The road was quieter than Ren expected.
He had imagined that leaving the village would immediately make the world feel larger.
Instead, for the first few hours, it simply made his feet hurt.
Ren adjusted the bundle on his back and continued walking, his shoulders shifting slightly as he tried to find a more comfortable balance.
The road stretched between fields and patches of woodland, following the shape of the land rather than any sensible direction.
It was wide enough for two people to walk side by side in most places, though recent rain had turned parts of it into mud.
He stepped around a puddle.
Then another.
Then gave up and walked through the third.
“Wonderful.”
His sandals were already dirty.
Ren looked back over his shoulder.
The village had disappeared behind the trees.
He could no longer see the old man’s shop.
For several moments, he simply stood there, his expression quiet and unreadable.
He had done it.
He had actually left.
Ten months ago, he had awakened in a world that should not have existed.
Now he was walking alone through Sengoku-era Japan with forty-seven mon, a knife, some dried food, a few pieces of clothing, and a collection of divination tools.
It was not exactly the grand adventure he would have imagined before transmigrating.
But at least it was his choice.
Ren turned back toward the road, exhaling softly.
“Keep moving.”
He did.
*****
The first village he reached was small.
Smaller than the one he had left.
There were perhaps twenty houses scattered around a narrow road, with fields surrounding them on three sides.
Ren stopped near the entrance, his eyes slowly scanning the settlement.
He had learned one important thing during his time in the previous village.
A traveler needed to know where he was sleeping before sunset.
Ideally.
So he found the largest house and asked whether there was somewhere he could stay.
The answer was no.
Not because the people were unfriendly.
They simply didn’t have room.
Ren wasn’t surprised.
He thanked them and continued.
A little farther down the road, he found a woman selling rice cakes.
She looked at him suspiciously.
“You’re not from here.”
“No.”
“Where are you going?”
“West.”
“Why?”
Ren sighed.
“Everyone asks that.”
The woman let out a short laugh, her shoulders shaking slightly.
“Then you must be doing something strange.”
“Apparently.”
She pointed toward a small building near the edge of the village.
“There’s a shrine there.
The priest sometimes lets travelers sleep in the outer room.”
Ren followed her gesture, then nodded.
“Thank you.”
He bought one rice cake.
Then another.
Then stared at his remaining money for a moment longer than necessary.
He bought a third.
“Bad decision.”
The woman laughed again, this time openly.
“You look hungry.”
“I am.”
“Then it wasn’t.”
Ren couldn’t argue with that.
*****
The shrine priest did indeed allow him to stay.
In exchange, Ren helped carry water and clean the small shrine.
It was simple.
Almost painfully so.
There was a weathered wooden structure, a few stone markers, and a rope hanging in front of the main building.
Ren knew very little about the local religious practices.
He had spent enough time in Japan to understand the broad outlines, but Sengoku-era religious life was more complicated than anything he remembered from history books.
Shrines.
Temples.
Monks.
Priests.
Local spirits.
Household traditions.
Old superstitions.
Everything blended together.
And Ren had learned not to assume that superstition meant something was false.
Not anymore.
That night, the priest asked him what he did.
Ren hesitated for a moment, his fingers lightly tapping his knee.
“I’m a diviner.”
The priest looked at him, his expression calm but attentive.
“A fortune teller?”
“Something like that.”
“Can you see the future?”
Ren almost answered automatically, but stopped himself.
His eyes flickered slightly as he considered the question more carefully.
“I can perform divination.”
The priest smiled faintly.
“That wasn’t my question.”
Ren stared at him for a moment, then let out a short laugh, shaking his head.
“Fair enough.”
The priest did not ask again.
*****
The next morning, he left.
He had intended to stay two days.
He stayed one.
There wasn’t much reason to remain, and that became the pattern.
A village.
A night.
Sometimes two.
Then the road again.
Ren quickly discovered that travelling was different from living somewhere.
In the village, he had known where food came from.
He knew where to sleep.
He knew who could be trusted.
He knew which paths were safe.
On the road, everything had to be considered.
How much food did he have?
How far was the next settlement?
Would it rain?
Was the road safe?
Could he afford to pay for lodging?
Were there bandits?
Was the stranger walking toward him dangerous?
Ren found himself becoming more cautious.
He disliked that feeling, his brows tightening slightly whenever he noticed it.
But caution kept people alive.
He had learned that before.
*****
A week into the journey, Ren took out his old cards.
They were still folded inside a piece of cloth at the bottom of his bundle.
He had made them months ago, back when he was first experimenting with divination.
Twelve cards.
Crude.
Uneven.
Some were little more than pieces of paper with a word written across them.
Loss.
Gain.
Danger.
Person.
Place.
Journey.
They had been useful for a time.
Then he had abandoned them.
The cards had been too simple.
It was too vague and too dependent on his own imagination.
But now that he was travelling, Ren found himself thinking about them again.
The pendulum was excellent for simple questions.
Yes or no.
The sticks were useful for direction.
Dreams remained frustratingly vague.
And finding a proper mirror or crystal while travelling was almost impossible.
Cards, however, required nothing more than paper.
Ren could carry them.
He could make more.
He could change them.
That last part interested him.
So he began again.
Not from scratch.
He kept the original cards that still seemed useful.
But he made new ones.
Change.
Delay.
Conflict.
Opportunity.
Hidden.
He stared at the new cards for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought.
They were still crude.
But perhaps that was enough.
He shuffled them.
Drew three.
Journey.
Delay.
Unknown.
Ren stared at them, then exhaled through his nose.
“Very helpful.”
He put them away, but he didn’t throw them out.
*****
His reputation, meanwhile, began following him.
At first, Ren didn’t notice.
It started with small things.
A farmer asked whether he could predict rain.
Ren had to explain that he wasn’t an astrologer.
The farmer asked anyway, leaning forward slightly as if expecting a secret, so Ren performed a simple divination.
The result suggested rain.
It did indeed rain the following evening.
The farmer was delighted, his face lighting up.
The next village, a woman asked him whether her husband would return from a neighboring settlement.
Ren performed a reading.
The result was unclear.
He told her so.
She was disappointed, her shoulders slumping.
Three days later, the husband returned.
The woman told everyone that Ren had predicted it.
Ren had not.
He had simply said: “He’s probably coming back.”
Apparently, that counted.
By the fourth village, someone called him a gifted seer.
Ren nearly choked on his rice.
“I said he was probably coming back.”
“You knew.”
“I guessed.”
“You knew.”
“No.”
The man smiled knowingly, as if Ren was simply being modest.
“Of course.”
Ren gave up arguing after that, his expression going flat.
*****
He began keeping track.
Not deliberately at first.
It was simply useful.
Village one.
One successful divination.
Village two.
Two.
Village three.
One.
Village four.
Three.
Then he stopped counting.
The problem was that people remembered successes.
They forgot failures.
Ren had performed a reading for a farmer who wanted to know whether his field would produce a good harvest.
Ren’s divination suggested favorable conditions.
The crop failed.
Nobody mentioned it again.
Another man had asked whether his son would return from military service.
Ren had received an unclear answer.
The son returned.
That story spread.
People liked certainty.
They liked stories where a mysterious man knew something nobody else could.
Ren was beginning to understand why fortune tellers could become respected.
It had less to do with actually knowing the future than he had expected.
People simply wanted someone who could make uncertainty feel manageable.
That realization bothered him, his expression tightening slightly as he walked.
He didn’t want to lie, but he also couldn’t deny that some of his readings were genuinely useful.
His intuition had become sharper.
His Spirit Vision had become easier to control.
His divination was improving.
At least, he thought it was.
But the road kept giving him reasons to question that assumption.
*****
One evening, Ren arrived at a village just before sunset.
He found an abandoned shed near the edge of the settlement.
It wasn’t comfortable, but it had a roof and that was enough.
He had barely set down his belongings when someone knocked on the door.
Ren looked up.
An elderly farmer stood outside.
“My daughter wants to see you.”
Ren frowned.
“She heard you’re a diviner.”
“That’s not necessarily a reason to see me.”
The old man stared at him for a moment, unblinking.
Ren sighed rubbing his temple.
“Fine.”
The farmer led him to a house.
A young woman was sitting inside.
She looked worried, her hands tightly clasped in her lap..
“My husband is away.”
Ren sat across from her, his posture straight but relaxed.
“How long?”
“Two months.”
“Where?”
“Working in another village.”
“Then why are you worried?”
She hesitated, her eyes lowering.
“He should have returned.”
Ren understood immediately.
He performed a reading.
The answer was unclear.
Again.
He hated unclear readings.
Not because they were useless.
Because people hated them.
“What does it say?” the woman asked, leaning forward slightly.
Ren looked at the sticks.
“It suggests uncertainty.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Her expression fell, disappointment clear on her face.
Ren continued anyway, his tone steady.
“It doesn’t show me that he’s dead.”
She looked up quickly.
“You’re certain?”
“No.”
The woman’s face tightened again.
“I said I’m not certain.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Ren carefully chose his words, his gaze steady.
“That I don’t have enough information.”
The woman stared at him.
That wasn’t the answer she wanted.
Ren could tell.
But he had learned something during his last few months in the village.
A false answer was worse than an unsatisfying one.
He packed the sticks away.
“You should ask someone who knows his route.”
The woman blinked.
“Why?”
“Because divination isn’t the only way to find something.”
Ren stood.
“Sometimes the fastest way to answer a question is to ask someone who already knows.”
The woman looked disappointed, but she nodded slowly.
Ren left.
Outside, the elderly farmer looked at him.
“You couldn’t tell her?”
“No.”
“Then you’re not much of a fortune teller.”
Ren smiled faintly.
“Probably not.”
The farmer laughed, shaking his head.
For some reason, that made Ren feel better.
*****
The cards came out again several days later.
Ren had added three more.
Reunion.
Separation.
Choice.
He had been thinking about whether these were actually different from Journey and Change.
After several readings, he decided they were.
At least, sometimes.
That was the problem.
The meanings weren’t fixed enough.
Ren could assign a definition to a card, but the moment he put three or four together, their relationship changed.
Journey — Conflict — Opportunity.
Was the journey going to lead to conflict?
Would conflict create an opportunity?
Was the opportunity itself dangerous?
He had no idea.
He wrote notes anyway.
He had recently added a notebook to his belongings.
Nothing like the clean sheet back in modern times, but simply separate pieces of paper he bundled up with string.
The notebook was becoming increasingly full.
Question.
Cards drawn.
Interpretation.
What actually happened.
He wanted data, hoping if he could find enough examples, perhaps a pattern would emerge.
That was how he approached most problems.
Observe.
Record.
Compare.
Refine.
It had worked in his previous life, so there was no reason it shouldn’t work here.
Hopefully.
*****
The next few weeks passed in much the same way.
Ren travelled.
He stopped in villages.
He worked when he could.
He performed divinations when people asked.
Sometimes he was paid.
Sometimes he wasn’t.
Sometimes people gave him food instead.
He became better at reading people.
That part was undeniable.
He could recognize when someone was nervous.
He could tell when someone was hiding something.
He could distinguish fear from guilt more easily than before.
He had learned how people spoke when they wanted reassurance.
He had learned how they spoke when they wanted permission.
He had learned how they spoke when they already knew the answer but wanted someone else to say it.
And yet his divination remained strange.
Sometimes it was astonishingly accurate.
Sometimes it was vague.
Sometimes it appeared useless.
And sometimes it gave him an answer that only made sense afterward.
Ren disliked the last category most.
It felt like cheating.
If the answer only made sense after the event occurred, how was he supposed to use it?
He began experimenting.
He asked more precise questions.
He separated assumptions from facts.
He wrote down his questions before performing divination.
He recorded the answers.
Then he checked what actually happened.
The results were inconsistent.
Better than before.
But still inconsistent.
Ren wasn’t discouraged.
Not yet.
Instead, he became more determined.
He believed there was a pattern.
He simply hadn’t found it.
*****
His cards changed with him.
By the end of the first month, there were twenty cards.
Some original ones remained.
Others had been rewritten.
One card originally labeled Danger had been divided into two.
Conflict.
Threat.
Ren had realized they weren’t the same.
A conflict could be harmless.
A threat could exist without an actual conflict.
Another card had been discarded entirely.
Luck.
He couldn’t decide what it meant.
It was too convenient.
Whenever something good happened, he could interpret it as luck.
Whenever something bad happened, he could interpret the absence of the card as meaning that luck had not favored him.
That wasn’t divination.
That was hindsight.
So he threw the card away.
He kept Unknown, however.
That card became increasingly useful.
It didn’t tell him anything.
But sometimes that was precisely the answer.
Ren found that strangely reassuring.
At least Unknown admitted ignorance.
*****
A month passed.
Ren noticed because winter was approaching.
The air had become colder.
The mornings were darker.
The roads were harder.
He had travelled through enough villages that some people had begun recognizing him.
That was when the first truly strange rumor reached him.
A merchant was sharing a meal with him at an inn.
“You wouldn’t happen to be the fortune teller from the east, would you?”
Ren looked up slowly.
“Which one?”
“The one who predicted the rice merchant’s missing wagon.”
“I didn’t predict it.”
“You told him to search the southern road.”
“Because his servant said they had travelled south.”
The merchant waved his hand dismissively.
“Same thing.”
“No.”
The merchant laughed, clearly unconvinced.
“You’re humble.”
“I’m accurate.”
The merchant studied him for a moment.
“Your name?”
“Ren.”
“I’ve heard of you.”
Ren stopped eating.
“Where?”
“Two villages east.”
Ren stared at him.
“Two?”
“Perhaps three.”
Ren frowned, his expression tightening.
The merchant continued eating as if this was normal conversation.
“People talk.”
Ren leaned back slightly.
That was unexpected.
He had assumed his reputation stayed within each village.
Apparently it didn’t.
Ren suddenly felt uncomfortable.
A reputation was useful.
It was also dangerous.
If people believed he could predict things he couldn’t, eventually someone would expect something impossible.
He looked down at his food.
Perhaps he should start correcting people more aggressively.
Then he remembered how often people ignored corrections.
That was going to be difficult.
*****
By the second month, Ren’s card deck had reached twenty-six cards.
He had started keeping them in a small wooden case he purchased from a village craftsman.
It was much sturdier than the cloth wrapping he had originally used.
The cards themselves were still crude.
But Ren had become more deliberate about them.
Each had a symbol as well as a word.
A road for Journey.
A broken line for Separation.
Two crossing lines for Conflict.
A closed circle for Hidden.
An open circle for Opportunity.
A figure for Person.
A branching path for Choice.
He found that the symbols helped him interpret combinations.
Sometimes.
He still couldn’t explain why.
He also noticed something peculiar.
The cards seemed better at describing situations than answering direct questions.
If he asked:
“Will I find work in the next village?”
The cards might give him:
Person — Opportunity — Delay.
That wasn’t a yes or no, but it gave him something to think about.
Perhaps someone would offer him work.
Perhaps the work would be delayed.
Perhaps he would meet someone who knew where work could be found.
Ren didn’t know, and he began to appreciate that uncertainty.
Not because he liked it.
Because he was slowly becoming accustomed to it.
*****
His reputation became more obvious the following week.
Ren arrived at a small settlement.
Before he even reached the center, a boy ran toward him.
“Are you Ren?”
Ren stopped, looking down at him.
“Yes.”
The boy grinned.
“My mother says you’re good.”
Ren sighed softly.
“Your mother hasn’t met me.”
“How?”
“My uncle told her.”
“Who is your uncle?”
“I don’t know.”
Ren stared at him.
The boy ran away immediately after, as if that answered everything.
Ren stood there, exhaling slowly.
“Wonderful.”
A few minutes later, an older woman approached.
She bowed.
“Please.”
Ren looked around.
“Please what?”
“Come inside.”
“Why?”
“I have a question.”
Ren had begun to suspect that this was how his life would be from now on.
*****
He spent two days there.
Not because he intended to, but because the villagers kept asking him questions.
Some were ordinary.
Some were strange.
One man asked whether he should sell his horse.
A woman asked whether her daughter would marry.
A farmer wanted to know whether he should plant early.
An old man asked whether the next winter would be harsh.
Ren answered as best he could, his voice growing slightly more tired with each request.
By the second day, he was exhausted.
He packed his belongings.
“I’ll leave tomorrow.”
The village chief frowned.
“So soon?”
“I’ve stayed two days.”
“Stay three.”
“Why?”
“People want readings.”
Ren smiled.
“That’s exactly why I’m leaving.”
The chief laughed, clearly amused.
That evening, the chief gave him food for the road.
Ren accepted it.
The next morning, he left.
*****
The road became narrower as he travelled west.
The settlements were farther apart.
The terrain changed.
More hills.
More forest.
Ren noticed that people seemed poorer in some places.
He also noticed more armed men.
Not armies.
Small groups.
Men travelling with swords.
Some wore the colors of local lords.
Others didn’t.
Ren avoided them when possible.
He had no desire to test whether his knife would protect him from a sword.
The Sengoku period was becoming increasingly real.
He had spent months hearing about conflict.
Now he was beginning to see its consequences.
Fields abandoned.
Burned houses.
Refugees.
Men with weapons who looked far too comfortable carrying them.
The road was no longer merely a route between villages.
It was part of a country constantly being pulled apart.
Ren became quieter.
He watched.
He listened.
He remembered.
One evening, he stopped beside a stream.
He washed his face, then sat beneath a tree.
The sun was beginning to disappear.
Ren looked at the water.
His reflection stared back.
Ten months.
It had been ten months since he had arrived.
It felt like both yesterday and another lifetime.
Ten months ago, he had known nothing.
Now he could perform divination.
He could see emotions.
He had a small reputation.
He knew how to survive on the road.
He had learned how to bargain.
How to find shelter.
How to identify suspicious people.
How to avoid trouble.
He had also learned something less pleasant.
The world was much larger than he had thought.
And his abilities were not nearly as absolute as he had once imagined.
Ren picked up a stone.
He dropped it into the water.
Ripples spread outward, and he watched them disappear.
He wondered whether fate was like that.
Something happened.
The consequences spread.
People reacted.
Other events changed.
One decision created another.
Perhaps that was why divination felt so strange.
Maybe he wasn’t looking at a fixed road.
Maybe he was seeing pieces of one.
Ren frowned.
“No.”
He shook his head.
He wasn’t going to start philosophizing.
He still didn’t understand enough.
Better to learn first.
Think later.
He stood, then froze.
Someone was approaching.
The sound came from the road.
Hooves.
One horse.
Ren moved away from the road.
A rider appeared between the trees.
He wore armor.
Not the full armor of a battlefield.
Traveling armor.
Practical.
A sword hung at his waist.
Another weapon was strapped across his back.
Ren immediately became cautious.
The samurai slowed when he saw him, his eyes moved over Ren.
His clothing.
His bundle.
His face.
Then stopped.
“You’re Ren.”
Ren’s hand moved subtly toward his knife.
“Who are you?”
The samurai dismounted.
He didn’t draw his sword.
That was reassuring.
Somewhat.
“My name is Kagemori.”
Ren waited.
“I serve Lord Matsunaga.”
That meant nothing to him.
Kagemori noticed.
“You don’t know the name.”
“No.”
The samurai smiled faintly.
“I didn’t expect you to.”
Ren relaxed slightly.
“Then why are you looking for me?”
“I wasn’t.”
That answer made Ren more cautious again.
“I was travelling through the area.” Kagemori glanced at him.
“Then I recognized you.”
“From where?”
“I’ve heard stories.”
Ren’s stomach sank.
“What kind of stories?”
The samurai laughed.
“A fortune teller.”
Ren sighed.
“Of course.”
“Apparently, you’re quite skilled.”
“I’m not.”
“I’ve heard otherwise.”
“People exaggerate.”
“They do.”
Kagemori looked toward the road.
“I’ve heard your name three times in the past month.”
Ren stared.
“Three?”
“From different villages.”
Ren didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried, but Kagemori didn’t care and continued.
“One farmer said you found his missing horse.”
“I didn’t find it.”
“You told him to search near the river.”
“Because his wife said it usually drank there.”
Kagemori smiled.
“Another woman said you predicted her brother’s return.”
“I said he would probably return.”
“And he did.”
“That doesn’t make it a prediction.”
“And a merchant claimed you warned him not to travel along a certain road.”
Ren hesitated.
“I remember him.”
“What happened?”
“He ignored me.”
Kagemori raised an eyebrow.
“He was robbed.”
Ren looked at the ground.
“I didn’t know that would happen.”
The samurai studied him.
“Yet you warned him.”
“I had a bad feeling.”
“Interesting.”
Ren didn’t like the direction of the conversation.
“What do you want?”
Kagemori smiled.
“Nothing.”
“Then why stop me?”
“Curiosity.”
Ren waited.
The samurai continued.
“You have been travelling for roughly three months.”
Ren’s eyes narrowed.
“How did you know?”
“People talk.”
That answer again.
Ren was beginning to hate those words.
Kagemori mounted his horse.
Before leaving, he looked down at Ren.
“Perhaps we’ll meet again.”
“I hope not.”
The samurai laughed.
Then he rode away.
Ren watched him disappear down the road.
Only when the sound of hooves faded did he relax.
His hand drifted toward the wooden case at his side.
He opened it.
The cards were still there.
Twenty-six of them.
Three months ago, they had been twelve crude pieces of paper.
Now they had become something closer to a system.
Not a perfect one.
Not even a reliable one.
But something he could work with.
Ren drew a single card.
He looked at it.
Unknown.
He laughed quietly.
“Of course.”
He put it back.
Then looked toward the road.
Three months.
His reputation had travelled farther than he had.
That was unexpected.
More importantly, someone serving a lord had heard of him.
Ren adjusted his bundle.
He continued west.
He didn’t know yet whether that encounter would matter.
He didn’t know what Lord Matsunaga wanted.
He didn’t know whether Kagemori would actually return.
And he certainly didn’t know whether his growing reputation would become an opportunity or a problem.
For now, there was only the road.
Ren kept walking.
The village behind him was already out of sight.
Ahead lay another settlement.
Another night.
Another question.
And perhaps another answer he wouldn’t understand until much later.