Denjirou

The Rock Wizards of The Crystal Highlands of Armaria will tell you Denjirou is a warrior displaced by time. They point to the well-worn training gear, the story of them holding a collapsing cliffside alongside Yuji, and the fierce concentration that never leaves their eyes. They assume the formidable mutton chops are a mark of staunch traditionalism, a physical vow to a forgotten code of swordsmanship. They are respected, feared even, by those who see them kneeling for hours among the shimmering monoliths, completely still. What the wizards fail to notice is that Denjirou’s hands are caked in soil, not blood. The blade they polish so meticulously is used not for combat, but for pruning the fragile, glass-petaled blossoms that grow in the monoliths’ shadows.