An old man sat atop a hill in a lonely stretch of forest, his long black hair—streaked with the faintest gray—rippling in the wind as he watched the river below. Sunlight scattered across the water, breaking into shifting shards of glow.

Behind him, a man carrying an axe approached with a limp. He hefted the weapon, drew a steadying breath, and sent it spinning downslope. The axe thudded into a tree trunk. Only then did he hobble forward and lower himself beside the man on the hill.

“Your aim’s only sharpened with age, Captain,” the long‑haired man said.

Karl’s mouth curved in a dry smile. “You know me. I don’t rust—I just reforge myself. And you? Still practicing, Agnar?”

“Not anymore. I let the katana go long ago. These days I live in peace with my wife. My son, Kouji, married a few years back—his wife is a shamisen performer, quite famous in the capital. He works with those who keep order there. I’m glad he never tried to follow in his father’s footsteps.”

Karl studied him with his lone eye. “Something changed in you that day… didn’t it?”

“We’d already died once before, but back then we fought to protect our people, to win wealth for our families. That battle was different. I wanted to fight for honor, to prove that with my skill I could guard those I loved. But all I saw was blood, death, and sorrow.

“I feared leaving my wife and son alone—feared ending like Hjørdis. That’s when I realized I already had what I’d been seeking: family, work, and peace. I’ve tried to cherish that for twenty‑five years now.”

“Then why come looking for me? What brought you out to this forest?”

“Years ago, I crossed blades with a man. I’d been troubled… weighed down. So I traveled alone. On the road, at a bridge, I met him. His appearance was a mess—clothes worse than what you’d find on a beggar—but he carried weapons: two wooden swords, gripped loosely in one hand.”

Karl frowned. “I’ve heard of someone like that… Didn’t he cross paths with that famed samurai about thirteen years back?”

“I’ve wondered if it was the same man,” Agnar went on. “In any case, I met him fourteen years ago. I ignored him at first and stepped onto the bridge, but as we passed each other… My hand moved on its own. I drew my katana. He slipped aside as if it were nothing and shifted into an offensive stance. He reminded me a bit of Sigurd—another dual‑blade fighter.”

“Why did you challenge him?”

“I don’t know. Even now I’m not sure. Maybe I was searching for an answer to a question I didn’t realize I’d asked.”

“And then?”

“We dueled. The hardest fight of my life. I held a katana; he wielded only wooden swords. But the gap between us… It was enormous. He moved as though he could see every strike before I made it, as though my emotions were ink on a page he could read immediately. In the end he stripped the katana from my hands and left me helpless on the ground. That’s when he asked, ‘Why do you fight?’”

Karl leaned in. “And what did you tell him?”

“I considered it for a moment. Then I said, ‘Honor, knowledge, and my family.’ He looked at me with something I can only describe as disappointment. He withdrew his sword, turned away, and the last thing he said was: ‘What a foolish order for things so obvious.’ I rose a few minutes later. I thought about retrieving my katana, but it felt meaningless. I just wanted to go home.”

“That’s a remarkable tale. You should publish it—plenty would want to read it.”

“I’ve already written it down in my memoirs. If I make it back alive, I plan to keep writing as long as these hands can hold a brush.”

“‘Make it back alive’? Are you ill or something?”

“No… though it seems you might be.” Agnar gave him a sidelong look. “You’ve been coughing all morning.”

“Something in my lungs makes me cough up blood,” Karl muttered, rubbing at his side. “Not important. What did you mean about returning alive?”

“I want us to part ways. I no longer wish to be reborn at your side.”

Karl watched Agnar, who returned his gaze with a grave seriousness. Then Agnar turned back to the river and said,

“I think I understand why, but could you explain it to me? I don’t want to misread your intentions.”

“I’m content with my life now,” Agnar replied. “I’ve honed my skill with the sword, served in something truly important for the people I love, faced formidable enemies, and—most of all—I have a family I adore. If I were to lose all of that again, I don’t know how I could pick up the pieces and go on as if nothing happened. I’m sorry, but I don’t wish to join you in exploring these lives.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I’ve long told them I’m a madman who wants to explore everything this world has to offer. Whether they choose to come with me is up to them… Besides, I know the feeling.” Karl’s voice softened, calm now. “I had a family too. I fought and died for them, but I want to know if, after all these years, they could live happily. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about it.”

“Even so, you still want to continue this journey with the others?”

“Of course. There’s nothing I can do about the past, but the future is full of possibilities.” Karl smiled. “We’ve done many good things and met and learned from countless fascinating people. Who knows what the future holds? I’m dying to see.”

“It’s good to know your spirit hasn’t rusted,” Agnar said, rising with some effort. “Come—I need your help.”

“To do what?”

“To die…” Agnar’s gaze was firm, unyielding.

After those words, the two of them headed to Karl’s cabin. Once inside, they lit the fire, and Agnar explained that during his travels he had encountered a foreign merchant who had given him a powder that, according to the merchant, could allow one to see the other side—the place between life and death.

If what he said was true, it was a powder made from a fungus that grew in a cave where no torch would ignite, no matter the oil or wood used. Even salmon swirled endlessly in the waters there until exhaustion claimed them. The place was rumored to be haunted, but in the soil, there were fungi which, when brewed into an infusion, could put someone into a state where they could see an infinite blackness and shadows of various colors. The one that stood out the most was white, according to the merchant himself, who had witnessed it firsthand.

“It’s just like what we see in the infinite darkness!” Karl exclaimed, eyes alight.

“Exactly. That’s why I’ve kept this powder for years.” Agnar showed him a small sealed jar containing the substance. “According to the old man, I only have to drink an infusion made with this powder, and if my will is strong enough, I can return to this world.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Do what you did the first time. Sing the song again—but this time, instead of just bringing me back when we reach the other side, try to break the bond we share. You know, that line with the same color as the glow we see when floating in the dark, the one that connects me to your body. I think it’s why we reincarnate together.”

“I don’t know if I can… I don’t even fully understand how this ability works.”

“Just try,” Agnar said, lowering his head. “I’ve sought you out for this. If I die, I’ll follow you into the next life, but I couldn’t do it without trying first.”

Agnar’s words and determination caught Karl off guard. After a moment of thought and with some hesitation, he agreed to help. Agnar could only thank him from the depths of his heart.

That night, they ate some of the fish Karl had caught in the morning and shared a glass of fine liquor that Agnar had brought from the capital. Then they prepared the infusion. The yellowish-gray powder mixed with boiling water in the teapot, turning a dark brown with a surface that shimmered like oil on water, a liquid rainbow.

“Ready?” Karl asked, holding the cup.

Agnar took it and said he had been ready for a long time. He drank the liquid and lay back.

Karl watched as his companion writhed in pain, a liquid of the same color as the tea spilling from his mouth. Seconds later, his body relaxed, and his breathing stopped.

The captain stepped closer to his companion and pressed his ear against his chest. His heart had stopped. It was in that moment that he closed his eyes and began to hum the song.

Moments passed as the melody echoed through the cabin. Gradually, Karl could make out his companion’s form, faint and ghostly. It was the same as when they died and drifted into the infinite void—a spectral copy of their living self, with a glow flickering in their chest.

Karl tried to reach out, lowering his gaze to the faint teal thread connecting Agnar’s figure to his own. He grasped it firmly, attempting to break it, but it held fast.

After several attempts, Karl felt his vision blur more and more—until he noticed a pale figure floating beside them. A woman with black hair, her eye sockets radiating the same color as the thread he held.

She lowered her gaze and rasped,

"Do you want me to sever his bond?"

The two of them stared at each other, and after a few seconds, both nodded. The captain gave his affirmation to the entity, who, using a staff of dry branches, stretched the thread until it snapped. Karl released it and stopped singing, opening his eyes.

He watched Agnar slowly regain the color in his body, breathing once more.

"Agnar?" Karl asked, observing his companion push himself upright and blink open his eyes.

"I think… it worked," Agnar said with effort.

"The glow… I can’t see it anymore!" Karl exclaimed.

"You don’t see it? You mean… I don’t look like the others anymore?"

"No. You’re like anyone else now. I noticed the glow when you visited me, but not anymore."

Agnar smiled with relief and wrapped his arms around his captain, who returned the embrace, tears slipping down his cheeks.

The next morning, Agnar suggested Karl return with him to the capital to spend the little time he had left. Karl refused, saying he didn’t want to burden his family and that he had grown too accustomed to life in the forest.

They shook hands firmly, and there, the men said their final goodbye.

Karl spent his last days fishing, hunting, and helping travelers lost in the mountains. To one couple, he bequeathed the cabin shortly before his death, for they had cared for him in his final moments.

As for Agnar, he dedicated himself to writing his memoirs and sipping tea in the garden with his wife until a decade later he died surrounded by his loved ones and his fellow Tokugawa clan members. His writings were published, though with little success. Even so, they were treasured by the descendants of those who had served the clan—Hajime himself and his son Kintaro kept a copy to remember the friend of the woman who had brought them so much happiness many years before.

Thus, this chapter of the country’s history forgot these warriors who had fought in its ranks, though the marks they left on the story would be traced far later, helping others to understand the true nature of its protagonists.