sasaki simply got up, dusting himself off with one hand while the other was busy pinching his nose.
Coming their way, moving far faster than someone his size had any right to be, was a blue-haired child wearing a suit and black-framed glasses, followed closely behind by a group of enraged-looking soliders.
"In hindsight, this shouldn't have surprised me at all." Kojirou sighed.
AN: I love Hans a lot, he's one of the main reasons I started writing this fic. Hope I can make him shine as well as he deserves to