What Does a Super Weak Minor Lord in the Sengoku Era Aim For? - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: When I Woke Up, It Was a Strange World

January 29th, 2021

A strange, indescribable sound swirls around me. It was the sound of my car spinning and violently colliding with something. 

As it is still dark in the early hours of the morning, I can’t really recognize anything as the surroundings rush past at an unbelievable speed.

It was black ice.

On a straight road in a highland area, I suddenly lost control of my car. Despite other cars running ahead and behind me, my car alone skidded and veered into the oncoming lane.

Neither the steering wheel nor the brakes worked, and there was nothing I could do.

‘So this is how death comes…’ I thought as I spun around.

And then, I lost consciousness.

——————————————

Where am I… last I remember, the car I was driving on that frozen highland road lost control.

It all happened in an instant.

The car was tossed around helplessly, crashing into mountains and hard objects, making a terrible noise as it spun.
My vision blurred, and I felt like I was going to die.

I still remembered that clearly.

But this is not inside the car. The surroundings are filled with quiet, dark darkness.

‘Where is this…?’

Gradually, my eyes adjusted to the dark. The scene I saw was unfamiliar.
In the deep blackness, I saw what looked like wooden planks, and I appeared to be inside a building.

I looked up.
The ceiling had something like poles arranged on it.
It’s Bamboo, I think…

I slowly turned my body around.
Near the center of the ceiling, just above where I was lying, the area was blackened, as if scorched. A black object hung down from there, lowering close to me.
It’s a hook…

In the corner of my vision, I saw a flickering light.
There was a hearth with a fire. Small flames were flickering in it.

I stared at the flames. There was no pain in my body. But it was a bit cold. The clothes I wore were unfamiliar.

…A kimono.
An old, worn kimono with a fur-sleeved vest and hakama pants. I was wearing foot coverings. It was an ancient style… A samurai’s clothing, from a long time ago…

…And there is a sword.
There was a sword next to me. It was a short wakizashi, placed as if I had set it down before going to sleep.

When I picked it up, it felt natural in my hand. It was my sword.

One of my hobbies is practicing ancient martial arts and making weapons.
I practiced Iaido, spear, archery, shuriken, and staff techniques, and I made weapons and ninja tools for myself.
I even took orders and sold some. 

I was like a small weapons shop.

I was used to having weapons around me. So I wasn’t surprised to see a sword by my side.

I stood up and walked toward the hearth. There were some logs nearby, so I added a few to the fire.

Is it still night? I couldn’t hear any sounds. I rested my chin on my arm and stared at the fire.

That accident was just before dawn. It felt like it had just happened.
It was unfortunate that I had reached a dangerous place just when the temperature was at its lowest.

It was a straight road with a good view ahead, a place where speed can increase the most. That’s where I suddenly lost control.

Just what happened to my car…?
The car behind me barely avoided me, so it was a single-vehicle accident.
I heard the violent sound of impact, which was inevitable; with that speed, the car would continue to crash into something until it stopped.

But where am I now? When I regained consciousness, I was lying by the hearth. Of course, I had no memory of sleeping here. My consciousness must have faded during the accident.

I stood up and walked to the sliding door, removed the bar, and opened it.

Outside was a pale white landscape, with snow piled up under the dim twilight. The sky was a brownish color, signaling that morning was near.

Yet, it was still an unfamiliar scene.

It was cold, so I closed the door.
When I returned to the hearth, the fire seemed to have grown a bit.
It was warm… The warmth of the flames made me feel drowsy.

Maybe I’ll sleep a little more… This place felt like one where I could sleep forever if I wanted. Like I could sleep whenever I felt tired.

The cheerful chirping of little birds woke me up.

Sparrows… sparrows tend to flock together and get noisy in the cold, don’t they?
A single ray of light shone into the dark room, entering through the smoke vent in the roof.

Morning had come… In the morning light, I could see there was a window on the back wall. It was a sliding type with a lattice design that could be opened horizontally.

I slid the window open, and with the chill came the dazzling light of morning.
The view outside was pure white—a snowy landscape stretching as far as the eye could see. Snow-covered trees and rolling mountains continued endlessly.

There were no houses, fields, utility poles, or guardrails—no signs of human-made objects. The scenery was entirely unfamiliar to me.

The morning light illuminated the room, revealing its details.
It was a small square room, about two tatami mats in size, with a hearth in the center.

To the right was a wooden sliding door, and in front and to the left were paper sliding doors. Next to the window was a small alcove-like space, where a hanging scroll was displayed, and on a sword rack rested a katana.

I recognized the sword’s fittings. Even holding it in my hand felt familiar.

It was also my sword.
No doubt about it—it was my favorite sword.

The cord tied to the scabbard was one I had replaced with something to my liking, making it instantly recognizable as mine.

I went and drew the blade.
…Yes, the blade was well-maintained and polished. It wasn’t a masterpiece, but it felt sturdy and reliable.

I returned the sword to its scabbard and picked up the short wakizashi by the hearth again.

This, too, was undoubtedly my wakizashi, measuring one shaku and five sun (about 45 cm). Most importantly, the tsuba (handguard) was one I had crafted myself.
I had painstakingly cut and shaped an iron plate into a four-leaf clover design, rounded the corners to prevent it from rolling, and finished it with a blackened surface.
There was no mistaking it—it was mine.

I slowly drew the blade.

As expected… The blade was real.
That was the only difference.

What could this mean?
Where am I? What era is this…?

I took the wakizashi in hand and opened the sliding door in front of me.

Beyond it was an earthen floor.
There was a door further ahead. To the right was another door that looked like an entrance, and to the left was a partition separating the earthen floor from a raised platform.

Light streamed in from an upper window, so it wasn’t too dark here.

I stepped onto the platform and approached the partition on the left. It was a kitchen area with a stove and a water jar. The wall was lined with storage cabinets, and to the left, there was a sliding door leading to another room.

I returned to the earthen floor, put on wooden clogs, and opened the front door to step outside.
To the right of the wall was a stack of firewood, and beyond that, a well.
To the left was a bathhouse, and in front of its furnace was a latrine.
Beyond the well was a large storage shed.

I opened the shed, and inside were weapons like bows and spears arranged neatly.

‘As I thought, this must be the era of the samurai…’

This place seemed to be the armory of a samurai residence. There were various other items as well.

I walked through the passage between the latrine and the armory, opening a door at the end to find a large space with a high ceiling.
On the walls hung wooden practice swords and spears, among other training tools.

It was a dojo.

In one corner of the spacious room, there was a pile of lumber, with some partially cut wood. It seemed to function as a dojo and a workshop or warehouse.

That was all there was to the building. There was no one else here. It appeared I was alone.

Was this my house…? Judging by the circumstances, that seemed likely.

I returned to the earthen floor and stepped outside.

The snowy landscape stretched endlessly. The snow had stopped.

The first thing that caught my eye was the grand gate near the entrance.
It was a newly built, wide gate about two ken (3.6 meters) in width, with a smaller side gate next to it.

The property was about 1,000 tsubo (approximately 3,300 square meters), surrounded on three sides by sturdy wooden fences. The fourth side faced a mountain, with a steep cliff carved into the slope, resembling a wall.
The fence was reinforced with support posts and had narrow slits for defense. Both the gate and the slits gave it the appearance of a fortress.

I found what looked like a wooden snow shovel nearby and pushed it toward the gate.
The snow was about 30 cm deep. Using the shovel, I cleared a path to the gate, working up a sweat in the process.

By the time I reached the gate, I had carved out a rectangular path in the snow.

I opened the side gate and found a gently sloping road that curved to the right shortly after. Beyond that, the land dipped lower, offering a clear view.

There were no footprints on the road. Since the snow had fallen, no one had come or gone.

‘I’m starving…’
I returned to the building and rummaged through the kitchen.

At the very bottom of the pantry, there were several jars lined up. Two jars of pickles, one of miso, and… the last one—sake!

“Yes!” 

I couldn’t help but do a fist pump.

I pulled out one of the trays from the upper shelf, and inside were a bowl, a rice bowl, chopsticks, a plate, and a teacup.
I poured some sake into the teacup and took a sip.

It was a rich, full-bodied doburoku (unrefined sake).

Delicious.

There was rice too. Not just a little—there was a huge amount. Way more than I expected. With this much, I wouldn’t have to worry about starving anytime soon.

I washed some rice in a small pot and set it on the hearth. From the pickle jar, I took out some, sliced it roughly, and put it on a plate. I scooped a spoonful of miso into a bowl and filled a sake bottle with sake.

On a whim, I opened a small window and used the light to look at my reflection in the water jar.

‘…It’s me!’

The face looking back was my own. My hair was tied up at the top of my head, like Miyamoto Musashi from manga, and I had grown a bit of a scruffy beard. But it was unmistakably my face.

I felt relieved.

To be honest, I was worried—what if it wasn’t my face? I’ve grown attached to the face I’ve lived with for so many years.

I returned to the hearth. I cooked the rice over a low flame while slowly sipping the sake.

There were no lights, no electrical outlets, or anything with the familiar scent of modern civilization here.

It seemed this was Japan during the Sengoku period or the early Edo period.

And most likely, this building belonged to me.

I didn’t have any clear memories, but I felt like I’d seen this place in a dream before. This was the world of memories from a dream.

In other words, this must be a parallel world.

That accident must have been the trigger for me to end up here. What happened to the “me” in that other world? And where did the “me” who was here go?

I had no idea. There was no way I could know.

There was no point in thinking about it since it was unknowable.

Here, I had a building to live in and enough food to survive for a while. For this time period, where starvation was the norm, I was incredibly fortunate.

But…

What would I do when the food ran out? Did I have any money? Even if I did, where could I go to buy more food?

How far was it to the nearest human settlement? And most importantly, I didn’t even know who I was.

Sure, I was me, but I didn’t know this era’s name for me, my background, family, acquaintances, or even my occupation.

Oh, the rice is ready. First, I need to eat. After I finish eating, I’ll check the inner room. There might be some written documents there.

And money. I’ll need money to survive.

Considering how this house is stocked with weapons and food, there’s probably some money stored here too.

If there isn’t… Well, I’ll figure it out later.

The rice wasn’t pure white like modern polished rice. It must’ve been milled differently, but maybe that meant it was more nutritious.

Come to think of it, just being able to eat rice in this era is a luxury.

Even farmers who grow rice only get to keep 40% at best—or even as little as 30% in worse cases—since most of it is taken as tax.

On top of that, they’d be forced to do labor for wars or road construction without much reason. Corrupt officials and bandits roamed the land.

And if you were unlucky, you could be killed at any moment. Justice didn’t mean much in this era.