Proud of himself, yet far from finished with his trials, for the woman clad in brown seemed to take pleasure in unraveling new riddles before him. A man of little patience, he nonetheless had no choice but to try and play along. Gestures, signs—an entire silent conversation that Shinjou struggled to interpret—only to eventually understand: she could not speak. It wasn’t merely a language barrier; it was a veritable wall of communication.

いったい俺が何をしたっていうんだ、こんなことになって… he muttered, still disillusioned, head bowed. His gaze happened to meet that of the strange woman.

I am going to cross. I can fight. If it’s a trap, I kill! he declared, striving to sound more formidable than he truly was. 向こうの連中がちゃんと喋れればいいけどな The samurai stepped closer to the water, eyes locked on the horizon—on the island. He knew the sea, its fickle moods; he knew it to be treacherous, even deadly.

Where can I swim? Where the water is kind? You help me cross. he said her.