The Tale of A Man Who Believed That His Reincarnation Had Granted Him A Japanese Sword And The Greatest Battle Sense, Only To Have The God Finally Inform Him "Huh, I Didn't Give You Any Combat Sense… That's Scary…" - Episode 43

My body wouldn’t move, as if heavy weights were tied to me. My breath was ragged, like I had just finished running a marathon, and I couldn’t get it under control. My body constantly sent out sharp, stabbing pain, as if a bundle of needles had been placed inside me.

I let Angélica escape—the one whose neck I should have cut. My body wouldn’t listen, and the thrill of battle that had been driving me faded, like water dousing a flame.

I had felt this too many times in my past life.

The gut-wrenching feeling of failure. My stomach twisted as if turning inside out, chills ran down my spine, and my vision flickered.

This was my fault.

I avoided thinking too deeply, told myself everything would be fine, and assumed that as long as I cut off my enemy’s head, everything would work out.

I had fought and killed many in this world, believing that as long as I won, I could handle anything. I never even considered the possibility of losing.

Utsuho was taken over.

The Great Witch Angélica was resurrected.

It happened because I was arrogant. Because I was intoxicated by my own strength.

I was used to killing, but I wasn’t used to the strategies of battle. I had failed to realize—victory isn’t just about cutting down the enemy in front of me. If I could stall them long enough for my allies to win, that was also a victory.

Angélica abandoned me here.

She prioritized killing the king and the goddess over dealing with me.

To her, I wasn’t even a real enemy.

A slightly larger-than-usual stone in her path—one she could move aside with her hand but chose to step around instead.

That’s what she thought of me.

I couldn’t move.

Angélica rode away on horseback, her back growing smaller in the distance.

And standing in my way—protecting her retreat—was a figure made of white flesh.

Myself.

The white flesh had even mimicked my sword, drawing it as it advanced toward me.

In an instant, it closed the distance with explosive speed, bringing its blade down in a powerful slash.

I instinctively blocked near the hilt, then pushed back, countering with a horizontal cut meant to take its head.

For a moment, I heard the sickening squelch of flesh being sliced—but then, just as quickly, its severed head reattached itself.

My body couldn’t keep up with the intensity of the fight.

Some of it was the burden Angélica had placed on me.

But more than that, I could feel my own hesitation—my regret over my failure—throwing me off balance.

Each time it closed in, I cut it down. Each time I moved in, I severed its limbs or head.

But the white flesh regenerated every time, like it was only natural.

An immortal soldier.

No matter how many times I cut, it meant nothing.

With each swing, my breath grew heavier, my lungs burning.

I tried to focus, remembering when I had seen through Angélica’s invisible attacks.

I strained my eyes, looking for the unseen.

But all I saw was a deep, endless blue, like the abyss of the ocean, overflowing from the creature’s body.

I had to move.

I had to get on a horse and chase after that woman.

Or maybe… I should finish this first and find Circe for help.

Either way, if I didn’t act fast, it would be too late.

My mind shifted.

I was no longer thinking about the battle in front of me, but about what came next.

At that moment—almost as if it had been waiting—my white-fleshed copy rushed forward, closing the gap in two, three steps.

Its blade flashed toward my side, aimed for my neck.

If I had been fully focused, I never would have let my guard down.

But I was weighed down by guilt, distracted by my own failures.

I had cut off its head multiple times and assumed it was weaker than me.

I had failed to realize that it wasn’t just mimicking my appearance—it was mimicking my strength.

Ah, so this is how a shaken heart can make me this weak.

Resignation, scorn, disappointment, anger, sorrow—

As I felt the cold steel touch the thin skin of my neck, I—

“Oi, you damn fool. What kind of pathetic sight is this?”

Before I knew it, I was standing in an office.

An office I had seen in a dream, back in my past life, when I first met Hashihime.

A young man I had never seen before stood in front of me, looking irritated.

Then— smack!

A loud, crisp slap echoed through the air.

Pain stung my cheek, snapping me back to awareness.

Huh? Why am I here…?

“Pathetic. Are you really my soul? I ought to beat some sense into you, brat! Get it together!”

The man in front of me shouted threats, then hit me with another series of slaps.

His words and actions completely contradicted each other.

But thanks to the pain, I calmed down and took a good look at him.

He was shorter than me—maybe 170 cm tall.

His body was lean but muscular, especially in his arms and legs.

He wore a short, layered kimono and straw sandals.

His face… looked rough.

Honestly, he looked like a gangster.

“You!” he yelled. “Sakurako forced my scattered soul together and dragged me here, and this is what I find? You, making a fool of yourself?”

At the mention of “Sakurako,” my body tensed.

I met the man’s eyes.

“…And who are you?” I asked.

“Who am I?” he scoffed. “I’m you. Two lives before you.”

Two lives ago…

That meant he was the “me” that Hashihime had known.

If it was him…

Then maybe he never would have made such reckless mistakes.

“You let power get to your head,” he said bluntly.

“Your body is strong, but your heart is weak. It’s completely unbalanced.”

“…I have no excuse,” I admitted.

“Don’t sulk, you fool!” he barked.

“Listen up! You haven’t lost yet.

Your head is still attached, and your limbs are still here!”

He grabbed my shoulders, bringing his face close.

His voice roared through me like thunder.

“Failure happens. You’ll miss your mark sometimes. I did too.

But don’t shrink away! Stand tall! If you fail, make up for it!”

His words pierced through the despair that had taken root in my heart.

“Your body won’t die that easily, thanks to Sakurako,” he continued.

“But the real battle is in your mind.

Never, ever let your guard down in front of your enemy.

Losing focus in a fight is the same as being dead.”

I had planted the seeds of my own downfall.

Angélica’s words had watered them.

But now—his words cut through them like a blade.

“Drop your arrogance here.

Drop your recklessness here.

A sword’s strength is meaningless without the right heart to wield it!”

He gazed at me with sharp, knowing eyes.

“The sword of our two lives…” he said.

“Was made to cut the very threads of fate.”

His words settled deep in my soul.

I would never let this happen again.

And I would put an end to what had already happened.

I cast aside my pride.

I emptied my mind.

When my vision returned—

The white blade was still at my neck.

But this time, I was ready.