Chương 13: USHIWAKA — The Black Reaper Descends

"The bell of the Gion Shōja tolls with the sound of impermanence. The fading color of the sala flowers reveals the truth that the prosperous must decline." I recited that stanza in my mind a mere millisecond before my consciousness snapped back. Why did a classical line like that cross my mind? Perhaps because the scent hitting my nasal passages was the exact polar opposite of that sterile, antiseptic future I had just left. It was the heavy, suffocating stench of absolute death.

"… Urgh." The moment I opened my eyes, the world was spinning. Not metaphorically. Physically, the ground beneath my feet was rolling violently. Reflexively, I clamped onto a nearby wooden plank. The sharp sting of splinters bit into my palms. Then, a cold spray splashed across my face. It wasn't seawater. It was a lukewarm, viscous fluid reeking of rust—blood.

"Heeeyaaagh?!" I let out a pathetic shriek and scrambled backward. This place was the very bottom of hell's cauldron. A raging, ash-gray sea. Countless pieces of wreckage and bloated corpses drifted between the swells. Overhead, a thick shroud of black smoke choked the sky, and a relentless downpour of arrows rained down like hail.

"All hands, raise your shields! Or you'll get pinned to the deck!"

"Don't flinch! Row! Keep rowing!" Roars and death rattles battered my eardrums. I was on a ship. And no, it wasn't a luxury cruise liner. It was the deck of a crudely retrofitted war galley. Looking around, hundreds—no, thousands—of vessels choked the strait, slamming their hulls into one another in a frantic, close-quarters slaughter. [System Check... Coordinates locked. March 24, 1185 AD. Akamagaseki, Nagato Province.... Commonly known as Dan-no-ura.] Gennai's absurdly cheerful voice rang through my neural chip.

[Yo, brother. An educated elite like you should recognize this place, right?]"… I know it! I really, really didn't want to, but I know it!" I planted my feet on the tilting deck, feeling the color drain entirely from my face. Dan-no-ura. It was the ultimate singularity of Japanese history—the exact juncture where the world transitioned from the rule of the aristocrats to the age of the samurai.

The final showdown of the Genpei War, where two massive warrior clans, the Minamoto and the Taira, clashed for total hegemony over the nation. I looked up at the banner fluttering on the ship I was currently riding. A white flag.... Meaning, the Minamoto forces. And charging from the opposite shore was a fleet under red banners—the Taira clan. Caught in the teeth of their fierce onslaught, our side was on the brink of absolute annihilation.

"Damn it! The Taira ships have the tide on their side!"

"Our arrows aren't reaching them! Fall back! Retreat!" Right next to me, an armored samurai caught an arrow clean through his throat and collapsed. Fresh blood sprayed across my cheap, coarse hitatare robes. I was terrified. The "rural delinquent brawl" back during Prince Shōtoku's era didn't even compare to this. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. This was war. Efficient, industrialized butchery executed by organized armies.

My stomach twisted into a violent knot from pure stress. Antacids. Where the hell were my antacids?

"Hey! You foot soldier! What are you standing there gaping at?!" A booming voice barked from behind. I spun around to find a massive, bearded giant glaring down at me. A Minamoto commander, judging by his gear.

"Grab a bow! Return fire, even if it's just one arrow! Do it now, or I'll throw your useless carcass into the sea!"

"I-I'm not a combatant! I'm, uh, an apprentice strategist...!" Even as I stammered my excuse, a sharp fwhipp! sliced through the air, grazing the top of my head. I'm going to die. This time, I'm dead for sure. Honestly, that creepy, smiling dystopia from before suddenly felt like a luxury just because you could stay alive. I actually found myself missing that uncanny silence. [Stop whining, Narrative Specialist,] Gennai chuckled. [If the Boss's calculations are correct, the main character is right on schedule.] The moment those words left his mouth, the air overhead began to vibrate violently. Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin...! A high-pitched, piercing whine—like a hyper-revving turbine—echoed across the strait, completely drowning out the din of battle. The source was high up in the sky. Me, the bearded commander, and the enemy Taira soldiers all looked up in unison. A black speck was descending at a terrifying velocity, silhouette against the sun. A bird? No.

It was a human figure, accelerating at a pace that seemed to mock the laws of physics, tearing through the chains of gravity itself. [Target confirmed. Taira flagship.... Deleting.] With a cold, synthetic murmur, the silhouette slammed directly into the deck of the enemy's largest warship. CRASH!!! With a thunderous explosion, the massive vessel snapped cleanly in half. As wooden shrapnel and bodies launched into the air, a figure emerged from the rising shroud of sea spray and smoke.

He stood at a compact 160 centimeters. Yet, his entire body was encased in a matte-black composite exoskeleton—carbon armor that absolutely did not belong to this era. Two horn-like antennas protruded from his helmet, and a crimson visor masked his eyes. Mounted on his back was a massive thruster unit pulsing with a pale blue light—the [Gravity Controller]. The history-correction android, code-named USHIWAKA.

A model specialized purely for slaughter, designed to push the legendary mobility of Minamoto no Yoshitsune to its absolute, monstrous limit.

"W-What the hell is that?!"

"Is it a tengu?!" The Taira soldiers plunged into a panic. Visor blinking with an ominous red light, USHIWAKA drew the tachi strapped to his waist. Chak. The blade wasn't made of steel. The moment the internal matrix ignited, a low hum filled the air as a vibrant, green plasma edge materialized. The legendary sword Usumidori —redefined by Gennai into a high-output plasma blade. [In the way. Mobs.] USHIWAKA kicked the deck. No, he didn't kick it.

His body drifted upward for a fraction of a second, and then he "fell" horizontally at an impossible angle. Gravity manipulation. By rewriting the gravitational vector around his own body, he could drop toward any direction he pleased. Flash! A green arc cleaved the air. A single strike. Three Taira warriors standing ahead were cleanly liquidated, armor and all, collapsing into smoking heaps. Before the stench of scorched flesh could even drift, USHIWAKA leaped toward the next ship.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump! In the span of a single heartbeat, he traversed eight different vessels, slaughtering every single enemy on their decks. The legendary "Eight-Boat Leap." But this wasn't mere agility. This was three-dimensional maneuvering warfare executed via jet propulsion and gravitational hacking.

"He's... he's a monster...!" The commander beside me muttered, dropping to his knees.

"Is that... is that the Lord of Kamakura's younger brother? Lord Yoshitsune...?" With trembling hands, I pushed up my glasses. It was incredible, no doubt about it. Dominant. A display of pure, unadulterated violence that made Prince Shōtoku's "Staff of Harmony" look like a toy. With a single unit like that, you could flip a theater of war on its head. Naonaosu Yora's calculations were correct.

If you injected this kind of potent "poison" into history, even the most pacified, spineless future Japanese citizens would be forced to remember their primal instinct for struggle.... And yet. Something felt entirely wrong. Deep inside my chest, the massive database accumulated from reading thousands of stories was ringing a loud, persistent alarm. That isn't how a hero fights.