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墨書 Inktalez
In a corner of the teahouse, Bing Lie sat almost hidden in the dim yellow light. His hands gently cradled a teacup, his gaze coldly fixed on the faint steam rising above the tea. The atmosphere in the teahouse was chaotic and noisy, with an old radio in the corner occasionally crackling with indistinct news reports, its words muddled and mixed with static, as if competing for attention in this clamor.
“Buzz—Wu Jing… seize… great victory…”
However, this voice was soon drowned out by the raucous laughter of a group of wandering samurai gathered around a table in the center of the teahouse. They boasted loudly, their conversation filled with braggadocio and exaggeration. The leader among them was a tall man with a curled mustache, holding a bowl of thick liquor, exuding an air of confidence as if all eyes should be on him.
“Listen up, I’m not bragging!” The samurai slammed his hand on the table, silencing the surrounding chatter. He looked around at the expressions of those nearby, then spoke in a low yet boastful tone, “I participated in the Guranda Battle! Those iron beasts, those deadly lights… hey, only those who have experienced it can truly understand how brutal that war was!”
At his words, all eyes turned toward him; some were filled with admiration while others clearly expressed skepticism and disdain. A young samurai couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “Guranda Battle? They say that place was completely vaporized after the Extermination Bomb fell. How could anyone survive?”
The tall samurai seemed to catch this remark; he frowned and turned to look at the young man with a sneer. “Ha, kid, what do you know? The power of the Extermination Bomb was indeed terrifying, but there are always oversights! I’m one of the survivors from the border; I watched those things turn an entire city into ruins!”
The Young Ronin remained unconvinced and retorted, “Impossible! Guranda was the first test site; no one survived that war! Even surface life was completely eradicated. You must have some limits to your boasting!”
Several others immediately joined in the debate; some supported the Young Ronin's skepticism while others firmly believed in the Tall Ronin's tale. The noise in the teahouse grew louder as tensions rose with their argument.
Bing Lie sat quietly in his corner, still sipping his tea. His ears caught snippets of their conversation, and his brow furrowed slightly. The name Guranda Battle was like a deep scar for everyone on this continent—an indelible mark. He knew this argument would lead nowhere, but he also understood that such trivial disputes never belonged to those who had truly walked through battlefields. Real survivors would never boast like this.
He set down his teacup and gazed silently out at the night beyond the window, seemingly indifferent to the commotion around him. Yet only he knew that deep within him, certain dormant memories were being quietly awakened by these discussions.
“Impossible! Absolutely impossible!” The Young Ronin passionately countered, his voice sharp and laced with contempt for the Tall Ronin's claims, filled with doubt about the truth of his story. “You say you participated in the Guranda Battle? That Extermination Bomb’s cleansing—don’t even mention humans; it stripped away three layers from the surface itself! How could you possibly survive?”
Surrounding patrons nodded in agreement, whispering among themselves as tension thickened in the air of the teahouse.
Listening to the discussions around him, Tall Ronin's brow furrowed tighter, and the smile on his face vanished without a trace. His gaze turned cold, and he slammed his hand on the table, causing the bowls and dishes to rattle.
"You say one more word, and I'll show you what real battlefield experience is!" he glared at Young Ronin, his voice low and powerful, carrying an undeniable authority.
Young Ronin's stubbornness flickered with a hint of hesitation, but he steeled himself and replied, "Where's your evidence? No matter how grand your words are, they're just fanciful tales!"
Tall Ronin fell silent, merely sneering before pulling a small metal plate from his waist. He slapped it onto the table with a loud bang, the sound of metal striking wood cutting through all surrounding chatter.
"What is this?" someone whispered as all eyes turned toward the metal plate.
It was an old, tarnished Military Registration Plate, its edges smoothed from wear. Some barely legible inscriptions were etched into its surface. Although the writing was nearly indecipherable, one could still faintly make out its emblem: the military insignia from thirty years ago during the Shogunate era.
"This... this can't be!" someone gasped, disbelief evident in their tone.
"It really is a Shogunate Military Registration Plate! And it's from the Golden Age..." another person murmured in awe and respect.
Young Ronin's previously disdainful expression froze in an instant. He stared at the Military Registration Plate on the table, his throat tightening as if he wanted to say something more but ultimately fell silent, embarrassment and regret etched on his face.
Tall Ronin observed the reactions of those around him, a smug smile returning to his lips. He lifted his head and scoffed, "This thing is not some random junk you can pick up anywhere. I don't need your trust; the truth is right here."
A hush fell over the crowd; no one dared to retort again. Even Young Ronin lowered his head, unable to meet Tall Ronin's challenging gaze.
In the crowd, someone reached out cautiously to pick up the Military Registration Plate from the table, as if handling a precious antique. They turned it over in their hands, frowning as they murmured softly, "Is this thing real? It does look like it has some age..."
Before he could fully comprehend the situation, an old man with a shock of white hair suddenly burst forth from the crowd, moving with surprising speed. He snatched the Military Registration Plate, his hands trembling slightly as he cradled it in his palms, his bloodshot eyes widening as he stared at the blurred inscription, as if the entire world had come to a standstill.
"This... this is real!" The old man's voice quivered, filled with astonishment and reverence. He lifted his gaze to the people around him, his face so animated that the wrinkles seemed to dance. "This is indeed a Military Registration Plate from the Shogunate era! Look at this emblem, and these signs of wear... it's unbelievable!"
Upon hearing this, the crowd erupted in hushed exclamations, and the teahouse became even more boisterous.
"Is it true? That someone could actually preserve this?"
"That's incredible! It's an artifact from the Golden Age!"
"No wonder he claimed to have participated in the Guranda Battle..."
Whispers of astonishment and admiration filled the air as everyone craned their necks to get a better look at the Military Registration Plate. That small metal plaque had seemingly become the focal point of the gathering, and its holder, the Tall Ronin, instantly became the center of attention.
Seeing this scene, the Tall Ronin's lips curled into a slight smirk, a proud smile gracing his face. He gently set down his wine bowl and leaned back in his chair, leisurely surveying the astonished faces around him.
"What do you think?" he drawled, a playful tone lacing his words. "I wasn't exaggerating, was I?"
His words sent ripples of excitement through the crowd; some nodded vigorously while others whispered animatedly to one another, their gazes filled with admiration for him. The Young Ronin, who had previously been so quick to argue against him, hung his head in embarrassment, his face flushed and unable to utter a word as he stood silently by, biting his lip.
At that moment, the Tall Ronin was undoubtedly the center of attention; all eyes in the teahouse were fixed on him. The atmosphere grew lively and raucous. Meanwhile, in a corner sat Bing Lie, quietly sipping tea with a complex expression in his eyes. He gazed at the Military Registration Plate, his brow furrowing slightly as if deep in thought or perhaps indifferent to this spectacle unfolding before him.
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