The book in his hands had a once red cover, now faded and discoloured. The title was handwritten, in block letters with black ink, also faded.

Before beginning to read it, Yoichi rested it on his lap and quickly flipped through it to see if it was written in an understandable language or some weird ancient alphabet.

​​

That seemingly insignificant gesture unlocked another memory in the young Nightblades warrior's mind. The sound of the pages of that book resounded within the walls of his head and the dust he breathed brought his mind back to a moment in the distant past.

The bottle of whiskey that read his name was still on the table in front of him. The room around it was a blur, and the colors of the objects and pieces of furniture contrasted so sharply that they were indistinguishable.

However, even though that seemed like a memory he had already experienced, a new element was added to the scene: having just sipped yet another glass of liquor, in his hands his former ego was holding a book.

The words were as faded as the background, and the letters were so unclear that they blended into each other, forming a cluster of meaningless black dots. Judging by the division into paragraphs, the weight of the book itself, and the text that didn't occupy the pages up to the edges, it looked like a novel.

As soon as his gaze turned away from the pages, the confusion started to give him a severe headache, the vision ended, and his mind was teleported back to his present body, kneeling on the straw mat in Ryutaro's room.

"Phew..." he huffed, "When is this going to end? I can't take it anymore," he thought aloud, rubbing his eyes.

"Before I woke up here, who knows where and when I loved to read. So what? What the hell does this all mean? Why do I keep seeing images from my past? They do me no good!"

Grinning and speaking in the direction of the ceiling, Yoichi vented to himself. The visions clouded his tired mind even more, making his body further irritable.

He stood up from the mat and brought the book 'Foundations of Demon Taming' with him. As he began flipping through it for the second time, his thoughts became distracted again, forcing him to look away from the words written on the paper.

This time, his imagination navigated not in the past but in the present. What was Ryutaro doing? He was comfortably lying on a bed while the gatekeeper was dealing with the Emperor's guards. Had he already been imprisoned? Had he been given food and drink?

These questions plagued his thoughts, bringing him back into a state of restlessness and discomfort, even though his body was finally resting.

"I hope you are well, Ryutaro-Sensei. I will endeavor to do what you have told me and when I am ready, I will find a way to get you out of there," he stated, speaking those words aloud, hoping that his master might hear him using some magic, remote spell.

...

While time passed quickly for young Yoichi, who was reading a book to get some sleep, that night seemed never to end for the old Ryutaro.

After walking down part of the Royal Road escorted by the Emperor's men, the gatekeeper got closer and closer to the Palace district that housed the Imperial Family.

Flowering plants and bushes trimmed down to the smallest detail adorned the edges and corners of the streets, making them even more pleasant than the ordinary streets of Goldhaven.

About every five meters, long red and white drapes hung from golden poles, bearing the face and gaping jaws of the white tiger, the imperial symbol.

Without uttering a word, his face still hidden under his black veil, Ryutaro continued walking, facing his destiny as a man of honor head-on.

In the middle of a long, tree-lined and flowering avenue, adorned with more drapes and many objects that reminded of the Nishiyamas, ran a long red carpet, which covered the entire street.

Following that carpet, it was possible to see the imposing Imperial Palace, the sacred place that, from generation to generation, had housed all the descendants of the wealthiest and most powerful family in Tentochu.

Looking around and admiring after so long the gilded edges of nearby buildings, fountains and other glittering decorative elements, Ryutaro felt a strong sense of despondency.

He, who had not always been a simple gatekeeper, once walked that road by the side of Emperor Tatsui, a loyal and just man and his great friend. Until Tatsui's last breath, the Imperial Street leading to the Palace was incredibly similar to all other streets in the capital.

Indeed, the former Emperor had no desire to show off his riches to his people: according to him, the best and most worthy of being adorned streets should be those traveled daily by tamers and workers of all kinds since they were the true soul of Goldhaven.

Tatsui claimed that the final stretch of the Royal Road was a simple fork in the road leading to the Palace, the physical place where anyone could express opinions and make demands in special public hearings.

All those glitzy and useless trinkets had totally obliterated Tatsui Nishiyama's memory, and a warrior of Ryutaro's experience could be nothing but displeased.

At the end of the road, a little less than a couple of miles long, an enormous staircase was flanked by two gigantic white columns. The upper capitals of those engineering masterpieces supported the front of the Palace's majestic pitched roof.

The corners of the roof were curved upward, as if to skim the sky. Above the lowest layer of the white-tiled roof, two other similar but smaller roofs formed a tower-like structure, giving the building a decidedly disproportionate height compared to common houses and shop buildings.

The Imperial Palace was the nation's most significant symbol of power, and travelers from all over the world came to Goldhaven to see it with their own eyes, realizing how close it was to the legendary tales.

Putting strength into his tired joints, Ryutaro followed the Imperial guards up the steps. The clanking of the metal plates of their armor broke the silence of the night. The helmetless man led the group, heading toward the entrance with the same trepidation as one ascending to heaven on earth.