"You're the one who brought two hundred men to collect rice," Tsurugi replied, and then he stabbed him. It wasn't a fancy move. It was just a simple, direct thrust through the man's mouth, the point bursting out the back of his neck with a wet crunch. Matsuda gurgled, his eyes rolling back in his head, and slid off the blade.

The entire confrontation, if you could even call it that, lasted forty-three seconds. The extended duration was mostly because he paused halfway through to finish his yawn and scratch an itch on his back.

When it was over, the remaining soldiers were on their knees, their weapons discarded, having decided that kneeling was statistically safer than standing. The students were covered in blood and viscera, their faces pale with shock.

"Is there anyone else who has an opinion on my landscaping choices?" Tsurugi asked the silent, terrified men, shaking Matsuda's blood from his sword.

Silence.

"Excellent. Leave."

"But... my lord," one of the soldiers ventured, his voice trembling. "Lord Matsuda is dead. His line is ended. By the law of conquest, his lands, his title, his holdings... they are now yours."

"No."

"No?"

"I don't want his lands. They're probably full of people who shout and loud."

"But you killed him."

"He was interrupting my nap. His existence was annoying."

"That means you inherit—"

"Give it to someone else."

"Who?"

"I don't care. Find someone. Give it to them. Just leave."

The soldier looked desperately at Taro, who was having what appeared to be a quiet, internal collapse.

"Perhaps," Taro managed, his voice strained. "We could discuss this inside? Over some tea? And maybe a change of clothes for everyone?"

And that, in a nutshell, was how Tsurugi accidentally acquired three villages, seventeen farms, and a small castle he had absolutely no intention of ever visiting.

---

"This is a disaster," he informed the beetle, which had wisely relocated to a quieter leaf.

It got worse.

Matsuda's allies arrived two weeks later, demanding satisfaction for their fallen friend. Tsurugi killed their leaders for interrupting his breakfast. He'd been particularly enjoying a piece of grilled fish, and the interruption had made it go cold. The injustice of it all was infuriating.

Their allies arrived the week after that. He killed them for trampling the meditation garden he didn't ask for but had, against his better judgment, started to appreciate. He'd spent a good ten minutes raking the sand that morning, only for these idiots to march all over it. The disrespect was unforgivable.

Each victory brought more territory. Each territory brought more responsibility. Each responsibility brought more people seeking his "wisdom."

"My lord," Taro said six months later, unrolling a large, worryingly detailed map. "You now own approximately one-third of the province."

"How is that possible?" Tsurugi asked, staring at the map as if it were a particularly unpleasant skin disease. "I've been actively trying to avoid this."

"You keep killing people who interrupt you, my lord."

"They should stop interrupting me."

"Yes, my lord, but when you kill them, the local inheritance laws are quite clear—"

"The law is stupid."

"Yes, my lord, but it exists."

"Then make it stop existing."

"That's... not how law works, my lord."

It was right about then that Yukiko arrived, because of course she did.

She rode into the compound on a horse that looked like it had been dead for a week and was only just now getting the memo. She was seven months pregnant, bleeding from a dozen different wounds, and still laughing that broken-glass laugh of hers.

"Tsurugi!" she called out, sliding from the saddle and landing in an ungraceful heap. "I need a favor."

"No."

"I'm being pursued."

"Not my problem."

"They'll make a fuss."

He paused. She knew him far too well.

"How much of a fuss?"

"About three hundred soldiers, maybe more. And a very angry clan leader who believes my unborn child is his personal property."

"That's indeed an annoyingly fussy. All that shouting. The dramatic posturing."

"The worst," she confirmed, wincing as she tried to sit up. "He's one of those traditionalists. Thinks a woman's womb is clan territory."

The students were gathering, their faces a mixture of horror and fascination at the sight of a pregnant, bleeding woman in their perfect garden. Tsurugi sighed, the sound of a man who had seen this coming and was still annoyed by it.

"Taro," he said. "Find her somewhere to bleed quietly. And try not to get blood on the rocks. It upsets the aesthetic."

"Yes, my lord."

"And when the fuss-makers arrive," Tsurugi added, "don't bother me until they're at the gate. I want to enjoy the quiet while it lasts."

They arrived that night, as predicted. Three hundred soldiers, twenty samurai, and one very angry clan leader who believed traditional laws gave him ownership of bastards.

Tsurugi met them at the gate in his sleeping clothes, because armor seemed like far too much effort.

"Return the woman," the clan leader demanded, his puffy face flushed with rage.

"No."

"She carries my son's child. By right, that child and its mother are my property."

"Your son is dead."

"Making the child mine by the right of succession!"

"Your claim sounds tedious," Tsurugi observed.

"What?"

"You. Your soldiers. The clanking of your armor. Your voice. All of it. So much effort for something that's already dead."

"I will burn this entire compound to the ground!"

"That would be very disruptive. Please don't. I just got the garden looking nice again."

The clan leader ordered the attack. Tsurugi moved with the weary resignation of a man who was being forced to exercise when he would rather be sleeping.

He didn't fight them one by one. He moved through their ranks like a scythe through wheat. His blade was a blur slicing and dicing flesh, a whirlwind of death that carved through the army with terrifying efficiency. He didn't block or parry; he simply ended things. A soldier raised his spear, and Tsurugi's blade flicked out, severing the man's arm at the elbow. The soldier stared at the stump in disbelief before Tsurugi's next spin took his head off. Another charged with a sword, and Tsurugi sidestepped, his own blade sliding under the man's guard and opening his belly in a gory spray of intestines. He moved with a liquid grace, his feet barely seeming to touch the ground.

He dispatched the front line while contemplating what he might have for dinner.

He eliminated the second line while scratching an itch on his nose.

He dealt with the third through seventh lines while wondering if it was going to rain tomorrow.

By the time he reached the clan leader, most of the soldiers had either fled or surrendered. The leader himself lasted about four seconds, mostly because Tsurugi paused to consider whether this particular death would result in even more inherited territory.

It did.

"My lord," Taro said the next morning, his hair looking visibly greyer. "You now own half the province."

"How is that possible?"

"The Yamamoto clan was... extensive."

"Give it away."

"To whom?"

"Anyone."

"No one will take it, my lord."

"Why not?"

"They're afraid of you, my lord."

"I just want to be left alone."

"Yes, my lord, but you keep killing people who won't leave you alone, and then you inherit all their things by default."

"It's a problem," Yukiko agreed from her bed, where she was recovering and finding the entire situation absolutely hilarious.

"You did this," Tsurugi accused, pointing a finger at her.

"I came here to hide. You're the one who killed three hundred people because they were making a fuss."

"They were."

"Everything is a fuss to you."

"Your pregnancy is a fuss."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Your existence rarely makes sense."

She laughed, which hurt her wounds, which made her laugh more. "You've accidentally become a warlord, Tsurugi."

"I've accidentally become annoyed," he corrected. "It's the same thing, just with more territory."

The baby came two weeks later. It was noisy, healthy, and definitely not Tsurugi's problem, except that it was now living in his compound, which apparently made it his problem.

More people kept arriving. Students seeking wisdom he didn't possess. Farmers seeking protection he didn't offer but apparently provided simply by existing. Merchants seeking to establish trade routes through his accidentally acquired lands.

Then the marriage proposals started.

"My lord," Taro said one morning, holding a stack of sealed letters with the expression of a man delivering his own death sentence. "Three neighboring lords have offered their daughters in marriage. To secure alliances, they say."

"No."

"But my lord, think of political stability—"

"Taro," Tsurugi said, cutting him off. "If I wanted to be saddled with more people who talk, I would have started a conversation with the beetle. Burn the letters."

"Yes, my lord," Taro said, a flicker of relief in his eyes. "And the lords?"

"Send them a gift," Tsurugi said, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. "Send them Lord Matsuda's head. It's still in a box somewhere, isn't it?"

"I... believe so, my lord."

"Good. That should be quiet enough for them to understand."

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