Chapter 317: The Sinful Shirou
Shirou looked at the female warrior leader from a short distance and realized she was only in her early twenties. However, due to a different worldview and the tempering of the battlefield, she possessed a level of capability and maturity quite unlike women of later generations.
Shirou spoke softly to her: "You have already lost. If you promise to act as if you never saw us and leave this place, I will release you."
Hearing Shirou's words, the female leader felt no humiliation. Instead, her eyes sparkled with a strange brilliance. She smiled and praised him: "Prince, not only are you kind and gentle, but you also possess such formidable strength. You truly make it impossible for me not to fall for you."
"Th-that..." Shirou stammered, unsure of how to respond. Isn't this "domineering CEO" dialogue a bit backwards?
"Prince... no, Shirou, please allow me to call you that. As a warrior of Arabia, just like Sinbad who spent his life challenging the unknown and adventuring, I will not give up. Only a man like you is worthy of the warriors of our tribe. Beauty belongs to the hero. Our tribe has warriors unrivaled in the world; we shall welcome you to the Arab Empire," the female leader declared.
As someone capable of becoming a general, her intuition was sharp. She had realized long ago that the Prince had taken a liking to her precious blade. The leader thought for a moment, gritted her teeth, drew her saber, and held it out to the boy.
"This blade—since you like it so much, I shall give it to you!"
"Eh! Really!?" Shirou cried out in surprise, staring at the treasure.
"Hiss..." The three female soldiers nearby gasped in unison, their faces filled with shock. They looked at each other, seeing a level of disbelief as if the sun had risen from the west.
'This is a reward specifically bestowed by the leader of the Arab Empire to generals who have achieved great merit! It's a symbol of status for a capable warrior. Usually, the Captain never lets it leave her side and wipes it down every night before bed.
And now she's just giving it away?'
One of them couldn't help but speak up: "Cap, that's the precious blade you got for your great military service!"
"Even if you've been single for twenty-six years and are going crazy for a man, you don't have to make such a big sacrifice, right?" another added.
"Shut it! You're all single dogs too, what do you know! I'll just earn another great merit, won't I?" the leader roared at her subordinates, her face flushed. She then turned back and smiled at Shirou. "Here, this blade is yours, Prince."
"Eh? Is this really okay?" Shirou looked at the high-quality Damascus saber, forged with lost ancient techniques. As one of the three most famous types of blades in the world, he truly wanted to collect and study it. But hearing it was a precious military reward made him feel quite embarrassed to accept it.
"Take it. As a woman of my word, once I say I'm giving something, I cannot take it back. Besides, you defeated me; you are a warrior worthy of this blade," the female leader said softly.
"Then, thank you. I will take good care of it." Shirou stopped hesitating and accepted the blade. He ran his fingers over the patterns on the steel and gave the four women a genuine, joyful smile. He had expected these foreign warriors to be terrifying and impossible to communicate with, but they were surprisingly kind.
"..."
The four women opposite him stood dazed and frozen for a moment.
"?" Shirou looked at the suddenly silent group in confusion. He didn't understand what was wrong with these ladies.
'Is this some kind of custom unique to ancient people?'
"Sigh..." Sita, having witnessed the entire process from the side, let out a helpless sigh. Those women had clearly fallen deep. She thought to herself that she was right: Shirou was indeed a "sinful" man.
After a good while, the leader regained her composure and coughed. "Actually... we should stay and escort you. Even if you don't go to our territory, it's fine. With us as your guard, you can travel unhindered."
"Y-yes, exactly." The subordinate warriors nodded fervently.
"Enough nonsense. Since you lost, leave," Sita interrupted coldly.
"Ahahaha! Leave two horses for our Prince!" the leader laughed and ordered.
"Sita, we leave the Prince in your careful hands. Prince, I look forward to our next meeting." The leader led her soldiers in a salute to Shirou.
"Hahaha!" The leader and her subordinates rode off, two to a horse, laughing as they departed.
"Tch, so much talk for someone who lost to a man," Sita said irritably.
"Why does that sound like discrimination? Eh? Everything feels so strange," Shirou remarked. He still couldn't adapt to this world of flipped concepts.
"If you felt that way, why didn't you say so when you were accepting that sword?" Sita bluntly exposed Shirou's little weakness. She gave a sarcastic laugh and shook her head. "Hmph, men..."
"Um... Miss Sita? Do you have some kind of grievance against me?" Shirou asked, puzzled.
"No! I am a married woman! Did you hear that clearly?! I am a married woman!" Sita said loudly, as if reminding herself of something.
"Mhm, I know," Shirou nodded blankly.
'Why did she say it twice?'
What Shirou didn't know was that, through the word-of-mouth of these warriors, the Prince of the Eastern Nation was now rumored to be not only charming but exceptionally capable—defeating Arab warriors at a young age and kindly releasing them. These rumors were spreading across Europe, Asia, and Africa. Warriors who were usually indifferent to beauty without talent found their curiosity piqued. More and more women were becoming interested in him.
But that is a story for later.
At this moment, having fought side-by-side, the two felt a bond of camaraderie, no longer like the strangers they were upon their first meeting. The red-haired twin-tailed girl and Shirou smiled at each other, everything understood without words.
Then, Sita told Shirou everything she knew.
"I met the Master in Peshawar. Although she is an 'heretical' Buddhist, she is a profoundly learned scholar, highly respected in the Indian continent where I come from. She came here saying she was looking for a prince from her country. Since she's from a brotherly allied nation, I escorted her here."
"Peshawar? That should be a city in modern-day Pakistan, right?" Shirou was surprised to hear the name. In his memories of his past life, he had been there as a peacekeeping volunteer.
Peshawar, the City of Flowers. Xuanzang recorded it in the Great Tang Records on the Western Regions as one of the 138 countries he visited. It was a "Land of Abundance" with flourishing fruits, flowers, and trade.
After resting briefly, the pair continued. Sita led Shirou to a slope of a small hill where no outsiders came. She suddenly stopped and turned to him.
"We're here. The Master is up on this slope. Go on by yourself; I'll keep watch here. Don't worry, the Master isn't anyone scary."
"Mhm." Filled with doubt, Shirou climbed the slope. He saw a figure wearing a bamboo hat sitting cross-legged on a rock, seemingly chanting something.
"Oh! Shirou, you finally arrived." The monk, with her back to Shirou, spoke first. She raised her hands, stretching as far as she could, letting out a long yawn.
"Eh?" Shirou recognized the newcomer. She was that famous figure who comes to everyone's mind the moment "riding a white horse" is mentioned.
"Yaya, Shirou, you've suffered on the way here. It must have been hard being chased by a pack of predatory foreign women." The long-haired Xuanzang Sanzang walked up and hugged Shirou, patting his back comfortingly.
"Um..." Shirou wanted to say something, but because of the height difference, his face was smothered by two soft mounds of flesh.
"No need to speak." She nodded with empathetic sadness. "I know, I know. Being pestered by male monsters, every one of them wanting to 'eat' me... being popular is truly exhausting!"
"Wait! Why are you here? Even if you took a wrong turn on the journey to the West, that was over a hundred years ago! The era is all wrong!" Shirou complained.
The black-haired woman giggled, rubbing the back of her head. "Yaya, I don't know what happened either. I was at the Flaming Mountain Cup Martial Arts Tournament, and a fan from a Banana Leaf Fan blew me into a hole—something called the 'Time Nest'? It's been a huge help meeting nothing but good people here."
"Hah?" Shirou felt this person was incredibly unreliable.
"Anyway, let's talk as we walk. Otherwise, if Charlemagne finds out, he'll send an army after us soon. Here! You're in charge of carrying the luggage. Use this shoulder pole." Xuanzang pointed to two large baskets filled with various items and handed him her staff.
Shirou stared blankly at Xuanzang. "Does your attitude completely change the moment you trick someone into being your disciple?"
"Eh..." Xuanzang blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. But she quickly recovered, laughing and patting his shoulder repeatedly. "Oh, stop it! Ahaha, I'm always sincere toward my disciples. Isn't there a saying: 'A teacher for a day, a father for a lifetime'?"
"..." Shirou looked at the woman with a deadpan expression, deeply doubting if she was truly the legendary high monk of the Tang.
"Um, no!" The black-haired woman tried again with a questioning tone. "How about... 'A strict teacher produces a brilliant student'?"
"Forget it, enough. Let's just go. You were waiting for me, so you must have somewhere to take me." Shirou sighed.
"Ah, mhm!" Xuanzang nodded quickly. She didn't want to stay here alone. Having a disciple was great; you could just sit on the ground and never worry about food or shelter.
"Oh right! I need to give you a Buddhist name. Hmm... my eldest disciple in my original world was Wukong (Awakened to Emptiness). Since you're the first disciple in this world, and 'Form is Emptiness, Emptiness is Form'... how about calling you Wuse (Awakened to Lust/Form)!"
"Wait! I never agreed to be your disciple! And the Tang monk I know was a man, and he didn't know the 'Buddhist Palm'!" Shirou retorted.
"Hahaha, you're so funny, Shirou. How could a monk be a man? Men should be called nuns!" Xuanzang clutched her stomach, bursting into laughter as if she had heard the funniest joke in the world.
Shirou was speechless and finally gave up arguing.
Fine. Regardless, the useless and troublesome personality of the monk from Journey to the West was already common knowledge.
However, he recalled the historical Xuanzang: the man who traveled 1,400 years ago on foot through 138 countries, received by multiple kings, and who—after graduating from the Buddhist university in India—toured the Indian states preaching Mahayana Buddhism to great acclaim.
He was invited to the palace by King Harsha, the ruler of Northern India, and given the highest honors. King Harsha decided to hold the largest theological debate in the capital, Kanyakubja, with 18 kings, 3,000 Buddhist scholars, and 2,000 practitioners of other faiths in attendance. During this meeting, Xuanzang acted as the lead speaker, lecturing to nearly 10,000 people in an open square, allowing other sects to pose difficult questions and refuting them one by one. No one could best him. It was a display of intellectual prowess akin to Zhuge Liang's "War of Words," but performed in a foreign land before thousands.
Instantly, Xuanzang's fame shook the entire Indian subcontinent. He was revered by Mahayana Buddhists as "Mahayanadeva" (Sun of Mahayana) and by Theravada Buddhists as "Moksadeva" (Sun of Liberation). From then on, all monks had to salute him and use his specific titles. Xuanzang was considered one of the few masters of Buddhism in all of India at the time, recognized by everyone from the King to the commoners. In later generations, his relics were enshrined not only in China but in Japan, India, and many other countries.
In his lifetime, he translated over a thousand Buddhist scriptures and wrote the Great Tang Records on the Western Regions, which became an essential reference for Central Asian archaeology—sometimes even the only surviving document. In India, people relied on this book to locate and excavate the ruins of famous Buddhist temples.
"Charlemagne's Empire is, in a way, like the Tang inheriting the legacy of the Sui. Though it's a bit less impressive than the Tang, who defeated the Turks and destroyed Goguryeo," Xuanzang mused.
"And currently, Charlemagne's Empire is at its peak. That sword, Durandal, was given to Roland by the Archangel Gabriel to present to Charlemagne. But seeing Roland's bravery, Charlemagne gave the holy sword back to him."
Xuanzang spread her hands and continued, "But interestingly, that angel didn't just give a sword to Charlemagne. In the past, he also brought words to the Prophet Muhammad. And, in fact, he delivered scriptures to Moses of Israel and Jesus."
"I know all these legends. Can you get to the point? I want to find my companions," Shirou said.
Xuanzang glanced at the boy. "Shirou, what I just said are things that happened not long ago. If you want to find your companions, I might have a lead. Anyway, for now, let's go see that Angel."
"Hah? What did you say?" Shirou stopped and looked at the Tang monk in confusion.
"To see that Angel," Xuanzang repeated.
.
.
.
Inside a magnificent palace, a cute blonde girl was lying on her side on a Persian carpet. She was lazily flipping through ancient books while eating fruit from a platter. Quite unrefined, she had her right leg hiked up to scratch an itch on her left leg.
"Ugh... so boring. I really want some potato chips..."
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