《FUSHI NO SHOKUZAI》


 PROLOGUE

    The white of his robes stood out amidst the green and the brown ¡ª they outnumbered him greatly. His straw sandals allowed him to pass quietly, maintaining the peace and harmony that the mountain provides for ascetic monks like him ¡ª its towering height elevates them above the world of evil, where he remains undisturbed. As he saunters through the dirt path, the trees wave him a pleasant morning. The winds encourage him to go further, while the various critters cheer him on. In no time at all, his soft straw sandals meet the hard surface of a stone path that leads him higher. The further he soars, the further he is from man,


    and the closer he gets to those who sit above them in the hierarchy of life.


    Reaching the peak, he bows before crossing the threshold of the torii gate, entering hallowed ground. He turns to cast his gifted indigo gaze down the steps he had just passed, witnessing all manner of spirits and creatures prancing about, as one would do in their natural habitation. Undoubtedly, it was a beautiful sight to behold, harmony at its best, from the sounds, the sights and the saturation ¡ª although the lattermost was lost on him, the Monk does not dwell on what is supposed to be. He turns on his heel and walks past yet another gate that seemingly takes him through to another place in an instant; the lighter shades replace darker ones had it not been for the torches that pepper the walls every few meters at a time. He finds himself strolling down familiar stone halls, only stopping once he reaches a pair of large twin doors. Summoned he was to appear, but not yet given permission to enter. The doors remained firmly shut, and he maintains the same firmness in his stance. The spoken word, on the other hand, has a trait of elusivity; it eludes the closed room, seeping out to slither into his ear.


    ¡°This cannot be allowed to continue. We must put a stop to this.¡±


    ¡°And how are we to do that?¡±


    ¡°We send Shin.¡±


    His ears perk up upon the mention of his name.


    The doors drew open to reveal a conference amongst his masters. Shin can now put faces to the voices he heard, as if he did not recognize them already ¡ª a skill acquired through his long stay under their tutelage. Eight pairs of eyes are on him now, pleased to see him bow and take his rightful place. The doors close, and the discussion resumes swiftly.


    ¡°Shin.¡±


    He turns to face Master Teruyuki who is seated at the head of the table; while all of them had shaved their heads in accordance with their customs, he has the cleanest shave ¡ª as if his hair respected these very customs and refused to get in the way of spiritual practice. ¡°Yes, master?¡±


    ¡°We may reside in these mountains, but I take it the news is not lost on you?¡± Asked Teruyuki.


    ¡°No, master.¡± Shin shakes his head. ¡°The trail of bodies grows ever longer with each passing day.¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Teruyuki nods.


    ¡°Forgive me, Masters¡­ but I did overhear your conversation.¡± He gesticulates toward the firm doors. ¡°The doors fail you.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    Another voice pulls Shin¡¯s attention ¡ª Master Rokuro. Their white robes fell like water with the proper posture, even while seated, but with Rokuro, his robes folded and sat comfortably on the rolls of his stomach.


    ¡°And I think I may be able to provide a solution.¡± Shin puts his hand forth, allowing it to stand on the table by way of all five fingers taking root. ¡°Send me.¡±


    ¡°You see?¡± Interjects Master Kichiro, recognizable by way of a lone mole that sat perfectly below his lower lip; it is the only mark seen on him, seeing as how the white robes covered him close to perfection with bandages covering the rest. ¡°The boy is eager, and he is ready.¡±


    ¡°It is not a matter of preparedness, but a matter of whether this is the right course of action.¡± Chimed Teruyuki. ¡°Shin¡¯s proficiency in the field leaves no room for doubt, let alone his gift. But it is not in our mandate to intervene.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps not. But it is in our mandate to maintain spiritual peace. The longer this malignant maniac is allowed to run amok, the more unrest he causes. Do you not feel it, Teruyuki?¡±


    ¡°The shadows,¡± Interpolated Master Hajime, the only tattooed monk among them, ¡°there is a sting to them now. The trees shiver on windless nights, the soil crawls and the atmosphere boils.¡± He nods, confirming their worries.


    ¡°Precisely,¡± says Kichiro. ¡°The Onmyoji are far too busy worrying about¡­ bigger¡­ things.¡± His tone triggers a number of duplicitous smiles among the masters. ¡°The responsibility of subduing this unholy creature falls upon us.¡±


    ¡°Which is why,¡± Shin finally squeezes himself back in, ¡°I think it best to send me. I can determine if this¡­ thing¡­ would truly require our attention.¡± He raises two fingers to point towards his eyes ¡ª dazzling orbs of indigo. ¡°If I determine it to be so, then I will perform an exorcism and vanquish it. If not, then I return.¡±


    The Monk¡¯s suggestion had seemingly silenced all bickering in one fell swoop. This moment of silence was used by the masters to root through their musings; they looked to just about everywhere to find a conclusion to their stirred feelings ¡ª to the walls, to the floor, to one another. But nods soon came thereafter, and all eyes would look to Master Teruyuki once and for all.


    ¡°So be it.¡± Teruyuki says, ¡°Proceed with this plan of yours, however, the exorcism will be done here. This creature may be far too powerful to be exorcised alone. It may take¡­ all of us.¡± He looked to them all, receiving only mutual approval of his amendment to the monk¡¯s plan. ¡°Go now. Find him. Before it is too late.¡±

 CHAPTER ONE: THE LEGEND

    1556


    The moon desperately peeks through the trees, eager to gaze and partake in the evening¡¯s events. The night gathers around them, just as eager, kept at bay by the light emanating from the flames that warms them so; four shadows dance on the barks of two nearby trees as a result of the flickering light, particularly on the tree behind them that stands in the direction of where they have come from, and the tree in front of them that stands toward the path they are headed ¡ª both granting them a partial cover from the moon¡¯s gaze. Just as night had settled in, so had boredom. Without the thrill of bloodshed, forced fornication and the heat of battle, they felt like fish out of water.


    One particularly bored pillager, the ring leader, darts his eyes among his peers as they chew on their cooked fish. His ears dedicated themselves to the crackling fire and the loud chewing ¡ª truly a dull night. As his ally spits an inedible part onto the dirt road beside them, he realizes that the silence must be broken. He turns on the rock on which he sat upon, setting his sights first on their horse, then on the prison carriage attached to it; he points his stick toward the carriage filled with humble villagers; a cooked fish dangles near the end. It was far enough to be out of their reach, but close enough to be smelled, triggering salivation and a symphony of rumbling stomachs.


    ¡°Oi.¡± He calls them, but finds no response. ¡°OI!¡± he calls once more, the loudness of which had startled a few of the villagers, ¡°If any of you can tell a decent story, I will give them my fish.¡± He said, gently waving the stick around to further permeate the smell into the wind.


    The villagers turn to each other, seeking a story to save their lives. The hopeful ones did this, while those scarred beyond salvation found themselves seated, wallowing in the shade of those standing up. Murmurs began to break the silence; a pressured evaluation about whether the story they thought of was good enough became commonplace in the little cage. Perhaps it was the secluded nature of their captivity that allowed for joint efforts, but without a single story that seemed worthy of a single piece of fish, murmurs of cooperation slowly decayed into momentary bursts of anger and frustration.


    The Pillager watches with a wide smirk, amused that a single piece of fish could serve as a cause to wage war. If no story came out of this, he would gladly settle for this chaos; the evening breeze sweeps over him, causing the flame to flicker.


    ¡°The fish is getting cold, and I would hate to waste a hot meal.¡± He added, bringing the stick close to his nose to take an exaggerated sniff of his fish.


    His allies, humoring him, began to purposefully chew louder. A big enough bite crunches the cooked exterior of the fish, allowing for the mouthwatering sound of a distant salvation to further lay pressure on the prisoners. The murmurs had turned into screams and pleas. As to what they were pleading for, the cage had split into either pleading for food or for a good story. The Pillager watches, making sure to keep his eyes on them while his jaw slowly drops open. He opens his mouth as wide as possible, slowly bringing the food closer to him.


    ¡°Aaaaahhh~.¡± The sound accompanied the slow hand movement, drawing laughter from his peers who struggled to belch out their amusement while keeping the fish they ate in their respective mouths.


    Pleas turn into loud protests, begging for either a second chance or more time. The villagers grip at the metal bars, desperate for a single bite to quell the starvation that attacks them from the inside. The Pillager takes his eyes off of the cage, closing it to take his first bite of the fish¡ª


    ¡°I have a story!¡± The voice came from deep within the cage, silencing the qualms of the captives and stopping their captor from taking his bite.


    The man rises, given passage by his fellow captives to make his way to the front of the cage, just barely caressed by the flame¡¯s waning light. The Pillager gazes upon his face, a fairly aging man with a decent beard; his hairs were slowly being decorated with gray strands among the dominant black strands ¡ª he recognizes this man as their most recent catch.


    ¡°You are the baker, correct?¡± He asked with a curiously raised brow.


    ¡°I am.¡± He answered, laconically.


    ¡°It is fortunate that we found you outside your own village, the bread you were carrying will last us until the next town!¡± The stick was swung to point towards the sack of bread that sits comfortably beside his rock. Piqued by such a loud declaration for a story, the Pillager leaned onto his knees using both elbows. ¡°Go on, tell your story.¡± Urged the Pillager.


    ¡°A good story is one with its own title,¡± the Baker holds onto the bars, ¡°have any of you heard of the Demon of Kumitsukawa?¡±


    The world of man has always found the realms of mysticism to be titillating. Things that are supposedly beyond the comprehensions of the human mind, things that defy human capability. Two things stem from the unknown and the unreachable ¡ª fear and curiosity. To speak of demons under the moon¡¯s presence generated both from the prisoners and their captors. They looked to one another, either engrossed by the question or the fact that they knew Kumitsukawa was somewhere in these woods.


    The Old Baker continues:


    ¡°Legend has it that a demon lived in Kumistukawa, one hiding in the flesh of a samurai. He came to the village as a boy, left by a farmer who knew what he was. The lord of the land, who took pity on him, clothed the demon child and hid him away from the villagers. But the boy grew, and as he did, he was introduced to one of man¡¯s most basic natures ¡ª violence. The boy became a danger to the people, and unleashed his mischief when he was at his strongest ¡ª when Tsukuyomi reigned in the heavens. The lord hoped to put his talents of violence to good use, and allowed the demon to serve him as a kosho. He was sent to school to train, to refine his skills, and hopefully, better his philosophies. However, this was a mistake; wielding a sword and a title of samurai, the demon wreaked havoc on the people of Kumitsukawa more efficiently.¡± The Baker¡¯s hands reached out through the cage and emulated the proper way to hold a katana.


    ¡°The lord thought that his samurai¡¯s actions were rightful, that the crimes he was accused of committing had an infallible and honorable reason. Having been the boy¡¯s adopted father, it is what he wanted to believe despite having been told otherwise by his concubines, his guards, and whoever else. The samurai would catch onto the whispers of his lord¡¯s concubine and accuse them of infidelity by conjuring a false story ¡ª it spread like a disease. With this story in place, the samurai seeks retribution on his liege lord¡¯s behalf and beheads the concubine despite her pleas of innocence. It is said that he kept her head either as a trophy or his meal for the evening.¡± The imaginary katana in his hands would be used to slice into the air in a swift downward motion to display the execution.


    ¡°After watching his concubine¡¯s head roll on the floor, the lord had finally thought otherwise. That night, he had called for his samurai to come to his chambers so that they may discuss his actions and misdeeds. Two samurai patrolling the castle heard a scream and ran for the lord¡¯s room in haste, only to find his head being devoured; they heard bones breaking and flesh being torn apart. The lord¡¯s body lay on the floor with blood gushing from an open neck, having met a similar fate to that of his lover. The guards said that when they found the samurai, he no longer looked human ¡ª long sharp teeth and nails, eyes that served as windows to hell itself. He had the appetite of a man who had not eaten for a year; the lord¡¯s head was nearly cleansed of its flesh.¡± The Old Baker then proceeded to hold an imaginary head in his hands, placing himself in the shoes of the story¡¯s monster.


    ¡°To avenge their lord, they engaged the samurai in battle! But a sword did nothing against its skin, there was but one way to truly purge the evil from this world¡ª ¡° His finger pointed across all of them, toward the burning fire.


    Their eyes follow and stare deep into the flames; their imagination brings them to see the titular character in the momentary flickers of light. In the ungodly hours of the evening, the eyes begin to play tricks on the beholder ¡ª tricks which may or may not cross into the plane of reality.


    ¡°One of the two had pinned him down with their blade while the other fetched a torch to coat the demon in flames. It took everything they had to set him on fire, and the demon let out an unholy cry that made them feel as if they were the ones turning into ash. They truly believed that they had rid the world of one more evil. However, days later, the smell of fire and brimstone filled the air when night fell; it had been spotted wandering the streets and the forests of Kumitsukawa. And soon, the neighboring villages and towns began to see him too ¡ª a samurai of black and gold armor or a dark robe, hungry for the flesh of men. The very same teeth, the very same nails, the very same eyes. It walks the roads when the moon sits highest, its blade remains bloody and wanting. It is believed that by burning his body, the demon was actually freed from its mortal form, and now roams the land as a demonic spirit.¡± His eyes stare off into the distance, as if having seen something moving in the darkness ¡ª he pauses.


    Following the Old Baker¡¯s eyes, everyone else had thrown their gaze out into the wilderness. Almost frantically, they searched for a shadow, something that moves, something that looks back at them, something that may pounce.


    He continues:


    ¡°Since then, that spirit had been given the title: Demon of Kumitsukawa. It is said that the demon is drawn most to fellow samurai or the lords they serve, as they are reminders of the final hours he had in his mortal form, but others say that he sinks his teeth in whomever is most unfortunate to cross him ¨C whoever seems like they have enough meat to quench his hunger.¡± The Old Baker¡¯s voice finds itself shrinking in volume as the legend comes to its conclusion.


    He had not noticed how loud he was speaking. Only now was he able to recognize that the entire forest eagerly listened to the evening¡¯s entertainment. Even the villagers had seized from their quarrels, leading the Old Baker to assume that their hunger had been satiated by the tall tale. The only exception to this worldly pause would be the band of pillagers, whose fishes have been reduced to nothing but bone. With the legend finished, the flame crackles once more, and the winds blow once again to act as a melody for the trees to dance to. Saliva flushes each of their mouths as sights now set themselves upon the piece of fish in the hands of their captor.


    ¡°Quite the story.¡± The Pillager commended, twisting the stick in his hands. He himself knew that the story exceeded his expectation ¡ª the fish was rightfully theirs. ¡°Are your stories as good as your bread?¡± Asked the Pillager, lifting his head once more with the same curious brow as before.


    ¡°I have told the story, a decent story. I am owed the fish you offered.¡± Replied the Old Baker, allowing the former¡¯s question to fall upon deaf ears.


    ¡°Mmm, a decent story without a doubt. Truly worthy of a place in the theater along with yourself.¡± The Pillager proceeds to mimic the actions that the Baker had performed so as to concretize the story before their very eyes.


    ¡°Then why withhold what was promised?¡±


    ¡°Because while many may pay to see and hear your little tale, I will not be among them. These stories about creatures born from light and darkness, sorcery, gods¡ª¡±


    ¡°You do not believe they are among us?¡±


    ¡°I know they are among us, but they are not above us.¡± He rose from his seat, leaving the warmth of the fire to venture close to the cage. His allies, who seem to have grown a tolerance for what was to come next, had put on another set of fish to cook.


    At this distance, the aroma of the fish in the Pillager¡¯s hand was thicker than ever before. The gravity of this torture worsened, considering that to a starving body, the quality of taste, smell, sound, and even the sight of food increases beyond imagination. Hands that reached for the fish met only disappointment that their limbs were not a few inches longer.


    ¡°Do you believe that it is they who rule when man has proven to be greater? They hide in the trees, the rivers¡ª behind the stories you tell children.¡± He brings the stick ever so close to the child that fearlessly peaks from between the many legs in the cage. ¡°Man does not hide. We do not shy away from what we are.¡±


    The child reaches with all her might, but continues to find her fingers grasping at the evening¡¯s sighs. Meeting the evil man¡¯s gaze, her eyes slowly accumulate tears. She could not fathom why the man would not stop the grumbling in her tummy. The Pillager moves his hands further outward, to which all the hands reaching for the fish follow; a few finding no hope and allowing their arms to hang instead.


    ¡°The gods have their reasons to live separate from those they have created, but you are mistaken if you believe them to be hiding.¡± Protested the Old Baker.


    ¡°They are hiding because they are cowards. Not a single one has risen against me! What kind of a god would allow their creation to spit and shed blood before their very feet while cursing them in the same breath?¡± Rebutted the Pillager. ¡°They are said to be capable of bringing life, and taking it; laying waste to villages, towns, cities ¡ª hundreds and thousands of people at their mercy. Here I stand, having done all of that within my lifetime using my own two hands.¡± He pats the katana tucked into his belt, recognizing the irony of his words. ¡°Oh this? I had to kill the man who had this with my bare hands. I gained power, and used it against all of you.¡±


    ¡°Ill-gotten power.¡± Added the Old Baker.


    ¡°Power is power. Even false power can make a man kneel, just look to your government.¡± He smirked.


    After much anticipation, he finally brings the stick to him and dips his hands into the fish¡¯s side, grabbing a considerably large amount of meat to place upon his tongue and chew thereafter.


    The proximity at which he stood allowed for the villagers to watch the steam that was once trapped inside the fish¡¯s body leave and join the air. They could hear every crunch as a result of every chew, how the bite¡¯s pressure crushed the cooked skin and how the meat is squished by the tongue and moistened by the saliva; the audience groans with much disdain while he moans in delight, the children burst into tears. As the Old Baker¡¯s eyes linger on the cruel man, he could not fathom how one could grow with such an amount of hate and evil for his own kind. All his years of living, and only now has he seen a physical manifestation of true and inhumane evil.


    ¡°You are a monster.¡± He spits the word to sour the taste of the food he selfishly consumed.


    The Pillager chuckles with a mouthful, ¡°I am a man who lives in the real world. The fools in their palaces, the Shogun and the Emperor, do not know what true power is. Out here, the weak are meat, and the strong eat.¡± He waves his free hand to refer to his comrades who wave in return to ensure that their presence would not be forgotten. The Pillager¡¯s eyes widen in realization, stalled by his next bite; he speaks with his mouth full, muffling his words slightly as he makes a conscious effort to be heard and understood. ¡°Perhaps this demon you speak of felt the same way.¡± He chuckles proudly, turning on his heel to return to his seat.


    With his back turned, only the Old Baker could bear witness as a black projectile soars across the air, over the live flame and into one of pillagers¡¯ necks. The crackle of the flame partnered with the crunch of the fish¡¯s exterior had masked the projectile¡¯s piercing of the air until it was too late; the arrow met its destination. The unfortunate man drops his own fish, desperately bringing his hands up to his neck to feel blood cascade down onto his chest. He finds the arrow wedged in his neck and it dawns upon him that he was beyond saving. Now comes the struggle for air against a ruined larynx and an influx of blood that further blocks the passageway. He looks to his allies, to his superior, who had realized his demise much later than he did, before dropping onto his knees and furthering the arrow into himself by falling on top of it. To their luck, he falls on top of the bonfire as well, suffocating the flame and eliminating the warmth and the light they enjoyed. Engulfed by the shadows, their horse suddenly rises on its hind legs in a fit of fear, bellowing out its cry and dashing away into the night. To their surprise, the wagon had not been attached to it at all, allowing the horse to run free. Simultaneously, they discard their meals and quickly reach for their respective weapons ¡ª totaling two katanas and a bow and arrow ¡ª and so it begins.


    Under the blanket of the darkness, shadows begin to move out of their stationary places. Even worse, they begin to take the shape of creatures that stared directly at them. They turn around with much haste to defend themselves from either the wind, or nothing at all. The villagers in the cage were keen to move away from the metal bars, hoping that the object that curtails their freedom will grant them protection; the parents among them embrace their children to shield them from what would come to follow.


    A step behind the camp crushes a few leaves on the ground, prompting the archer among them to fire an arrow that meets the trunk of a distant tree instead of a torso.


    ¡°Shit!¡± He muttered in a panic. Realizing he missed, he loads another arrow into the bow while attempting to steady his hands ¡ª he takes aim again.


    The leaves above them rustle, prompting their gaze to shift upwards toward the branches. Fearing an attack from above, those with katanas quickly hold them overhead in such a way that any downward blade will enter a stalemate rather than find its kill. The archer continues to shake, the small partitions between the leaves starting to look like eyes with a wicked glow to them. They stare right through him, they know that he is afraid ¡ª more afraid than he has ever been in his life.


    ¡°Boss¡­ what do we do¡­?¡± Asks the archer, shifting from one shadow to the other ¡ª one set of eyes to the next.


    He receives no answer from their ring leader, who steadily traced the branches with his own eyes while keeping a firm hold on his katana.


    Suddenly, their attention is redirected elsewhere. From a distance, along the dirt path that ran ahead of them, a series of footsteps came rushing forward in fours. The Pillager smirks, finding the prior attempts of misdirection to have been laughable after revealing themselves by means of a galloping horse. His form relaxes, nonchalantly repositioning himself closer to the dirt path, he steps past the tree in front of them to seek the approaching horseman in the distance.


    ¡°Kill him.¡± He ordered, to which the archer took as a command toward him.


    The path that the horseman treads remains under the blanket of darkness, conveniently concealing the horseman despite leaving the horse¡¯s legs in plain view. The archer takes his position beside the same tree to hide his attack, but finds difficulty in aiming for the rider; a shot to the horse¡¯s torso would only spook the animal ¡ª he always aims for the kill. Finding no light to illuminate his main target, he begins to pull on the bowstring with an estimation of where the rider would be. The archer takes a form that allows for a proper aim rather than that which calls for a quick shot. A deep exhale is taken, with the inhale allowing him to properly pull the bow. His sight is aligned onto his estimation of the rider¡¯s head and¡ªThis content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    PHOO!


    The arrow is fired, vanishing in the shadows to meet the horseman by means of a well-calculated and well-timed shot.


    The horse changes course, spooked by the arrow that flew towards it ¡ª it dashes into the woods.


    The archer exhales immediately after having launched his arrow, waiting for the horseman to fall dead onto the road.


    A figure emerges from behind the tree instead, with one step outward into the archer¡¯s line of sight.


    The figure draws his katana simultaneous to his step to launch an upward cut that severs the hand that holds the bow in one swift motion.


    The archer could do nothing but panic as he bears witness to the stranger¡¯s emergence and to his forearm being cut in half despite having taken a large step back ¡ª the draw was too quick. He falls onto the ground a few seconds behind his severed hand along with the bow that was held in it.


    ¡°GUH¡ª AAGHHHHHH! GAAAAAGHHHH!¡± He exclaimed with all of his might as both a protest to the approaching swordsman, and as a reaction to the loss of his hand. His screams were the only thing that alerted his fellow comrades of the quick events that had taken place ¡ª they too were waiting for the horseman to drop dead on the road.


    The archer continues to shout, intensely looking at the swordsman despite being unable to find his eyes beneath the shadow of his circular straw hat. However, his screams intensify upon noticing one horrendous detail ¡ª long and razor sharp teeth , glimmering from the moonlight. It struck him harder than any projectile ever could ¡ª a realization.


    ¡°NO! NOOO! GET AWAY! GET AWAY FROM MEEE! NOOOOO!¡± He protested to no avail. The mental command of scurrying backwards to escape was negated by the fear that froze him in place.


    The Swordsman reverses his grip on his katana and plunges it into the man¡¯s chest cavity, right into the heart. The abrupt entrance of a cold blade in the chest effectively stops the screams, but it is the pulling of the blade from the chest that sends the archer¡¯s damned soul from his body. The blood soaking the tip of his blade flies off upon its extraction from the chest cavity, and the Swordsman turns to face the last two standing of their band of bandits.


    ¡°Boss¡­.?¡± Asked the other pillager. He made sure not to take his eyes off of the stranger so as to avoid being taken by surprise.


    ¡°We take him at the same time.¡± He replies by doing the same, though for a very different purpose. The same light continues to barely shine upon their attacker ¡ª he can  see the monstrous teeth as well, the very same that had pulled flesh from bone as per the Old Baker¡¯s story. His stare is one of skepticism and deep analysis.


    The Swordsman takes a step over their dead archer, now approaching them to seal their fate.


    ¡°Now!¡± Shouted the Pillager, giving his ally the signal to spring into action. Yet while his ally sprints forth, he stands his ground.


    The charging butcher puts on an expression that would impart the ferocity of a rabid beast. To empower his strikes further, he lets out a succession of powerful cries and grunts to match. He takes a firm forward step and enacts a downward slash, but the Swordsman blocks it using a well-placed blade over his head. He angles it diagonally to redirect the attack away from him. Still holding his katana overhead, the Swordsman proceeds to use its current height to perform the same attack of a downward slash, prompting the opponent to enact the same defense used against him. The Swordsman¡¯s blade slides neatly against theirs, but instead of being fully redirected away, he pulls his blade toward himself ¡ª enabling him to place his blade beneath his opponent¡¯s defense. Before the opponent can reposition himself or his weapon, the Swordsman drives his katana using both hands into the unguarded section of his body and skewers him just below the stomach. He pushes the sword all the way through the back, bestowing upon his enemy the real view of a demonic face up close. The twist of the weapon while lodged in the flesh relieves his enemy of any traces of resolve that was left in him ¡ª he drops his katana in defeat.


    Much to the Swordsman¡¯s surprise, hurried footsteps approach from behind the man he has skewered. Recognizing this cowardly maneuver among bandits, he places his foot upon the butcher¡¯s stomach and pushes him away to pull his katana free and prompt the oncoming attacker to adjust with little time. As he maneuvers away, he watches a dull katana cleave the man¡¯s head in two. The blade stops its downward motion upon reaching the jaw, the eyes that once exhibited fear were now empty and lifeless. The body is kicked off of the blade, falling onto the grass to reveal the last man standing.


    The Swordsman has come to meet the Pillager who had lost the fear that once made his heart pump faster than any arrow could fly. He watches him move, circling him ¡ª analyzing him further. He moves with his opponent, maintaining the distance that separates them; their tracks mark a perfectly proportioned circle in the leaves and the soil beneath them.


    ¡°Allow me to guess¡­ the Demon of Kumitsukawa?¡± Asked the Pillager, quite amused. ¡°I suppose we are still in your forest.¡±


    The lack of an answer had resulted in a deep and insulting chuckle that emanates from the bottom of his diaphragm.


    ¡°It is you! A real demon!¡± He exclaimed, though his last remark was clearly laced with the tone of sarcasm. He raises his weapon, pointing his sword at the demon. ¡°You are wise, to have your storyteller be captured so that you could track us down! You must have been on our tail since we passed your little village. You thought I would not notice you moving about in the shadows? Following our trail? How long have you been watching, hmm?¡±


    But there is no reply from the Demon. Rather, he continues to move around the extinguished bonfire. Beneath his hat, his eyes follow the outline of his enemy¡¯s body whilst the latter spoke. The muscles exposed on the Pillager¡¯s forearm from merely gripping his weapon indicated that strength was a close ally of his. The dullness of his blade only attested to this finding. The Demon would then conclude that strength may be his answer to every battle. In which case strength would be his weakness.


    ¡°It is not polite to remain silent when a question is asked.¡± The boastful Pillager twirls his weapon, going as far as taking his eyes off of his opponent to inspect it in the moonlight.


    The Demon stops in his tracks, cleans his blade with the cloth of his robe, and returns his weapon into the scabbard. The Pillager would stop as well, but would not sheath his sword.


    ¡°I know that you are no demon.¡± Said the Pillager, almost spitting his words.


    ¡°Knowing is beyond you.¡± In the wake of his broken silence, his unholy breath permeates the air. The sound of his voice alone could topple a shrine, the syllables could bring a priest onto their knees, and the message within would strip them of their faith.


    Hence, the heavens saw fit to draw their cloudy curtains and watch safely from behind them.


    Despite the words coming from him, his mouth did not move. It would be here that the Pillager laughs his loudest, finding his own mockery to be true ¡ª the stranger seems to be wearing a menp¨­ to fool his victims of a demonic face.


    ¡°And I thought I would be talking to myself!¡± He shouted to the heavens above. ¡°What are you, hmm? That mask, a beautiful sword¡ª You are either a thief or¡­ a samurai. But a samurai without his armor wandering this far? With the country in disarray, you should be guarding your village, yet here you are.¡± He smirked, tauntingly. ¡°You are neither demon nor samurai¡­ you are a disgrace!¡± He turns to the Old Baker, wherever he is inside the cage. ¡°Do you see now, old man?¡± the Pillager continues, ¡°Not even your demon is real! Just a simple ronin. These stories hide the truth and distort reality to keep us from realizing what we are ¡ª what truly lies ahead of us! And you think me a fool? Ha! And you¡ª¡° he returns his gaze upon the Demon, ¡°If any of that story was true, then you are nothing but a murderer ¡ª no different from me. Then again, I would expect nothing less from a samurai.¡± He chuckles insultingly.


    The Demon was ready to silence this sinner for all of eternity, but his hand would be stayed by a familiar sound ¡ª CHI, CHI, CHI! The sound had come from a lone bird, a sparrow to be precise ¡ª a lone pair of wings fluttered in the air. To conceal his concern, he sought to keep his head stationary while his eyes roamed to search for their spectator. The bird must have perched itself beyond his line of sight, but one thing was for sure, the Pillager¡¯s lack of a reaction told him that the chirping was heard by him alone.


    ¡°You are a fool.¡± Replied the Demon, who now rested his hand on where the sword meets the scabbard.


    ¡°Your lectures mean nothing to me, ronin. But what you did to your master shows that you are fit for this world, that you are strong. Join us, fight with us! Have no fear! Do not be afraid of what you truly are.¡±


    ¡° Fools will die for any cause, no matter how small.¡± Refuted the Demon.


    The Pillager chuckles, ¡°Still acting high and mighty! Listen to me, embrace your dishonor! You have fallen into the real world. Down here, there is only man, the blood he spills, the bodies he takes, and the power ¡ª the true power ¡ª that he acquires from doing so.¡±


    Again, he would be treated with silence, prompting him to continue,


    ¡°I suppose having been a samurai, you knew these things already. Do you know why your kind is feared and loved? It is because of your talents in battle ¡ª the violence you are capable of. The legends came to rise after you and your brothers have cut thousands of people into pieces ¡ª the honorable murderers of the country. How many innocent people have you killed? How many limbs have you taken to see if your sword remains in its sharpest? How many wives have you coveted from their husbands, hmm?¡± He laughed hysterically, spitting beside his own foot afterwards.


    The leaves applaud the Demon¡¯s steadiness.


    ¡°What do you say, hmm? Forego these lies. For too long, you have lived under a code that makes you a servant. Now you are free. It is time for a new purpose, one that does not split your soul in half.¡± Once more, he attempts to recruit him.


    The Demon of Kumitsukawa would share no more words; he grits his teeth behind sealed lips, just as he brushed his right thumb over his nails. He adjusts his footing for the battle. The Pillager would take note of this, and let out an audible sigh.


    ¡°It truly is a shame, I wanted to believe that you were a demon, that I would be proven wrong this time.¡± A shrug discards whatever hopes he had for such a dream, and the first step would be taken.


    The Demon watches his opponent charge at him with a great thirst for blood, enough to launch leaves backwards with every step he takes. He would be shrouded in the shadow of the Pillager who opted to strike him down with the weight of a mountain. A quick step inward into his opponent¡¯s personal space allows him to narrowly dodge the attack; he steps further and takes the opportunity to drive his elbow to the back of his opponent¡¯s head, launching the bastard forward while using the momentum of his elbow strike to distance himself further by going the opposite direction. He watches his opponent gather himself, visibly touching the back of his head where the strike had landed perfectly ¡ª a smile was sent back his way, imparting an indication of joy. The Demon expected nothing less from a cold-blooded killer whose thrill comes from last breaths.


    Once more, he was charged at, and once again, he watched the Pillager call for strength to aid in his strike. So as to trick his opponent, his left thumb pushes the handguard forward to eject the sword slightly with the right hand taking a firm hold of the handle. When the Pillager had unleashed their downward slash, he would take another step to the side. This time, to counter this evasion, the Pillager would swing their weapon sideward to mow him down by the waist. The Demon proceeds to duck beneath the swing and finds himself emerging in front of his opponent, where no hand nor blade stood in his way. The katana had finally been drawn, and the mere sound of it had sunken the Pillager¡¯s heart beyond salvation. He pulls his katana and drives the pommel into the bridge of his opponent¡¯s nose, breaking it severely. Back into the scabbard goes the katana and a backward step would be taken to distance himself once more; the Pillager stumbles back, covering his nose to feel the extent of the damage. Any adjustment to his expression began to cause him pain, his eyes drowned in water while blood tainted his tongue.


    CHI, CHI, CHI! The sparrow chirps again, but more than a handful of wings could be heard settling in this time.


    The Pillager, now unleashing a hearty warcry, charges toward him and tries again. Desperate to catch him, the katana would be swung in every which way. This left but narrow spaces for the Demon to move and evade; he himself knew that he could not keep up evasion as a strategy for long. Nevertheless, he would hold out for as long as possible; he utilizes the nearby trees as cover, prompting the blade to meet the trunk several times rather than his own flesh. He dashes back and forth, to which the Pillager responds by pushing on and swinging his weapon despite hitting everything except his enemy. The distance between every swing and him became shorter by the second. Every lean had brought him closer to nearly getting cut ¡ª sawdust and pieces of the trunk had nearly accumulated around the poor tree. Eventually, the Demon performs a vertical draw, pulling his katana in its entirety and catching the incoming attack immediately upon leaving the scabbard.


    Bouncing off of this block, the Pillager seeks to take another swing at his opponent¡¯s exposed waist.


    The Demon, now on the offensive, brings the raised katana back down with a mighty force and cuts the Pillager¡¯s blade before it even reaches his waist. By the time the swing was complete, there was no blade present to mow him down. He takes a step to get behind his opponent, simultaneous to a pivot of his heel to rotate inward. Using the momentum of the rotation, he swings his sword once more and cuts the Pillager deep behind his knee, causing him to kneel into the soil and fall defeated.


    ¡°ARGH!¡± Exclaimed the Pillager, finding the sudden feeling of a drain in his leg. The sword had been broken, and immobility applied to the enemy ¡ª the battle was over.


    His sword would be sheathed after being cleaned; with the enemy now on the ground, it was easy for him to retrieve the key from the Pillager¡¯s belt. As he walked over to the cage, he was now free to gaze high into the trees to find silhouettes having gathered upon the branches ¡ª the sparrows. The key undoes the lock, and the prisoner¡¯s salvation was announced by the creaking of the metal door that swings wide open. And yet, none dared to step out.


    Not with him at the door.


    Alas, the Demon steps to the side. ¡°Go,¡± he tells them, ¡°do not stop, do not stumble. If you do, get up quickly. Keep walking until you are out of the woods. When you find your homes, prepare an offering.¡± Instructed the Demon, maintaining his head angled downward to conceal his fearsome teeth behind his hat.


    Reluctance slowly left them, and they soon poured from the cage. Unsure how else to thank him, they offered subtle bows and whispered gratitude as they passed his way.


    Just as the Old Baker would come down from the cage, the Demon distances himself, approaching the dead archer. The Old Baker would take his place beside the cage, assisting his fellow captives down onto the ground. He rushes toward his sack of bread, giving one each to those whose stomachs were unbelievably vocal and to those with children. A warmer sense of gratitude would be extended to him rather than to the hellish creature of myth.


    ¡°Ugh¡ª.. ucckk¡­ urrgh¡­¡± Groaned the Pillager, gripping onto the tree to act as a support.


    After having gotten himself up, he pushes his back against the tree. The cut that had been made behind his knee was deep enough to render his right leg nearly useless; he was at the mercy of the flesh-eating warrior from hell. Even without the quick movements necessary in battle that rendered them blurry, he could still not clearly see behind the shade of the Demon¡¯s hat.


    ¡°You should have been guarding their villages. None of their families would have ended up dead.¡± He said, laughter and humor used as a way to mitigate the pain.


    Immobilized, he could not help but bare witness to the Demon kneeling beside the dead archer of his group. Despite his back turned toward him, the sound of flesh being ripped from bone told him all he needed to know of what was happening.


    ¡°Do you know what you lack, hmm? Horns.¡± Said the Pillager, followed by a laughter that struggles to exit him.


    The captives, now free, had begun their walk to freedom, yet their captor¡¯s laughter continued to haunt them. They covered their ears, almost convinced that a faster pace of walking was necessary. The Old Baker, on the other hand, remains standing beside his sack of bread, watching the two converse. The Demon turns around, holding the head of the Pillager¡¯s archer by the hair. The pattern of the tear around the neck revealed that it was uprooted in beast-like fashion, while the missing organs and the scarcity of skin revealed the Demon¡¯s beast-like appetite.


    ¡°You are not the first,¡± says the Demon, ¡°and you will not be the last. Your mouth seals your fate.¡± The Demon spoke whilst grooming the head to be placed on the rock.


    ¡°Great minds tend to find the same wisdom.¡± Replied the Pillager, shrugging in his arrogance.


    ¡°Fools that drink from the same poisoned river die of the same causes.¡± He countered.


    ¡°And you are that cause? I was beaten, not by some demon, but by a man who thinks too highly of himself.¡± He casts his finger outward toward him. ¡°You are no demon, you bleed like the rest of us. You are of flesh and bone like the rest of us!¡±


    ¡°Demons are not born.¡± The Demon rises, ¡°We are made.¡± He sheathes his wakizashi, leaving the beheaded archer on the rock as a warning. Turning away, he calls for his horse with a mighty whistle. Within seconds, the hearty steed comes galloping to his aid, standing on the dirt road to await for a command. He grabs the sack of bread from the Old Baker who was seemingly still in shock.


    ¡°I will take you back to Kumitsukawa. Get on the horse.¡± Said the Swordsman.


    ¡°Are we leaving him like this?¡± Asked the Old Baker.


    ¡°Someone will come along.¡±


    Aided by the mysterious man, the Old Baker mounts the house with the sack of bread seated in front of him ¡ª the only thing left of his belongings after having been taken. The Demon holds his horse¡¯s rein and walks on foot; together, the two would take the road back towards the village of Kumitsukawa.


    The Pillager patiently waited until both of them had vanished into the darkness. As soon as they were out of sight, he shifts his weight onto his left leg and begins to limp his way toward the dirt road. The path ahead of him was long, but to him, nothing would get in the way of true power. Being alone in the dark, injured and without a weapon, everything was rendered as a danger to him. Even the night¡¯s breeze felt like an unholy breath on the back of his neck, and the rustling of the leaves like whispers and schemes for his demise.


    CHI, CHI, CHI! The noise came from behind him; he stopped in his tracks to turn and feast his eyes on a shadowy road.


    The branches began to sway.


    The leaves began to move.


    The leaves began to move toward him.


    The leaves that moved toward him took a more familiar form of sparrows, darkened by the night¡¯s shade. An entire swarm began to spiral toward him, unleashing their ominous song in a chaotic arrangement ¡ª CHICHICHICHICHICHICHICHICHI! The Pillager ducks to avoid the swarm, attempting to run further to beat the flock. However, the wrong placement of weight triggers a sharp pain behind his knee, causing him to stumble upon the dirt road with a loud grunt.


    Just as mysteriously as the flock of sparrows had arrived, they vanished, leaving behind residual fluttering of wings and ringing ears as a result of their cries. As he attempts to push himself up, a series of footsteps tread through the fallen leaves, prompting him to stop and remain still. Only now did he notice how strongly his heart had been beating.  He struggled to find a way to calm himself, for his wretched heartbeat masked even the footsteps.


    ¡°Where are you?¡± He would ask, frantically looking around. ¡°Back for more? Finally come to finish me off?!¡± He slams his fist into the road, granting himself a momentary spark of strength.


    The bushes behind him began to rustle, prompting him to use said momentary spark of strength to place his feet below him. But alas, another sharp pain shot throughout his leg. The strength he had mustered would vanish just as quickly, causing him to stumble again and fall onto the road.


    ¡°Oogh! Damned leg!¡± He cursed.


    The bushes rustled once more, and through them came a snarl. The snout pushes through, and soon, the whole body. What seemed to be a wolf had made its way onto the dirt road behind him, its eyes looking to his direction, glowing in the darkness. The silhouette and the snarl confirmed what animal it is, yet it was somehow different. The Pillager runs his eyes over it, finding it to be too slender and too big to be an ordinary wolf; the snarl was also peculiar. He remained still, cold sweat running down his forehead.


    The predator had set its eyes on the prey ¡ª men are not the only hunters. The snarl had died down, simmering into a silence. Before he could blink, the y¨­kai had pounced on him, covering a wide distance within a single leap, and dug its teeth deep into his flesh.


    ¡°NO! NOOO! GAAAAARRRGHHHHHH!!!¡± Cried the Pillager, unable to escape the jaws of his predator.


    His cries would be rivaled by the sound of his flesh being torn apart, pulled from his bones before they snapped under the pressure of a strong bite. Within seconds, there was only the latter.

 CHAPTER TWO: THE VILLAGE

    The Swordsman and his mighty steed carry on with their journey back to the Old Baker¡¯s village, who seems to have fallen asleep on the horse using the sack of bread as a pillow. Temporarily, the Swordsman lifts his head to look up at the sky despite it being obstructed by tree branches, heavily decorated by a full hand of green leaves. With his view of the sky obscured, he could barely tell which hour it was, though he would assume that they already passed the Hour of the Horse ¡ª midday.


    Simultaneous to him lowering his head, the horse gently nudges him on the shoulder, to which he turns to see a familiar gaze in the stallion¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°...You just ate.¡± He said.


    To which the horse replies with a stern exhale through his nostrils.


    ¡°You are going to starve the country.¡±


    In place of an exhale, a short and subtle neigh is used as a response.


    He sighs, gently petting the horse on the side, ¡°We are almost at the village, I will feed you then. I hope you realize some of your food is mine too.¡±


    The horse gives his gratitude by means of a positive-sounding exhale.


    Inadvertently, the chatter beckoned the Old Baker¡¯s eyes to open. He felt his body regain feeling from his limbs down to the tips of his fingers and toes. Light enters his eyes in the form of sunbeams filtered by the leaves. It would take a while before he would realize that the constant motion was due to him being on a moving horse, and that the mysterious stranger walking beside him was the swordsman from earlier ¡ª supposedly the fabled Demon of Kumitsukawa. The Old Baker lets out a subtle yawn that alerts his travel party of his being awake.


    ¡°Good morning¡­ my lord.¡± Greeted the Baker, quick to add a respectful end to his salutation once reminded of the status of his savior as a sworn samurai in comparison to himself.


    However, no such reciprocation would be heard from him.


    ¡°...My lord, would you like to take my place? You have been walking since before dawn, you must be tired.¡± He continued, offering the man¡¯s horse back to him. But the Old Baker was at a loss. Whatever kindness he offers seems to meet an impenetrable wall, prompting a short moment of silence to dwell among several possible prompts. ¡°Are¡­ are you really the Demon of Kumitsukawa?¡± He pauses for a response, which he did not receive. ¡°Last night¡¯s heroics have me thinking otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Demons cannot be heroes.¡± The Demon cuts through his delusion.


    ¡°With all due respect, my lord, demons do not save lives, but you saved us.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°You must allow me to extend my gratitude. I do not have much, so I must place myself in your service until my debt is repaid.¡±


    ¡°There is no debt to be owed here.¡± Again, the Demon refuses.


    ¡°A life is no small thing, and you have saved several. I suppose you may not see life this way, not yet. When you get to my age, you¡ª¡±


    ¡°I did not kill those men to save lives. I killed them because they needed to be killed.¡± He interjects with venom-laced words.


    ¡°Needed¡­?¡± Inquired the Baker, but the inquiry was moot. ¡°I beg your forgiveness, my lord, but although that may have been your objective,¡± he continues, ¡° it does not change the fact that you saved us.¡± The Baker refutes, ¡°Your kind heart confutes you.¡± He follows with a kind chuckle, soft enough to dispel the illusion that he was mocking his savior.


    Without any reaction from the Demon, his chuckle naturally fades into silence. The rein is tugged to lead them onto a dirt road that departs from the initial path. It leads inward into the forest, where the gap in between the trees is wider and the road itself is better kept. What joyous expression the Old Baker held degraded into a stern look.


    ¡°Please do not mistake my humor for a lack of gratitude. I truly am grateful, but I must tell you that my village¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªWould not take kindly to a demon?¡± He presumes, ¡°I will bring you to the village, but I am not delivering you to your doorstep.¡±


    ¡°No, my village is¡­¡ª¡±


    Kumitsukawa comes into view, particularly the paddy fields just outside the walls that normally teemed with food for generations to come. However, the paddies were not just populated with crops this time as he came to realize with every step taken forward. The Demon, upon getting closer, feasts his eyes upon the harrowing view of a grave atrocity; just as the rice stalks peeks from above the water, so do hands, heads, feet, and fingers.


    He relents from his party and runs forth to find that not a single paddy is spared from the presence of a dead body. The water conceals much of the deceased, but there is no mistaking it. A floating extremity or an exposed head is recognizable beyond the shadow of a doubt. Questions overcame him, but soon enough, the priority made itself known. He sprints through the paddies, through the charred gate, to find Kumitsukawa in ruins. Nothing was spared from the siege, neither wood, stone nor flesh. And to that effect, he leaves no stone unturned to find anyone that may have survived. No haste is spared in looking for any signs of life, the lack of which brought him to desperation ¡ª even a wince or a dying breath would do. He visits piles of rubble after piles of rubble, pulling apart mounds of debris with all his might to create a path for survivors. However, despite his efforts, no one came crawling out to meet him. No one called out for his aid. Eventually, he could no longer take the silence ¡ª he breaks it with a roar of agony. He finds himself weak in the knees, dropping amongst the dead to grab at the blackened soil. It was something to crush, something to crumple while he recites profanity like prayers ¡ª the sun slowly set on him, just as it did on Kumitsukawa.


    The Old Baker, now on foot, follows from behind with the horse being led by the rein. He himself is seeing this scenery for the first time, to be surrounded by the bodies of his neighbors and friends ¡ª their houses and the streets they roamed have now become their graves. The slow pace in which he walks allows him to take in one detail at a time. True enough, not a single house nor establishment was spared, not even his bakery. He follows the cries to the very center of the village ¡ª the market place. He watches the once stoic stranger pour his heart out into hellish wails; he figures that a man of the sword, a warrior, must have seen countless deaths before. Either by his own hand or the hand of others. Yet he watches the Demon collapse upon witnessing the tragic state of Kumitsukawa.


    He approaches the other, and places a soft hand of comfort upon him. He expected his hand to pass through, and perhaps become scorched, but instead, his fingers curled around a burdened shoulder.


    ¡°What happened....?¡± The Demon asks, torn between a boiling fury and a chilling mortification.


    ¡°I¡­ I do not know...¡ª I never made it this far into the village. I was taken by the paddies, just outside¡­¡± Said the Baker. ¡°I was returning from a trip... and when I got to the fields¡ª I was too afraid to go further, I could not take another step¡ª the pillagers found me soon after.¡± He continues, trembling at his own recount of the events. ¡°We can only hope that by the will of the gods, someone survived.¡± The Baker, once more, glanced upon the destruction of his village.


    ¡°Tch.¡± The Demon scoffs, a response that the Baker took note of.


    ¡°The gods have mercy¡ª¡±


    ¡°MERCY?! The soil is wet with the blood of children and you place your faith in their MERCY?!¡± His fingers dive further into the ground, feeling the moisture. A demon¡¯s cries in their fullest potency devours the radiance from the morning sky with ease. Beneath the mask, he grits his teeth, standing in the middle of an unexplained massacre. He continues, ¡°None of this is enough to beckon their mercy. It did not then, it will not now.¡± He lowers his head.


    The Baker did not need to see his face, the breath that carried his words was evidence enough of his pain. A pain of such depth was capable of quelling any thought he had as a refutation to his musings. He doubts refutation is an appropriate response to a soul in such a ruinous state as the village. In the silence they shared, the Demon suddenly looks over his shoulder in a quick fashion; he plants a firm hand upon the Baker¡¯s stomach and pushes him out of the way, saving him from the arrows that strike the back of his knee as well as the forearm that remained extended.


    The sudden attack spooks the horse, prompting a loud NEIGH! But no urge to run is apparent, at least not without his master¡¯s command.


    The Demon pulls his scabbard back to aid in the draw of his sword. He pivots on his foot to deflect two more arrows that sought him out, rendering them moot. Unfortunately, other attempts to move are denied by the arrow that lodged itself behind his knee. The range at which an arrow would be effective, and the landscape of their location, foretold the enemies¡¯ proximity. It may be too late for him ¡ª he must save the Old Baker,


    ¡°Take the horse! Run!¡± The Demon commands.


    ¡°I can fight! I can help you!¡± The Baker¡¯s eyes lock on the two arrows sticking out of him.


    ¡°RUN!¡±


    Left with no choice, the Old Baker mounts the horse and tugs on the rein to run deeper into the village. The arrows came from behind them, which meant that the main exit had been covered. His eyes omit the horrifying depth of the damage done to Kumitsukawa as he searches for a new exit to save his own life. However, just as he turns a corner, another horse collides with him, knocking him off the saddle and onto the ground. Before he could scurry back onto his feet or away from the attacker, the bladed tip of a yari hovers inches away from his chin.


    Meanwhile, at the Market...


    The Demon frees his scabbard from his belt to aid in his rise from the puddle of blood that he knelt in. Under such strenuous circumstances, he attempts to mitigate the stress and the pain by breathing; on the count of three, he pulls the arrow that was lodged in his arm. Unfortunately for him, this is the only arrow he pulls out as a band of samurai, armed with spears, bows and arrows, and swords, quickly circled around him.


    ¡°Come at me.¡± He beckons from behind the mask, feeling the fire in his heart, a fire fed by the emblem on their navy blue cuirass ¡ª a three-legged crow.


    The spirit of the battle takes him, allowing him to maintain what little balance he musters on one leg; he drops the scabbard on the ground to wield his weapon with both hands ¡ª a cornered animal is left with no other choice than to fight. The samurai around him understood in an instant that with the scabbard discarded, death is the only escape for either of them. The Demon turns every which way, both to keep them at bay and to spread his awareness ¡ª he counts four men, two archers, one swordsman, and one holding a naginata. As soon as he steps forward to engage the enemy in battle, a gunshot echoes throughout the village and a large hole below his rib cage explodes into existence. A single musket ball enters his back, knocking the wind out of him and bringing him down to his knees once more.


    ¡°GUH!¡± His body jerked from the sudden pain, causing his straw hat to fall before he did, leaving him with only his mask.


    Whatever strength he conjured for the battle seeps through both his lips and the new hole that blew into existence. The pain was nothing short of excruciating, he could only try and double his effort to rise up as opposed to the previous instance of his being immobilized. Outside his troubled breathing, he hears the marksman approach from behind him ¡ª a fifth samurai, more decorated than his companions. He turns to peek over his own shoulder and watches the Marksman hand his arquebus to the nearest man to begin the reloading process. He follows the warrior¡¯s movements and watches him take off his mask and helmet to greet him with a smile.


    Because he had difficulty standing up, the Marksman saw fit to kneel on one knee.


    ¡°Dressed in a dark robe, a straw hat, wielding a sword, has a demon''s face or¡­ mask, and smells of brimstone.¡± The Marksman enumerates his features after performing a quick once-over, as if to cross off items on a list. ¡°It is you.¡±


    His response came in the form of a scowl, aimed at the samurai that knelt in front of him.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°I never thought I would get a chance to see you, let alone in broad daylight ¡ª the Demon of Kumitsukawa.¡± He says with a smile. ¡°Forgive me, I am Morimoto Daichi, captain under Lord Homura. And these are my men.¡± He bows his head for a few seconds, once for his apology, and another for his introduction. The rest of his party bows in chorus.


    While they bow, he slowly reaches for his katana, sitting a few inches away from his fingers.


    In an instant, his hand is impaled to the ground by a wakizashi.


    ¡°HRNNNN!! HMMM!!¡± He shrieks in a muffled manner, feeling the handguard on his knuckles and the cold blade between his bones.


    ¡°Tsk tsk tsk¡ª¡± Daichi clicks his tongue.


    Impaled to the ground and immobilized, his strength continued to slip away. Much to his regret, the sound of galloping horses approached. And once they clear the ruins, he finds the Baker in the clutches of another samurai ¡ª a sixth man. The Baker looks meets his gaze; if eyes could speak, he would have received an apology of great value.


    Daichi rises from his knelt position to meet the Old Baker. Instinctively, his men reaffirm their position so as to watch over the Demon. The Marksman approaches, giving the middle-aged man the same look of analysis that he gave their more lethal catch. He pivots on his foot, returning his gaze to the Demon.


    ¡°Is he your father?¡± Daichi asks the Demon, but turns back to the old man when he receives no response. ¡°What is your name?¡±.


    ¡°Machida Hiroshi.¡± Answered the Baker, in the same laconic manner as he did the Pillager.


    ¡°And who is that?¡± Daichi lifts his finger, pointing it toward the Demon.


    Hiroshi looks to his ally. Though his straw hat was removed, the mask still covered half of his face; his mind remains unknowing of a certain answer, ¡°I¡­ do not know who he is.¡±


    Daichi breaks into a smirk, erupting into a sudden motion of gripping Hiroshi by the jaw. His men remain calm, never once breaking away from their current task of who watches whom.


    ¡°Nnng!¡± Hiroshi groaned. ¡°Is this how a samurai proves his worth? By hurting an old man?¡± He stares with the sharpness of a dagger despite wincing in pain.


    ¡°Does this hurt?¡± The Marksman applies more pressure, his own nails beginning to create marks upon The Baker¡¯s skin.


    A samurai approaches, stepping over the Demon to return Daichi¡¯s arquebus to him. In a quick turn of events, the downed Demon pulls the wakizashi from his hand and stabs the samurai¡¯s foot to root him to the ground; resourceful is he to transfer the arrow from his leg to the impaled samurai to weaken him further. The Demon pushes himself upward to grab a hold of the samurai¡¯s waist and pull him down to use his body as cover for the arrow that was fired at him in an attempt to quell his retaliation. He grabs onto the samurai¡¯s wakizashi from his belt and shoves it upon the exposed region of his face ¡ª just above the eye socket. The blade clears the man¡¯s head, lifting his helmet slightly and killing him instantly. He takes the dead samurai¡¯s katana next and quickly gets up onto one knee whilst entering a seigan-no-kamae stance; a middle guard proves useful amidst being surrounded by enemies of various weapons. The commotion prompts the sixth samurai to hold Hiroshi so as to keep him in place. Simultaneously, Daichi kicks the arquebus away from the Demon¡¯s reach and rolls to the ground to grab it. Mirroring the Demon, he aims the fully loaded arquebus toward him in a stalemate. The rest of the men inch closer, surrounding the two of them in a small space. Despite the death of his comrade, Daichi could not help but smile upon witnessing the ferocity of a demon before his very eyes. Even on the brink of death, even as he was surrounded, he managed to kill one of his men and hold him in a stalemate. For a split second, his steady breathing hitches.


    ¡°Put down the sword, Demon. Hell is no match against the power I hold in my hands, especially not in your state.¡±


    ¡°Hell awaits.¡±


    Their eyes lock into a battle. To both warriors, the world began to quiet. The spirits inch closer to watch as the battle unfolds before them. The Demon lunges forth, only to have a blade pierce him from behind the moment he moves.


    ¡°NO!¡± Hiroshi cries, struggling to relinquish himself from the grasp of his captor to no avail.


    The cold blade inside his body extinguished what little fire was left in his heart. It brushes against his organs each time he breathes; there is no way to muster strength, not again. And just as he felt it enter, so too did he feet it exit.


    ¡°Tsk tsk tsk ¡ª a shame. Your legend precedes you, Demon.¡± Daichi briefly gazes upon his man¡¯s polearm, wet with blood. ¡°However, not as much as you hoped.¡±


    ¡°Daichi-sama, have you reached a decision?¡± The samurai with the naginata chimes in. ¡°Shall we collect the bounty?¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± his eyes lit up, recalling the troubling matter he had been pondering on. ¡°Are you aware that there is a bounty on your head? Silly is it not? To place a bounty on the head of a myth?¡± And so once again, he kneels before him. ¡°A higher price is being offered if you were captured alive, but orders were to kill everyone in Kumitsukawa.¡± He points the pistol onto the Demon¡¯s head.


    ¡°Coward!¡± Shouted Hiroshi. ¡°A real samurai would use his sword!¡±


    ¡°Stuck in the past? I suppose both of you are.¡± Daichi smiled. ¡°But you understand our ways more than a young man like me, right? It would be¡­ disgraceful¡­ not to use this gift.¡±


    The Baker, casting his gaze outward, finds that all of them were equipped with the same mysterious weapon.


    ¡°You see, Lord Homura has been chosen by a powerful daimyo as an ally.¡± Daichi explains, ¡°And as a token of this partnership, he gave us this. Underestimating it is unwise. Just look around you.¡±


    ¡°...Nng...Why?¡± The Demon asks, ¡°This village¡­ is under Lord Homura¡¯s fief..¡±


    ¡°It is, but rotten crops must be removed before new ones can be planted.¡± Daichi smiles. ¡°Sadly, the soil itself has been deemed¡­ unfavorable. You have your lord to thank for that. What was his name¡­? Ah¡­ Ataru.¡±


    ¡°Filth like you have no right to speak his name!!¡± Hiroshi cries out fiercely, prompting the sixth samurai to tighten his grasp and constrict his neck.


    ¡°You think him honorable, old man?¡± Daichi lifts his head to clear his own shoulder, continuing to perch the firearm on the Demon¡¯s forehead. ¡°About two months ago, Lord Homura gave him an order to send all the samurai and the ashigaru left in the Kaga province to aid us in the expansion of territory ¡ª our territory.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Without reinforcements, they burned our banners, and strangled us with its smoke.¡±


    ¡°The man is blind!¡± Spat Hiroshi, ¡°What reason does he have to wage war? Lord Ataru understood what none of you fools could not! He gave us lives! Homes! Futures! Had Lord Homura stayed in Kumitsukawa, he would have known that all of Kaga has been at peace!¡± The Baker pays the toll of running his mouth with a stiff knee sent to the back.


    ¡°It is at peace because Lord Homura is fending off enemies at our borders!¡± Daichi counters fiercely before turning back to the Demon. ¡°All this Ataru gave you was his weakness, turned the warriors of Kumitsukawa into farmers and errand boys. You were a samurai ¡ª once. Tell me, was that honorable of a lord?¡±


    With what little strength, the Demon pushes his head further on the gun that is being pressed on him, propping himself up with his knuckles. ¡°I will kill you.¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡ª Your ferocity made me doubt if you were even from Kumitsukawa, but now I am assured. You have drunk the same water he did.¡± Daichi pulls the trigger and empties his shot into the Demon¡¯s eye. Blood and flesh erupt and streak across Homura¡¯s kamon as displayed on their cuirass, the rest straining the soil thereafter. The Demon of Kumitsukawa falls lifeless into the dirt, and silence befalls them. Collectively, the samurai relieve themselves of their helmets to feast their unobstructed gaze at the sight of a lifetime ¡ª a dead legend. They bow so as to honor a fallen warrior. Daichi, on the other hand, was quietly elated. Not only has he vanquished a cursed thorn on their side, but he was in possession of a weapon capable of killing gods. With as much care as a gardener employs to tend to his flowers, the Captain tucks his pistol onto his person.


    ¡°MONSTERS!¡± Erupted Hiroshi, continuing to protest his captor¡¯s restraints.


    His captor suddenly lets go, striking Hiroshi with the wooden end of his yari to send the Baker tumbling forward. Tripping over the body of the Demon, Hiroshi falls onto the ground. He scurries back hoping to distance himself from them, but the samurai leave their latest victim behind and enclose him in their circle of intimidation.


    ¡°Daichi-sama, this one is a baker. I found a sack of bread on his horse.¡±


    ¡°Orders are orders, the old man dies.¡± Replies Daichi without ever breaking away from looking Hiroshi in the eyes.


    ¡°With him around, we would not need to hunt too much. He could bake for us, maybe even cook. We can kill him before we reach the town.¡±


    The rest of his men murmur their agreement, nodding and quietly pleading.


    For a moment, Daichi would reconsider. He was getting tired of sleeping with a stomach that was barely full. It aches in the middle of the night, and he is left to salivate without a single thing to quench neither thirst nor hunger.


    ¡°Get him on the horse, we are late enough as it is.¡± Daichi agrees, much to the relief of his own men who shared in his grief.


    ¡°What about the other horse?¡±


    ¡°Bring it. The others would be hungry, I bet they have emptied the settlement¡¯s supply of food already.¡±


    Hiroshi was allowed a moment to breathe given their conversation. He did not know whether to be thankful that his life was spared or reluctant that his life is now in their cruel hands. He watches them lower their weapons; they turn to leave, and the shadow of his captor is cast upon him while he struggles to stand. Hiroshi turns to kneel and pushes himself up with his hands, but before he could completely rise up, the shadow becomes headless and blood splatters onto his back.


    The samurai¡¯s head drops with a thump and rolls to the Baker¡¯s feet, the body dropping along with his weapon.


    Taking notice of this, Daichi quickly turns his head to find the Demon of Kumitsukawa standing on both feet, and a beheaded member of his team halfway to the ground. The hole in his eye nearly vanished, but its lingering presence ¡ª the hanging bloody sinews and dark abyss where his eye should be found ¡ª confirms that the bullet surely hit its mark. Yet here he stood, having just sent a member of Daichi¡¯s squad into the afterlife in one fell swoop.


    Realizing that he did not reload his gun, Daichi draws his blade to defend himself.


    The Demon firmly plants his foot with a massive step towards the Marksman, enacting a downward slash that drives his katana right in the middle of his head all the way down to the neck. A ferocious glare is sent his way, though he knew that Daichi was long dead by then. He pulls his blade from Daichi¡¯s neck and clears the blood from the metal with a swing.


    The enemy prepares to retaliate; their archer quickly nocks an arrow into his bow. As soon as he takes aim, the bow is swatted away by the swing of the yari¡¯s wooden end. Pulling the weapon back, the bladed end cuts across the archer¡¯s exposed face ¡ª Hiroshi steps to the side to bash his shoulder into the archer¡¯s chest, sending him to the ground. The Old Baker repositions the spear in his hand, ready for the next strike. Just then, his ally runs past him without the slightest hint of hesitation. The Demon dives into action, narrowly dodging the swing of an enemy¡¯s katana as he enters a roll. Coming out of his roll, he weaves a one-handed sign with his left hand. From the black smoke that puffs in his empty palm, a kunai appears. He grips it tight, driving it down to stake his enemy¡¯s foot to the ground and weaken their resolve. He swats his opponent¡¯s sword arm away with the swing of his own sword and separates the top half of his head from the bottom half with a horizontal slash.


    To prevent the second archer from attacking his newly risen ally, Hiroshi provides a distraction by throwing his spear to pierce their neck. The archer misses his shot and drops to his knee, exposing his nape to the Demon who decapitates him with one swift downward motion. The last man charges without relent, attempting to perform a powerful attack by holding his sword overhead, leaving his entire body exposed. Concealing his next attack, the Demon pivots his foot to turn and drive his katana into the samurai¡¯s neck just as he delivers his powerful strike. The downward force his opponent utilizes only aids in his demise as it brings him lower on the Demon¡¯s sword; skewered, he never even got to land his hit.


    The Demon pushes his last kill off while simultaneously pulling his blade from their throat. Like the deceased, he hits the floor, barely catching himself on his hands so as to not dirty his face any further. With the battle over, he could now take deep and long breaths to recuperate from an extensive set of moves. He lets go of his katana and pounds his chest repeatedly, hoping that this would clear his airways and smoothen the breathing process, but to no avail. He relieves himself of his mask and takes a long and rejuvenating inhale to fully inflate his lungs; he looks up to the sky to view a blank gray canvas and to stop himself from shaking, brought about by the rush of battle. He has never jumped into battle seconds after resurrection before.


    Hiroshi treads closer in shock; a dead man has risen to take vengeance upon his killers. And all this had transpired before his very eyes. However, it would be the spectacle of the Demon with his mask off that truly shook him to his core. He inches closer with caution, analyzing the other¡¯s face beyond the blood, hair, dirt, and the bullet wound.


    Each step brought him closer to realizing the truth. While those from beyond the Kaga province knew the legend by its title ¡ª The Demon of Kumitsukawa ¡ª the locals of the province, particularly those from the village, knew it by the demon¡¯s real name. As time went on, the moniker¡¯s popularity grew and the identity of the demon was lost, but not to the few that mattered.


    He stares in complete incredulity.


    Demon of Kumitsukawa really was¡ª


    ¡°...Hisashi¡­.?¡± Called the Baker, his tone ridden with fright.


    From looking at the sky, his gaze falls upon he who calls; he has not heard that name in three years. The gaze and their interlocked nature distracted him from the fact that no matter how deeply he breathed, he could not seem to get enough air. He falls onto his back, spectating the clouds while they slowly pass him by. The ground has never felt this comfortable before, and in its comfort, he slowly drifts to slumber.

 CHAPTER THREE: THE SAMURAI

    NINE YEARS EARLIER


    1547


    "Hisashi-san!"


    The farmer calls, straightening his back to stand and wave his hand in the air. Water trickled down his forearm, simultaneous to the sweat that rode the wrinkles on his face. He briefly puts his arm down to wipe said sweat with his sleeve, and by the time he realigns his sight, the samurai clad in an armor of black and gold had approached.


    A quick tug on the rein commands his horse to stop at the right moment to provide shade to the farmer from the sun''s pressure; Amaterasu sits high above the clouds, basking Kumitsukawa with rays of her light. The Samurai pulls his mask off and bestows a smile along with a small bow upon the older man, greeting him:


    "Good morning, Ichiro-san."


    "Good morning, my lord." The Farmer reciprocated.


    "Please, there is no need for you to call me that." Hisashi smiled.


    "Ah.." Ichiro chuckled. "Hisashi-san, I heard about the boy... Are they sure he was taken?" Asked the Ichiro.


    "I was told the boy would often play in the woods, but would always come home before dark." Replied Hisashi.


    "I hope he is alright. Be careful out there. There are not a lot of bandits in our forests, because it is their territory. If you can, make haste and travel the woods before nightfall. If it cannot be helped, stay on your horse ¡ª do not stumble." Warned Ichiro, deathly serious in doing so.


    "Do not stumble?" Asked Hisashi. Though several of Ichiro''s choice of words called his brow to arch, he thought it best to inquire about the prescription.


    "Mmm. Kumitsukawa''s forests are ripe with spirits and y¨­kai. My brother once told me that he saw a wolf stalking him on his way back home one night. When he lost his footing in the dark, it growled at him, until he pretended to sit and catch his breath." Ichiro raised his right hand, spreading his thumb and little finger apart while maintaining the rest of his fingers together. "He heard a bird fly by too, singing a strange song."


    "Is he alright?"


    Ichiro nods, "Thankfully, he got home safely. We told the story to our mother who told us that he was being followed by an Okuri Inu ¡ª a wolf that stalks you and attacks only if you stumble. And the bird he heard was warning him, it was a sparrow ¡ª a Yosuzume. She said if you hear it chirping, then the wolf has been stalking you for quite some time now."


    "Hm..."Is there a way to avoid getting... eaten? If ever Hayato is otherwise unavailable to me."


    "There is¡ª She said that if you stumble, make it seem like you were merely taking a rest to catch your breath. And when you make it out of the forest, thank the wolf and prepare an offering at home."


    "Thank the wolf?"


    "Oh." He huffed affirmatively, nodding thereafter. "She said that in other stories, the wolf is a guide that sees you out of the forest it calls home. So as to not anger the y¨­kai ¡ª and allow yourself continuous passage in the same woods ¡ª you must prepare an offering of gratitude."


    "Hmm..." Hisashi twists and turns the words of the humble farmer betwixt his fingers so as to see them from every possible angle. "Your advice is yet to fail me, Ichiro-san. I just hope I am not too late, Hayato will have to run faster than he ever has." Hisashi leans forward to brush the horse''s side. "I must get going, thank you for the warning and the advice, and please extend my gratitude to your dear mother." Hisashi bows once more to announce his departure respectfully.


    "Do not worry, you will find him, your senses are as shape as your sword. The best of luck to you, Hisashi-san." Ichiro bows as well.


    Reapplying his mask, Hisashi rides past the paddy fields and ventures off into the forests where the child was said to frequently play. He departs from the dirt road and travels upon the grass that muffled Hayato''s galloping. His keen eyes would soon spot the first sign of a child''s presence in the woods ¡ª his toy.


    Calling Hayato to stop, Hisashi alights from his steed and treads carefully toward the taketombo that was cradled by both soil and grass alike. He reaches for the toy, finding it still in one piece, and tucks it beneath his cuirass ¡ª the boy would want this back. The second clue came in the form of pressed grass; though the size of the area in which the grass was pressed differed, it did not go unnoticed that small feet stood upon them.


    Much to his dismay, Hisashi would also find large foot marks.


    He places his own foot into the imprint, finding it to be bigger than his by several inches. A tree stump could fit in it. A closer look at the imprints allows him to notice the outline of toes. The Samurai put two and two together; while the boy played in the forest, a large person had stepped forth and caused the child to fall in fear and drop his toy. It accounts for the small, big, and the irregularly shaped prints. Turning his head yonder into the forest, the trail is spotted. Wasting no haste, Hisashi climbs onto Hayato and sprints forth to follow their lead.


    The further he went, the more that Kumitsukawa was reduced to a shadow behind overlapping trees. He began to notice that the footprints became more sporadic, appearing only once every few meters. Either the captor had unimaginably long legs, or they were jumping incredible distances in a single bound. As if to call his master''s attention, Hayato briefly exhales while tilting his head sideward. Hisashi takes note of this behavior and casts his gaze to the sides, noticing that his left and right side were empty. It finally dawns upon him that while his periphery were devoid of anything of interest, the path they traveled on is decorated with leaves through and through. Considering that autumn was still months away, this was yet another oddity that raises the stakes of the mission. The Samurai lifts his head to gaze upon the tall trees, finding the complete cover they provided is now filled with holes.


    They jumped so high that they broke through the tree leaves? Hisashi thought. "Why leave a trail that could be easily followed when you have just taken a child?" He asks himself, hoping to understand the mind of the perpetrator.


    He knew that an answer could not be found here and that speaking his thoughts out loud was a moot point, unless Hayato would finally like to talk back to him. Onward they rode, following the trail of peculiar breadcrumbs. Eventually, they would find the end of the trail at the foot of a mountain. As they stood there, gazing upwards, Hisashi could say but one thing to his only companion:


    "I have a bad feeling about this."


    His horse concurs with a soft neigh.


    "You are coming with me. I am not leaving you unguarded like the last time ¡ª that was one hell of a chase." Hisashi leads them up the mountain, careful to trek on the more leveled slices of land rather than the steeper slopes.


    The symphony of nature persevered for some time. With their trail now non-existent, the harmony of rustling leaves, muffled footsteps and the momentary vocal performance of native birds was all that accompanied them. However, the horse''s next step brings them just barely within the radius of a new sound that adds to the ensemble ¡ª running water. It went unsaid, but the two of them knew to go to it.


    Drawing near, the Samurai and his steed break through the tree line where they find a calm stream, preceded by the impetus of a violent waterfall whose peak lies higher above the mountain. With the trees out of the way, he is finally able to see clearly in spite of the shade they cast, covering the piece of land with patches of shadows. Hisashi climbs down his horse and leads him closer to the stream so that he may partake of the blessing after their lengthy sprint through the woods. While Hayato drinks to his heart''s content, Hisashi looks around for more clues; he strays from his companion, finding nothing of interest near the stream but twigs that could have been brought or broken by wandering animals, and scattered leaves that could have been blown by a passing wind. Just as he ponders on the wind, a breeze passes through the woods and provides him with a moment of freshness. The Samurai looks up to find a particularly large feather dancing in its descent.


    "Miyahira Hisashi." The voice breaks the silence in a grand manner. It rings throughout the woods, louder than even the waterfall that crashes into the stream ¡ª the voice was clear and without flaw.


    Hisashi quickly draws his katana and pivots his foot to turn behind him. However, the tip of his blade points at nothing, prompting his eyes to dart hastily from one corner of the forest to the other in search of the target. He did, however, follow the falling feather in the corner of his eye. Landing beside his steed, his resolve quakes once he realizes the feather is as big as Hayato.


    "Who are you? Why did you take the boy?" Inquired the Samurai, still failing to see his adversary.


    "I see you have followed my trail." Like a treacherous road, the voice boasted a broadness and thickness with a bountiful number of smooth and nigh playful curves in his intonation.


    "It was easy to follow."


    "Oh? BAHAHAHAHAA!" The volatile laughter is brought to a simmer. "The bird follows the crumbs."


    Hisashi snaps his fingers, rallying his horse back to his side and away from danger. As if understanding the situation they were in, the horse complies and stands ready to sprint at a moment''s notice.


    "If it is me you want, let go of the boy." Said Hisashi, continuing the search.


    "And allow you to leave my mountain so easily? You must be a little bird."


    "I have no quarrel with you, and neither does Kumitsukawa. Let me have the boy, and we will leave your mountain in peace ¡ª you have my word." Bargained the Samurai.


    The lengthy reply grants Hisashi some time. His next scan of the woods has finally become fruitful ¡ª a silhouette of a crouched human appears perched on an extremely distant tree opposite of the waterfall. His gentle push to the horse''s side instructs him to hide behind the trees to his left. With their perpetrator located, the tip of his sword now points to the perched silhouette.


    "They were right to send you after the boy, Miyahira Hisashi ¡ª to me."


    "What do you want with me?" Hisashi humors the stranger and asks him.


    "Ohh? What do you think it is that I want?"


    "I am in no mood to play games."


    "A GAME? A GAME YOU SAY?! Well... even such barbaric acts can be called games, all a matter of perspective I suppose." A treacherous curve in the road that is his voice presents itself. "But I can assure you, little bird, this is no game."


    "Then hand over the child. I will not be toyed with by some demon." Hisashi spits the title that equates the creature to the foulness of his crime.


    "DEMON?!"


    The reaction of disbelief shook the world, loud enough to compel the stern trees themselves to bow in an attempt to appease him. The voice makes his chest tight, but Hisashi stands his ground and reaffirms his hold on his weapon. With the target shrouded in shadows, it was a challenge to see what they were doing. However, he knew that with the offense taken, a nasty response brewed in the form of an attack.


    He was correct.


    The Silhouette raises their hand up, and sends it back down with a fury. Hisashi takes note of the tree branches that moved in succession ¡ª something was thrown. At the speed that the branches were being disturbed, he knew that he could neither deflect nor catch it ¡ª he had to evade. However, before he sees anything come out of the woods, Hisashi is thrown back towards a tree trunk. He meets the object with full contact, his armor seemingly doing little to soften the collision of his body with the trunk. The single attack renders him kneeling with the wind nearly knocked out of him as soon as he falls.


    Despite this, the Samurai pushes himself back onto his feet and readies himself for the next attack.


    What the hell did he throw at me? Thought the Samurai to himself.


    Being unable to see the attack, he could not risk standing in place. He returns his blade to the scabbard and charges forth in a tactical dash, strafing from left to right. He must keep moving, he must become a target that is hard to hit. The perched silhouette makes his move again, and just like before, Hisashi is lifted high into the air and thrown back without seeing what was thrown at him. He flies across, landing hard on the ground just beside the body of water. Had he not adjusted his fall, his skill in swordsmanship would have been rendered moot. He struggles to rise up, gravity''s pull and the prior collision to the tree further weakened his resolve.


    The Silhouette sends another attack with but a single move of his hand.


    Hisashi watches the same spectacle as before, with the added ripples that disturb the stream''s natural flow. His heart stops, and in a sudden pump of adrenaline, the Samurai jumps across the stream and catches himself with a roll. The attack flies by him, splashing the falling water into the rocks behind it and sprinkling droplets upon him ¡ª it dawns upon him. For the first time, he evaded the attack successfully. Taking to this strategy, he equips his bow and nocks three arrows at a time to fire into the trees. The arrows knick leaves from the branches and litter them upon their battlefield. It mattered not that his quiver was almost empty, the fruits of his labor show in the way the ground is now decorated with leaves.


    Now with a better chance, he sprints beside the waters and keeps his eyes upon his enemy. Just as before, the Silhouette retaliates with his invisible attacks, but with the indicators in place, the Samurai dodges them with ease.


    Angered by the ineffectiveness of his advances, he spreads his fan to its full extent and unleashes a force of wind capable of cutting down trees and applying slash marks upon the soil. The lethal nature of his barrage almost cut the Samurai, but with his evasive maneuvers in play, only the tip of his helmet''s crest fell victim to them.


    "Tch¡ª Pesky little bird." Cursed the Silhouette.


    The Samurai gains confidence by way of his improvised strategy. He grips the handle of his katana as he pushes forward, nearing the woods once again to attack his perched adversary. The closer he got, the bigger the silhouette seemed to become. And soon enough, behind the creature sprouted a large set of wings.


    His dash comes to a stop, following the Silhouette with his eyes as he flies to the sky through the cover of the trees, perfectly framed by the Amaterasu''s light behind him. Like a boulder from heaven, the Silhouette crashes down into the Earth. The shockwave from his crash sends Hisashi back, this time plunging him right into the stream. The collision shook the mountain to its core. From the waters, the unrelenting Samurai rises. He pulls his helmet and his mask off, revealing his face to the enemy who now hides behind a cloud of dirt and smoke borne from the crash; it lags in its descent, providing a veil that continues to shroud the enemy''s identity in mystery.


    Hisashi snaps for Hayato to come running, mounting him while the horse is in motion.


    "Just like we practiced." He tells Hayato ¡ª onward, they charge.


    Another mad dash toward an enemy that now stood beyond the height of a torii gate. Hisashi slowly stands on Hayato''s back, and upon his signal, Hayato launches his master toward the Silhouette by entering a sudden stop while simultaneously lifting his hind legs.


    Hisashi soars through the sky with a hand on his sheathed katana.


    He breaks through the smoke and gazes upon his enemy, much to his surprise.


    Realizing who he was up against, Hisashi dared not to draw his katana and would make the last minute effort of shifting his trajectory to pass over him instead. The winged giant pivots on his heel to follow the Samurai''s trajectory behind him, readying his large fan for an attack. The Samurai enters a roll to soften his contact with the ground, and the Giant uses this opportunity to swing his fan and sever the little bird''s head from his shoulders.


    An effective method


    if only it hit its mark.


    Crouched from his landing, Hisashi quickly turns to face his opponent and presses both hands onto the floor with his forehead atop them, causing the invisible cleaver to leave its sharp mark on the soil just behind the samurai''s toes.


    The act of the Samurai stunned the Giant, enough to stop further plans of an attack. His fan is raised once again, ready to unleash a killing blow with but a single wave. Yet with his enemy in this position, he hesitates.


    "Get up, samurai! Fight me!" He urged, the smoke starting to fall and reveal his mythic presence in its entirety.


    Hisashi would not budge, remaining in his vulnerable position.


    "RISE! Fight me and pay for your insolence!" His wings spread wide, shrouding his enemy in his shadow.


    Even then, the Samurai would do nothing.


    The Giant, in the silence of their standstill, would hear murmurs from the human. But with the stream so loud, and his curiosity as high as the arch of his own brow, he opted to lean closer. It was his turn to be surprised, hearing that the Samurai had been apologizing.


    "Please forgive me, oh great deity. I was a fool to call you a demon. Punish me, but please, free the boy. He has done nothing to warrant your wrath ¡ª I have." The breath that carried his words was as straight as an arrow, both in form and trajectory. "Let me return the boy to the village, and I swear on my honor that I will return for the judgment I am due." Hisashi spoke in an apologetic tone, never once raising his head to gaze upon divinity.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    To place one''s honor as collateral was no measly thing, especially to a samurai. If he returns, he faces divine justice by the Giant''s hand to atone for his offense by means of an unknown punishment. If he refuses to return, he forfeits his honor as warrior and man, to which the only remedy to a crime this grave would be seppuku. The Giant sighs, pulling himself back up to speak.


    "It seems the gods were right. What a pain." A chuckle bubbled beneath his disappointment, ending only with the sound of his fan folding to a close.


    Hisashi notices that the shadow of the divine being had become slender with his wings tucked away. He still remains in his position.


    "Rise and meet my gaze."


    Granted permission to gaze upon him, the Samurai lifts his torso to sit upon his own legs. Finally, he could see the divine being clearly, and there was no mistaking it, he was in the presence of a Daitengu. His long hair was as white as snow, contrasted by a face that was as redder than the sunset and decorated with a nose as thick as a log. He was clothed in religious robes, accompanied by a wide set of wings and a large fan as his weapon. The Daitengu takes his seat opposite of Hisashi


    Only when their eyes finally meet does the Daitengu speak his next words, but not without lightly tapping the top of Hisashi''s head with his enormous fan.


    "Miyahira Hisashi, you either share a bird''s intelligence, or its spirit. HAHAHAHA!" His hearty laughter breathes life into the grass beneath them. "I cannot speak for all of my kind. However, consider me yet another god that looks upon you with favor." The Daitengu takes a moment to bow to Hisashi.


    Despite being stunned by the sudden turn of events, he reciprocates with his own bow, rushing to it so as to catch up to the divine being. Their bow was long, and both heads would rise in unison. "Yet another god...?" Hisashi inquires.


    "Mm." He nods. "Did you not hear the winds sing as you rode by? How the trees waved you off into your journey?" He points skyward, "The sun desperately peeks from behind the clouds to watch us battle. If I were the sun, I would have been gravely disappointed."


    The questions ask for a recollection before he gives an answer. It is only now that he has come to notice such blanketed things, hiding beneath the veil of the mundane world. And yet, he finds himself bewildered at the thought that the memories of such instances span further still, before this very day. Now, he watches as the stream beside them flows from behind the Daitengu toward him.


    "Oi." He calls the samurai''s attention. "I do not suppose you saw the bones of those who came before you on your way up here? Be proud," he chuckled, "your bones will be the first not to join them, wherever they are ¡ª little birds." He gesticulates yonder using his fan.


    "Little birds?"


    "Mm," The Daitengu nods, "notice how they peck at every little thing that moves, perching anywhere that seems quiet. Worse is that those of the same feather stick together. Feeble little things. They accompany one another in everything ¡ª from feeding to stupidity. Why else would they all flock here to meet the same fate?" The Daitengu thinks himself bold to have won those battles. He led them there after all. "But you, you are different. Still a bird, but a strong one, like me. We follow no flock. We fly alone, hunt alone, fight alone. Because none can match our height." He taps his fan onto his own chest.


    Hisashi pulls his focus away from the deity, searching his thoughts in their abundance. He sees fit to display them on the numerous blades of grass on the floor to help him in reviewing them more clearly; memories from his childhood, from his training in the dojo, and now as a kosho spoke to him in volumes. The conclusion is found soon enough, not in the individual blades of grass, but in the collective green that dances in and through the winds of time. Hisashi realigns his attention by looking upward, beholden to the Daitengu who was peering down at him all this time; his lips curve into a triumphant smile.


    "Stories of a samurai from Kumitsukawa in black and gold had spread around the forest and among my kind ¡ª Miyahira Hisashi." His mere mention of the name calls for an applause from the trees that stand by them. While Hisashi looked up in awe, the Daitengu had a smirk upon him. "And now that I have come to test your worth, I have failed ¡ª there is hope for mankind."


    "I am honored by your recognition, but please forgive me that I ask once more as to the whereabouts of the child. I must get him back to his parents." Though bestowed with great honor, Hisashi does not forget why he was here.


    "Hmm? Worry not, the child is safe and in good health. You will have him, but first, you will have my gifts." He points back down at him with his closed fan. "What I will give you is a boon worthy of a bird like you. For you, Miyahira Hisashi, I shall grant you knowledge ¡ª three whispers of your future."


    "I may be worthy of your adoration, but I know that I am not worthy of the secrets of a divine being."


    "BAH! Nonsense. Now be quiet while I give you your gift."


    Despite his own uttered protest, he could not bring himself to move his legs, let alone to turn away. Realizing the inevitability brought onto him by man''s natural intrigue for the unknown, he dares not speak and simply readies himself to consume every word.


    "First," a single fold from the Daitengu''s fan was opens, "like the leaves through the seasons, you will watch empires rise and fall, and they shall know you by name.


    "By name?"


    "Mm." The Daitengu nodded.


    "Second," a second fold opens. "evil is a seed that only grows in the garden of the hearts of men."


    "...I think that might be obvious."


    "I will thank you NOT to insult my gift, samurai." He leans over to shroud Hisashi in a darker shade of his divine shadow, if for but a moment. "Third," a third and final fold is opened, "you are intertwined with another, and they who are tied together will eventually meet."


    "Intertwined?"


    "Mm. The ''how'' is irrelevant, do not bother asking. Your meeting is certain. Such is fate," he flexes his pinky on the hand he used to raise his fan, "treacherous little thing." The Daitengu nearly spat his afterthought into the river stream.


    The kneeling samurai looks to his own pinky resting on his lap, flexing it as the deity had just done. Despite being seated in the middle of the stream, the water continues to flow past the Daitengu and to Hisashi. To him, these whispers of his future echo repeatedly in his mind. Others would argue that the vagueness of these whispers have rendered their value to that of a pebble beneath any river, but he knew better than to treat them as such.


    "I will keep these in mind, thank you."


    "Now, as promised¡ª"


    The Daitengu rises from his seated position and makes his way to the waterfall where he intercepts the water with his fan to part it and reveal a small cave behind it.


    Hisashi is finally blessed with relief upon seeing the boy unharmed and comfortable in the deity''s hiding spot, just as he promised. Truly, the divine one was as wise as they say. The boy waves at the Daitengu, and then at Hisashi in the distance. The Samurai reaches beneath his cuirass to retrieve the child''s toy, and immediately upon seeing it, the boy''s eyes sparkle like gemstones. Come nightfall, whilst Hayato journeyed them home, he was reminded of these eyes as he looked upward in thought. They may not be gemstones, but they sparkled nonetheless; Hayato''s gentle rocking sent the boy into a slumber, snoring lightly whilst clenching his taketombo in his hands. His right thumb ran over the ends of his fingernails before feeling the pads of his fingers; the longer he looked skyward, the more he pondered upon the notion that perhaps the stars were really looking back at him.


    And they did so with favor.


    The gates of Kumitsukawa come into view. The busy paddy fields were now devoid of farmers, but lights from the lanterns of the village illuminated the forests well. At this point, the lights alone celebrated his return by blanketing him, his horse, and the boy in warmth. A light pat to the little one''s arm awakens him, and a yawn comes pushing through. Strolling further through the gates, Hisashi pulls Hayato to stop at where the houses of the farmers were situated. He alights from his steed and carries the boy down thereafter.


    "Go home, your mother has been waiting." He gives the boy a smile and ruffles his hair.


    He watches the boy run between houses on his own with excitement. His gleeful sprint is rewarded by being enveloped in the embrace of his home''s brightest light whose arms longed for her little boy''s presence after such terrible news.


    "Come, Hayato." Hisashi makes his escape, not wanting to be delayed by the inevitable heartwarming gratitude. Under any other circumstance, he would have delivered the child to their very doorstep. For now, he would settle for the faint sound of a mother''s cheerful cries.


    As the two walk the main road of Kumitsukawa, he pulls his helmet and mask off to allow Fujin''s breeze to brush through his long hair and glide against the shaved portion in the middle. Temporarily, he places his helmet on the saddle while his mask is hung on his wakizashi. And just as he did, the bakery comes into view.


    "Hisashi!" Called an old man, peeking from the door of his establishment.


    "Hiroshi-san." He called back, stopping by the bakery just as the old man appeared.


    The two greet each other with bows of equal respect, though Hisashi purposefully prolongs his.


    "I see you had a long day. Come, I can fix you some dinner." Hiroshi presents the doorway that widened in his wake.


    "Thank you for the offer, Hiroshi-san, but I must decline." Hisashi lowers his head and raises a hand to protest kindly. "I still need to report to Lord Ataru."


    "I understand, you are a hardworking man, Hisashi. Just do not forget to reward yourself at ti¡ª What happened to your helmet? Are you okay?" Hiroshi leans to the side to inspect the severed crest on the Samurai''s helmet.


    Hisashi smiles in lieu of laughter, too tired to do the latter. "That... is a long story, and as much as I would love to stay, Lord Ataru is expecting me. I must take my leave, have a good evening Hiroshi-san."


    "Alright, stop by any time, Hisashi. You are always welcome here."


    The Samurai departs, furthering through the village, past the central market and the rest of the houses to make his way to the temple that doubled as Kumitsukawa''s castle. The temple is a wooden pagoda that was five-storeys tall; this, along with the fact that it was built on a slightly elevated patch of land, allowed the reigning lord to overlook and oversee the entire village ¡ª watching over those that are under his protection and rule. He arrives at the gates, and they part without hesitation. The castle was accompanied by only one other building in the compound ¡ª the living quarters of the monks and the servants ¡ª and both were surrounded by a simple garden. This was an oddity considering that a temple was usually part of a garan. Past the gates, Hisashi dismounts Hayato and furthers into the compound to meet with Lord Ataru. Much to his surprise, his lord had been waiting for him at the wooden steps of his castle, illuminated by his mere presence which nearly put the braziers to shame.


    Hisashi approaches, stopping before him to bow, steadily bending at the waist with extreme depth to bestow a great sense of respect.


    "At the crest of the world''s end, the steady rock sits and gazes outward." Greeted Ataru.


    "The wind rewards its patience, delivering the honored bird." Greeted Hisashi.


    The two of them would intrude beyond each other''s eightfold fence without ever leaving the comfort of their own, a feat achievable by way of an exchange in smiles.


    "I expected you to return before nightfall." He said to his trusted vassal.


    "I intended to, Lord Ataru." Says Hisashi. "However, the drizzle turned out to be quite the storm ¡ª I encountered... a Daitengu."


    He sees a nearly clear reflection of himself in Lord Ataru''s eyes, made possible by them being widened in shock. And with the lord''s interest in the topic at hand piqued, he seats himself on the wooden steps of his castle, patting the empty space beside him for Hisashi to take. The Samurai complies and proceeds to detail his journey to his liege lord, from the moment he left the village to the moment he knelt before the great deity. Much of his tale focused on this relatively ambiguous trial that the Daitengu sprung on him. Disbelief sought to corrupt what memory he had of the encounter, but his memory protests. It remains as vivid as flowers beneath the perfect shade on a summer afternoon.


    "I assume that with you here, you passed his trial." Ataru said with a playful smile.


    "I suppose so. My head remains on my shoulders, and I delivered the boy safely back home...¡ª"


    "Then you have succeeded."


    "Yes, my lord."


    "Oh" he nodded, "then why the frown?" Ataru respected the young samurai for his dutiful nature, even allowing himself to remain an open book to him ¡ª his liege lord. The only downside is that he could tell just how troubled he was at times, and at such a young age.


    "My lord," he continued to fiddle with his own fingers as he spoke, "how do you fare against riddles?"


    "Riddles... I am a novice. But, one could argue that a riddle is merely a playful poem." He nodded, shuffling his robes pompously. "Did you hear a difficult one?"


    "The Daitengu," open as he was, the weight of the thought caused the words to nearly struggle in escaping his lips, "gave me three whispers of my future.


    "Your future?" The lord leans back in thought. " I suppose such fortune is not beyond a Daitengu..."


    "He told me that I would watch empires rise and fall, and that I would be known by them by name."


    "By name?"


    "Mm." Hisasho nods.


    "Well, ''Hisashi'' is a strong name. Worthy of recognition. What else?"


    "He said that evil is in the hearts of men, and that I was intertwined with another." Hisashi recounts, successfully committing them to memory.


    The Samurai turns to his Master with the same look of curiosity that he shared with the divine being hours ago. Much to their amusement, his Master turns to him even more dumbfounded than he was. Finding the silliness beneath the obscurity of the whispers and their own puzzled faces, they erupt into a light chuckle that curved their lip muscles into a much needed smile.


    "I see now why you think them to be riddles." His shoulders shook with the last of his bubbling chuckles. "I know I am wise, but I am not wise enough to decipher such things. The last one, however..." Ataru turns to his kosho, his lungs seemingly raring to fill themselves with air. "Are you familiar with the red string of fate?"


    Hisashi''s ears perked up at the mention of the word, but Ataru was more concerned with the visible spark in his eye. "I have heard of it, but I cannot say I am familiar."


    Happy was his lord to have found an opportunity to indulge his enthusiastic lungs. "It is said that when we are born, we have a string in our little finger." Ataru raises his little finger. "It is a red string that survives distance and time of all measures, and tethers us to the people we are supposed to meet ¡ª fate."


    "Why the little finger?"


    "Because the string in the little finger has a direct connection to the heart."


    "It does?"


    Ataru shrugs, "Or so they say." He drops his hand. "That is all I know. But, one thing is certain," He finally leans back, "in the realm''s current state, there is no doubt that you will see empires rise and fall. The length of your string stretches still in distances that span far across the seas. Mine, on the other hand, only reaches as far as the village gates."


    Hisashi could not deny the thorny sensation he gets when his lord speaks in this manner, but such is the outcome of trekking through a garden that was not his own. He has a feeling that very few had seen this garden of his, at the center of which his liege lord tends to his third heart. That would explain the soft smile that Lord Ataru put on.


    "I have seen my fair share of rises and falls. I only hope the empire that you see come into power is the right one." Ataru extends a warm hand to hold Hisashi by the shoulder.


    "How will I know if it is the right one, my lord?" Hisashi asks.


    Ataru looked skyward in thought, but traced the outline of the temple rather than gaze at the stars. "There is a temple, just like this one, in the town of Tachikawa."


    "The town on the other side of the Kaga?"


    "Mm." Ataru nods. "They were built so that our people, and travelers passing by, could pray and receive their blessings when they enter and leave the province. But, when enemy lords sought to take Kaga, the temples were destroyed. Lord Homura gathered all our warriors, all the samurai at the time, and pushed them back out. He instructed me to look after his fief in his absence."


    Hisashi nods to affirm his liege lord of his attention.


    "Being the loyal servant that I am, I rebuilt the province ¡ª Kumitsukawa, Somukawa, and Tachikawa ¡ª" he points to the temple behind them, "and I rebuilt this temple to double as the castle."


    "Why?" Hisashi wonders out loud.


    "Well, I thought living in a temple would temper my soul. I planted myself where water would be freshest and the soil would be most nurturing, so that my fruits would be bountiful," he leans closer, "and without rancor." Ataru threw his hands out. "Where else would that be but here on holy grounds?"


    "Ohh... Your wisdom persists, my lord."


    "Yes it does!" Ataru chuckles. "So they rebuilt the temples as I commanded but I had them add floors and designs to serve as my office and living quarters. I even had them add a balcony."


    "But, curiosity begs another question ¡ª If you had the temple rebuilt in the town as well, why settle here? Tachikawa is the town, this is but a village."


    To which Ataru simply shrugs and raises his little finger to flex it playfully. The child-like display carves a smile on both their faces, with Hisashi nodding thereafter.


    "Summers and winters came to pass by during the reconstruction of Kumitsukawa. For the longest time, I heard them complain to me that it was either too hot or too cold to work." Lord Ataru chuckles, "So, how will you know if it is the right empire? When the only thing that the people have to worry about all year round is the weather." Ataru responds, with a smile.


    "Then I believe I have seen the right one, I have met the right man to rule the country, and he sits here with me." Hisashi says confidently.


    "Ha! Your flattery is almost as good as your swordsmanship!" Ataru huffs a laugh, amused by the Samurai''s attempt to give him a swell head.


    "If so, then my flattery is impeccable." He humbly shares in his liege lord''s joy. "But even then, flattery is not lying, my lord. None of us have stormed your castle asking to be fed, clothed, housed and secured. Outside the village, the most they fear are rabid animals." Hisashi throws his hand out to exaggerate his point. "You have made it easy to forget that the realm is in chaos."


    "Ah but therein lies the problem. Kumitsukawa and its neighbors have known nothing but peace, yes. However, the whole country must be brought to peace as well. We must not forget that there are others beyond our borders. It is one thing to rule a province and another to rule the entire land. What I do here could not possibly translate well to an entire country. Remember your lectures, Hisashi: Therefore, just as water retains no constant shape, so in warfare there are no constant conditions. While I fully understand the general''s lessons, I am in no place to wage war and rally warlords to my cause. Compared to more ambitious lords out there, I am but a grain of sand amidst boulders." Ataru retaliates with his own philosophy, referencing the Chinese general ¡ª Sun Tzu. "¡ªBut you, Hisashi," continued Ataru, "you will be remembered as one of the most honorable samurai there is. You have served me and your people without failure. You have kept to your code as samurai ¡ª the true code ¡ª and I believe this is why the Daitengu saw fit to bestow onto you such a gift." He continued, holding back a tear. The task became more difficult as he spoke, "The Miyahira Clan''s flame burns bright in you."


    Hisashi holds back a tear of his own, braving through the feeling of sorrow that seemingly rose out of nowhere with a soft smile and a nod. All his rebuttals were swept away in an instant, and he was left with only gratitude ¡ª his lord was a wise man indeed.


    "You honor me, Lord Ataru."


    "And you honor me, Hisashi."


    Their gaze said more than words could ever express, but they did not mind to leave it as it is.


    Their solemn moment would suddenly be disturbed by a woman''s voice that came from a distance, calling out a name in a whispered shout from behind them. This prompted both men to turn and find a teenage boy peeking from the corner of the castle, caught by a middle-aged woman. She sees that the two men noticed her, and he bows to apologize for her intrusion; she drags the boy away, the wooden veranda sounding off more quietly as they vanish back inside.


    "My son." He says with a heavy breath.


    "I would not worry about his behavior now, my lord. He is still a boy." Hisashi said in amusement, remembering his own days as a spirited child.


    "A boy whose shoulders will carry a heavy burden. He must be ready by then." Replied Ataru."Hisashi, I must confess something to you." Ataru''s smile perseveres. "I fear that I do not have much longer to live."


    Stunned by such news, Hisashi struggles to find his words. And because of this, Ataru continues unhindered:


    "Lord Homura remains occupied with his war, wherever he is. But though these battles are days away, we who wish to live quietly in the safety of our walls are not free from its effects ¡ª from suffering.


    Ataru''s places a hand on his shoulder, and the unwavering strength with which his liege lord uses to clamp down onto him stupefied him.


    "Masahiko, my son, needs.... guidance, and my life is destined to end before I can make a decent man out of him. I must place that burden on you. When I die, he will take my place. You will become Masahiko''s most trusted ally. Teach him, guide him, make sure that he continues our legacy. What we have here and among Kumitsukawa''s neighbors is something rare ¡ª peace during chaos. I cannot endeavor to replicate this peace elsewhere, but this must endure here, we must not squander this ¡ª promise me, Hisashi."


    Silence followed the request, but it would not take long for Hisashi to rise and stand before him. He bows until he sees only his own feet, and only then does he respond.


    "I will not fail you." Hisashi, like countless times before, pledges himself to the wishes of Lord Ataru.


    "And you never will." Ataru looks at the young man with hope and comfort, that his legacy has now been entrusted and will be continued through the service of someone like Hisashi.


    "Now go and rest, tomorrow is another day." Ataru gives his final bow and departs back into the castle to settle for the evening.


    Hisashi watches his lord vanish into the castle before leaving the grounds with Hayato and starting their walk back home. Until just now, Hisashi had been troubled by the day''s events. Thankfully, a good chat quelled his worries, and Lord Ataru shall have his gratitude. He casts his gaze skywards once more. While he could not hope to ponder on the enigma that is life in a single night, he could continue his mandate, certain that he has a responsibility to fulfill as a servant.


    To his people.


    To his master.


    Tomorrow was another day indeed.

 CHAPTER FOUR: THE ROAD

    The Present


    1556


    The stream of consciousness begins to fill the spaces successively. Hisashi regains feeling in his upper body; he feels something hard against his back. His hands are cradled by something cold, though the coldness was fleeting; he could feel several little feet on his finger. His legs were the last to be filled by the stream, simultaneous to the feeling of a heated gust of air that was blown to his face. Upon opening his eyes, his vision would be curtailed by a curved shadow ¡ª his circular hat. Just beneath the edge of his hat, he sees Hayato leaning curiously at him. Particularly, he recognizes the horse¡¯s mouth and how the curvature of his lips held an expression that he could immediately interpret.


    ¡°Hey.¡± He says to the horse, lifting his right hand to stroke Hayato¡¯s left cheek.


    Using the same hand, he relieves himself of his hat and plants it softly on Hayato¡¯s head. The absence of his hat granted him a view of his surroundings ¡ª a forest. The healthy nature of the sunlight that blessed him in small amounts led him to believe that the morning had just settled in; its harmonious combination with the rejuvenating green of the flora puts his senses at ease. The grass was decorated with dewdrops, telling him that it must have rained last night.


    His left hand slowly motions to his waist, finding the scabbard. Sliding further up to his abdomen, he finds that the katana remains in his possession ¡ª he sighs in relief. Still unable to move after his last feat, he resorts to the turning of his head and the movement of his arms to see and feel for what was around him.


    The dirt road was nowhere near him; the grass he sat in was cold and decorated in dewdrops ¡ª it rained last night.


    A tree supports his back.


    He was surrounded by small plants; a butterfly crawled on his hand.


    The wound behind his leg had vanished, the one on his arm too.


    His clothes were¡­ clean? And they were¡­ mended?


    Neither of his observations seemed particularly odd to him, but the last one was something that he could not simply understand. Hisashi looks at the horse and Hayato looks at him back in silence.


    ¡°Did you wash my clothes?¡±


    Hayato exhales.


    ¡°See, I know you do things when I am not looking.¡± He says beneath grunts while trying to stand.


    Using the tree to lean on, Hisashi attempts to put his feet beneath him. He stands still for a moment, allowing the muscles in his feet to realize that the time for slumber has come to pass. And while they worked on their realization, Hisashi now grants himself a better view of where they had ended up. Though the path rang with familiarity in his mind, he could not help but question how they got here. Hisashi tests his legs by placing more weight upon them, flexing his toes and stretching the necessary tendons. Deeming them ready, he pushes off the tree and motions to Hayato¡¯s saddle where their bags of necessities were hung. With daylight upon him, he has no need for his weapon; he pulled his sword ¡ª scabbard and all ¡ª from his belt to hide it beneath the saddle¡¯s flap.


    Much to his surprise, he sees a sack of bread beside their own bag.


    He impedes his own curiosity for now, dipping his hand into their bag first to feel for his mask, fruits, vegetables and other necessities. Hisashi then gives Hayato some hay and a couple of apples, placing them onto the ground before inspecting the sack of bread; he reaches in to grab one. The world around him fell almost instantly after looking at the single piece of bread in his hand. A haunting thought was there, floating around in his head at a proximity that was close enough to be felt, but far enough that it could not yet be surmised.


    All of a sudden, he would be plagued by images of Kumitsukawa left in ashes ¡ª the dead populated his old village now. Hisashi drops the bread; a throbbing pain makes itself known from behind his rib cage. The images persevere, prompting him to lean back onto the tree. He steadies himself with one hand while the other holds his face, shrouding his vision in darkness. However, with every waking effort he made to stop them, the more vivid they became. They began to overtake him, the aching worsened ¡ª something had to be done.


    Hisashi crumples his hands into fists and unleashes a barrage of punches that meet the tree trunk with all his might; his weakened state would mean a lower threshold for pain. He leans his forehead on the tree and proceeds to thrash away at the wood with a fury fit for a storm, fighting back his own body¡¯s signals to stop. The unrelenting attacks weakened the structure enough to chip away at pieces of wood, with a few lodging themselves into his knuckles. Only after drawing blood did he let go of his breath as he sank back down to the grass, succumbing to his weak state and allowing the pain to intensely overtake him and drown the images for good. The gray clouds of the mind disperse, the storm has subsided, and he is now left to inspect the damage with clear skies.


    What he saw were neither dreams nor hallucinations. And in an attempt to understand what had transpired over the last few hours, he retraces his steps:


    He found pillagers and freed the captives, along with Hiroshi.


    He brought Hiroshi back to the village.


    He was ambushed by a group of samurai.


    He was shot.


    He came back and killed them all.


    Blank.


    And now, here he knelt in the middle of a somewhat familiar area. Where is Hiroshi?


    He could not have gone far if his sack of bread is still here. He thought.


    His ears perk up to the sound of crunched grass, he turns his head to its direction and lays eyes on the Old Baker dashing through the forest ¡ª toward him. Despite the distance, the shape of the baker¡¯s body was one that Hisashi committed well into memory. Gripping onto his own knees, Hisashi pushes himself up.


    ¡°Where am I¡ª¡±


    Before the sentence could be affixed with a punctuation, Hisashi would be given a warm embrace. The Old Baker rests his cheek upon the young man¡¯s shoulder in what would be a moment of confusion for the Swordsman.


    ¡°I knew you were alive.¡± Whispered the Old Baker while in the embrace.


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Where have you been? My boy, you have been gone for so long, running about on your own for years¡ª I am so glad you came back.¡±  Hiroshi, not allowing any interruptions, continued his embrace.


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°I knew it! If you are still here, then they lied about you burning in the fire! They must have been lying about everything els¡ª¡±


    Hisashi pushes off from the embrace, effectively cutting Hiroshi¡¯s train of thought to save both of them from the line of questions, the implications, and the possible conclusions. However, the look that he gave the older man did just the opposite.


    ¡°...What happened that night, Hisashi? Three years ago, what really happened?¡±


    Without a word from Hisashi, Hiroshi was left with no choice but to find the answer himself. Deeply he dove into the windows of the swordsman¡¯s soul, and the darkness that filled it spoke for him.


    ¡°No, no¡ª You would never do such a thing. Lord Ataru entrusted Kumitsukawa¡¯s future to you. He entrusted his son¡¯s future to you.¡±


    Hisashi picks up his hat, having fallen from Hayato¡¯s head as he ate.


    ¡°You want me to believe that you, the man who served Lord Ataru¡¯s family without failure, killed his only son and ate him? That the most honorable man from my village is a demon? Is that why you turned your back on us?! Is that what you want me to believe?!¡±


    ¡°Believe what you want to believe, it does not matter.¡±


    ¡°IT MATTERS TO ME!¡± Shouted Hiroshi, ¡°We loved you, Hisashi! I loved you. You were a son to me ¡ª to us all! But after Lord Ataru¡¯s death, you changed ¡ª we feared you! Do you know how hard it is to hear your name being dragged through the mud? The talking starts when you pass by, but soon, the memory of was fuel enough. The things they said¡ª I did not want to believe them, but damn it, you made it hard to defend you! I defended you, Hisashi!¡± He pounds his chest, cracking the walls that he erected.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    The Old Baker steps forth and grips the younger man by the shoulders. He kept him in place, determined never to let go of the precious boy again. With a stare that was sharper than the Swordsman¡¯s blade, he asks again:


    ¡°I want the truth, Hisashi. The truth about that night ¡ª about you! How are you here? How did you make it out of the castle? How were you able to stand up and fight after getting shot in the head?! ....A-... are you really what they say you are¡­?¡± Hiroshi¡¯s flame dims. Viewing the pattern of his own questions, he could somewhat see the path to their final destination, prompting his softest inquiry at the end.


    The Swordsman looks at him with an inconspicuous shade of pity in his eyes. The feeling of those hands on his shoulders sent him years back to what he would consider now as a distant memory, or further yet ¡ª a fairy tale. He grips the old man¡¯s hands, freeing himself from their grip. And with a deep breath, he replies:


    ¡°I am what they made me.¡±


    ¡°They? Someone made you this way? Someone made you kill Lord Masahiko?¡±


    ¡°I killed him,¡± Hisashi replies with a straight tongue, ¡°I did it without a second thought, and I would do it again.¡±


    ¡°But why? Why would you do this? Lord Masahiko was a strict man, but he never lost sight of the people. Why would you kill him? Why sully your name ¡ª your honor?¡±


    Hisashi walks past Hiroshi, inspecting his loyal steed yet again so as to ascertain the condition for their travel.


    ¡°Wh-where are you going?¡± Asked Hiroshi.


    ¡°Away.¡± Answered the Demon.


    ¡°Away? Where? To hide a-an-and lurk in the shadows again? To kill more people?¡± Hiroshi chases after Hisashi while the other tends to his horse. ¡°Must I remind you that you are a samurai? Samurai do not hide and sneak upon their enemies undetected. You have mistaken yourself for a different faction. The Samurai face their enemies! They greet them, fight them, and end them with the same honor they afford themselves!¡±


    The Demon turns quickly, startling the older man who caught a glimpse of the fabled unholy creature. What he saw behind those eyes completely separated him from a samurai. Hisashi advances on him as a wolf would, causing the Old Baker to move back. His march pins Hiroshi against a tree, and the Demon would be blessed by a view he had become well acquainted with. He watches the old man tremble, wincing and turning away from him; he had completely taken him out of the sun¡¯s nourishing light and into his ominous shadow. Whatever was boiling inside of him left his body through the nose in a deep exhale. Hiroshi feels the sun dawn upon him again, and he¡¯d glimpse through barely open eyes to watch Hisashi return to tending to his horse.


    ¡°I know what I am.¡± Said the Demon, pulling himself up onto his mighty steed. He leads Hayato onto the dirt road, but soon finds the Old Baker in front of his path.


    ¡°Move.¡± He said.


    ¡°You are going to hunt down Homura¡¯s men.¡± Said Hiroshi, ¡°I can lead you to them.¡±


    Hisashi attempted to lead Hayato to the side, but Hiroshi proved persistent.


    ¡°I know where they are, I tracked them down while you were recovering.¡±


    ¡°I can find them on my own.¡±


    ¡°You will need someone to mend your wounds.¡±


    ¡°I am a demon, you have seen what I can do.¡±


    ¡°I can help you blend in.¡±


    ¡°I can hide.¡±


    ¡°Hisashi, please.¡± The bickering ends with Hiroshi kneeling to the ground, placing his forehead atop dirtied hands as he rests them onto the soil. ¡°I have not the faintest idea how you hope to accomplish what you plan on doing, but Kumitsukawa was my home too. I fought for the land I grew old on. I fought for the people I broke bread with, and I did it all long before you were born. Let me avenge our people, and if I die, let me die avenging our lord.¡±


    Hisashi lets out a heavy sigh, emanating from a deep frustration. Having been on the road for three years, he has seen what mankind is capable of in terms of violence. No one is spared, neither man, woman nor child. He has been to villages left in worse conditions than that of Kumitsukawa. People slaughtered, burned, raped, and treated worse than one would treat animals ¡ª it was no place for an old man. However, from one warrior to another, Hisashi was bound by the unwritten code. He alights from his horse and comforts Hiroshi with a soft hand on the shoulder.


    Hesitantly, he replies, ¡°I cannot refuse your wish to die a warrior¡¯s death.¡±


    And in an instant, the old man¡¯s face lights up with joy. His next words were hindered by a sudden weakness in the chest; his eyes were on the verge of dripping with tears, but he wipes them away before they could stain his cheek.


    ¡°Thank you¡ª I will not drag you down, I will not become a burden ¡ª you have my word.¡± He said through a quaking voice, taken aback by the Swordsman¡¯s decision to allow him to tag along.


    ¡°We will do this by my lead. I understand that it may be uncomfortable to be led by a younger man, but with all due respect, I outrank you by experience.¡± Continued Hisashi.


    Taking a few steps back, Hiroshi would immediately tuck his extremities into his person and bow. ¡°It would be an honor to be led by someone so noble.¡± Hiroshi raises his head.


    ¡°I am no longer noble. If anything, the pillager was right, I am a disgrace.¡± He corrects.


    ¡°Not to me.¡± Said Hiroshi, smiling at him.


    Hisashi walks back to Hayato, but he would not mount him. Instead, he offers the seat to Hiroshi, who would comply without hesitation. Now on the horse, Hiroshi dips into the sack of bread that he had once again attached to the saddle; he offers three to the Swordsman while taking two for himself as breakfast ¡ª it was the early morning after all. Just as the Old Baker mounted the horse without hesitation, the Swordsman received the bread without the same.


    With a new addition to his party of two, onward, they travel. Just like before, they follow the dirt road that leads toward their next destination ¡ª the settlement, Somukawa. Only this time, the trees that framed the road became more scarce; the further they went, the more sunlight they got. Vast green plains came upon them, perfect for agriculture. And if memory serves him correctly, further into the community would lead to the shore, perfect for fishing. It was why Somukawa was considered the province¡¯s center for raw materials, where the abundance of fish and harvest come from. The village of Kumitsukawa, which lies southwest of it, was the center of production, where these raw materials would be converted into various goods. And the town of Tachikawa, which lies northeast of it, was the center for trade, where the goods would be sold.


    Hisashi reminisces about his time as Kumitsukawa¡¯s samurai, briefly remembering that he was sent to the settlement ¡ª and the town ¡ª every now and then upon Lord Ataru¡¯s orders for errands. As the nature of the errands were usually quick, he could only remember a few details regarding its landscape and formation. Thus, Hisashi was left with an incomplete mental picture of where they were going. What he did retain in his memory would be that the settlement was a relatively small community of farmers and fishermen.


    They succumbed to the silence as the two men ate their breakfast. Before they got too far, the silence is broken once more by Hisashi.


    ¡°What were you doing before I woke up?¡±


    ¡°Ah, you will be really glad that you allowed me to join you ¡ª I was scouting Somukawa.¡± Hiroshi says proudly, straightening his back and holding his head up high.


    ¡°How many did you see?¡± Hisashi¡¯s words are slightly muffled. The hat may have covered him, but one could easily tell that he was chewing on bread.


    ¡°I counted around fifteen, patrolling the streets and laying around. I suppose there may be more, perhaps around twenty-five, but the settlement is small so there should be no more than a platoon; navy blue armor, all bearing the emblem of the three-legged crow.¡±


    ¡°What about weapons? Horses?¡±


    ¡°Swords, polearms, those gifts, and a few horses. The horses were kept outside the settlement, I have not seen them being ridden.¡± Hiroshi takes after Hisashi, his voice now muffled by his own bread.


    The Swordsman takes another bite from his breakfast to chew it simultaneously to the information he was given. As the Demon of Kumitsukawa, he remembers taking on what he assumes to be a platoon. Though with body parts littering the ground like sand and with the events of close-quarter battles usually rendered as a blur, he could not entirely map out a successful outcome to this situation. He needs a more strategic approach to take down those responsible.


    ¡°If you are thinking of a way to get in and get more information, I already have an idea.¡± Said Hiroshi, having cleared his breakfast from his throat. ¡°We disguise ourselves as bakers traveling to sell our bread. Me, the father, and you, the son ¡ª we will hide in plain sight.¡±


    Hiroshi looks down at the man who walked beside him; the straw hat shields any indication of an approval of the plan. However, a nod would soon make itself known, prompting a relieved smile from the Baker. Inconspicuous to himself, behind his smile was concern. The man he knows to ride with a proud smile and walk a path of honor now shields his face from the world and walks in the shadows ¡ª how he pities him and the life he turned to.


    ¡°One more thing, Hiroshi-san.¡± Said Hisashi, finally lifting his head up to look him in the eye.


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    ¡°Did you wash and mend my clothes?¡±


    The atmosphere had gotten so heavy that the light question took the Old Baker by surprise, prompting a smile to appear.


    ¡°I did. I found some water left in the village well, washed them and lit a fire to let it dry them. I thought I would clean your face as well ¡ª you were covered in dirt and blood.¡± Again, he holds his head up high.


    Once more, the straw hat serves Hisashi well.


    The two would look onward, allowing for the wave of silence to take them once more as they finished their breakfast for the day. While the Baker smiles in content, the Swordsman maintains his stoic expression.

 CHAPTER FIVE: THE SETTLEMENT

    ¡°So back in the forest, when you saved us, you were not in two places at once?¡± Hiroshi asks.


    ¡°No, I threw a rock to confuse them ¡ª make them doubt themselves. Are you sure this is the right way?¡± Hisashi answers briefly, but adds a question.


    ¡°Yes, the other road takes us straight to the town. This one takes us to Somukawa, and if we follow it to the end ¡ª the sea.¡± Hiroshi assures him.


    The Hour of the Snake has come, and their journey has led them to the plains. The trees that once accompanied them found their limit; Hisashi and Hiroshi crossed the threshold of the tree line, entering the grassy plains that surrounded Somukawa. The land was level, good for grazing and the farming of crops; their journey was smooth and without hindrances. Tilting his head backwards to peek below his circular hat, Hisashi finally feasts his eyes on the settlement ahead of them. Huts framed the dirt road that ran through the community, they sprawled outward with those in charge of paddy fields placed on the outermost regions. Seeing it again has unlocked an old box of memories. As he would recall, there was a river near the settlement that aided in their farming efforts. It was far enough that its currents did not disturb their slumber, but close enough to lull them to sleep ¡ª it led out to the ocean, just as the Baker had said.


    Despite him being the first to see the community, Hiroshi is the first to speak:


    ¡°There it is.¡±


    Hisashi takes note of it, and the facticity of his partner¡¯s information from earlier. Horses were stabled outside in the outskirts of the settlement while samurai wandered about as if the land were their own.


    ¡°Hiroshi-san, as my father, I will let you do the talking.¡± Said Hisashi, adjusting to their plan by relieving himself of his hat and allowing it to rest on his back.


    ¡°Mm.¡± Hiroshi hums in agreement.


    The Swordsman and the Baker enter the settlement, moving past the threshold to be welcomed by a samurai standing guard by the entrance ¡ª he was marked by Homura¡¯s emblem and sported his navy blue colors. He steps forth to block their path. As much as possible, Hisashi brightens his face to bring about a more hopeful and youthful resolve.


    The samurai nods his head to greet them a good morning before speaking:


    ¡°What is your business here?¡± He asks with a light voice. His question was well warranted, seeing as how a bow and a sword were kept on the horse.


    Both of them would bow in return instead of nodding. Hisashi made a mental note; the warrior who greeted them was just a young boy, perhaps just a few years older than when he was chosen by Lord Ataru to serve.


    ¡°We are bakers. We travel to sell our bread, but because someone forgot to pack the food like I asked,¡± Hiroshi glared at Hisashi from up on the horse, ¡°we have been traveling on empty stomachs.¡±


    He frets upon the recognition of his failure and lets out a nervous chuckle before repeatedly bowing to his own father. ¡°I am sorry, father¡ª I swear I packed them before we left! This one must have gotten to it somehow.¡±


    Just as Hiroshi glared at him, Hisashi glared at his horse.


    ¡°What do I do with you¡ª¡± Said Hiroshi, beneath his own breath.


    ¡°I just hope there is enough for the both of you to eat,¡± The samurai interjects before Hisashi could receive any more from Hiroshi, ¡°the others have nearly cleaned this place out ¡ª rice, meat, millet, drink ¡ª and with the festival coming¡­¡± he slips the afterthought beneath a hushed breath. ¡°They left to hunt, but I doubt they would share any of the catch with you.. or anyone for that matter. Anyways, you are most welcome to stay and replenish your supplies. I must warn you, please keep to yourselves and leave as soon as you are able.¡± He said quietly, as if not wanting to be caught giving such warnings.


    The samurai nods to them both, and steps back into his post, granting the two travelers passage into the community. He found no peculiarity in the fact that the bakers had a bow and a quiver of arrows on their horse, the roads are treacherous ¡ª riddled with man and monster alike.


    The Father and Son nod their heads to him in gratitude before moving forward. Hisashi observes their current surroundings, drawing what little information he could from them. There was no doubt that Hiroshi was doing the same.


    ¡°A restaurant.¡± Said Hiroshi, pointing out a place where secrets are birthed, divulged, and kept.


    Hayato is led toward the restaurant¡¯s stables, decorated with a tub of water and bales of hay. Considering that the day had just begun, the restaurant was devoid of their usual customers and lively atmosphere ¡ª perfect for their espionage. Hisashi retrieves his katana from below the saddle, securing it to his waist whilst he whispers:


    ¡°Find out what you can from the clerk. I will see what I can scout outside and meet you back here.¡± Hisashi offers a quick squeeze of the shoulder to impart his confidence and well wishes before he departs from their tandem and makes his way outside.


    Hisashi takes a stroll down the road, following its path through the community. With two testimonies at hand ¡ª the Baker¡¯s and the young samurai¡¯s ¡ª he had them both to confirm. The early hour was to blame for the lack of a crowded road, though considering the nature of his current task, he would not be complaining. From here and there, Hisashi would spot people opening doors to either their farmhouses or respective places of business. They hang signages, flip tables and chairs in the upright position, dust the floor and tend to other preparations to ready themselves to receive customers. However, something spoke in opposition of this readiness. Every step they took was dragged and partnered with a heavy breath; even as their signages went up, their gaze sank to the ground.


    In the far reaches, behind the houses, he finds farmers peppering the paddy fields. They were already toiling in the sun with years worth of sweat on their brow despite the day having only started. Armed with an abundance of sickles, picks, plows that varied in sizes, and hoes with four tines, they tended to the grounds as if tomorrow depended on it.


    With the extra unwanted company, Hisashi believes that it does.


    The fishermen of Somukawa, identified through their apparel and own unique set of equipment, were spotted exiting their homes. However, he would assume that a few had already set sail before he arrived. They bid their families farewell as they set out to trek the same path to where the land is caressed by the ocean¡¯s touch. With nets, ropes, fishing rods and spears upon their shoulders, they marched. Much like the business owners, they all seem to be lacking in some way. It was as if neither the sun¡¯s light nor their sleep prepared them for the day¡¯s adventures.


    Surprisingly, some samurai also came from these huts, some in a daze while others were not. Without signages on display, he could tell they were exiting from homes and not inns.


    The further he went into the settlement, the more samurai he came across. And with every passing man, he could not help but wonder as to who among them aided in the destruction of Kumitsukawa. Hisashi grits his teeth just thinking about it; whose blades had tasted the blood of the innocent? Who among them struck down children? Who lit the flames that burned down houses and those living inside them? And who among them have slept soundly afterwards? A heavy inhale was taken, to be followed by an exhale of equal depth to clear his mind and to stay his hand. He would not make the mistake of labeling every fruit in the basket as rotten simply because a few proved to be so ¡ª onward he walks.


    Eventually, he reaches the very end of the settlement where another tree line presents itself not too far off; if he were to continue an hour or so further into his walk and past the trees, the sea shall greet him with a breeze by the shore. Here, in the empty plains beside the last few houses, he finds the vast majority of the samurai that did not go hunting gathered in formation ¡ª training. Here he could roughly confirm three things:


    First, that the rest of the forces were indeed elsewhere. He finds it hard to believe that a mere handful of samurai could have depleted the settlement¡¯s resources with ease.


    Second, Hiroshi''s estimate was most likely correct ¡ª no more than a platoon took shelter here. However, there is still too many for him to take out in a single night. And considering the size of Somukawa, there was little space for him to hide.


    Third, their arsenal was just as Hiroshi told him. Gathered on the field, the samurai trained the proper forms and techniques to wield swords, polearms, and the firearms gifted to them by a generous clan. Altogether, they swung their blades. Altogether, they pulled their triggers and exhibited proper posture.


    The lack of loud gunshots led Hisashi to believe that their ammunition were finite, in that they must be reserved for when it is truly needed. However, he observes that none of them wielded a bow and arrow.


    For hunting? He assumes.


    Piecing everything together, Hisashi concludes that a different strategy must be put into play. While a few already been conjured up in his mind, a partnership benefits from transparency ¡ª he must return to the restaurant.


    Hisashi turns on his heel to corroborate his findings with Hiroshi, but finds a peculiar spectacle of two samurai leaving a small farmhouse with a woman falling upon her knees, seemingly begging to the warriors that walk away. Indifferent to her struggle, the two samurai continued deeper into the settlement, leaving the woman in tears, crumpling her hands into weak fists. From the same hut, a man emerges to bring her head against his chest. While the woman watched the samurai walk, the man appeased her sorrow as best he could.


    ¡°Come inside.¡± He said, helping her rise to escort her.


    Moving past the threshold of their home, he slides the door behind him to close it. However, the door meets an obstruction in its path; Hisashi¡¯s hand keeps the door from closing all the way. The obstruction alerted the homeowner of an intrusion, prompting him to turn quickly.


    ¡°May I come in?¡± Hisashi asks, his hat now shielding his face from recognition.


    ¡°Please, leave us alone...¡± The Husband says, too tired to provide an excuse to their latest visitor.


    ¡°I would like to speak to the both of you.¡± Hisashi insists.


    The man of the house gives the visitor a proper glance this time and finds that he wielded a sword on his side. With a sigh, he opens the door,


    ¡°Leave us be. I do not have money to pay for your services. I am a farmer, and I cannot afford whatever it is you are going to offer. My family needs to mourn, so please be kind enough to see and respect that.¡± Once more, he attempts to close the door.


    And yet again, Hisashi¡¯s hand stops it.


    ¡°What I offer you will cost you nothing but your time. I do not sell my sword, and I am after nothing of yours. Allow me to ask you questions and I will let you mourn in peace.¡± Hisashi clarifies.


    The straightforward nature of the visitor¡¯s words had stunned him. Unbeknownst to the humble farmer, Hisashi¡¯s concern for them was but a second priority, if it could be numbered as such in the first place.


    He grants passage to the stranger with a sword by stepping aside. With the door wide open, Hisashi would be able to glance at the small, yet humble abode that the man had made for his family ¡ª a wife and a daughter. While the house was not decorated in luxury, the necessities were well covered. Among their possessions, he recognizes the variety of tools that attested to the father¡¯s profession as a farmer. The Swordsman barely casts his gaze upon the wife, knowing that she would be embarrassed to have been seen pouring her eyes out before a complete stranger; she bows her head and wipes her tears away with the fabric of her sleeve.


    ¡°My name is Minato, this is my wife ¡ª Aimi, and my youngest ¡ª Aiko.¡± He introduces them, bowing upon the mention of their names. ¡°Can I help you with anything? A meal? A drink?¡± The husband asks.


    ¡°Answers.¡± Hisashi replied, momentarily glancing at the hearth that sat in the middle of the household. Not a steam nor a single ember came from it, the family had not eaten yet. Standing within the genkan, he closes the door behind him and proceeds to ask: ¡°What were they here for?¡±


    The Husband sits beside his wife at the hearth and takes her hand into his, keeping close to her. He briefly turns to Aiko playing in the corner, believing that their choice of topic was not meant for the ears of children. However, she was safer in here than she was out there with them.


    ¡°My eldest¡ª... They came to say that she was found dead near the river.¡± Minato spoke, treading carefully so as to not upset his wife any further, ¡°They told us she was eaten by wild animals, and that they found only traces of her; she must have been carried down the stream¡­¡±


    ¡°They are lying!¡± Exclaimed Aimi, ¡°I know they had something to do with it! Those bastards killed my daughter!¡± She bursts out of her husband¡¯s embrace weakly.


    ¡°Aimi!¡± Minato shouts in a low volume to warn her that they may be heard, but Aimi continues:


    ¡°Aiya would never stay out that late and she had no reason to be at the river!¡± She explains, struggling to fight back the weakness in her throat as a result of her crying.


    ¡°Have either of those two samurai been to your house before?¡± Asked Hisashi.


    Minato and Aimi look to each other, recounting every moment imaginable since the arrival of Lord Homura¡¯s forces. Neither of them could say that they have been visited by samurai before, particularly the two that came by just minutes ago.


    ¡°They have been here before.¡± The small voice of a little girl broke through.


    The couple turned their heads in shock to their youngest who played with her makeshift doll. Aimi extended her hand to her daughter, and Aiko would comply with her invitation to the conversation. She walks toward her mother, who lifts her up onto her lap to be embraced.


    ¡°What do you mean they have been here before?¡± Aimi asks her kindly, snuggling her little daughter.


    ¡°They came here and asked where Mama and Papa were, and we told them they were at the field.¡± She replied.


    Minato lowers his face into his own hands, coupled with inaudible whispers that Aiko understood to be a sign to stop talking.


    ¡°Go on.¡± Hisashi nods, urging her to continue.


    Hesitantly, Aiko looks back to her father, but her gaze is drawn back to the stranger yet again. It was as if she was looking right into his eyes and he looks right back at her, even with the presence of a straw hat.


    ¡°M-...mm¡­ me and Yaya were cleaning... and she was singing¡­ they asked where you were and we said you were at the field. Then they asked Yaya if she could sing for them ¡ª she said no.¡± Aiko continued as instructed.


    ¡°She could not have gone last night¡ª¡± Aimi said to Minato quietly, but still audible to their visitor.


    ¡°What went on last night?¡± Hisashi asked the couple.


    ¡°There was a feast last night¡­ They said that it was in honor of their new alliance with a powerful lord. So they stormed the restaurants and bars, drank and ate everything¡ª¡± Minato replies.


    ¡°Were any of you there?¡± He asked.


    ¡°N-no! We were here eating dinner together ¡ª all of us.¡± Aimi said, brushing her daughter¡¯s hair.


    ¡°Then it happened after, perhaps when you were all fast asleep.¡± Hisashi thought to himself, but allowed it to be heard to include them in his process.


    ¡°She would never have left the house without us knowing! They must have forced her out! They are killers! They killed her, I know it! I do not know how, but I know they did it! They are animals and they would stop at nothing to get what they want!¡± Aimi reiterated. Her cheeks may distort into an expression of hate, but her eyes drip with sadness. Her tears ride every curvature until they fall onto her lap.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°We cannot say for sure if it was them, we have seen bears around by the trees. Some of them come by the river.¡± Minato says to her.


    Aimi quickly withdraws her hand from Minato¡¯s, almost forcing her fingers out of his hold. ¡°Do you really believe that?! You really think your daughter wandered to the river by herself at night and got eaten by a bear?!¡± She spat back at her husband.


    ¡°What would you have me do?!¡± he bursts, ¡°Accuse them?! You would march out there, in front of everyone and challenge their word? What if you are wrong, Aimi? Do you know what that would cost? They could ki¡ª¡± Minato pauses, holding his own tongue in the presence of his little girl. Like steam from a kettle, he diffuses with an exhale, ¡°Any affront to them and their honor is fatal, especially for people like us and you know that. We are peasants. I would rather be wrong than to lose you or Aiko.¡±


    Hisashi cuts their discussion short by rising up from his knelt position, still keeping his head down. He looks at the couple first, then the little girl who continues to play on her mother¡¯s lap.


    ¡°Which way is the river?¡± He asks them.


    ¡°South of here, before you enter the village you have to go straight to the left and into the grass. That should lead you to the river.¡± Minato replies, being more accustomed to the river as it was his duty to get water for them.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Hisashi gives them a bow to announce his departure and turns to open the door.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Aimi called, ¡°Are you going to help us?¡±


    Unfortunately for her, the door sliding closed serves as his only response.


    The involvement of either factor did not yield a high chance of their daughter¡¯s survival ¡ª a bear or a dishonorable samurai. The girl was dead and he had no doubts about it. His silhouette vanishes to leave the family to mourn in peace as promised; his destination was set ¡ª the river. Three years has taught him a lot about moving in the shadows, sleuthing and remaining undetected even under the sun¡¯s spotlight. Without a single eye catching onto him, the Swordsman treads past the paddy fields and the neighborhood, through the uncut grass, and to the river of interest. He takes a moment to pause and stare at the river in its bareness, where a young girl¡¯s life had been taken. Judging by the visibility of the rocks beneath the flowing water, he assumes it to be knee-deep at the very least.


    Hisashi offers a bow to the departed, a profound atmosphere of harmony renders Hisashi susceptible to his thoughts. When one prepares to become a samurai, one must ponder on the subject of death and its multitude of facets. As both warrior and servant, death had to be conquered in order to fulfill his duties without hindrance; he must welcome it when his time has come and call when it best suits him in accordance with their creed. It was only after that fateful night that he was granted a new perspective on death and its ever elusive value. He makes a conscious effort to quell his diverging thoughts on the matter to properly pay his respects.


    In the midst of the bow, Hisashi would notice something strange by the rocks that sat on the wayside of the river. He kneels with one hand on the ground for a better sense of balance, lowering his head down to where the splashes of water cling onto the blades of the bent grass. Just outside the reach of the flowing blue, barely framed by the spiky green, Hisashi looks at what seems to be a drop of red on a small rock; its position keeps the stain from being washed away completely. Hisashi¡¯s puzzlement would be disturbed by the sudden intrusion of a gut-wrenching sound. The weight and depth of it foretold of a powerful beast, one that could rip him to shreds and crush his skull with ease. Ever so slowly, the Swordsman looks up to find a brown bear across the river; it reciprocates with its own gaze toward him borne from curiosity. Even as it stood on all fours, he could tell that the bear was an absolute behemoth ¡ª his assumptions drawn from the growl were more than correct.


    Hisashi¡¯s position made him extremely vulnerable to a pounce; sudden movements were not an option unless it was necessary. Slower than the speed he used to look up, Hisashi¡¯s right hand inches closer to his left side ¡ª to his sword. And yet, as he counted the seconds in anticipation for the bear¡¯s attack, no effort was made by the predator to inch closer to him. He tilts his head in confusion, only to be mimicked by the bear with a few growls in the form of murmurs ¡ª their only notable move thus far. After a short while of pure tension, the bear turns and vanishes back into the shadows of the forest in the distance.


    Finally, Hisashi could breathe easy again.


    And in these following breaths, he pieces together the truth about the girl¡¯s death. The bloodstain and its position raises eyebrows, but the fact that their suspect would not even cross the river absolved the bear of any involvement.


    His breaths became stiffer, his thumb combs through his fingers, an act replicated by the breeze¡¯s combing of the long grass.


    Meanwhile, at the restaurant¡­


    As soon as Hisashi left, Hiroshi approached the counter to find no one but a lone man who had fallen asleep using his arms as pillows. Hiroshi watches as the clerk, an older woman, approaches the man with a kind hand on his back to wake him.


    ¡°Kaito-kun.¡± Called the old woman, whispering softly. ¡°Kaito-kun, you need to go home. You cannot stay here and you need to get sober.¡± She shook him slowly by the hand that she placed on his back.


    The slumbering man lifts his hand weakly, placing it atop the clerk¡¯s hand to give her a squeeze. The way his hand shook while he squeezed her foretold a false sense of strength, and the clerk could only place her other hand atop of his to communicate what need not be said. She departs back into the kitchen, leaving him to finally raise his head and look at the exact same view he had through last night. His head rang like a bell at the slightest noise and his mouth was as dry as the summer. However, his most notable feature would be the puffiness of his eyes. One may assume that the alcohol was to blame for this, but only one substance could make them look as they are ¡ª tears.


    His sensitive ears would take note of the footsteps that approached him, but he did not care enough to turn and check who it was. The Old Baker was very careful in lifting the stool, granting himself a seat beside the sorrowful individual; the clerk emerges from the kitchen and approaches Kaito from behind the counter, handing him some water for the dehydration and a special brew of tea for the lingering effects of alcohol.


    ¡°Excuse me, my name is Machida Hiroshi and I am looking to get some information.¡± He introduces himself to the clerk before she could turn away.


    ¡°This is a small settlement, not much information to give around here.¡± She replies, still with a foot facing outward.


    ¡°The information I seek is about the settlement, and your¡­ visitors.¡±


    The Clerk and the Baker would be locked in an exchange with their eyes alone. The stern look that Hiroshi gave pulled her into the conversation; she walked closer to him with both feet now pointing toward her newest customer.


    ¡°A-are you here to help us?¡± She spoke as if her choice of words from here on out meant death if they reached the ears of others.


    ¡°I am, but I need information if I am going to help. How long have they been here? When did they arrive? How many of them are there?¡± Hiroshi lays out his questions for her.


    ¡°They arrived two days ago. This is their third day here, every day is torment. They spent the day pestering us, our farms, our businesses ¡ª our lives.¡±


    While they spoke, the lonely man made use of what the Clerk brought him to aid with his aching head. Hiroshi continues his line of questioning:


    ¡°Where are they? There are so few here.¡±


    ¡°Hunting¡ª We do not know how long they will stay, and if you ask me, I do not think they know how long either. We do not know when the hunting party will return, but we believe it shall be tonight.¡±


    ¡°How did they empty your supplies in just a few nights?¡±


    ¡°They held a feast that lasted until morning, right here in my restaurant. My grandsons have been worked to the bone! They asked for all the rice, all the meat, all the fish ¡ª everything ¡ª to be served. The others have been talking and we believe that they went hunting this morning to prepare for another feast tonight.¡± She explains, her eyes quickly darting over to a shadow that passed just outside the entrance to her establishment.


    The suddenness of her actions sealed Hiroshi¡¯s lips as well, and after a few seconds, he would turn his head to check if they were still in the clear.


    ¡°They deserve to die.¡± It was then that a third voice made itself known ¡ª Kaito¡¯s voice. The words were spoken boldly, without hesitation and without an effort to soften his voice.


    Hiroshi turns his head simultaneously to the Clerk who was just as shocked as he was. These were the first words that Kaito spoke since he came into the bar last night.


    ¡°I will kill every last one of them.¡± Kaito said after downing the last of his water, nearly slamming his glass onto the counter top.


    ¡°Kaito-kun! Be careful, someone might hear...¡± Said the Clerk in caution, uttering her concerns in shouted whispers.


    ¡°Let them hear me, Chiyo-san, let them come. And when they do, I will slit their throats with my hook.¡± Kaito wraps his fingers around the warm tea, just as he did the sak¨¦ the night before.


    The Baker leans toward the man so as to maintain his low volume, hoping that by doing this, the other would follow suit and secure their means of communication. ¡°Kaito-san, is it? My name is Hiroshi, and I want to help you. What did they do?¡±


    The question required him to recount the painful news of last night; if he grips the cup any harder, it would break and mix his boiling blood with the lukewarm beverage. He takes a small sip from it to warm his chest, followed by bigger sips to loosen his rigid tongue, frozen by his own mortification.


    ¡°They took her from me.¡±


    ¡°Who? Who took her?¡±


    ¡°The samurai¡­ They...they...¡ª¡±


    Chiyo extends her hand over the counter, holding onto Kaito¡¯s while brushing his knuckles with her thumb. The sensation was comparable to a mother¡¯s touch, comforting a son in his hour of darkness and giving him the strength he needs to push on. Kaito looks up at her and sees a vibrant smile amidst the dim lighting of the bar. He nods, holding onto her as she holds onto him.


    ¡°...They took my wife from me ¡ª Nanami.¡± The name alone shook his heart. ¡°I am a fisherman, and from morning until the evening, I am out by the sea, working ¡ª I have to. Ever since Lord Ataru passed away, my father had to work harder. And with Lord Masahiko gone, I must work harder too. While I fish, Nanami stays here to sell my catch, and that was when it happened.¡± Finally, he turns to look Hiroshi in the eye, ¡°When I got back, she was nowhere to be found. I looked everywhere, but still ¡ª nothing. So I came here and asked around while everyone was celebrating, and they told me that they assumed I called for her and asked for help¡ª Never have I asked Nanami to come and help me, she had her own job here and we both had to carry our own weight.¡± The words began to take a venomous tone, one that Hiroshi was more than familiar with. ¡°I asked them why they thought that, and they told me they saw three of them escorting Nanami down the road with a basket in her hands. My neighbors thought I caught a lot of fish and needed an extra basket ¡ª she never came back, but they did.¡±


    Chiyo would feel the sudden ache in Kaito¡¯s hand, an ache that originated directly from his chest.


    Much to Kaito¡¯s surprise, tears began to trickle down cheek once more; he thought he emptied his eyes already. The presence of tears only tampered with his hostile tone, creating a painful mixture for his listeners. ¡°...The samurai¡ª Those bastards lied to her.... They used my love to trick her¡­ and now¡­ now¡ª¡±


    ¡°Kaito-kun,¡± Interrupted Chiyo, ¡°¡ªwe are not certain if Nanami-chan is really gone. She could still be out there, we can look for her¡ª Hiroshi-san, if you want to help us, this is how you can do it. Please, look for Na¡ª¡±


    Abruptly, the Fisherman takes hold of Hiroshi¡¯s wrist, pausing in silence,


    ¡°...Do not bother. I have never known a man to carry a sword and not use it when it is most convenient for him ¡ª My Nanami is gone¡­ If you really want to help us, then I hope you brought your own sword with you¡ª... Did you?¡± For the first time since yesterday, Kaito¡¯s eyes had a spark of hope in them. Hoping that the stranger brought with him the salvation that befits the turmoil they were in.


    ¡°I-...I did not¡­ I am sorry...¡±


    Just as easy as the spark came about, it went away. Kaito relinquishes Hiroshi from both his hold and his gaze, returning them to the hot cup of tea he was given and the empty view of a countertop.


    ¡°The only way to save us from a sword is with a sword. Whatever it is you have planned will only bring us more suffering, so save yourself. Take what you came for and leave ¡ª you cannot help us.¡± Kaito sips from his tea.


    Hiroshi leans onto the countertop, closer to Kaito than to the clerk,


    ¡°Do not lose hope, help has arrived. You will be freed, all of you, I assure it.¡±


    ¡°B-but how? You have no weapon, and neither do we! We are only farmers and fishermen! Are there others with you? Where are they? W-what exactly are you, Hiroshi-san?¡± Chiyo would ask.


    ¡°... I am a baker.¡± He almost hesitated, knowing how his response would look to them.


    And just as he imagined, the two of them turn away from him in a loss of words. Wallowing in their own sense of an impending doom and adherence to proper etiquette drove them away from losing their temper towards the humble baker. While Kaito indulges himself with his tea, Chiyo mutters what one could only assume to be prayers to be delivered from evil.


    ¡°N-no! Listen to me¡­ I am from Kumitsukawa.¡±


    The moment the name had been mentioned, they lifted their heads to face Hiroshi in a mixture of awe and pity. Both of them heard of how the samurai burned the village to the ground, leaving no survivors to be found nor scavenged by animals for food. More than their shock toward his survival of the massacre, they found an infallible reason as to why the Baker should be trusted with his endeavor of freeing Somukawa.


    ¡°K-...Kumitsukawa¡ª¡­ These men came from the village...¡±Chiyo held a hand to her mouth in shock.


    ¡°I heard them cheering about it ¡ª all of them¡­ They retold their stories, laughed about it, drank to it like they hunted down animals... Tch¡ª soulless monsters.¡± Kaito spat the words, mortified by the horrors that the Old Baker must have been through.


    ¡°How did you survive¡­?¡± Chiyo inches closer, her voice carrying a softer tone.


    ¡°How I survived does not matter. What matters is that I am here, and I am not alone.¡±


    For the first time, Kaito turns on his stool to fully face Hiroshi,


    ¡°Who? H-how many of you survived? Who is with you? Who did you bring?¡± His voice was ridden with great anticipation.


    ¡°I brought the Wrath of Hell.¡±


    ¡°The Demon of Kumitsukawa¡­¡± Kaito and Chiyo spoke in unison, simultaneously feeling a disembodied breath upon their necks.


    ¡°He is real, and he is with me ¡ª he will help us.¡± Hiroshi nods, assuring them of the salvation that they needed, that they prayed for.


    The Old Baker watches their eyes fill with a stronger and more resilient sense of hope, brought about by the invocation of the unholy moniker. It is here that he finds concrete proof that the Pillager¡¯s ramblings were nothing more than just that; a legend convinced two people that there was hope for them and that they shall be saved. Legends have power, and like all power, they work in mysterious ways.


    ¡°Where is he?¡± Kaito spoke after the chill subsided. He believes that a spirit may have just passed them, one attached to the Demon¡¯s name.


    ¡°He is watching the settlement as we speak, lurking and scheming.¡±


    ¡°The Demon can move during the day?¡± Chiyo asks, nearly outraged by this sudden discovery.


    ¡°Nothing can stop a vengeful creature, especially not him. Not Amaterasu¡¯s light, F¨±jin¡¯s wind, Raijin¡¯s storms ¡ª nothing.¡± Hiroshi threw his hand outward to wipe away whatever obstacle they could think of.


    ¡°Hiroshi-san¡­ W-what does t-the Demon look like¡­?¡± The Clerk would offer another question; she stutters and trembles.


    ¡°In the same way that we cannot hope to gaze at the face of the Kami, one must not gaze upon him. One look is all it takes and he shall haunt your dreams until your death.¡±


    It was then that Hiroshi noticed that her gaze was slightly off, like she was looking through him. As a matter of fact, she did not quite meet his eye in terms of level; Chiyo seems to be looking somewhere near his ear. Catching on to the peculiar way that she was looking, he finally looks behind him to see The Demon sitting in the farthest part of the establishment ¡ª shadows shroud him in an ominous atmosphere. He sat with his legs crossed, both arms resting on his lap while his straw hat rested on his head.


    Chiyo and Kaito both thought the exact same thing: HOW LONG HAS HE BEEN HERE?!


    The Demon tips his head upward in the slightest way to indicate that their gaze did not go unnoticed. Kaito and Chiyo would bow instantly upon seeing his black jaw, more so out of fear than respect. They took the Baker¡¯s warning to heart, hoping to save their dreams from being frequented by an unholy presence. With their gaze glued to their feet, they would be forced to listen to the Demon¡¯s footsteps as he approached the bar counter. Chiyo, being behind the counter, was saved from his presence. She could only see his shadow as it cast itself on the countertop. However, Kaito would be forced to close his eyes in its entirety before he could look at the Demon¡¯s foot ¡ª he would not be taking chances.


    ¡°My Lord,¡± called Hiroshi, ¡°I have found these two people who share in your vengeful mission. Like me, they have suffered under the hand of the samurai and they seek your aid. We will do as you ask ¡ª what is your bidding?¡±


    The Demon of Kumitsukawa watches them tremble before his presence, averting their gaze by means of a bow. He has seen others this way before, some even kneel, but this somehow felt different. He wonders what Hiroshi told them before he snuck in, he looks at the old man from below his hat.


    The Old Baker returns the look, mouthing words to tell the other to humor him.


    Hisashi¡¯s chest silently deflates as a response. He reaches out and graces the countertop with his deadly hand, offering his response:


    ¡°Vengeance.¡±

 CHAPTER SIX: THE FEAST

    The Hour of the Pig ¡ª Night


    In the quiet of the night, it was difficult to miss the stampede of horses that trampled over the silence bestowed onto the village after a hard day¡¯s work. The long faces of the villagers grew longer, knowing that they were now in the company of the samurai. Their cheers scared away the animals, as it did good fortune. Although how could they resist when they have brought back such a bounty for tonight¡¯s feast? Proudly, they watched as the deers and boars got carried away to the kitchen for preparation; one particular samurai felt it appropriate to exhale ¡ª his work was done, now the villagers shall do their part. He climbs down from his horse, and with his back turned, he is startled to see a horde of villagers appear behind him.


    ¡°AH¡ª¡± He exclaimed, but realizing who they were, he collected himself quickly.


    ¡°My Lord! We need your assistance! Come quick!¡± Said the unfamiliar villager; the Old Baker blended well with the locals indeed.


    The samurai stood there briefly, stealing glances at his men who were just as dumbfounded as him. More than that, they were reluctant ¡ª the feast was starting soon. However, if this is not dealt with, then he would never hear the end of it. His deep exhale is succeeded by a burdened sigh; there was work to be done.


    ¡°Over here!¡± Hiroshi called.


    Accompanied by a handful of concerned farmers, he beckons a squad of samurai to follow him further toward the river. Fresh from the hunt, the warriors marched onward without their helmets, having believed that no trouble awaited them back at Somukawa¡ª they were wrong. The samurai listened with a skeptical ear while shrouded in a cloak of vexation as the farmers murmur among themselves:


    ¡°Is it true?¡±


    ¡°Did he really see her?¡±


    ¡°What did he see?¡±


    ¡°Maybe it was a bear¡­¡±


    ¡°A bear? Really?¡±


    Despite their clear disdain for the thoughts of the lowly peasants, the samurai followed.


    With the water swallowing them up to the thighs, Hiroshi and the rest cross the river; two of the samurai following the Old Baker would nudge each other by the shoulder, exchanging looks that go unnoticed as all eyes were set in front of them ¡ª to the forest.


    ¡°There!¡± Hiroshi points into the blackness that the forest created, ¡°I saw her in the woods! I saw a Y¨±rei!¡± He stands aside for the samurai to proceed, getting as close as his sense of bravery would allow him.


    The words triggered a symphony of gasps that heightened the sense of urgency among the warriors. From here, the samurai all drew their blades and took the lead, one wary foot at a time. While others may refer to it as caution, the frozen foot of the samurai in the lead that kept him from entering the forest may also be regarded as something else. Rather than taking another step, he opted to ask a question:


    ¡°You,¡± he called without ever pulling his sight from the darkness, ¡°What exactly did you see?¡±


    ¡°A woman, white dress, black hair ¡ª bloody eyes. She lured some of your men into the forest and I heard screams!¡± Hiroshi responded, cowering behind the fearful samurai.


    The darkness covered most of the samurai¡¯s agitated expression. Inadvertently, the baker¡¯s description had instilled a new option for him and his men, one that included a retreat into the settlement to join the others in the feast. He turned to look at those gathered around them, and with a curse muttered beneath his breath, he steadied his hand; the sooner this is over, the sooner they can join the celebration.


    ¡°Stand back.¡± He tells the peasants, pushing through the forest and passing the threshold that is the tree line ¡ª his men follow.


    Tap.


    Just as the trees filter Amaterasu¡¯s light, they filter Tsukuyomi¡¯s as well. Because of this, his view of the forest grounds were fragmented, but his eyes would adjust as best they could. Only a few steps past the threshold, a hand was raised to signal the squad to halt. He sheathes his sword and kneels to the ground, prompting two samurai to take a step forward and protect their vulnerable ally. Kneeling inches away from a bush, he inspects the ground for any sort of prints.


    Tap.


    And thusly, he came upon what seemed to be a leaf from the bush that moved on its own.


    Tap.


    Still operating under the influence of what could be discerned as caution, he pats the ground for a tool and settles for a stick. Taking it into hand, he gently pokes the moving bush, getting no response. A second poke is administered, gaining the same result. Finally, he discards the stick and reaches for the one leaf that seemingly nodded at him in regular intervals. Much to his surprise, his fingers got wet. Though disgust started to settle in him, he proceeded with the inspection. He brought his fingers together, rubbing them. It colored his skin dark, and it smelled like metal.


    Tap.


    With his hand hovering over the bush, the leaf did not move. Instead, his knuckles are generously painted with the dark substance. Calling one of his men with a gesture, the torch draws closer to him. Light finally made its way to him, upon which he was elucidated to the red color of the substance that fell on his hand. Both men threw their gazes toward the trees, they would not be left clueless for long. Right where he stands, an immensely heavy object collapses on top of him, bringing him to the floor along with it; the samurai with the torch had the foresight to step out of the way, saving himself the pain and the embarrassment. He was dazed and out of breath for the minute, having felt as if he was rammed by a horse. But when he came to his senses, his chest filled with air.


    ¡°AAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!¡± His scream startled his own men.


    The torch would be brought closer once again so as to elucidate their culprit. Light did it no justice, revealing to everyone present a headless body.


    Frantically, the cowardly samurai pushed the body off and hurried himself back under the safety of numbers. ¡°W-w-we need t-to get the others! We need to go! Now!¡± He scrambled back onto his feet.


    And just as he ordered their retreat into the settlement, the bushes shook amidst the stagnant air ¡ª they all shook together.


    ¡°F-formation! FORMATION!¡± He ordered, stepping back as his men rallied into an arrangement that replicated the shape of an arrowhead.


    The swords took the frontlines while the archers remained in the back, covering a wider portion of the possible areas of attack. His retreat was more so from a tactical standpoint, granting him time to draw his katana. Now equipped and ready, he takes but one step forth to get in range of their ears.


    ¡°Do you see anything?¡± His eyes shifted faster than his heart could beat.


    ¡°Too dark to see¡­¡± Responded the furthermost man, trying his best to calm himself.


    ¡°Nothing here..¡±


    ¡°None here...¡±


    ¡°Same for me¡­¡±


    Each man sounded off, clearing their respective posts and bringing their attention away from the tip of their formation. However, the frightened samurai refused to believe them; something was out there. And just as he convinced himself of this, he lifts his index finger and points just above the shoulder of the furthermost man ¡ª the tip of the arrow.


    ¡°TH-THE-THERE! I SEE IT!¡± He cried,


    ¡°IT¡¯S A CCCKKK¡ª¡±


    The pointed hand turns flaccid and falls upon the arrow tip¡¯s shoulder; droplets of a warm liquid sprinkle on the back of his neck, some staining his right cheek. He was the first to turn around and gaze upon the sharp pieces of metal that entered one side of his ally¡¯s head and exited through another.


    So it began, the tree trunks were painted in red, the branches swaying to the morbid symphony of meat being tenderized. The moonlight hid the faces of the attackers; shadows showed no such mercy as they lifted their weapons up and brought them down in a single unforgiving breath onto the unknowing warriors.


    The last man stood in a puddle of his comrades¡¯ blood, watching the group of peasants pull tools out of their skulls. In spite of their faces being shrouded in darkness, he knew they were looking at him.


    They were all looking at him.


    ¡°...GRRRRAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!¡± He affirms his hold on his katana, and charges forth.


    The Old Baker masterfully twirls his hoe so as to swat the katana away with ease. Using the momentum of the twirl, he drives his hoe through the samurai¡¯s jaw with the tines exiting the topmost region of his skull.


    The injection of thick metal into his skull immediately caused his eyes to roll into the back of his head; he drops into the puddle upon the Baker¡¯s release, and his exhale signifies a successful execution of the mission.


    ¡°Quickly!¡± Says Hiroshi, looking back at the rest of the group, ¡°Get their weapons, and rally with the others!¡±


    The rest of them discarded their bloody farming tools into the forest, upgrading to tools of warfare. They curled their fingers around the polearm, the bow, and the hilt; they attached quivers onto their backs, and the arquebuses onto their waists.  Heeding Hiroshi¡¯s command, they sprint back to the settlement with the winds of war to guide and fuel them.


    Hiroshi replaces his hoe with a naginata, testing its weight in his hand with a few flourishes and the sturdiness by striking the ground with its wooden end. For a brief moment, he gazes upon the dead, filling the empty faces of the samurai in his imagination of Kumitsukawa¡¯s darkest hour. And even now, as he stares at the last faces that his people ever saw, he tucks his extremities to his side and delivers a slow bow. Bending at the waist, his tears mix into the dark puddle that surrounds him; Hiroshi maintains his bow despite the momentary quakes borne from an aching heart. His attempts to stop the tears from trickling down his cheek were futile, even with his eyes closed.


    And that was when he felt the softest hand cup his face and lightly brush the tears away.


    As quickly as he could, Hiroshi opens his eyes and basks in the calm presence of a girl. Her hair was as black as the night, but her dress was as white as the clouds above; she glowed as if the sun sat inside her chest and she smiled with its radiance. She stood in silence, once again wiping her thumb across the Old Baker¡¯s cheek.


    ¡°Wh-...who are you¡­?¡± Asked Hiroshi, hoping to match his tone with her serene presence.


    Her hand leaves his cheek to join the other pair that sat on her lap. Mimicking the Old Baker¡¯s prior action, the girl bent at the waist and bowed, still maintaining her kind smile. The Old Baker reciprocates, but finds that her light slowly begins to fade. By the time that he straightened his back, he was accompanied by none.


    Meanwhile at the restaurant...


    The Clerk¡¯s step through the threshold from the kitchen welcomes her back into the overwhelming atmosphere of a packed restaurant. Chiyo takes a moment to watch as her family is called to service yet again. Her grandsons served the tables, cooked the food, and cleaned the bowls. The youngest of them, on the other hand, filled the atmosphere with music. He held his shamisen dearly; a happy smile from his grandmother encouraged him to continue. The melody he plays forges invisible strings, tethering the limbs of the maiko that dances in front of the entire crowd. The girl¡¯s dress was the finest that Somukawa could muster. Not a single strand of hair was out of place, and her make-up made her eyes and lips look like cherry blossoms that rested on untouched snow ¡ª a simple peasant¡¯s resourcefulness comes a long way, enabling such a grand form of entertainment in such a humble place. Despite the kind smile that she offers, her eyes nervously scan the crowd. And in the distance, she finds her mother; Aimi mirrors her daughter¡¯s smile as best as she could without drawing attention to herself, as if to hold her hand through this bit of hardship. She was partly in disbelief, the ensemble that Aiko had been adorned with made her look as if she was an entirely different person. Yet this would not stop her from showing her support in the form of cautiously curved lips.  Not a single step escapes the gaze of the seated samurai, starving the women that sat beside them of the attention they sorely despised. The men did not mind much that the girl¡¯s movements were as refined as uncut grass, they expected nothing less from a small community this far from the capital. All that mattered was the shape and sparkle of her eyes that glanced ever so slightly at them, the redness of her lips and the neatness of her hair; they could no longer hear the slightest sound, such as the beverage that the women poured into their cups.


    Chiyo places a tray of fresh drinks on the counter to be served to their hearty patrons; her eldest grandson approaches to curl his fingers beneath the tray.


    ¡°Take these to the lieutenant and his guards.¡± Said Chiyo.


    ¡°The li¡ª umm¡­ Which one is the lieutenant?¡± Asked her grandson.


    Chiyo holds onto the boy¡¯s forearm and gently leans closer to him; pointing with a finger would be disrespectful, so she does it with but her gaze, ¡°The lieutenant should be seated at the end of that table, farthest from the door. His guards sit closest to him.¡± She explained, her words almost lost to the round of applause offered by the patrons to the maiko at the end of her performance.


    As best he could, he follows her gaze across the room toward the table in question. The masked men gathered at the end of the table must be those directly under the lieutenant, but the Lieutenant himself seems to be nowhere in sight. Nevertheless, he nods and lifts the tray to deliver the new batch of drinks, passing by both Aiko and his siblings on their way back to the kitchen. The tables were arranged to accommodate entire groups of samurai; every seat filled by a man in armor, the aroma of the food and drinks struck them first while the peasants sat by the wayside, sniffing only what was left in the air.


    Kaito, who remained near Chiyo at the bar counter, took brief peeks over his own shoulder. He watches the men of Somukawa do the same, keeping an eye on their wives and daughters who sat by the samurai against their will; the smiles of the women could be mistaken for masks. Nonchalantly, he nods toward the Clerk to gain her attention, but she only closes her eyes and exhales through the nose as a response. With that, she leaves Kaito and makes her way back to the kitchen ¡ª a long night was ahead of them.


    A lonely samurai seated among his peers watches the new batch of drinks be delivered, he wonders how many times has one of those boys made trips around their table, and how many more before the main course was delivered. Deciding that enough was enough, his hand breaks through the surface tension of individual conversation happening simultaneously, his voice accompanied his hand in calling their attention:This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°We should start already! I am starting to get full from nothing but appetizers and drinks! Who knows how long those fools will take!¡±


    ¡°Where did they go anyway?¡± Another voice came from somewhere down the table.


    ¡°Called by the farmers, something about something they saw.¡± He replied.


    ¡°Might be a bear.¡±


    ¡°It could be those thieves we keep hearing about.¡±


    ¡°They take after their captain ¡ª Daichi. It has been days since Kumitsukawa and he has not returned yet! We should eat now while the night is young!¡± Tadashi interjected.


    Voices sound off from one end of the table to another, turning heads from here to there. However, their gaze would focus on the warrior who sat opposite of the samurai with his hand raised,


    ¡°It would be disrespectful to start without everyone, Tadashi. Even the lieutenant is not here yet.¡° His arm rests comfortably around a woman¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°The Lieutenant has matters to attend to, but the rest? What would be more disrespectful, Ginjiro, is allowing the food to go to waste! Can you not smell the food back there? They are waiting for us to start the feast!¡±


    ¡°Hmm, or perhaps you are just jealous because you have no one to pour your drink for you ¡ª again.¡±  The score of samurai erupts into laughter; Ginjiro leans to the woman, gently tracing her jawline with his finger while she nuzzles into him in return and reluctance, ¡°I suppose waiting would not be that enjoyable when you are alone.¡± Ginjiro added.


    Tadashi¡¯s hand lowers to point across the table. ¡°Have you not had enough to drink, Ginjiro?¡±


    ¡°I do not mind¡­ as long as she is pouring my drink.¡± He winks at Tadashi.


    The hand that points crumples into a fist that meets with the top of the table, ¡°Food is best eaten while it is hot¡ª¡± Tadashi¡¯s sentence is cut short by a shadow that seeps into the restaurant¡¯s entrance. As a matter of fact, they would all take notice of this.


    A shadow capable of bringing about immediate silence amidst a heated argument could only belong to a person of immense power and charisma. The door is pulled aside, and into the establishment steps the Lieutenant. Aside from his fierce menp¨­, he was most distinguished by the ornament that accompanied his helmet ¡ª it commanded respect, like a crown. The Lieutenant bears witness to the clerk and her grandsons who pour from the kitchen to bow in his presence, welcoming him; his soldiers were wise enough to do the same. He takes the time to gaze upon their table, faces and masks in random order. It seems that his men continue to deplete the village¡¯s supply of rice wine. However, he does notice the relatively scarce population. There were plenty, but seemingly less than he imagined. Luckily, his most personal entourage seemed complete.


    ¡°The others have not arrived yet?¡± The Lieutenant¡¯s voice is the droplet of water that met the ripple of the atmosphere, even the farmers and fishermen took heed of this.


    ¡°N-not yet, Lieutenant. We waited for you, but we should not wait for the rest any longer than we already have. I told them that it is disrespectful to keep the food waiting.¡± Pleaded Tadashi to his superior.


    It would take but a moment for the Lieutenant to pass his judgment on the matter at hand. ¡°It is disrespectful to start without the others, but more so that we allow the food to grow cold and lose its taste when we know that our hosts have slaved away for us. It is time that we accompany our drink with a proper meal.¡±


    Tadashi glances at Ginjiro with a corner of his lip pointing upward.


    ¡°That being said, tonight,¡± the Lieutenant speaks again, ¡°we celebrate. We stand strong against countless battles and we have had countless victories. Losses will always be present, but none of them were in vain.¡±


    His men nodded accordingly.


    ¡°We deserve this feast. We deserve this drink¡­¡±


    While the Lieutenant spoke, Tadashi started to feel thirsty. And having no one to pour his drink, he opts to do so himself. One after the other, he finds the containers to be empty, leading him to search the table. Beyond the reach of his fingers, he finds a lone container still filled to the rim. He could not rise, nor could he reach over the table like a child; a silent curse escapes his lips before he realizes that the cup sits inches away from his squad¡¯s commanding officer. He could ask him to pour the drink, yet was he brave enough to disturb his superior who intently listened to their Lieutenant¡¯s speech? The sweat slides down from his top knot, but is dried with a wipe of the hand.


    ¡°Habiki-dono...¡± he calls out to him quietly, ¡°...Habiki-dono...¡± he calls again.


    Ever so slowly, Habiki turns his head without ever saying a word toward the tree that bent the wrong way. The stare through his mask, combined with a silence which Tadashi saw as a manifestation of his superior¡¯s being annoyed, froze him in place. Yet if he were to remain frozen, then he would spend the entire evening in this shameful state.


    Tadashi lifts his cup with both hands, ¡°C-could you please pour me a drink¡­?¡±


    Habiki¡¯s mask erased his eyes from view, leaving Tadashi to ask a favor from a soulless man. After much anticipation, the full container is finally taken and tilted over Tadashi¡¯s cup to pour the much needed refreshment ¡ª not a single drop wasted. The receiver¡¯s head bows in gratitude, low enough that his top-knot meets the peak of his form, but not so much that he no longer sees his cup, nor the hand that pours for him. Habiki¡¯s hand tilts further, and it is then that Tadashi catches a glimpse of an uncharacteristic spot just beneath the other¡¯s thumb. Alas, with the drink completely poured, Habiki¡¯s hand retracts to set the container down and return to his person. Tadashi offers his thanks once more and twists his body into the right direction to drink; as his cup rises, so does his brow. While his thoughts had just begun, the speech was nearing its end.


    ¡°Nevertheless, I stand by my word: We may have come from a small village ¡ª a small province ¡ª but we are of the same quality as any other warrior out there, and we have proven it time and time again. The fruits of our labor have not gone unrecognized. A powerful clan has finally made their move, and they want us to be on their side. We will be fighting alongside a clan whose very name commands respect. Soon, we shall be among them. We will be among those whose names both commands respect and instills fear. We will break bread with the mighty, and sit amongst the victors. And soon, we shall have a table of our own.¡±


    Murmurs of their agreement to his sentiments began to bubble.


    ¡°I sincerely apologize to you all for making you wait.¡± The Lieutenant bowed deeply, and would offer the same show of remorse for his actions toward the owner of the restaurant. He straightens his posture once more, ¡°You see, the gods themselves have also recognized us. Before I came here, I was given a gift. While most of you had immediately gathered here, I was beckoned into the woods by a spirit. I was told that my leadership is to be rewarded, having kept such a mighty band of men so strong and united against all odds. As a token of its appreciation for such a show of purity and power, the spirit gave me this.¡±


    The Lieutenant lifts a sack from behind him, its bottom reddened with fluids. He could swear he heard stomachs growl at the sight of it. They inched closer, hoping to get a glimpse of what it could be. If it had blood, was it game? Did the spirits offer a bounty? Perhaps a boar of divine proportions? Beef of the most succulent kind? Perhaps it was a piece of a deity? What would divinity taste like? The Lieutenant could practically hear their thoughts, and so to calm their curiosities, he swung the sack onto the very center of the table. Eager to catch this prize, Tadashi nearly leaps onto the table, throwing his arms outward to allow the sack to fall neatly into his grasp. Excitedly, he dips both hands into the sack and retrieves their most awaited gift ¡ª a human head.


    In a fit of rage, the samurai rise up, drawing their swords against their esteemed Lieutenant who was unphased by all the commotion. To their dismay, their visions spun and their legs became comparable to twigs supporting boulders atop them. They attempt to pull themselves together, but one after another, they begin to collapse. Tadashi looks around to find himself among the few blades of grass that stood at their most erect. He momentarily locks eyes with Ginjiro, who is unable to even swing himself onto his knees, let alone grip his weapon.


    ¡°Tch!¡± Said Tadashi in frustration,


    The Lieutenant recognizes the look on their faces quite well. The beverage took away their ability to stand. However, the element that disabled their ability to hold their swords straight was none other than fear.


    ¡°WHO ARE YOU?! WHERE IS THE LIEUTENANT?!¡± Tadashi spoke harshly against the impostor.


    Ever so calmly, the Impostor raises his hand to point a lone finger toward the head that sat closest to Tadashi. He did not hold his scabbard, nor did he rest his thumb on the handguard, for none of them were fast enough to close the distance before he could equip his weapon. ¡°Do you not recognize your Lieutenant when you see him?¡±


    ¡°This¡ª You¡­. YOU ARE A MONSTER!¡± Tadashi¡¯s hands shook with eagerness like a kettle with a flame beneath it.


    ¡°No, I am a demon.¡±


    Tadashi takes his first step out of the line, ready to charge and swing his sword at the Lieutenant. The moment his sole was fully planted on the ground, supposedly to launch himself forward, another blade made an advance by passing through from behind Tadashi¡¯s neck and out his mouth. The inaccuracy of the attack wedges the cutting edge of the blade between Tadashi¡¯s lower teeth. Disbelief once again plagues the entire room; they watch as the blade is pulled out of the orifice, allowing Tadashi¡¯s body to collapse on the floor in front of his killer.


    The man holding the bloodied blade wore their armor and colors ¡ª Habiki-dono.


    With the first blood spilled, the rest of the Lieutenant¡¯s Commanders break from their roles and unleash their fury upon the unmasked members of the platoon. The confusion gave them time to attack, the enemy left unable to discern friend from foe. Chaos was inevitable, with fists being thrown and swords being plunged into bodies. The farmers and fishermen join in battle, brandishing their tools from beneath the tables and clothes, and flanking the enemy from every direction. While the Lieutenant¡¯s men swing high, the common folk swing low, bringing the enemies down onto the floor to be mauled by metal.


    Aimi sneaks past the commotion and delivers her own vengeance upon an enemy samurai who wished to plunge his sword into Habiki-dono; the tip of her sickle plunges into the man¡¯s top knot, causing his eyes to roll into the back of his head as he loses all consciousness and falls onto the ground lifeless thereafter.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Aimi asks the Commander whose eyes she would never forget.


    ¡°I am, thank you.¡± Replied Minato from behind the mask; at this proximity, his eyes were visible enough for him to exchange his wishes of safety for her. It would only be for a split second for they could not squander this moment.


    Tonight, it would not be water or soil that dirtied their sickles, but the blood and gizzards of men.


    As the mayhem unfurls, Chiyo was quick to reach from behind the bar with hopes to save her youngest grandson who hid behind nothing but his instrument. Her retreat is stopped by a spinning sickle in flight, compelling the elderly woman to embrace the boy with hopes of saving him rather than saving herself. She opens her eyes with relief, finding the tool to have wedged itself only into the wall mere inches away from them. However, with eyes open, she could see that they were far from safe with a bloodied enemy samurai now setting sights upon them. The boy bears witness to the deranged ensemble of the enemy ¡ª the bloodlust in his eyes and the tight grip on the blade ¡ª and could not help but be overwhelmed by fear. For him, there was no other course of action than to bury his face into his grandmother¡¯s chest; what else could Chiyo do but accompany the frightened child?


    Slithering through the reeds of the battlefield, the samurai approaches with his katana raised, hoping to cut down the woman and the child in one fell swoop. With the blade lifted upward, he brings it down upon them. Rather than slaying the two civilians, the blade collides with a wooden pole that Kaito erected horizontally for their protection. Unfortunately for the fisherman, the strike was strong enough to slice through the pole and cut through his shoulder ¡ª strong enough to dig into the flesh, but not enough to sever his shoulder entirely. The samurai glares in frustration, and Kaito reciprocates with eyes sharper than his blade; he grits his teeth viciously to hold them both in place, the wooden pole may not have stopped the sword, but his bones did. And as the metal grits into his calcified tissue, Kaito lets out a loud cry of pain and ferocity. Captivated by the frightening display, the enemy samurai is blinded to the blade that slashes away at his heel from behind, causing him to drop to his knees and defenselessly be left to the mercy of the Demon of Kumitsukawa. Just as swift as the cut to the heel, Hisashi finishes the opponent by quickly skewing his brain, puncturing it from one ear through to the next. As soon as their safety had been guaranteed, Hisashi and Chiyo were quick to bring her grandson and the injured Kaito into the safe cover of her bar counter.


    ¡°Take him to the kitchen, and hide.¡± Ordered Hisashi after briefly analyzing both the amount of blood that stained his clothes, and the depth of the wound itself by parting the cloth that covered it.


    ¡°I can still fight! This is nothing!¡± Protested Kaito, attempting to shake the pain off from his shoulder, but only managing to produce more of it; the sharp pain shuts down his left arm, pushing more blood to gush out and trickle down his chest.


    There was no longer a need for Hisashi to justify his order. Chiyo herself takes the charge of pulling both her boy and Kaito into the safety of their kitchen, leaving Hisashi to return into battle. Although Kaito¡¯s heart begged to stay, he knew better than to oppose the Demon or Chiyo. He could only watch as the battlefield grew smaller until the heat of the battle could no longer be felt, only imagined.


    The concept of time was lost upon those ridden by bloodlust, as if a second only passes once an enemy falls lifeless on the ground. It took a few seconds for the silence to ebb, soon to be followed by the realization that all their enemies now lie on the floor either dead or dying.


    ¡°Aimi? Aimi!¡± Called Minato, relieving himself of his helmet and mask.


    ¡°Minato!¡± Aimi answers with a raised hand, standing on her toes to be seen better. She rushes through the product of their slaughter to grant her dear husband a loving embrace, grateful that they were both spared from being sent to the Yomi.


    Without the slightest shred of shame, Minato openly embraces his wife. His arms fully wrapping themselves around her while he buries his nose in her hair to breathe in her existence and the loving thought that they can continue their lives together as a family. Looking around, it seems that everyone else had the same idea, thankful that they survived such a bloody ordeal. However, at the corner of his eye, Minato finds a group of villagers gathered by the corner at the back of the restaurant.


    Hisashi tilts his head downward to replace the mask he wore with that of his own, discarding it amongst the fallen enemies. The used mask drops into the puddle of blood that slowly crept toward his foot like shadows when the sun sinks. The ripples soon seize, granting him a sinister view of himself shaded in red. Certain words resonated within him, words he had been struggling with for some time now. His focus took him away from realizing that someone approached him.


    ¡°Uhm¡­ excuse me, m-my lord¡­ one of them survived and¡­ he begs to speak with you¡­¡± Minato¡¯s hesitation mostly stemmed from the fact that he did not know how to call their savior.


    Nevertheless, the Demon treads through the restaurant to where the villagers crowded to. Against the wall, there knelt a lone enemy samurai with both swords still sheathed, and his head hanging low in shame. The crowd parts to grant the Demon passage and to allow the enemy samurai to gaze upon the face of the feared myth. Much to Hisashi¡¯s surprise, he recognizes the young man as the same samurai that he and Hiroshi met at the gate; he watches the younger man immediately cower and bow in his presence. One could construe it as an act of great respect for the Demon, but everyone else saw it as an act of fear.


    ¡°I am sorry.¡± The young man¡¯s words took a turn that the crowd did not expect, but no such reaction would be seen from Hisashi. ¡°I am sorry¡­ for the crimes and hardships we have caused you. I did not take part in any of it, I swear. But¡­ I¡­¡ª¡± he pushed himself up to gaze upon them all, still knelt, ¡°¡ª... did not do anything to stop them either.¡± As his words flowed, so did his tears, wetting the open palms that sat upon his lap. ¡°What you did here is¡ª... I-I know my fate should not be any different from theirs, but please ¡ª I beg you, my lord ¡ª allow me to regain my honor. That is all I ask.¡± He pleads with the fullness of his heart.


    And with the request having been given, the people look upon the Demon to see his decision.


    Hisashi towers over him, staring deeply into his eyes just as the man stared back into the darkness of where the Demon¡¯s eyes should be with the same breadth and depth. Though his lips did not part, his silence spoke in volume. And the young man, regrettably, lowers his head in shame with more tears to follow the ones that already wet his lap. His shoulders quake, his chest rose and fell uncontrollably, but he tried. Despite this, a deep inhale is taken through the nose; the air exited through the mouth steadily, along with that which made him shiver.


    ¡°W-wait¡­ I-... There are more of us¡­ in the next town over¡­¡± he swallowed, ¡°I¡­ I understand th-that you have to do this, but¡­ there are those better than¡­¡ª than me. Please, show them mercy, my lord¡­¡±


    Hisashi draws his blade and swiftly brings it down upon the young man¡¯s neck as soon as his lungs are emptied. The head falls forward, but the body rests upon the wall as if to preserve the knelt position.


    The Demon swings his blade sideward, sheathing it thereafter.


    With the matter ended, Hisashi turns on his heel to face the villagers who watched the execution. It was moments like this that Hisashi finds the truth in the piece of wisdom that told of the eyes being the windows to the soul; though they could not peer into his, he could peer into theirs. He finds a familiar thing ¡ª mortification ¡ª and a woeful thing ¡ª comfort. And he could not discern which of the two he loathes more.


    Such a display would definitely create a splash in the moment. However, the orchestra of clashing metals and warcries soon ebb into the restaurant from outside ¡ª the night continues.


    ¡°Go, Somukawa is not free yet.¡±


    Obedient to the Demon¡¯s bidding, but more so privy to the idea of freedom, the villagers nodded and took to the streets with their bloodied tools and newly acquired weapons fit for a slaughter. Minato, who embraced Aimi away from the morbid affair, slowly calls to her with but his touch to leave and join the rest in battle.


    Hisashi would have followed suit, if not for the head that coincidentally rolled into a position that allowed the young man to gaze upon him from beyond the living. He stares into the tearful eyes of the man he decapitated, if only for just a moment, just to see his reflection in such a sorrowful frame.


    He looks away.

 CHAPTER SEVEN: THE GIRL

    From the horizon, the Goddess peeks at the town of Tachikawa. And with just a mere peek, darkness fades into nothing. The shadows are pushed back into their crevices while color is bred back into the world without failure, albeit with a slight hint of a healthy orange glow. Nearing the outskirts at the end of town, the farmstead was blessed with the same graces. Early to greet the day was the Farmer to tend to his field; late was his daughter. Hours into his work, and he returns to their home to pay her a visit in the bedroom. He creeps into her room, as quiet as the Goddess that peeked from behind the mountains, and finds his place by her bedside.


    ¡°Seijun~.¡± Called the Farmer, placing his rough hand softly upon her shoulder. A gentle squeeze for the first attempt.


    ¡°Little Seijun~.¡± His tone like honey from the hive to compensate for the gentle shaking for his second attempt.


    ¡°Juno~.¡± The Farmer believed his daughter to still be deep in slumber, had it not been for the tiny smile borne from his calling of her nickname.


    The hand was retrieved, but placed again at her side with his fingers twiddling at her. In an instant, the small child begins to writhe in joy. The silence is broken by a bubbling laughter, infectious in nature; how quickly it erases his fatigue. Mercy was in order, the Farmer relinquishes his daughter by exchanging the tickling with soft kisses on the forehead.


    ¡°How long have you been awake for?¡± Asked the Farmer.


    ¡°Uhhhmmm¡­.¡± Said Seijun, looking elsewhere whilst rolling in the bed.


    ¡°You know I need your help in the field, right?¡±


    ¡°Mhmm¡­¡± Her voice rose.


    ¡°We need to let Mama get extra sleep, remember? So she can make us breakfast before heading to the market?¡±


    ¡°Mhmm..¡± Her voice fell.


    It broke his heart to hear her like this. After all, a child should never be asked to work for the sake of their parents. The parents should be able to provide for their children, but how could he when they were being bled dry? He almost froze there, seated and staring at his little girl. Shaking off his train of thought, the Farmer dips once again to plant a firm kiss on his daughter¡¯s cheek.


    ¡°I can handle the crops today, you will be helping Mama, okay? Go eat with Mama and help her at the market after.¡± He plants one more kiss.


    ¡°Okay Papa¡­¡± Seijun, reluctantly, scoots off her bed.


    ¡°Did you check for rodents yesterday?¡±


    ¡°Yes Papa.¡±


    ¡°Were there any?¡±


    ¡°No Papa.¡±


    As both a token of consolation and gratitude, he brings his arm around her and accompanies her to the table. Like clockwork, they both arrive to a delicious breakfast already prepared on the table. They stop in their tracks to contemplate this spectacle they saw before them ¡ª a full table and a hardworking woman behind it. The Farmer was in awe to find that though they did not have much, she knew how to make it as if they did. Seijun, on the other hand, felt terrible to realize that her mother had already finished preparing breakfast.


    ¡°Katashi.¡± Called the busy Mother, ¡°Could you help me for a bit, please?¡±


    ¡°Coming!¡± He says to his wife, ¡°Now you really have to go to the market with mommy.¡± He knelt down and whispered to his daughter.


    Seijun watches her parents scuttle around the table to prepare their first meal. She fiddles with her fingers as she did, deep in contemplation; she thought how hard it must be for them to do this everyday, but to never have enough. As they gather to sit and eat, this is when she would see it the most, the crumbs that led to such a stark perspective of her current reality. She watches her father share food with her mother, and vice-versa; she watches them share food with her as well. Seijun once believed this to be nothing more than simple acts of kindness, something a family did together. While she does not doubt this, she was beginning to think that it was also a way to ensure that one member had more of the share than the other ¡ª a selfless act; an attempt at sacrifice, because there was barely enough to satisfy everyone¡¯s hunger since the arrival of the samurai. As best she could, she smiles and eats what she was given. She hoped that clearing the food from her mouth meant clearing the worry in her heart, but she only finds the food harder to swallow.


    ¡°Tsuna.¡± Called Katashi.


    ¡°Hmm?¡± She answers.


    ¡°The crops to be sold are ready, I placed them in the baskets by the door. They¡¯re not too heavy so you should be able to carry them.¡± He smiled.


    ¡°Thank you, dear.¡± She said, her voice matching the sweetness in his smile, ¡°But you underestimate me, you know. I am stronger than I look.¡± Tsuna brought up her arm, slapping her bicep meekly.


    ¡°Is that so?¡± Katashi¡¯s smile evolves into a smirk, chuckling as he fed himself rice.


    ¡°Ohh for sure! I can probably lift the house if I wanted to.¡± Tsuna lifts her bowl of rice, supposedly in the same way she would lift the house.


    ¡°I-I can carry the baskets for you, mama.¡± Seijun interjected.


    ¡°I know you can, because you are strong like me too.¡± Tsuna wrinkled her nose, smiling at her little girl.


    ¡°Ehh?! What about me? Little Seijun got her strength from me too!¡± Said Katashi.


    ¡°Hmmm¡­ maybe a little.¡± Tsuna chuckles, ¡°She got more from me.¡± She winked at Seijun.


    The wink catches her off guard, and it shatters her worrisome state instantly. With her hardened shell rendered to dust, Seijun¡¯s lips curl into a wondrous smile; her next bite motivated by glee, it explodes with flavors she noticed only seconds prior.


    Having concluded breakfast, and with the promise of her husband that he will be shouldering all the housework for the day, Tsuna makes her way to the door to find that the baskets were missing. Confusion struck her first before thinking that Katashi must have placed them outside the door. Sliding the door open, she sets her sights to find Seijun with one wicker backpack on her back while she holds another basket on her front with both hands. She gasped at her daughter¡¯s show of initiative and strength, but also out of pity for such a little girl.


    ¡°Seijun.¡± She said worriedly.


    But the little girl only replies with a proud smile.


    Tsuna takes the liberty of taking the basket from her daughter''s hands, wearing it herself on her own back. As much as she wanted to take the other basket too, she knew better than to exclude little Seijun from helping. Instead, she pats her head softly and leads their way to the market. She checked on her daughter periodically, peering over her shoulder to ensure that the basket was not weighing her down too much. Instead, Seijun looked elsewhere. She flung her gaze out to the furthest that the eye could see; Tsuna knew her daughter wanted to take in as much of the view as she could before they were surrounded by tall houses and other buildings. Their lives had its moments; a walk through plains and paddy fields was a nice view to start the day with. Tsuna slows herself down to match her pace with Seijun, it was time for their morning game. Both of them set their gaze to the blue sky, a clear canvas on which clouds would be drawn by the gods while they attempt to discern which cloud looked like what. She hoped that the game relieved her daughter of her fatigue as much as it did her. Soon enough, their view of the sky would be framed by the roofs of houses. Seijun dropped her gaze to marvel at them; their land may be of considerable size even as a small farmstead, but their house was truly nothing in comparison to an urban home. Their isolation fades when their neighbors greet them either by nod or by word, bringing them both back to reality. Not long after, they arrive at the marketplace ¡ª a bustling focal point for trade and business. Tsuna leads them to their stall, clearing away the covers so that they could display their crops for sale.


    Hours come to pass, yet their most abundant transaction consisted of exchanges in pleasantries. Exhausted, Seijun lifts her head temporarily from the crops she sorted behind the stall to find her mother sighing. Dipping her head between her arms allowed Seijun to see more of her; the tightness at which her eyes were closed and the slant of her lips openly displayed Tsuna¡¯s fatigue. Seijun watches it vanish as soon as her mother sees her staring, not a trace of a weary cheek nor a lusterless iris. Tsuna lifts her gaze, feeling the presence of a customer. The speed at which an arrow flies was nothing compared to how her smile vanished upon seeing a samurai standing before her stall. A ragged cloak drapes over the navy blue armor that he wore underneath, unlike his brethren that proudly display their colors. And unlike them, she could safely say that he did not need a mask; ferocity was natural to the curves of his face, no matter the expression.


    He leans forward, almost excessively, to closely inspect her goods. ¡°A fresh batch.¡± A paltry amount of snickering from the rest of his party of four ensued.


    ¡°If you are here to buy something, then I will be happy to assist you. If not¡­ Please do not keep my other customers from approaching.¡± Tsuna¡¯s tone, the leftover ash in their hearth from this morning.


    ¡° I see none.¡± He spoke without ever lifting his gaze, nor his torso.


    Seijun, peeking from behind their stall, saw how her mother¡¯s lips trembled with frustration. Shifting her weight, she steals a glance at the samurai. He was clearly looking at their goods, but it also felt as if his gaze pierced through and looked past them.


    ¡°Please, just leave.¡± Said Tsuna.


    ¡°Clearly, you are wasting your time here.¡± He ran his thumb over the wooden counter of the stall on which her produce was assembled;  "My men think you could be doing, and earning so much more.¡±


    The samurai¡¯s hand is a bee that perches itself onto her hand. Hastily, she withdraws her hand in disgust. But this displeased the bee, and it saw fit to sting her; the hand covered in armor ¡ª the very same that had perched onto hers ¡ª was swings across her face with brute strength, knocking Tsuna to the ground. Such an act of violence would not go unnoticed, but the swords tied to the waists of the warriors stayed the hands of the concerned townsfolk. None would dare, except for one little girl.


    ¡°Leave my mother alone!¡± Shouted Seijun, standing in front of her mother to shade her from their villainy.


    ¡°Oh¡ª¡± His thought stagnated, shocked to see a little girl emerge from seemingly nowhere. ¡°How cute¡­.¡±


    ¡°LEAVE!!¡±


    ¡°Seijun¡ª¡±


    The Mother, reeling from the throbbing pain on her cheek, is reawakened by the loud voice of her daughter; it is rendered as but a murmur, her own voice lost in the ringing of her ear. Still picking up her own pieces, she misses the sound of iron meeting tender skin. With her gaze still on the ground, however, she watches her daughter¡¯s torso land beside her. Her realization came late, but it came nonetheless.


    ¡°Seijun¡­? Seijun? SEIJUN?! WHAT HAPPENED?!¡± She turns her to lie on her lap. Her question was answered by the visible mark left on the little girl¡¯s cheek, as red as the innocent blood they spilled daily in their little town.


    Despite her efforts to comfort Seijun, the sting of the attack engraved itself thoroughly on her. She writhes in pain, her daughter¡¯s cries bringing the heavens to tears as dark clouds stop to gaze upon her and weep as she did. If her embrace would not help, then she begs the gods that her own tears would numb Seijun to the pain.


    The cloud is replaced by the samurai, blanketing them in his cruel presence. For a brief moment, his attention was taken away by the gathering of more townspeople. Violence is a peculiar thing, it compels a person to look away and to keep looking simultaneously. What were these two forces that pushed and pulled at them? The push was certainly disgust, but the pull had to be an innate lust for blood; a primal need to see it gush out, to hear bones snap in two, to watch as a head falls from the shoulders and rolls on the floor. At least this is what the samurai thought, one of many ruminations that always remains unfinished; his attention was pulled away yet again, though to a much closer proximity. The Mother¡¯s sniffling catches his ears first, and then his eyes. Most especially, he watches how her tears drip from behind draped hair. He sees it land on her daughter¡¯s skin, and vanish over the horizon of her cheek. It nearly kept him from hearing his own name being called.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Isamu-sama!¡± His men called him.


    ¡°Hmm?¡± Isamu looks over his shoulder to his commissioners, both feet still looking forward.


    ¡°Might I suggest using our new weapons?¡± He taps the arquebus strapped onto his person.


    ¡°...Your new weapon has a stain on the handle.¡±


    The commissioner¡¯s worry over the spotted stain, and his attempt to clean it, was rendered as but noise to him now that Isamu turns his back on them. He returns his focus on the woman and her daughter at his feet.


    ¡°Please¡­¡± She met his gaze, unfortunately. ¡°We have done nothing to deserve this.¡±


    ¡°How are you so certain?¡±


    Tsuna shies away from the question.


    ¡°The witnesses to your transgression against me surround you. A little far, but they surround you. You know what I must do now.¡± His hand moves to the hilt of his sword and pulls it free from the scabbard; it commands the crowd to gasp in fear and cling to whatever they could ¡ª their clothes, their loved ones, themselves. ¡°Find comfort in knowing that you at least became an example to them.¡± He nods his head to the direction of the crowd, frozen in place. ¡°This is why you were brought into this world, peasant.¡±


    He raises his sword high, the crowd matching its height with their cries.


    Seijun is forcibly pulled into an embrace by Tsuna, wanting it to be the very last thing she feels before the cruelty of the samurai comes to pass. Her vision is mostly obscured by her mother¡¯s figure, but there was enough space for her to peek beyond and watch as a man, coming out of nowhere, intercept the blade as it came down; the stranger was quick enough to catch the blade and crafty enough to make his move before Isamu¡¯s men could take aim and pull the trigger on their guns. Blood wets the soil. Almost instantly, the man falls on his chest, commanding the crowd to cry and wail. No doubt his fall struck his last breath out of him. How cruel of the world that a little girl is the closest audience to his death; so close is she that her eyes caught this last breath manifesting as the dust that flew outward.


    Isamu felt the clean passage of his sword through the flesh, and the result sprawled on the floor could not lie. Despite the successful swing, he is left unsatisfied by the intervention of the poor fool. Clearing the blood from his newly-sharpened sword, Isamu is suddenly stained with a bright idea. And as soon as he heard a bird¡¯s frantic flapping to take flight in the distance, he sets the plan in motion.


    This time, he will not need his sword.


    This time, he will attack with deathly precision and speed.


    This time, he sheathed his sword and raised a hand sign.


    And then¡ª


    ¡°Oi.¡±


    The samurai felt as if an invisible tether wrapped around him, preventing him from proceeding with his plan. Like the crowd, he is frozen in place; feet firmly planted into the soil. It was not the call that froze him, but the familiarity in its volume; its depth; the cadence and the raspiness.


    ¡°Stand down.¡± The voice came from not too far behind him.


    Isamu did as he was told, lowering his hands. Ever so slowly, he turns on his axis to meet the eyes of his superior, standing as firm as a house. The scar on his cheek was old ¡ª if not older ¡ª than the hairs on his graying beard, adding only to his distinction and authority as a seasoned warrior of great experience. His gaze immediately fell on his superior¡¯s fingers, tapping away at the naginata he held dearly.


    ¡°Yes, Yasu-sama.¡± Answered Isamu, tucking his extremities in to bow in the presence of his superior. He walks off, immediately followed by his men, leaving the mother and her daughter to their vices.


    With the cruel samurai out of sight, the crowd quickly flocked toward the mother and her child. Despite drenching them with attention, they kept their distance. A woman thought to part from the rest of them, stepping in to actually extend her help to them; her soul the singular flame that lit all their torches in such a steep darkness. Now that the path was clear, they followed suit. From below, Seijun watched as an entire forest closed in on her. Their voices came to her as but an orchestra of rustling leaves. Her mother continued to pull at her, hoping the tightness of her embrace would keep her from breaking apart. While she remains whole in her arms, her attention lies elsewhere;


    with the man that lied still while red poured out of him.


    That Night¡­


    Thin walls in a small home certainly ensured close ties in a family. If Seijun can hear the kettle whistle from within her room, she can hear them.


    ¡°BASTARDS!¡±


    ¡°Katashi¡ª¡±


    ¡°They cannot do this to us! This is OUR town!¡±


    ¡°I know that, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°They come here and use the things WE built?! Take OUR food??! Hurt OUR people?!! This town belongs to US! WE have watered these soils with our tears and our sweat for years and they just plan to take it?!!! And THEY are supposed to be our lords?!¡±


    ¡°Tashi, your voice¡ª¡±


    ¡°And look at what they have done to you! I cannot stand idle. I will not. NOT ANYMORE, NOT EVER. If they think they can hurt MY family without consequences, they are MISTAKEN! I curse them! CURSE THEM! I will water my soil with their blood.¡±


    ¡°Katashi.¡±


    ¡°WHAT?!¡± There it was, the whistle of the kettle, finally given its moment. ¡°I am sorry. I did not mean to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know, my love.¡± Tsuna sets the kettle down first before wrapping her hands around Katashi¡¯s waist.


    All of a sudden, the intense whistling slowly dies down, grabbing Seijun¡¯s attention to bear witness to the two shadows that stood behind the door as they unify into a singular being.


    ¡°But you know I cannot stand idle. Not after what they have done. Blood has been drawn, Tsuna. And it will be drawn again if we do nothing.¡±


    ¡°You are right¡­¡± she parts from him and lifts the kettle once more, ¡°but we cannot be the ones to strike back. These are hardened warriors. We are farmers, Tashi.¡± A flawless stream of tea flows into the cup.


    ¡°We built this country, Tsuna.¡±


    ¡°And that is our role.¡± She sets the kettle down once more. ¡°We are builders, not destroyers. You know more than anyone what a battlefield looks like.¡± Her warm hands find his cheek.


    ¡°What if that is what we need? These men¡­ these monsters¡­ will take everything from us. We need to do something.¡±


    ¡°Well whatever it is, it cannot cost us the family. Katashi, this is all we have. We know what we fight against, but let us not forget what we are fighting for.¡±


    ¡°Sigh¡­ You are right.¡± His arms take her in again, a kinder wind replacing the previous one. ¡°I knew I married you for a reason.¡± The softness in his tone ¡ª in his words ¡ª contrasted like an open hand and a closed fist.


    ¡°Which reason are you using this time?¡± She asks with a playful tone.


    ¡°Hmm¡­ your cooking. And that big heart of yours.¡± He replies sweetly.


    The shadows move apart, just enough to gain a distance between them but not enough that two separate shadows would be produced. Seijun watches her father return the favor of a hand on the cheek.


    ¡°I should have been there, Tsuna. I am sorry.¡±


    ¡°You are here now.¡±


    It was a mystery to her how she could tell that shadows were smiling.


    And yet she could


    and they were.


    ¡°How was she?¡± Asked Tsuna.


    ¡°Quiet. But I cleaned her up as much as I could¡­ Got her to dress¡­ She kept asking about the man that was killed today. He saved you, right?¡± He parts from her, taking the kettle into his hand.


    ¡°He did¡­¡± She looks down. ¡°If it were not for him¡­¡±


    Katashi, though already across the table, returns to cup his wife¡¯s cheeks. As a farmer, he knew exactly how to plant crops to yield the best results. It was no wonder that the kiss he plants on her face yields the widest smile. ¡°His sacrifice will not be forgotten. We buried him outside the village for now, near the old tree. Tomorrow we will transfer him to the cemetery.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°You should go see her. She might be sleeping or¡­ pretending to be.¡± Katashi hoped for the latter since she still needed to take her medicine.


    The little girl¡¯s chest tightened, her father knew her well. She watches her father¡¯s shadow disappear, and her mother¡¯s shadow turns her head toward her. Quickly, she lays her head back down and closes her eyes. Her darkness was chased away by a warm light.


    Was it the lamp?


    Was it her mother?


    Only the latter could tuck her hair behind her ear, and only she can do it so softly; not a single strand dared defy someone like her. With her hair moved aside, Tsuna is beholden to her daughter''s bruised cheek. It broke her to see that even with her touch as light as a feather, her little girl winced.


    ¡°Seijun?¡± She whispered, hoping for a response.


    She receives none, making her unable to determine whether this provided comfort or worsened her grief. Either way, Tsuna knew better than to disturb what peace her daughter found after a day like this. More than that, she knew how to make it better. Tsuna places the cup of tea down by Seijun¡¯s head before she begins, knowing well enough that Seijun would drink her medicine as soon as she wakes up.


    Just as her own mother did to her, she tucks Seijun in and brushes her hair as she lulls her with a song. Tsuna¡¯s fingers move with the melody, gently dancing on her head from her brow to her jaw and all around. Seijun resists the urge to sing along, but it proves to be a chore. Knowing a song by heart almost compels the entire body to fall for its every note. Luckily for her, the sweet lullaby did its magic. The little girl falls through consciousness and into a deep slumber; she no longer felt the blanket around her, the bed on which her body rested, nor the dancing fingers that waltzed on her cheek or the kiss her sweet mother bestows upon it. While the evening attempts to pass them by as quietly as it could, Seijun awakens to catch it in the act. Both hands push at the bed to raise herself. She rubs her face, calling on her muscles to rise with her. There was no recollection of the song¡¯s conclusion, leaving her to believe she must have fallen asleep immediately. Even so, she could somehow feel the imprint of her mother¡¯s kiss on her cheek. Her lips have long since left, but love stays.


    She wonders if this was why her cheek no longer hurt.


    As silent as cat¡¯s feet, Seijun exits the house with a cup in hand, now filled with water after having consumed her kampo tea. Several sips prior to her coming out rendered its amount to just half the cup. The contrast of day and night was more than light and dark. It was noise and silence, motion and stagnation, presence and absence. And at that moment, she could only think of the absence the man¡¯s family might be feeling on a night like this; the very same man that has gifted her with the possibility of standing here to ponder about him.


    The old tree. She thought as she turned her head toward its direction from here, remembering what her father said.


    Within minutes, Seijun sets her sights on the mound that she could only consider to be their hero¡¯s resting place. There was a nonchalance in her step, even as she succumbed to the shadows. This could only be achieved through mastery of the path ahead, and severely helped cut her travel from the house to here. There she stood, as close as he was to her when he took the blade for her. The walk, while short, compelled her to lift her cup for a drink. The very moment the water wets her lips, she pulls her hand back. Setting her eyes on the mound, her father¡¯s voice rings clear in her head. As clear as the memory she sees.


    Papa, why did you give Nori-san water? She asked.


    When you and your mother reach the market in the morning, do you feel thirsty? Asked Katashi.


    Seijun briefly looks outward in deep thought. She nods thereafter.


    It is like that. Death is not the end for us, Jun. Replied Katashi. When we leave this world, we travel far. So we give them their last taste of water to prepare them for the journey they have ahead.


    Little as she was, her heart was the size of the old tree that gave them shade. She raises her cup and pours the water atop the mound, hoping that it would seep through the soil and reach him below. The words her father spoke echoed, she questioned it with a refreshing sense of curiosity. Why was it that there was a journey ahead even in death? Is the journey in life not enough? How long would this journey be? Is their final destination somewhere in the land or even further beyond it? Is it not cruel to give them just one last taste of water then? Should she return every few minutes? She doubts that she herself could survive a day without water.


    KROOOSH!


    Seijun let out a blood-curdling scream, one she knew no one would hear this far out from the town at this unholy hour. Realizing that no help would come, she quickly dashed away back toward the direction of the house. But as it were, haste tends to make waste; the little girl had seemingly dropped her cup


    next to the hand that burst out of the mound.

 CHAPTER EIGHT: THE ARRIVAL

    Seijun clung onto the shirt of her father, as if relinquishing the fabric from her grasp meant instant death. It was at this time that she was extremely thankful her father was a farmer. Otherwise, he would not have come to her aid so quickly and so early in the morning.


    Like his crops, Katashi planted his feet firmly into the soil. His fingers curled tightly around his kama, raised high up to easily bring it down upon the stranger should he step another foot closer. Although, it would be wrong to refer to this man as a stranger since he recognizes him greatly ¡ª Katashi would not easily forget the face of the man that saved his family, especially since he watched this face slowly be obscured by the dirt he used to bury him. The sun that barely reared its head from the horizon could not stave off the chill that ran down his spine.


    Is this a y¨­kai? Thought Katashi. Whatever it was, he needed to be brave.


    ¡°Take a step further and it will be your insides that I harvest!¡± Katashi brandished his tool to raise its appeal as a weapon. ¡°Leave my family alone! Go away! HEY! DO YOU HEAR ME?!¡± He raised his voice, watching the stranger struggle to stand still; his brows drew closer to one another in curiosity and concern.


    Katashi¡¯s eyes watched as the stranger¡¯s hand rose. His chill worsened at the sight of it; living in a house for nearly half one¡¯s life makes one accustomed to everything within it ¡ª he would recognize his cup anywhere. He swallowed, unsure of what to make of this. What was clear, however, was that his family was in danger.


    ¡°Katashi!¡±


    If he could recognize the cup, he would certainly recognize his wife¡¯s voice without ever having to turn his head. His eyes were glued to the being in front of them, as if doing so somehow kept him at bay. Conversely, it was Tsuna¡¯s voice that kept her husband at bay. She approaches him with the same softness and serenity that a dew drop exhibits when it climbs down a leaf. Her hand held him at the forearm, urging him to lower his weapon.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Katashi¡¯s gaze frantically alternated between the ominous being and his loving wife.


    ¡°Put it down, Katashi.¡±


    ¡°Are you crazy? He could be dangerous!¡±


    ¡°I do not think a cup stands a chance against a kama.¡± Tsuna lets go of his forearm, and instead, stands before him. ¡°Trust me, please?¡±


    The Father was gravely torn between two choices ¡ª to follow his instinct or his other half. While his grip remained firm on the kama, he would eventually lower his weapon; he has been faced with this choice countless times before, and choosing his other half has never led him astray. It has not then, and he believes it still would not now. The animosity leaves his being through an exhale. With the hostilities ended, the family found themselves dining with their savior for breakfast. Among them, only Tsuna really reveled in the spirit of a peaceful breakfast; the other two stole glances either behind locks of hair or as they took a bite of their meal. Seijun¡¯s thoughts dwelled on the idea that he seems much less scarier in the sunlight, and after a wash. Katashi noticed how the man was now sitting himself properly, able to even hold his utensils with a level of etiquette that should be beyond a monster.


    ¡°How is it?¡± Tsuna asked, extending her question across the table to their savior.


    His only reply was a satisfied nod.


    ¡°Someone as yourself may consider this meal a token of gratitude already, but I would like to properly say thank you. Could you share your name with us?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Please. I fear to dishonor you by thanking you as the Demon of Kumitsukawa.¡±


    Hisashi himself stopped eating as soon as his moniker was laid out on the table. While it was too far out of the child¡¯s reach, he watched the Father realize who it was that sat with them for breakfast. In an instant, Katashi removed himself from the table to gesture his respect and apology by kneeling and bowing on the ground itself.


    ¡°I¡ª I did not know¡ª P-please! Forgive me, vengeful spirit! Spare us, my lord! Spare them! It was I that raised the weapon against you!¡±


    ¡°I am not here for you.¡± Hisashi finally spoke, inadvertently granting Katashi his freedom to return to his seat.


    ¡°We are honored to have been saved by you, even more so that you sit with us.¡± Tsuna said. ¡°Perhaps we could return the favor. Is there anything you need of us?¡±


    ¡°Information.¡± Said Hisashi. ¡°How long have they been here?¡±


    ¡°Almost a week now.¡± Katashi interjected, hoping to compensate for his shortcomings with the bit of information he gathered from his friends in the town. ¡°Are you here for them? Are you here to free us?¡±


    Hisashi, once again, only nodded as a response.


    ¡°So the legends are true, you only punish the cruel samurai and the cruel lords.¡± Added Katashi.


    ¡°What you believe, and what you call me, is none of my concern.¡± Hisashi expressed sternly. ¡°What have they been up to?¡±


    ¡°Other than pester us, we have no clue. They came all of a sudden, and the headman was foolish enough to let them in and let them stay.¡± Answered Katashi.


    ¡°The headman had no choice.¡± Tsuna chimed. ¡°He had no way to resist them, you know that.¡± She reached over the table, placing her hand inside hers to soothe the volatility of his sentiments. ¡°But my husband is right, they have been a nuisance to us, but nothing greater.¡±


    ¡°But there has to be.¡± Katashi added. ¡°They would not just come back for no apparent reason. They have to be planning something. I can take a guess that Lord Homura is scouting for more warriors.¡±


    Throughout their back and forth, Hisashi notices from the corner of his eye how the child¡¯s head alternates between facing her mother and her father. All while slowly feeding herself more food from her bowl.


    ¡°I am telling you that is what it is.¡± Insisted Katashi. ¡°He has not returned to Kumitsukawa in years. Why else would he come back now?¡±


    ¡°Maybe he has won? ¡±Answered Tsuna.


    ¡°If he did, then he should be here already. He should be in Kumitsukawa, yet we have not heard a word from the village. It is as if the village vanished!¡±


    ¡°Kumitsukawa is gone.¡± The Demon cuts through the bickering like an axe through wood, the swiftness of which brought the forest to a silence to properly hear the impact of the tree as it fell.


    Katashi, struck with grief, bit his tongue deliberately. He holds tighter onto Tsuna¡¯s hand and extends the other hand to brush his daughter¡¯s hair; she was young, but even she understood that an entire village had been wiped from the land. And the fact that the Demon was here only told him that there were enough bodies in the village to have earned his wrath. Perhaps their continued living meant that the town was safe from meeting the same fate, however, knowing that they were capable of such a horror only exacerbated the need to expel them.


    ¡°I¡­ We are truly sorry, my lord...¡± Katashi spoke softly. ¡°P-please, you are welcome to stay here. It is a small house, but you are safe here.¡±


    ¡°I cannot stay here.¡± Hisashi refused, knowing he would become the flame that attracts all manner of beasts to their humble home.


    ¡°No one knows you are here.¡± Seijun chipped in, much to their surprise. Even more surprising was that the little girl blanketed her hand over Hisashi¡¯s. ¡°Everyone thinks you are dead, and our home is the farthest in the town.¡± She looked up at him.


    ¡°It would be an honor to have you.¡± Tsuna added.


    Their sentiments were all taken in with a deep breath, bringing them straight to his chest for consideration. But it would not take long, deep down he knew they were right. The strategic advantage in making this home his hideout was numerous.


    ¡°So be it.¡± Said Hisashi, garnering a sense of satisfaction from them.


    ¡°Please, help yourself with what we have. We have food, a pump for water in the back, We can¡­ find a place for you to sleep.¡± Tsuna briefly looked around, wondering where he would sleep in their small home.


    ¡°I have a horse.¡± Said Hisashi.


    ¡°That is fine¡­¡± She went into thought briefly. ¡°We do not have stables, but we can find a place for her.¡±


    ¡°Him.¡± He corrected her.


    ¡°Yes, my apologies, my lord. We can accommodate the two of you.¡± She nodded confidently.


    ¡°Great, then it is settled.¡± Katashi rose from his seat. ¡°I would like to tour you around my home, but my wife and I must get to the market. We have to catch their morning rush.¡±


    ¡°Papa?¡± Seijun called, confused. ¡°Am I not coming?¡±


    ¡°Mm-mm.¡± His tone changed to fit a conversation with his daughter. Katashi knelt down and held her by the shoulders. ¡°I¡¯ll be going as Mama¡¯s helper today. I want you to stay here and help around the house, okay? Keep our guest company too, he will need you.¡± He smiled, brushing her hair to the side. It was not lost on him that her bruise vanished ¡ª they are lucky to have Tsuna.


    The haste they made proves productive as Tsuna met her beloved outside their home, already carrying their baskets for today¡¯s sales. Together, they would begin their stroll into town.


    ¡°Something wrong?¡± Asked Tsuna. ¡°If the legends are true, he really does mean us no harm. Seijun is safe with him.¡±


    ¡°No no, I know she is. I just¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I expected him to look¡­ different. Maybe older.¡± Katashi shrugged.


    ¡°Oh¡ª¡± Tsuna loosened her shoulders, as she did her expression, melting into a smile. ¡°How old is older?¡±


    ¡°Do you remember Toraki-san?¡±


    ¡°That old?¡± She chuckled, nudging Katashi¡¯s arm playfully.


    Eventually, Hisashi could no longer hear the sound of their footsteps. Thusly, he takes his bowl from the table and continues to finish his meal. It would have been an otherwise smooth affair, had it not been for the sharp gaze that threatened to pierce the side of his head. He turns to face the little girl that looked up at him, feeding her curiosity more than she fed her stomach. Normally, his attention would drive away others. And yet here she was, locking eyes with the vengeful demon said to eat the flesh of the tyrannous for breakfast.


    ¡°Have they not taught you that staring is rude?¡± Hisashi spoke after swallowing his recent bite.


    ¡°...I am sorry.¡± Seijun quickly dropped her gaze, quickly finishing the rest of her food. The little girl rose from her seat and took her plates outside.


    Finally at peace, Hisashi ate. With the food and the plates cleared from the table, he would lay out the pieces of information in his mind in exchange. Like Somukawa, Tachikawa¡¯s resources were running out fast; its better longevity was only possible because this was a town in comparison to a small community. There were more samurai here, which meant that an overnight uprising was no longer an option; the presence of stronger forces also necessitates a more strategic plan. Homura¡¯s high ranking samurai are said to be present, but there is no sign of the daimyo himself. His whereabouts, and his plans, must be uncovered ¡ª someone within his army should know something. Weakening morale and loyalty through fear might be a slow plan, but an effective one at that. And it is his only plan for the moment. Seeing as how a natural conclusion has been reached, Hisashi rises from his seat carrying his own bowl to be washed by the pump, where he assumes the little girl went to. Right on his assumption, he finds her ever as studious and industrious as his parents were. He stops behind her, his lack of interaction more so a result of contemplation than anything else. There was an impending guilt to giving his bowl to her, which is why he decides to find his own seat and help in her chores instead. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Much to her surprise, the man had hoarded all of the bowls and utensils to wash. Seijun was once again free to dwell in her curiosity.


    ¡°Ask.¡± Said Hisashi.


    ¡°...What?¡±


    ¡°You have something you want to ask, so ask.¡±


    ¡°... I watched you die¡­ how are you here¡­?¡±


    ¡°What did your mother call me?¡±


    ¡°A demon.¡±


    Hisashi nodded. ¡°My name is not without merit.¡±


    ¡°But you look like me.¡±


    Hisashi stopped to look at her, gazing deep within and past the shallow interpretation of her remark; children and their purity gave them a way with words.


    ¡°Yes.¡± He answered, returning to washing the rest.


    Seijun paused, seemingly stunned and confused by this response of his. She was told to ask him, and yet ended with more questions than answers.


    ¡°Your mother told me you had food for my horse.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Come, we will feed him.¡±


    Seijun had more curiosity than obedience in her young heart as she followed the Demon deep into the woods. Doubt momentarily turned her head to steal a glimpse of Tachikawa from behind the trees, but the sound of footsteps growing ever fainter would call her back to his side with a jog. She was careful, however, not to drop the vegetables she carried in her wicker backpack. She could not help but feel a sense of envy that he could carry the bucket of water with more ease. Not long after, their trek through the woods leads them deep enough to find Hayato patiently awaiting his master¡¯s return. Seijun looked at him, just as he looked back after having seen a new face accompanying Hisashi. She watches him approach, laying his hands gently on the horse¡¯s cheek and caressing him; she noted how its ears rose as soon as Hisashi came into view. With the bucket placed close, the horse displays no such hesitation in taking a hearty drink to free himself from thirst. In its steady state, she runs her gaze over its black hair coat, matching his owner in his attire. The saddle seemed worn and lackluster, unlike the horses the samurai in the town had. Hanging by the saddle were bags of what she could only make out to be food. A closer look leads her to believe that he was also in possession of a few metal cookware.


    How does he cook if he has no hearth? She wondered.


    Hisashi, finding the little one frozen in place, holds his hand out to her. The open palm called to her, compelling her feet to move one at a time in spite of her caution slowing them down. After what seemed like eternity, she was within arm¡¯s reach; Seijun extended her own to give him the basket.


    He frees her of the basket, but takes her hand into his open palm and slowly brings her closer to Hayato. She lightly tugs her hand back, just enough to communicate the spike of fear in her.


    ¡°He prefers the vegetables over your hand.¡± He assures her.


    With the second attempt under way, Seijun holds her breath until her skin comes into contact with the horse¡¯s poll. It felt as if her heart had stopped briefly, but with a few seconds passed, it was more so that their hearts beat in unison. This brought her both comfort and confidence, enough for her to stroke the steed gently.


    ¡°Feed him.¡± Hisashi offers her a vegetable from the basket.


    Capitalizing on her newfound confidence, Seijun takes him up on his challenge and gently places her hand beneath the horse¡¯s mouth. Her smile stretched wide when she felt the vegetable leave her hand. Its vanishing was successfully indicated by the sound of being ground up by the teeth. She turns to him, her accomplishment acknowledged by a simple nod.


    ¡°One at a time.¡± He reminds her, seeing as how she herself had taken a new vegetable from the basket to feed the horse.


    ¡°Does he have a name?¡± She asks, petting the horse softly; the sound of her voice alone seems to have soothed the horse¡¯s breathing.


    ¡°Hayato.¡± He replies after having been stalled by a few seconds of hesitation.


    ¡°Hayato.¡± She repeats, directing her gaze into the horse¡¯s eyes after he seemingly acknowledged the calling of his name. ¡°Hello Hayato.¡± She greets him properly. ¡°My name is Seijun. Oh¡­¡ª¡± She turns to look at him. ¡°I have not properly introduced myself.¡±


    The little girl rose to her feet, dusting herself off and wiping her hand on her lap. With her arms and legs tucked properly, she bends at the waist and offers the stranger a bow. ¡°I am Seijun.¡±


    The man bore witness to her parents¡¯ teachings; a proper bow, proper etiquette, and the makings of a proper lady at such a young age. He expected no less from a household of farmers. ¡°Hisashi.¡± He responds after offering her his own bow to honor her.


    ¡°Hisashi-san¡­¡± She repeats, just as she did the horse¡¯s name. ¡°Hisashi-san and Hayato-san.¡± A smile brightens her face.


    ¡°My name shall be a secret to you.¡± He says.


    ¡°A secret? Why?¡±


    ¡°Because it is.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ if it is a secret, then why tell me?¡±


    Hisashi stares blankly at her as a response.


    ¡°...I can keep a secret.¡± She assures him.


    ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°My father is Katashi, and my mother is Tsuna.¡± She says, almost blurting it out. ¡°I just¡ª they never had a chance to properly introduce themselves.¡±


    Perhaps the little one had forgotten, but Hisashi was well aware of their names already. Nevertheless, she did him a kindness; he simply nodded to acknowledge her efforts in acquainting him with her parents. Solemn moments were often honored with silence, the world around them had fallen so quiet that the slightest nose could be heard. And unfortunately, Hisashi hears it.


    ¡°Why do they call you a demon?¡±


    ¡°Shh.¡±


    His sudden action of raising his finger nails her lips shut instantly. While she heard the silence swept away by the wind brushing through the grass and leaves, he heard it chased away by footsteps. Hisashi quickly carries the basket and hides it behind the tree, just as he did the bucket of water. Hayato follows, returning to his eating.


    ¡°Stay with the horse, and do not make a sound.¡± He instructs the little girl, retrieving his bow, his quiver, and his sword from behind Hayato.


    Although a query was ready, fear effectively quells her urge to ask. Seeing him take to his weapons stunned her with awe, but also with a reminder of what happened just yesterday. Seijun nods obediently, watching her new friend run off deeper into the forest.


    Imitating the abundant timber that populated the woods, two samurai stood tall in-between their wagon and whoever it was that joined the trees in surrounding them. The blades of their weapons glisten, reflecting the brightness of their souls¡¯ might. While one holds his yari nearer to the chest with hope of inviting his enemies for an intimate encounter, the other raises his sword overhead to cast its gleam further and keep the enemies at bay. Like moths to a flame, the bandits finally come pouring out of their hiding places with the strategy of drowning the opposition with their advantage in numbers. The decorated warriors meet the swarm, clashing against them in a violent dance with death providing the tune. The polearm swings wide, cutting the momentum of their charge and the stomach of one poor bastard who thought himself invincible. Swift in the recovery, the polearm finds its next victim by sinking its blade deep into their chest followed by a twisted pull to eliminate them permanently. The bandits follow its trajectory, allowing several hands to intercept the nuisance of a weapon that quelled them so quickly. These hands soon find themselves without the wrists that bound them as they were severed by a quick cut of the sword. Much focus on the polearm leads to a blind spot that the bandits quickly capitalized on, tackling the one samurai to the ground. Try as he did, his sword is swatted away. With his ally occupied by his own struggle, he is left to defend himself as they continuously pile onto him.


    BANG!


    While the loudness of it stunned them, fear of the unknown compelled them to scurry away. The samurai rises back onto his feet with a smoking arquebus in hand in lieu of a shimmering blade. He tosses the firearm toward them as a distraction, quickly diving into the wagon to pry a box open. Wielding a number of them in hand, he sends them to the afterlife with but a pull of the triggers. Enlightened by their new advantage, the other samurai uses his polearm to collect as much of their weapons in a stalemate as possible to line them up either for a clear and fatal shot or for their throats to be slit open. The bandits were not geniuses of war, but it did not require much wisdom to know when they have taken a fight they cannot win. Cutting their losses, the bandits saw fit to run back from whence they came, leaving with nothing but regrets. The Demon peers down from the tree he had used as a vantage point, bearing witness to the skirmish that had found its conclusion. Below him, he watches as two samurai approach their wagon, now free to tend to the broken wheel. Aboard the wagon were a number of boxes, the content of which had been revealed to him by fate; a higher concentration of these in Tachikawa suggests that those in the town might be more proficient with this weapon, much like these warriors in his sight. His observant eye, however, brings him to wonder as to why the decision was made to fire multiple of these in succession instead of repeatedly pulling the trigger of just one. Perched and steady, he nocks an arrow on his bowstring, passively yet readily seating his bow on his lap.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°Bruised, but alright.¡±


    The two struggled to catch their breath, but would not stop from trying.


    ¡°I did what I had to¡­¡±


    ¡°I know, if you had not used these, they would have killed us.¡± He takes his ally by the shoulder. ¡°I will tell them of your ingenuity here.¡±


    ¡°How many more of these do we need to get?¡± He returns the firearms he had used into the box, making sure that they remain on top of the others.


    ¡°They did not say, only that we have to make a few more trips. Everything needs to be moved to Tachikawa within the next few days.¡±


    ¡°Do you think we will get to use them?¡±


    ¡°We just did, you more than I.¡±


    ¡°I mean do you think we will be trained too?¡±


    ¡°Hmmm¡­ How far can you see clearly?¡±


    ¡°Not that far¡­¡±


    ¡°Well I can see far. So¡­ I guess that answers your question.¡± Once more, he reaches over to him and pats his back. ¡°You seem proficient at close-range, perhaps there is a chance.¡±


    He nods, reveling in this reassurance he was given.¡° Sigh¡­ Few more trips.¡± He repeats. ¡°Do you think Lord Homura rides back with us on the last trip?¡±


    ¡°You expect Lord Homura to ride back with us? On this?¡± He gestures to the tilted wagon.


    ¡°He could have his own horse, of course. But it will be the last trip, the camp will be empty by then.¡±


    ¡°It would be unwise to speak on his behalf, especially when I know no more than you do.¡±


    ¡°...Could you tell me why the others referred to him as The Blue Moon?¡±


    ¡°Shh!¡±


    ¡°What¡­?¡±


    ¡°I heard something.¡±


    Hisashi, having been so absorbed in the situation, could not pinpoint the source of the noise they heard. However, the fact that their gaze was directed toward the direction from whence he had come from spoke for itself. He quickly draws his bow, holding for a steadier target; both men acquire a used firearm, looking deep into the barrel and pouring some sort of powder inside before stuffing it further with what looks to be a stick. At this angle, he could only kill one. The other would need to be fought directly. Immense strength sharpened by discipline allows him to hold the bow with the bowstring pulled for an excruciatingly long period of time. His trained eye never leaves the target closest to him, giving him a clear view of his neck from where he sat perched. Fortunately for them, they thought to disregard the noise as but a wild creature passing through. As such, they relieve themselves of their firearms. All tension in the area was drained, even the one in his bowstring; their time will come soon enough. For now, Hisashi decides to return to Seijun. There he finds her, exactly where he left her, only now she was seated. They looked deeply into one another, moving in unison; it almost felt like Seijun sat before still waters and played with her reflection.


    ¡°I thought I told you not to make a sound.¡± Says Hisashi.


    ¡°Huh¡­?¡± She says in confusion.


    ¡°The samurai by the road almost thought to hunt you down for that noise you made. I told you not to make a sound.¡±


    ¡°...But I did not make a sound, I was quiet and so was Hayato.¡±


    Hisashi stood tall and looked deeply into her eyes in search of the truth. More importantly, he was searching for a lie; the latter manifested itself much more conspicuously than the former. What led him to believe her was that she looked deeply back into his eyes, never even displaying something as small as a shiver.


    Could it be¡­? He thought.


    Finally, he breaks from his minor investigation, and returns his weapons onto Hayato¡¯s back. Once secure, he collects the basket and the bucket next.


    ¡°Come, it is time to go.¡±


    Confused as she was, Seijun saw no point in staying here; she wondered if she could disregard his reprimand, or be worried about it. With all their things stowed away on the horse, Hisashi lifts the little girl onto Hayato, finding his own seat behind her. Together, he rides them back to the town, escaping the detection of the samurai forces by taking the same route they used to get here. The steady pace of Hayato jogged Hisashi¡¯s thoughts. A deep dive into today¡¯s events brought the next mysteries into light, those that needed immediate attention.


    Why fire only one shot?


    How lethal are these new weapons?


    Not all were trained in its use, but which ones were?


    Why was Homura called The Blue Moon?


    His pondering had significantly reduced their travel time, at least it did in thought. The farmstead soon came into view, and with it, the advantages they promised ¡ª the practicality, the inherent alibi, and the strategic location it has as it lies somewhat outside of the majority of the town¡¯s residences.


    The Demon has work to do.

 CHAPTER NINE: THE ADMINISTRATOR

    Hiroshi-san


    Tachikawa is the main hive for Homura¡¯s men.


    There are more samurai here than Somukawa, and as the days pass, more of them are arriving. It would seem that there is a camp from where they come from, and it was their lord¡¯s order to converge here in the town. Whatever battle Homura was fighting, it must be over. He is sending everything here ¡ª men, weapons, horses, and all. To make matters worse, Homura himself will be arriving soon. I am yet to find out as to how many days are left before his arrival, but rest assured he will be here. Your plan proceeds. More needs to be understood about our enemy, and their new weapons. I will keep you informed.


    The candle watched Hisashi¡¯s brush freeze inches away from the next page of his letter. It could not understand what impeded him from pressing his brush on the empty piece of paper, given that it chased the shadows of the night away for him to write legibly. Frustration getting the better of him, he sets down his brush. The manner in which he diffused said frustration allowed him to calmly separate the written letter from the empty pages. A quick glance toward the door makes him aware of the impending day that was upon them; he must get this letter to Hiroshi before the day ends.


    The Hour of the Dragon


    Despite the presence of the Demon of Kumitsukawa in their household, life has been fruitful. As a matter of fact, the myth has become more intertwined with them than originally planned. Seijun basks in the sun¡¯s healthiest glow, making her way through the field to approach the titans of agriculture. Careful was she not to step on any of the crops, taking the path that her father had taught her way before. In no time she reaches them, her presence immediately calling Katashi to a stop in his task.


    ¡°Little Seijun! Good morning!¡± His arms flung wide open, calling her in for a hug.


    ¡°Noooo!¡± She shook her head vehemently, not wanting to get lathered in sweat. ¡°Mama told me to call you for breakfast.¡±


    ¡°Alright alright, we will finish up here and meet you inside, okay? Thank you~.¡± He blows her a kiss, one that she happily accepts before making her way back.


    It was only now that Katashi faced the direction of the dawn that he saw how much sweat he had worked up whilst toiling in the field. His bare skin glistened like fireworks in a festival, and yet he felt less tired than he normally would on a day such as this. The sound of a tool striking the soil brought him out of his funk; the silence of the Demon had nearly made him think he was alone.


    ¡°Uhh¡­ My lord..?¡± Called Katashi, making his way over to him so that he may be heard better.


    ¡°...¡± He continued to work, his back turned away from the Father.


    ¡°My lord¡­? Pardon me¡­¡± He calls once more, this time modulating his voice better.


    Katashi watches as the Demon turns to answer his call. Like him, the man preferred to work with his torso exposed to the fresh air. By now, he often wondered how a monster like him could disguise himself so well ¡ª he even sweats like a human. So perplexed was he that he watched the sweat trickle down his convincingly mortal flesh, passing a smooth mole on his left side all the way down to the scar that marked his lower abdomen from left to right. Even more odious was a second scar that crossed it perpendicularly.


    That scar¡­ His thought was curtailed by way of something sharp aimed at him ¡ª the Demon¡¯s glare.


    ¡°Oh¡ª Breakfast is ready, please have some as a token of our gratitude for your hard work¡­¡± He nodded, taking his leave to escape the possibility of getting cut.


    Hisashi watches the man walk away. As soon as he was clear of an audience, he ran his hand along his scar. He remembers a time when he would constantly check for scars on his skin after a battle, none have remained except for this one. He had gotten so used to its presence that he practically forgot it was there; this mishap prompted him to pull his clothes back on, albeit loosely to still allow his skin to breathe. He calms himself, regulating his breath after a good and long session, then marches back to the house to join them for breakfast. The smell of Tsuna¡¯s cooking met with him even before he could reach the door, it ushered him inside where he was greeted by both the cook and her daughter. Seijun hands him a towel, greeting him with a pleasant morning by bowing ¡ª a gesture he reciprocates silently. Together with her family, the Demon broke bread. While he sat himself in their pond of happiness and love, he remained dry. He simply consumed the delicious meal he was given, once more baffling Katashi that he ate what they ate with little to no rejection; he nudged Tsuna in secret, as if wanting her to note his observations. His wife merely smiled behind her chewing, it had become a regular game for them and she continuously won. The ladies of the family had taken over the duties for the meantime; it was their turn to make a trip to the marketplace. Hisashi watched as the Father held his wife by the cheeks, almost reluctant to let her go. He peppered her in kisses, as he did with his daughter with the hope of casting a protective charm over them with his love. As they left, Katashi sat himself back at the table to feel his leg finally give out for the morning.


    ¡°Off they go.¡± He said, grabbing himself a drink of water. ¡°I do not suppose you have family?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°I am sorry¡­ I did not mean to¡ª¡± Katashi assumed that if he did, they must have been buried in the ruins of Kumitsukawa. ¡°I was only trying to make conversation.¡± He explained sincerely. ¡°I am grateful to have you here. We all are. The past few days have been lovely. My wife and my daughter feel much safer with you around.¡±


    ¡°But you do not.¡± Replied Hisashi.


    ¡°I do.¡± He quickly corrected it. ¡°I cannot begin to express how safe I feel considering what goes on in town. But you must understand that having someone of your¡­ kind¡­ in my home is not exactly a normal part of someone¡¯s life. Especially for a farmer like me.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡± Hisashi huffed, crossing his arms.


    ¡°You have done more for us than that spineless town headman ever has.¡±


    ¡°Tell me about this headman.¡± Hisashi¡¯s command must have come as a surprise, seeing as how Katashi was momentarily stunned.


    ¡°Makoto.¡± Katashi started, ¡°A sorry excuse for a leader, even more so for a man. He wasted the faith Lord Ataru had placed in him when he chose him to become the town headman. Ever since Lord Ataru died, and then,¡± he hesitantly gestured to the Demon sitting across from him, ¡°the town has not been doing well. It made all of us wonder if he was ever doing anything good at all. Hell, we could run the town much better together without him.¡± He circled the table with his finger. ¡°And then Homura¡¯s men came, and we all made the mistake of thinking he was going to put his foot down.¡± Katashi shook his head.


    ¡°Where is he?¡±


    Katashi shrugged. ¡°Locked inside his castle for all I know, the one Lord Ataru did not want to use. I never understood why he chose to settle in Kumitsukawa instead of, well, here in the town.¡± He raised both hands up to shoulder level. ¡°Again, I mean no offense¡­ Just a curiosity. If you were the shugo, would you not want to station yourself in the town rather than a small village tucked in the woods?¡±


    ¡°He does not leave?¡± Hisashi redirects the conversation back onto the relevant path.


    ¡°He will not leave. If I did what he did, I would never walk these streets with my head held high ever again.¡± Katashi leaned back, patiently awaiting for a response. Though seeing as how deep in thought the Demon was, he busied himself by analyzing the myth that sat across from him. ¡°Whatever it is you are planning, it would interest you to know that rumors have started to spread.¡±


    Hisashi¡¯s head rears itself from the depth of his pondering.


    ¡°Some of my friends told the samurai about the empty grave.¡± His bottom lip pushed up. ¡°They were with me when I buried you and they came back to transfer you to the cemetery¡­¡± Katashi pulled himself from his relaxed position, leaning into the table. ¡°An empty grave will spook the town, but word has gotten out that the samurai who stayed behind in Kumitsukawa never returned ¡ª I assume that was you.¡±


    The steadiness in the Demon¡¯s eyes granted the Father a mirror reflecting back to him an answer that proves his assumption.


    ¡°There is talk around town that a curse is upon them ¡ªyour curse. The samurai will be waiting.¡±


    The Demon rose from his seat. ¡°They will not wait long.¡±


    The Hour of the Dog was fast approaching.


    It was almost as if Amaterasu thought to hurriedly hide away and spare herself of what was to come, leaving Tsukuyomi to bear witness in her place. Like Kumitsukawa, the local temple ¡ª structured in the style of a pagoda¡ª became the town¡¯s castle, and all five storeys bask in the bluish hue of serene moonlight.


    At the headman¡¯s request, samurai presence has intensified at night. More than the abundance of shadows, it is what lurks within them that he feared. He may not leave his castle, but the walls stood no chance against the spoken word. The only difference was that none dared speak of it now, terrified that it may call him. Deciding it was best to distract himself, Makoto leans forward to reach an empty piece of paper, placing it adjacent to a letter he received this morning. His analytical gaze waltz over every word, but stumble along the way as the contents of the letter become clear to him. He retraces his steps, even going as far as having to mouth the written words to assure himself that he read them correctly ¡ª he must reply at once, lest the town suffer. After skimming through the written message, the Headman quickly shifts his weight to the right to reach over and grab his brush. His index finger barely grazed the brush¡¯s handle before he cast his gaze toward the door. The attention he visits upon the door would have otherwise left the paper envious. Makoto retracts his right hand and instead reaches for the brush with his left. His fingers curl around the brush awkwardly, but no more awkward than how it would look in his right hand. The brush is brought to hover above the paper as he briefly contemplates on the matter at hand. He then lowers the brush, meticulously guiding it across the material to translate his thought into a reply; his message would be more challenging to read in comparison to the one he received, but for an entirely different reason.


    The words came clearly in his mind, borne from a serious concern and the urgency of the matter; how he wished his hand could keep up. With his slowed writing, Makoto had to almost enunciate the words repeatedly into completion. Things would have otherwise gone smoothly, had it not been for the other words that began to pervade into his mind. This intrusion compels him to stop, lifting the brush from the surface to focus all his attention on this peculiarity. Makoto finds that these words did not come from inside, but outside ¡ª outside his room. Bewitched by this trail, the Headman rises from his seat and quickly slides the door open to his balcony, feasting his eyes on the blaze that rages in the distance ¡ª visible from the third floor of the castle. The black smoke rises high into the evening, the thickness of which clenches his chest tightly, freezing him in place. While there is difficulty in discerning what was truly happening, he fears for one of the town¡¯s storehouses. Peering directly downward toward the street, he finds that the voices were coming from a group of samurai all along. Despite his efforts to call their attention, the samurai gave him none as they raced toward the fire. Makoto dashes out of his room in a hurry, but not without swiping his tanto and securing it to his belt. Past his door, he sets his sights on the ladder that leads downstairs. But his haste makes waste upon colliding with one of the samurai that patrolled his castle corridor.


    ¡°What is going on?!¡± Asked Makoto.


    ¡°There is nothing to worry about. One of the storehouses caught on fire.¡±


    ¡°Nothing to worry about?! Did you not hear what you just said?!¡±


    The samurai merely raises his brow at this remark of the Headman¡¯s.


    ¡°Who did it?! Was it him?¡±


    ¡°That is what we are about to find out.¡±


    ¡°We have to stop him, before he kills someone!¡±


    Makoto proves steadfast, taking the first step forward to see to the burning storehouse. If only the samurai had not placed a hand in protest to this poor plan, stopping him in his tracks.


    ¡°Who is this we you speak of?¡± Asked the samurai.


    ¡°What is this? We have to hurry!¡± Makoto¡¯s attempts to push on, but was met with more resistance. ¡°Get out of my way!¡±


    ¡°Go back to your room, Headman. You will let us handle this.¡±


    The samurai lifts the oppressive hand and places it on his own chest, a gesture that does not escape Makoto. Driven by a fury, he pushes the samurai off with his forearm while simultaneously unsheathing the tanto from his belt. On the weapon¡¯s way up, it is skillfully intercepted. And the space he created would be taken advantage of as Makoto finds himself with his own arm twisted against his back, his cheek against the wall, and his own blade pressed against his neck.


    ¡°Forgetting your place again, are we? If you want to be one of us so badly, then you should have no problem losing your life.¡± The samurai presses the blade even deeper, enough for the Headman to begin to cling to the wall. ¡°So, are you one of us?¡±


    With his whimper the only response he musters, the samurai finally relinquishes his hold and returns his tanto in exchange for his dignity ¡ª or at least what was left of it. The Headman sees himself back into his room. Defeated, he marches to his table and turns it on itself. Papers scatter, ink stains the mats ¡ª the ensemble at hand completing his personal battlefield. Still left with an ounce of rage, he cocks his hand back and throws his tanto into the corner. The blade could not sing, but it shines upon making contact with another blade; the sparks illuminate the corner of the room for but a brief moment to reveal THE DEMON OF KUMITSUKAWA, lowering his sword back into the scabbard after having successfully deflected the projectile. Makoto knew the legends well, and there was no mistaking it. Robes as black as death, the cursed blade that split soul from flesh, sharp teeth to devour what remains, and the straw hat that spared his victims the horror of his face just long enough for him to kill them. The unholy sighting scared his roots into growing, firmly planting themselves into the ground for dear life. He watches silently as the Demon approaches the lantern on his bedside, igniting it with the fires of hell. With the Demon now facing him, his toes curl back to avoid the shadow cast by the light behind him.


    ¡°Ma-ko-to.¡± The Demon¡¯s words command the Headman to crumble to his knees.


    Escape was futile, and so, he collapses into a bow before his punishment and succumbs to the very shadow he hoped to avoid. The path before him only grows darker, the Demon¡¯s fingers curl and clench his hair in his fist. In this proximity, Makoto could not help but wrinkle his nose; it reeked of fire and ash, as if the vengeful warrior had just crawled out of hell.


    ¡°I failed, my lord¡­ I know that.¡± Makoto spoke first, hoping to stay his execution and do something right for once. ¡°You have come to reap my soul¡­ I am no one to protest the will of the gods.¡±


    ¡°Neither do the gods protest my will.¡± The heat from his words scorch the top of Makoto¡¯s head, providing a taste of eternal damnation.


    ¡°So take me, my lord¡­¡± he said through quivering lips, ¡°...do what you must, but please¡­ kill them all.¡± Makoto, unsure of when his next blink would be his last, continued. ¡°I¡­ I was powerless to protect my town¡­ but you can do it. Their souls are as ripe as mine. I c-can even give you names.¡± Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    It was then that Makoto¡¯s hair was finally released, but not without being imparted with the heat of the Demon¡¯s presence.


    ¡°More keep coming as the days go by. But I do know that Homura sent his commander-in-chief to take charge ¡ª Tanaka, Yasu. He is a fierce, heartless and uncompromising warrior. He is an old samurai with a scar on his left cheek. The administrator is also here, a puerile horror of a man ¡ª Kaneko, Isamu. There is something about him¡­ the winds turn sour in his wake, a scatterbrain if nothing else. Two of his commissioners are present, but I have not learned their names.¡± Makoto steadied himself, realizing his promise of names was severely lacking. ¡°I have¡­ not¡­ learned the names of the captains and lieutenants either¡­ b-but the commissioners would know! Would they not? Or¡­ would his retainers? Their retainers?¡± With his face to the floor, he is free to silently curse the infernal command structure of Homura¡¯s army.


    ¡°What of Homura?¡±


    ¡°Nowhere to be found. I have not received word from him, it was Yasu-sama that told me he was going to come by to collect our taxes personally. But I know that I was deceived.¡± He clenched his fist. ¡°I do not know when he will be here.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°...Hello¡­?¡±


    The lack of a response urged him, against all rationality, to sneak a peek. Gently turning his head, Makoto saw a brighter path ahead of him. It was then that he finally lifted his head to find that he was alone. Even more surprising was the fact that he was still breathing. He took the opportunity to revel in this, filling his lungs to their limit with both the fresh air that came in through his open balcony, and the remnants of the demoniacal musk of hellfire and brimstone. Luckily for Hisashi, this was masked by the smoke emanating from the flames that grilled meat to perfection. On the other side of town, he sat himself in a yakitori-ya to review his newly acquired information whilst waiting to be served his order, flicking away at the nail of his thumb. Had it not been for the weight of the situation, Hisashi might have found amusement in the fact that the name¡¯s Makoto provided were more than familiar; he heard them just before his life was drained from his body and poured into the street a few days ago.


    Fate certainly had a twisted sense of humor.


    ¡°Isamu-sama!¡±


    Hisashi¡¯s ears perk up. He turns his head ever so slightly to peek outside the window of the tavern, spotting two silhouettes that stopped to turn and welcome the third that called to them.


    ¡°Yasu-sama has asked to meet, he believes the attack on the storehouse was no accident.¡± Continued the silhouette.


    ¡°There is a bird on that tree.¡± Isamu points accordingly, having the two men turn their attention to the bird that did in fact perch on the tree. While they both found this attention to detail to be fascinating ¡ª most especially the visual and mental prowess it took to spot a bird in the shade at night ¡ª the newly-arrived commissioner had to spare his amazement.


    ¡°...Isamu-sama¡­? Did you hear me¡­?¡± He asked, careful not to trip on his own words with the tone it carried.


    ¡°He wants to meet?¡± Asked Isamu.


    ¡°Yes¡­ because of the accident.¡±


    ¡°Sigh. Come, we eat first.¡± Isamu turned on his heel, pulling the two into the establishment. ¡°Before you say another word, there is a leaf stuck in your hair.¡± He added.


    It is there that Hisashi properly puts a face to the name of the ikusa bugyo ¡ª a face that could earn him his very own place in hell with the sharpness of his nose and his brows alone. Most notably, Hisashi takes note of the raggedy cloak that drapes over the warrior and his armor. Try as he might, Hisashi was unable to steal a glimpse of what it is that he hides beneath. Following the unprincipled ones in their walk toward the counter, Hisashi observes how the patrons lean away to spare themselves of his attention. It is then rather unfortunate that a poor fellow¡¯s shoulder is perched on by Isamu¡¯s wicked hand. The surrounding chatter, combined with the distance, kept Hisashi safe. However, it also keeps him from eavesdropping on the interaction between the Administrator and what looks to be a hikyaku ¡ªa Messenger. From head to toe, Hisashi¡¯s gaze traces his figure and his features slowly like dew trickling down a tree trunk. The cloth wrapped around his head, the lone loincloth he sported, and the gyosho bako backpack resting beside him confirmed it; he must have just arrived this morning, possibly preparing for his run for tomorrow¡¯s deliveries. Relief settled in his stomach, in lieu of food, upon realizing he could finally get his message to Hiroshi. Unfortunately for Hisashi, fate continues to amuse the gods at his expense; he watches the Messenger practically get dragged out by Isamu and his two subordinates.


    The Messenger¡¯s bare skin painfully skids against the dirt. Swift as he was, he had his hands beneath him already with the intent to push himself up. And yet, as he looks yonder through their legs where a glimpse of freedom lies, it lies out of his reach. It stands to reason that his attempt would have been pointless to say the least.


    ¡°I asked you for one thing, Riku.¡± Said Isamu, raising his finger to further specify; he believed it to be necessary, speaking to someone like him. ¡°Can you tell me what that is?¡±


    ¡°...¡± Riku deliberately bit his tongue.


    ¡°Have you forgotten, hmm?¡±


    ¡°Isamu-sama, please¡ª¡±


    Riku watches the letters under his care join him in the dirt with his backpack opened and shaken.


    ¡°I do not see my package here, Riku. I do not suppose heirlooms have any meaning to you, do they? I do not imagine loincloths to make for good heirlooms after all.¡±


    ¡°If you would let me explain, please, my lord¡±


    Already heavily peeved, Isamu imparts to him an uncharacteristically profound mercy; his hand urges him to proceed, but to do so with haste.


    ¡°I am but a humble messenger, not a fighter. I do these deliveries by foot, and the roads are often treacherous. On his knees, Riku throws his hands outward. ¡°I cannot hope to match your skill in combat, my lord! And I cannot outrun horses! I was robbed.¡±


    ¡°You?¡± Isamu approaches him. ¡°Outrun horses?¡± He kneels to meet Riku by the dirt. ¡°Oh I thought you could. These legs look like they could even put my horse to shame.¡±


    ¡°Isamu-sama¡ª¡±


    ¡°I even spoke highly of you to my two men here.¡± He points over his shoulder. ¡°They would have given the same offer as I with a package like that¡­ and then you lose mine.¡±


    Before him, the humble Messenger bends at the waist. ¡°I am deeply sorry, Isamu-sama! I am! I tried my best! There was nothing else I could have done!¡±


    ¡°Oh there is.¡± Isamu¡¯s hands converge together. Weaving a sign, he summons the unsuspecting evening breeze to unsheathe and carry twelve tantos from beneath his cloak. The sharpness of the short blades cut into the winds that carried them, causing the metal to sing the last tune his victims heard. They spin like a wheel behind him, the tune growing in volume as they speed up. ¡°You should have run faster.¡±


    SHHICCCKKK!!!


    Riku finds the shadows of Isamu¡¯s lackeys replaced by the very bodies that produced them. He steals a peek at them, finding two kunai standing atop their napes, one afforded to each man. Isamu¡¯s decision to rise and turn is what prompts Riku to fully lift his head and cast his gaze forth. He spots an ominous figure standing at the mouth of the alley between Isamu¡¯s legs.


    ¡°So there is a curse.¡± Isamu breaks the silence. ¡°We have been looking for you.¡± The song of his short blades minimize upon his command. ¡°As soon as word of the empty grave reached us, you are all most of my men talk about.¡± His gaze momentarily drops to his fallen commissioners; he was amazed to say the least that the attack included two projectiles yet the impact sounded like only one. ¡°These two even told me that I was on your list. Do you know what I told them?¡±


    The Demon takes his first step forward. One step was all it took for him to explode into a full sprint.


    ¡°I told them you were on mine.¡± One after the other, Isamu sends his short blades to sic after the myth that preyed on him. Each one either misses its mark or finds the Demon¡¯s katana instead and is deflected away. The Demon closes their distance, performing an initial downward slash to the right to compel Isamu to block; this would be a misdirection as the strike falls short and finds no target. Instead, Hisashi rotates his hands by the wrists, combining his left sidestep with an actual diagonal slash aimed for his opponent¡¯s exposed side. Much to Hisashi¡¯s surprise, Isamu proves swift, catching this strike with his own katana fresh from the scabbard. Pushing away, Isamu brings his katana overhead for a downward slash, one that Hisashi guides away from him by resting his sword on his back. Simultaneously, Hisashi performs another sidestep to the right and delivers a swift blade kick to the ribs. As if tracing the crescent moon, he brings down his katana for another strike, one Isamu had barely enough time for. Instead of redirecting, he was left with no choice but to meet the Demon for a stalemate.


    ¡°You are every bit as fierce as they say.¡± Isamu¡¯s intrigue got the better of him as he spoke, even trying to peek beneath the Demon¡¯s hat to catch a glimpse of what a hellish creature truly looks like up close. ¡°Now let me show you how fierce I am.¡± Supporting his katana with his left forearm, he weaves another hand sign. But Hisashi pays this no mind, seeking to end this fight right away by continuing to go on the offensive. Hisashi relentlessly applies pressure leading to one stalemate after another. However, the excessive use of pressure blinds him to the flying tanto that wedges itself into his waist. Finding his opening, Isamu throws the Demon off by driving his own kick into his shoulder.


    This space allows Hisashi to pull the tanto from his side, throwing it into the ground. He watches as it rattles on the ground, swirling into the air along with a few particles of dust swept up in the wind. Like a loyal bird, it flies back to its master. It was then that Hisashi heard the song, and was forced to turn his back on his Isamu to dodge and deflect every tanto that had been thrown at him from earlier. They reassemble behind their master, forming the same deadly circle of blades that he once used to scare Riku ¡ª now cowering in the corner.


    ¡°How will you ever hope to beat me, Demon? The winds blow in my favor.¡± Isamu jests. The pace of his approach is slow, ensuring that a sturdy foot is planted before uprooting the other in his advance toward the enemy.


    Hisashi casts his focus like a fisherman does his net, and positions his sword in front of him to enact a middle guard in accordance with seigan-no-kamae; this stance grants him access to a wider range of offensive and defensive forms. He would not allow the spinning short blades to go unnoticed, watching them leave Isamu¡¯s person and gravitate around them instead in a slow manner to form something of a sphere perennially in motion. With it in place, they were imprisoned in close proximity to one another; he found no pattern to their spin, much like the wind that carried them. Isamu finds his foremost foot intruding into the Demon¡¯s space, much like the other did with him. Both swing their sword, catching their opponent constantly in a dance of offense and defense. Their own locked blades tease one another, exchanging caresses, sliding up and down each other¡¯s cutting edge. A push elicits another in an endless back and forth of redirecting the other¡¯s weapon safely and opening a window for a counter.


    Pushing Isamu off, Hisashi quickly aligns himself and brings his sword down for the perfect diagonal cut, an attack that would have met its mark had it not been for the hostile short blade that sought to protect its master. The Demon deflects the incoming projectile instead, barely being able to dodge the Administrator¡¯s counter-attack launched as a result of this opening. Finally, the two had put some distance between them, as much as the deadly sphere would allow.


    I need to keep this battle within the alley, or I risk attracting too much attention. Thought Hisashi, mindful of the sphere¡¯s perennially moving walls; his mirroring of Isamu¡¯s movements spares him from getting shredded. And so, he conjures an idea.


    The Demon renders their time apart as short lived, deciding to dash forth to engage his opponent in battle once more. His approach, seemingly filled with bloodlust, was but an illusion; Hisashi seeks to test the bounds of this sphere that locked them in close proximity with erratic and wide movements; a dash to the left, a pivot to the right, a push to the opponent or an evasive roll back, all deliberate and executed successfully.


    He moves the entire sphere with him¡­ around him¡­ expanding and shrinking it¡­ He thought whilst continuing to press on and keep Isamu at bay.


    His thoughts circle him almost as much as the short blades did, and it is then that Hisashi barely sees the one coming in from his right. Just as before, he swings his blade to deflect it, only to miss ¡ª it stopped in mid-air. This left him with only half a second to evade the true projectile; while his face is lucky, his hat is snatched from his head and torn to shreds as it meets the ravenous wall of the sphere. He is stunned, almost long enough to open himself up for a critical strike, and yet Isamu would not press on. Instead, he marvels at his own brilliance, reflected on the Demon¡¯s disconcerted expression. It is then that Hisashi realized Isamu was not moving the sphere as a single unit ¡ª he is commanding each and every tanto simultaneously. He sets his sights on the Administrator once more, finding him to be an even more formidable opponent than he originally thought.


    ¡°It would seem I need to be much¡­¡± Isamu tilts his head ever so slightly. His gaze dropped to the ground, and eventually, so would he to collect what he thought to be a fascinatingly-shaped rock. The same rock was tossed into the air, eaten by his blades as soon as it met his disapproval and reduced to the grains.


    Juggling this many tasks would eventually trip a man into failure. Hisashi will need to put Isamu¡¯s mental fortitude to the test. Finally, their eyes meet; the Demon¡¯s gaze is undeviating while the Administrator¡¯s shifts constantly, as if counting the loose strands of hair that fell in the absence of his opponent¡¯s straw hat. This very trait allows him to track Hisashi¡¯s movements as he goes into his charge, along with the kunai he throws unannounced as distractions. The speed of their exchange lifts the dust and dirt beneath them, turning it into a haunting mist while the strength of their clash gives birth to sparks that temporarily reveal their silhouettes. Hisashi¡¯s decision to occasionally combine a thrown kunai into his offensive strikes pressures Isamu into using his short blades more often, more so as a means to defend himself.


    A plan is set in motion.


    Whilst advancing on Isamu with his sword, a barrage of two or three kunai are thrown into the mix sporadically. Having created an opening borne from a strong punch to the jaw, Hisashi raises his sword high above and plants a firm step forward to have the cutting edge descend toward Isamu¡¯s open neck. The window is wide open, but it is a window well guarded by a tanto from Isamu¡¯s collection. Hisashi secures himself first by kicking Isamu away instead, then using the supposed killing strike to deflect the tanto in its approach, only to miss as it changes trajectory in an instant.


    There it is again. He thought, quickly turning around to defend against the expected tanto to his left and simultaneously casting a kunai behind him to guard his former right flank.


    SHICCCKKK!!


    Hisashi stumbles but remains standing, plunged into the full darkness brought upon him by the tanto that passed right before his eyes to claim his vision; it was the very same tanto that evaded his killing strike by changing its trajectory. Immediately, he swings his sword outward to keep them all away in his vulnerable state. Try as he did, he was at the mercy of the short blades that feed on his flesh like piranhas. His resolve to stand was severely weakened, urging the Demon to support himself with his sword, his left hand, and his strongest knee. Fed but unsatisfied, the blades heed the call of their master; they leave the shredded warrior to join Isamu in their inactive state behind him.


    ¡°I must¡­ commend you.¡± Isamu¡¯s words were minced by the slice of his breathing. ¡°You almost took¡­ my head¡­but for as long as¡­ I can see you¡­ you will lose.¡± Looking at him now, victory was clearly in sight.


    The hand sign is woven, and a singular tanto obeys the deathly will of Isamu. The sharpness of his blade paralleled the clarity of its song as it cut through the air. Eyes slowly roll shut while following the tanto¡¯s lethal melody to the long-awaited end.


    CLING!!


    Isamu peels his eyes open, bearing witness to a sight most unsettling.


    The Demon of Kumitsukawa stands with a clenched fist in one hand, and a sword in the other; one tanto out of twelve wedged into the wall. A gust of wind runs past Isamu, one Hisashi feels quite well with his clothes severely tattered; it tells him how the Administrator¡¯s eyes were widened by disbelief. In an instant, the motionless warrior erupts into a sprint with immense momentum, one Isamu seeks to quell. Their songs abruptly ended with each tanto deflected elsewhere, the sound of which had Isamu gritting his teeth. With all eleven shunned by the Demon, he had but no choice but to send them chasing after him. But with the Demon closing in, he realizes that evasion was the best strategy.


    ¡°CKK!¡± Isamu¡¯s strength left him as soon as he lifted his heel, the bruises his opponent planted sequentially erupt and radiate pain.


    With the Administrator still, the Demon skids to a stop and swings his left fist. Bracing for a punch was useless with the incoming fist opening up and scattering dust into his face instead. Following the momentum of his swing, Hisashi steps out of the way in the nick of time to evade the barrage of short blades that chase after him. Driven by desperation, the momentum they carry renderd Isamu¡¯s armor as purposeless. Eleven of his most loyal companions wedge themselves into his chest in quick succession, throwing him onto his back. It quickly dawns upon Isamu that the only thing he could move at this point are his eyes. And yet, all effort was afforded to the endeavor of keeping them open, afraid that the next time he closes them would be his last. A hand on his cheek forcefully turns him to the side. Rather than a beautiful view of the night sky, he faces the nightmarish image of a demon.


    ¡°Do you still see me?¡± Hisashi feels Isamu¡¯s mouth tremble in his grasp. He tightens the grip, and casts his bloodied leer for his opponent to meet. ¡°Gaze now into the darkness. I have consumed you.¡±


    Hisashi watches the life drain from those troublesome eyes of his, and with it gone, he finally takes a much needed breath.


    ¡°Hikyaku,¡± Hisashi called, ¡°come here.¡±


    The hairs on Riku¡¯s body stood instantly, thinking that the shadows had hidden him quite well. Worrying about this was now useless. He rises to his feet and obeys the vengeful swordsman¡¯s command. His reluctance shows in the calculated steps he takes forward; all that stands between his freedom and him was obedience, and perhaps a bit of caution. Standing above them, Riku feasts his eyes on a malicious monster¡­


    ¡­and his killer.


    His attention is taken away by a folded piece of paper with droplets of blood that was raised up to him.


    ¡°To Somukawa.¡± The Demon commands, ¡°Find a man named Hiroshi. Your reward awaits.¡±


    Shouldering through his fears, Riku stores the item safely into his backpack. Instinct would tell him to make wise of his legs and sprint away to Somukawa, but something kept his heel on the ground. Instead, Riku tucks his extremities into his person and bows.


    ¡°Thank you, my lord.¡± With the itch having been scratched, Riku took to the road and ran.


    As soon as Hisashi could no longer hear any footsteps, it was his turn to muster up strength and rise from his knelt position. The grip that held Isamu¡¯s jaw was transferred to his topknot, lifting the corpse off of its back and into a knelt position. The same hand travels down to the nape to feel for the flesh and the bone before joining his right hand on the handle of his sword. To properly orient himself for his task, Hisashi rolls his shoulders once to loosen the tenseness that plagued them. He watches his breath fly high as a result, along with a bird colored in the evening¡¯s eeriness that journey¡¯s away from the roof it was perched on.


    His breath enters.


    His breath leaves.


    And a head rolls thereafter.

 CHAPTER TEN: THE BAKER

    Much like how the sun sat beyond the horizon of the known world, hidden beyond the purview of survival was life. Back in the homely vicinity of Somukawa, hands were hard at work, feet marched from here to there, and backs bent to the best of their ability. Having successfully overthrown their oppressors, the people could now rebuild in peace. At this point in time, axes, hammers, and adzes had become an extension of their hands. They cut, pounded, and scraped away at the wood with mastery ¡ª Somukawa rose with them with each passing day. It was inevitable that their ears had grown accustomed to it, and not long after, a melody was found. This melody coalesced into a symphony, and the people harvested with it, fished with it, sewed with it, cooked with it, built with it. Such a feat could not be achieved without a conductor, which is why the men all turned their eyes and ears to the Old Baker ¡ª Machida Hiroshi. The sweat of his brow was quelled by a piece of cloth, clearing his vision to feast on the sight of a newly constructed koshiki. And behind the wooden vat stood the newly renovated brewery.


    ¡°On three, lift. Understood?!¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Replied the score of men in chorus, surrounding the vat.


    ¡°One! Two! Three!¡±


    Their fingers curled, their knees straightened, and their backs bared the weight of the vat in unison. Hoisted up, the men made their way through the doors of the brewery. Hiroshi followed closely, carefully watching for its alignment.


    ¡°Nahoko, grip the bottom firmly.¡± Hiroshi taps his shoulder.


    ¡°Usaku, watch your step.¡± He points to the man¡¯s foot.


    ¡°Alright¡­ stop!¡± Quickly, he makes his way behind the stove to grant himself a more advantageous point of view. ¡°One, two, three!¡±


    Their chests grew large with air, and their faces red with the blood needed to sustain the effort of hoisting the vat even higher.


    ¡°Slowly¡­ slowly¡­ down!¡± Called Hiroshi, continuing to hold his hand out.


    Like a snowflake, it sits onto the stove. The men all back away to marvel at a successful endeavor just as the people marvel at them; an orchestra is never without its audience, and they were applauded for their symphony. Smiles reach from the tallest mountains to the bluest of seas, and the cheers they belt out could overcome either with ease. While the audience applauded the men, the men applauded Hiroshi. Humbled by this display, the Old Baker bows to them in gratitude. And they did the same.


    GONG! Hiroshi struck the bell of Somukawa to deliver the announcement throughout the entirety of Somukawa ¡ª noon has come. A morning of hard work must be rewarded with a bounty worthy of a lord, especially if they were to equate their efforts of rebuilding the settlement. Proudly, he watched the men head off to claim their rewards, though it already seemed as if a well accomplished task was reward enough. He certainly felt this way. Though he was thankful for the light Amaterasu had brought to the settlement, and her enthusiasm in watching them, he certainly wished that they be spared the overwhelming intensity of her gaze. He clears his forehead of sweat yet again with a brush of his sleeve, allowing him to see an approaching messenger.


    ¡°Good afternoon.¡± Greeted Riku, bowing accordingly. ¡°I am looking for a man named Hi¡­ Hiroshi¡­? The¡­ Demon of Kumitsukawa¡­ sent me here.¡±


    While the messenger¡¯s statement brought him comfort in knowing that developments came swift, he felt a sense of apprehension in knowing why they came swift. The latter overshadows any trace that the former had on his visage.


    Riku followed Hiroshi closely as they made their way through the settlement. From what he could see, a new day has dawned upon Somukawa. It certainly differed from when he was last here, and the answer as to why is evident by way of the three severed heads displayed by the entrance of the settlement. Because of him, Somukawa  thrived like grass ¡ª greener after an episode of rain, followed by a spread of sunshine the day after. The thought was inescapable now, that he came ever so close to the storm that was capable of wiping out an entire army of samurai and will be living to tell the tale.


    ¡°Chiyo.¡± Hiroshi called her just as she was about to return to her establishment.


    ¡°Ohh! Hiroshi, I have not seen you all morning.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I have been keeping busy.¡±


    The brightness of her smile in recognition of this deed could illuminate a home with ease.


    ¡°My apologies, but we have matters to discuss.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Chiyo¡¯s gaze breaks past the Old Baker. ¡°Oh.¡±


    Though being relatively new to this, she understood her place in the structure of the new Somukawa after having been acquainted with Hiroshi and his spearheading of the reconstruction of their lives. She was more than just a resident here now, and she must do what she can with her newfound capacity to aid in the survival of her home. In no time, she slides the door to her quarters to grant them entrance; Chiyo figures that the agenda at hand was far too sensitive for the living room walls to handle. With much gratitude to their host, the two bow before entering.


    ¡°I will get you some water.¡± Said Chiyo, closing the door before leaving.


    Hiroshi takes his seat first, offering the empty space beside him to the messenger; the closer the distance the better chance they have of confidentiality.


    ¡°You have traveled far.¡± Hiroshi nodded as a sign of his commendation. ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Amari Riku.¡±


    ¡°Riku, the message you bring with you is of great importance, and you have my gratitude for coming to me as instructed.  Please, feel free to stay in the settlement for as long as you wish. It is the least we can do to repay you for your service.¡± Hiroshi bows deeply. ¡°I do, however, hope you are still able to¡­ go on¡­ with the things you have¡­ seen.¡±


    ¡°Hiroshi-san, I am able to go on because of the things I have seen.¡± Riku held his own chest.


    ¡°You are not¡­ afraid¡­ of him?¡±


    ¡°I was¡­ am¡­¡ª¡± he struggles, ¡°...Only a creature from the darkest corner of hell could do what he did¡­¡± Riku drifts into a trance, the smell of blood still fresh in his mind. He recovers shortly. ¡±But these legs have taken me far, and one does not get far in this world without seeing its horrors.¡±


    ¡°I suppose¡­¡±


    ¡°I just¡­ never expected to run into¡­ him. He was here too, right?¡± The Messenger asks. ¡° Those heads,¡± he pointed to the direction of the settlement¡¯s main entrance, where they sat on spikes, ¡° they are his mark.¡±


    ¡°He has. And they are.¡± Hiroshi is reminded of the visceral memory of the night of Somukawa¡¯s liberation. The gods know that more than three were taken, but only three were displayed out of mercy.


    ¡°Hiroshi-san, have you ever been lost at night? Out there in the forest?¡±


    Hiroshi nods, ¡°Mm.¡± taken back to his earlier days as a baker having to run errands or traveling back home after a trip even in the dead of night.


    ¡°I will never forget my first time¡­ The shadows hid everything ¡ª took everything ¡ª and it stops you from running, but you knew that doing that meant that death could catch up to you so easily.¡± Riku swallowed. ¡°Every sound I heard froze my heart for a second. Every crunch, every rustle, it meant death was drawing near, but I could not see him.¡±


    The Baker listening, found himself situated in his own recollection of his account as he stared off into the distance.


    ¡°I do not know which scared me more,¡± Riku continued, ¡°Not seeing death, or seeing him.¡±


    Hiroshi turned to Riku.


    ¡°The leaves parted just enough to let moonlight through, and there it stood, waiting for me on all fours covered in fur. That was the last time I saw death¡­ until last night.¡±


    Their eyes met, and in them sat the reflection of death.


    ¡°Death did not come to take me last night.¡± Riku continues, ¡°He saved me.¡±


    ¡°Saved you?¡±


    Riku nods in response.


    There was something Hiroshi noticed with him. Not the word which he used, but more so in how he said it. It resonated so well with him that it triggered a sense of familiarity; it should, since he shared the same sentiments just days ago. Dwelling on it, he could only smile. And thusly, the two would share in this happiness.


    Shook! The door slides open once again, with Chiyo entering to provide the Messenger with a cup of water and a plate of onigiri as an added token of gratitude. She takes her seat opposite him after closing the door to seal their room.


    ¡°Let us begin.¡± Said Hiroshi.


    Riku took the message entrusted to him and gave it to the rightful receiver, handling it as if he was passing to Hiroshi a teardrop. While they read it, he thought to quench his thirst with the cup of water that he empties in mere seconds. Thanking the hostess quietly, he partakes of the rice balls she has given him.


    ¡°Lord Homura is coming?¡± Asked Chiyo.


    ¡°It would seem so.¡± Answered Hiroshi.


    ¡°...What do we do?¡±


    The Baker supposes that although the message brought forth a lot of questions, it was this one that mattered the most. He regrets that despite it being the most pressing matter of concern, he could not conjure a response. Standing outside, Hiroshi was astounded to see that noon had almost passed them by ¡ª long conversations tend to hasten the passing of the hour. He watches Riku leave to find lodging in the settlement, believing the Messenger would have more luck in his search than he does in looking for an answer. In her old age, Chiyo knew better than to rush things. The weight of the problem kept Hiroshi¡¯s words from making it to the surface, and these were shoes that were all too familiar.


    ¡°Have you seen Kaito?¡± Chiyo asks.


    ¡°What¡­?¡± Hiroshi pulls his gaze away from the curious Messenger who was seemingly approached by a woman.


    ¡°Have you seen Kaito yet?¡±


    ¡°No¡­¡±


    ¡°Find him.¡± She gently pats his arm. ¡°He should be by the shore.¡±


    ¡°A little late for a trip to the shore, is it not?¡± Hiroshi took the dimming sky into account.


    ¡°I am no wise sage, Hiroshi. I am just old. But I know one thing: taking a walk has done me more good than standing around ever has.¡± As if to prove her point, Chiyo herself began to walk back to her establishment.


    Left to his own devices, Hiroshi decides to arm himself with his yari to clear his path and a lantern to light it. Onto the dirt path he goes, treading steadily yet carefully to find himself a fisherman who could catch themselves an answer to his dilemma. The length of this walk to the destination was considerable, and even with the lantern so close to him, he was still shrouded in the dark. As a matter of fact, it was as if the shadows were reaching for his toes. The Baker makes his way to the shore, being served with a slice of fresh air for the first time in a long while ¡ª a connoisseur of food knew better than to take a slice for granted. Whilst he savored the treat, a familiar voice resonated through the crashing waves.


    ¡°Oi! Hiroshi!¡±


    The lantern made it easier for Kaito to spot him. Hence, even at a distance, he waves; it beckons Hiroshi to approach the Fisherman.


    ¡°Kaito.¡± He greets. ¡°Bountiful catch?¡± Hiroshi casts his gaze beyond him to the score of men taking their own haul of their respective boats.


    ¡°I can barely carry the damn thing.¡± Kaito smiles despite struggling to lift the basket onto his back.


    ¡°Do you need any help?¡± Hiroshi is briefly reminded of the shoulder injury he sustained during the uprising.


    ¡°No no, please. If I keep getting help for this, I would never be able to carry another basket on my own. What brings you out here? Want to get out of baking and into fishing instead?¡± His brows shot up once.


    ¡°You have been working hard.¡± Hiroshi acknowledges this tenacity with a smile, but his worries soften the glee it held inside.


    ¡°I have.¡± Kaito nods. ¡°Being free really helps you get up in the morning. What about you? What have you been up to?¡±


    ¡°Repairs.¡± The Baker throws his thumb behind him. ¡°The brewery is just about ready to make wine again.¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    ¡°The brewery?! Well what are we waiting for?¡± Kaito found a pip in his step, advancing past Hiroshi.


    ¡°You know that it will take time for the wine to be made, yes? We just finished rebuilding it this afternoon.¡±


    ¡°And¡­?¡± Kaito stopped, turning on his heel.


    ¡°I¡­ need to ask you something.¡±


    Kaito was prompted with a request, and to consider it, he must first surrender himself to a moment of silence. His hesitation was not so much a product of reluctance, but more so of the worry that he may not be able to deliver what was needed of him. Regardless, the silence that was within his fingertips was hooked away by the gills when others began to gather in a crowd. His look to yonder made Hiroshi turn on his heel, and together, their curiosities ringed them in.


    ¡°You cannot be serious!¡±


    ¡°Oh I am.¡±


    ¡°Vile. You are vile, Koji. What man steals another man¡¯s catch?!¡±


    ¡°It is not stealing if it is my catch, Minoru.¡±


    Through the crowd emerged Hiroshi and Kaito, feasting their eyes on the two fishermen that stood against one another with an enormous tuna setting them apart. Though it laid on the ground, Hiroshi could not possibly consider it to be resting in peace.


    ¡°Neither of us have caught anything this big, and you of all people would suggest a claim on such a bounty? For shame, Minoru.¡±


    ¡°I claim it because I caught it! It is mine!¡±


    ¡°You could not catch a fish even if it jumped into your boat!¡± Koji sets his hands onto his waist. ¡°It cannot be helped, Minoru. You are just a bad fisherman. You should have stayed a farmer like your father, you already have the land.¡±


    ¡°You are wrong!¡±


    ¡°I am not alone in this.¡± Koji casts his finger outward. ¡°Ask any man here, I dare you.¡±


    Minoru follows the finger, casting his gaze outward as he would his equipment. But rather than help, he finds himself surrounded by sharks. He felt his legs shiver, it was as if he was back at sea, alone on his boat. And with the waves¡¯ constant rocking, his stomach begins to churn; the shivering climbs up to his hands.


    ¡°See? This catch is mine.¡±


    ¡°But I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Might I interject?¡± The sharks turn their heads to the Baker. He may have been a long way from his bakery, but his work here earned him a chance to swim among them without immediately getting consumed.


    ¡°Hiroshi-san.¡± Greeted Koji. He would be the first to bow, followed by everyone else in the crowd. ¡°I am sorry that you have to see this.¡±


    ¡°A storm rains on all roofs, Minoru-san.¡± He bowed to him. ¡°I can provide help in resolving this.¡±


    ¡°Aha¡± a breath of amusement left him, ¡°I think it has been resolved already.¡±


    All eyes continue to train themselves onto the Baker who approaches the tuna. His crouch proves fruitful, coming upon the wound of the fish that placed a finite number on its breath.


    ¡°Harpoon?¡± Asked Hiroshi.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Both men agreed in unison.


    ¡°Might I see them?¡±


    At his request, both men fetch their harpoons for Hiroshi¡¯s perusal. One at a time, he inserts them through the wound. His gaze shroudes over its body like its natural slime coat, thoroughly examining the circumference and fit of both the wound and the tools that caused it. Thereafter, he uses one of the harpoons to push himself back up, and thusly, he turns to face the two fishermen.


    ¡°I have made my decision.¡±


    The crowd subtly inches closer to the Baker who raises both harpoons, one in each hand.


    ¡°Neither of you will be given sole ownership of this catch.¡± He pushes the harpoons back to their owners, who were insurmountably stunned.


    And so on their behalf, the crowd is sent into an uproar mounted on confusion.


    ¡°Instead¡± he continued, ¡°this will be given to Chiyo-san and her restaurant, so that she can prepare it and feed the whole village equally.¡±


    ¡°That is not fair!¡± Decried Koji, firmly planting one of his feet in front of the other.


    ¡°Hiroshi-san, p-please reconsider!¡± Minoru held his own collar tightly.


    ¡°Unfortunately, I cannot.¡± Hiroshi shook his head. ¡°Neither of you can prove beyond doubt that the fish is your own.¡± He briefly shakes the harpoons in hand. ¡°Both of these fit the hole in the fish well. And since no one here can stand witness to you catching it¡­¡± The blankness of everyone¡¯s expression punctuated his statement. ¡°It would simply not be fair to grant either of you sole ownership.¡±


    ¡°W-wait, Hiroshi¡ª¡± Kaito finally casts himself into the ring of sharks. ¡°If you are wrong about this, then Minoru has nothing. This was his only catch today.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure it is his?¡± The Baker asks.


    ¡°N-...no¡­¡± His hesitation only widened the veil of doubt.


    Hiroshi¡¯s nostrils are warmed by the air on their way out. ¡°Then it would not be right to give him this catch, even if it is his only catch.¡±


    The familiar sound of knees striking the ground calls their attention to Minoru. He stands lower than any man, but looks up only to Hiroshi.


    ¡°H-Hiroshi-san. Please¡­ have mercy¡ª My sons, they will have nothing to eat!¡±


    ¡°Hiroshi, listen to him. He has four sons. Four.¡± Kaito chimed in.


    ¡°The fish is big enough to feed him and his family for a night if we share this with the village as planned.¡± Replied Hiroshi.


    ¡°That is cruel, Hiroshi. The man can barely catch¡ª¡±


    ¡°I do not decide these on a whim, Kaito-san.¡± The Baker immediately inserted himself. ¡°Make no mistake men, our decisions must not be made with this alone.¡± He points to his chest. ¡°It must be tempered with this¡± he points to his head, ¡°and all that rings true for all time, like what is right and what is wrong. I cannot in good conscience give it to either man because they cannot prove beyond doubt that the fish is theirs, nor can I put it to waste or take it as my own.¡±


    Kaito has never been seasick, but his stomach churns despite standing on solid ground, the same ground on which Minoru began to rest his forehead and whisper his petitions.


    ¡°Then the gods deem it so. Right is right, wrong is wrong. Men,¡± he called, ¡°carry this together, and carry it to Chiyo¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡±


    The waves crash over them and usher in a blanket of silence with Koji standing tall by his voice alone.


    ¡°Minoru should have it.¡± Said Koji, prompting the next wave to sweep the silence away as murmurs simmered quietly.


    Minoru lifts his head from the ground, eyes open widely to ascertain that they did not deceive him. If he could widen his ears, he would.


    ¡°Minoru needs it¡± Koji continues, ¡°more than I do. It would not be right to deprive his sons of a restful evening on the count of growling stomachs.¡±


    As open as they are, tears easily pour from Minoru¡¯s eyes. He races them to the ground, lowering his head once again to express his deep gratitude.


    ¡°Thank you!¡± His voice was a boat out at sea in a storm of emotions. What would have been a downpour was halted by the presence of a warm hand that sat on his shoulder.


    ¡°The fish is yours, Minoru.¡± Said Hiroshi. ¡°Could anyone help the man carry it back?¡± He turned to the crowd who nodded and moved without hesitation at his request.


    Whatever it was that swirled inside his stomach was gone now. The world no longer spun, and so, he steadily watched as the men carried the large tuna back to the village. Having stood beside Hiroshi, Minoru¡¯s whispered gratitude was blown into his ear by a stray gust of breeze; he watches the simple fisherman jog to catch his peers.


    ¡°Wow¡­¡± he shook his head, ¡°you are something else, Hiroshi.¡±


    ¡°Hahaha, that was¡­ nothing.¡±


    ¡°Did you know it was his fish?¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Minoru.¡±


    ¡°No, I never saw him catch it. But how did you know it was his.¡±


    ¡°Well everyone else¡¯s boat was full. His was the only one that could carry that big a fish and not sink.¡±


    ¡°You knew from the beginning?¡± Kaito finally turns to look at him.


    ¡°I had a strong guess. But anyways, I did want to ask you something.¡± Hiroshi wisps the pride away with a gesture and returns them to what he originally came here for.


    As soon as their eyes met, the Fisherman took his basket to the fallen log sprawled on the shore, taking his seat.


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± Asked Hiroshi.


    ¡°I know that look. Come, let us sit.¡±


    ¡°We can talk while walking.¡± Insisted the Baker.


    ¡°Nooo no no no.¡± Kaito shook his head, offering a seat beside him. ¡°I can tell this will take a while, so we take all the while we have.¡±


    Despite his reluctance, Hiroshi concedes and seats himself beside the Fisherman; it would seem his earlier conversation with Riku was starting to get the better of him.


    ¡°There must not be a lot of times I can say this to you, especially not after that, but what can I do for you?¡± Kaito asked.


    ¡°...Lord Homura is coming. He is gathering all his men in Tachikawa, and then personally overseeing the spread of his men from there all the way back to Kumitsukawa.¡±


    ¡°.... See¡­? Sitting down was the right idea.¡± Kaito finally lets go of the breath he held in as he listened with intent.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, just¡­ go on, go on.¡± He gestured for the continuation to proceed. ¡°I believe this is the part where you tell me what you had in mind for his return.¡±


    ¡°It is.¡± Hiroshi nodded. ¡°I have nothing.¡±


    The most recent wave pulled Kaito¡¯s attention yonder to the raging blue ocean. One arm stood on top of the other while his fingers clasped the stubble on his chin inquisitively ¡ª grasping at straws more like. He exhales and turns his head back to face Hiroshi, who in turn was looking at him.


    ¡°...What? Were you waiting on me?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Why?!¡±


    ¡°Sigh¡­ It took us three whole days to finish rebuilding that brewery. If I told you what I had in mind, there would be no one left to rebuild it when it collapses again.¡±


    ¡°You want us to run?¡±


    ¡°I want us to fight.¡± The Baker crumpled his fist, slamming it quietly onto his lap. ¡°There is no reasoning with Lord Homura, or his men. But there is no stopping an army.¡±


    ¡°Hiroshi, you cannot expect me to choose here! I think a daimyo would be smart enough not to bite on my hook if I dangle it in front of him. And I am certainly smart enough not to dangle it in front of a monster.¡±


    It was the Baker¡¯s turn now to cast his gaze yonder in search for answers, but the Fisherman keeps him from searching too far by way of a nudge.


    ¡°But I have faith in you.¡± Kaito continued,  ¡°Whatever decision you make, I trust it to be the right one.¡±


    ¡°You trust me?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°You trust an old baker to decide the fate of the settlement?¡±


    ¡°...Yes¡­¡±


    ¡°...You hesitated.¡± Hiroshi squints.


    ¡°Okay okay, ask me again.¡±


    ¡°I do not think you understand the gravity of the decision to be made here.¡± Pushing himself up to stand, Hiroshi unearths his spear and picks up his lantern, having left them here prior to the commotion from earlier.


    ¡°My wife came back.¡± Kaito, remaining seated, caught Hiroshi¡¯s stunned gaze. ¡°I saw her on my way back the other day, and I could not believe my eyes. But there she was.¡± He smiles. ¡°I took her back, fed her, cared for her¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your wife is back¡­¡± Reiterated Hiroshi.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Why is this the first I am hearing of it?¡±


    ¡°Ah, she did not want to make a fuss. People like to talk. She was afraid of what they would say about her. I could not care less, but I honored her wish and¡­¡± Kaito lifted his hand as if he had caught a snowflake in his palm, ¡°before I left this morning, I held her hand and kissed her goodbye before going out to sea just like I always do. And tomorrow, I get to do it again.¡±


    The Fisherman rose from the log and took the basket back into his possession.


    ¡°I have everything to lose now, Hiroshi. So if you tell me to run, I will take nothing but her. If you tell me to fight, I will catch every arrow and every blade for her. So make your decision, tell them, and I will stand with you.¡±


    ¡°I suppose I could reach out to a few¡­¡± He began to walk, taking the same path back.


    ¡°A few? Everyone will listen to the man who has set us free.¡± Kaito reached to perch on his shoulder the same comfort he afforded Minoru. ¡°What you did back there? Only one man has both calmed and inspired men like that, and Lord Ataru has long since been buried.¡± He gently squeezes the Baker¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Like I said, just call us ¡ª we will heed your call.¡±


    In his words, Hiroshi found his lantern to glow much brighter. He found it unjust to question his ability on the grounds of his being but a simple baker when he himself asked them to take up arms when they were but simple farmers and fishermen. The path ahead of him is much clearer now, and the Old Baker takes his steps in stride.

 CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE SURVIVOR

    Tsuna arrives at her stall, setting her basket down on the countertop along with the rest that had been delivered by her helper for the day. She takes count, finding an oddity ¡ª a discrepancy. She takes a peek inside one of the baskets, the one place where the sunlight could not reach, and the darkness stares back at her.


    ¡°Good morning.¡±


    The voice pulls her outside the basket to turn to the esteemed samurai that stood before her. While his identity eluded her, the scar on his cheek did not.


    ¡°Ah.. Good morning.¡± She bows. ¡°I will finish organizing in a moment. Would you like to buy anything?¡±


    ¡°You seem¡­ unsettled. Lack of sleep?¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ mm.¡± The Mother nods modestly.


    His worries concretize with her response, but it would not be the first instance since the sun rose today.


    ¡°I am sorry for your loss.¡± Said the Samurai.


    ¡°M-my loss?¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± He nods. ¡°The storehouse went up in flames last night. My men saved much of what was inside, but the building is¡­¡± With a clenched jaw, his head shakes.


    ¡°Oh..¡±


    ¡°I know how hard it is to work the field¡± his hand lightly pats his chest, ¡°my father was a farmer.¡±


    ¡°Oh.. did he grow up here?¡± Asked Tsuna.


    ¡°Afraid not, but the difficulties are not lost on me. Actually, the principle behind it is not that different from what I do.¡±


    ¡°And what is it that you do¡­¡±


    ¡°Yasu.¡± He nods.


    ¡°Yasu-sama.¡± Tsuna readily completes her query with his name. Seeing as how a conversation snowballed into fruition, she thought it productive to start her task of organizing her sales for the day. But to lower the risk of communicating disrespect, she does so sparingly.


    ¡°I am the commander-in-chief of Lord Homura¡¯s forces. Part of my duties are to meticulously look after every man under my watch.¡± Yasu reaches for one of her many goods with his free hand, the other maintaining a hold on his trusted weapon ¡ª a well-decorated naginata.


    ¡°That must be difficult.¡± She chirpes whilst holding the basket in a one-armed embrace, arranging radishes for her customers to choose from.


    ¡°Quite¡± he nods, ¡°though I would argue that sowing seeds in people is much harder than sowing them in soil.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± She straightens her back as she curves her intonation.


    ¡°The seeds you sow in the soil will, almost, always grow the same healthy row of crops.¡±


    ¡°With the right care.¡± She adds.


    ¡°Yes, yes.¡± Yasu smiles, expressing an amused huff. ¡°However, the same lessons do not always result in the same quality of a man. Some grow ready for the harvest, some¡­ ¡° he puts the radish down, ¡°never even make it to the market.¡±


    The Mother, while attentive, steps quicker in retrieving her next basket. She circles back around to display their harvest of sweet potatoes.


    ¡°So you could understand my¡­ frustration¡­ when a good man under my watch ends up as a but a bloodied head displayed in the center of town for all to see.¡± The Commander¡¯s glare could pierce the back of her head.


    ¡°I¡­ am sorry, but I do not understand why you come to me for this.¡±


    ¡°Your altercation with Isamu is hardly forgettable. And I find it¡­ intriguing¡­ that he was found dead after said altercation with you.¡±


    Finally, their gaze met. The basket has been fully emptied, it was bound to happen. There were no more baskets for her to tend to ¡ª much to Tsuna¡¯s dismay.


    ¡°I-I am no warrior, Yasu-sama.¡±


    ¡°I would have never taken you for one.¡± He quickly interjects, smiling. ¡°As a wife, I take it you have shared in your husband¡¯s grief when misfortune renders months of hard work to a waste.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­¡±


    ¡°The weather has been fair lately. But the vermin¡­¡± His voice falls into a pit of darkness, a pit it dwelt comfortably. ¡°A vermin hides in our midst, in these lands. You would agree that these pests are a peril, would you not?¡± Yasu begins to circle her small stall.


    ¡°I¡­ would.¡± Like heat from a flame, Tsuna¡¯s eyes follow Yasu diligently. ¡°But again, I am hardly to blame for his passing¡­¡±


    ¡°Your neighbors would agree.¡± Yasu nodded, stopping by to admire her stall from an angle opposite his previous position. ¡°A humble and soft-spoken wife to an industrious husband who tirelessly works the field; she could not possibly hurt a fly. That is what they said.¡±


    Her embrace of the empty basket was all she had.


    ¡°But then, they said something¡­ ¡®she would do anything for her daughter¡¯.¡± Yasu looks up while speaking to read her neighbor¡¯s testimony word for word; the clouds were kind enough to help him remember them. ¡°Would you say that it is¡­ accurate?¡±


    ¡°It is just.¡± She substitutes it with her own term, her soft voice making a firm stance ever apparent. ¡°Any mother would agree.¡±


    ¡°And I take it no mother would forgive a man for laying their hands on her daughter.¡± Yasu continues. ¡°A mother might even pray for vermin.¡± He nods to himself. ¡°For a¡­ misfortune ¡ª cast a curse on the land if she had to. Such is a mother¡¯s love, hm?¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡±


    ¡°I would know.¡± He says almost cockily. ¡°My mother raised me alone, and she did so on a wing and a prayer herself.¡±


    The Commander¡¯s tongue was sharp enough to sever the stable foundation on which she stood. Her mouth lay agape, but nothing from within was brave enough to defend her from the accusations. It took but a moment for her frozen state to finally thaw, warmed by the presence of another as announced by the basket that sat on the counter top. Her irises were pulled to pierce through Yasu¡¯s frame, prompting the Commander to shift his naginata to the other side to allow him to peek from over his own shoulder.


    ¡°Tsuna-chan.¡± Called the voice. ¡°You forgot one last basket.¡±


    More than his sudden arrival, Tsuna¡¯s breath had been momentarily stifled by the thought of the Demon of Kumitsukawa using honorifics. Better yet, it stemmed from the thought that he seemed so uncharacteristic. And a puzzle with missing pieces tends to puzzle anyone.


    ¡°Ah¡ª yes! I was wondering where that was¡­ thank you¡­¡± She bowed her head.


    With his curiosity piqued, Yasu could not help but fully turn toward the stranger.


    ¡°...You.¡±


    ¡°Pleasant morning, my lord.¡± Greeted Hisashi, bowing solemnly.


    ¡°Y-you should go back¡­¡± her pause could not have been better timed for a fool¡¯s search for a name she could call him, ¡°...Katashi might still need you.¡±


    ¡°I see no reason to rush¡± Hisashi lifts the basket, leaning it onto himself whilst his arm firmly fastens it in place for him to stock her stall. ¡°I will arrange these for you before I leave.¡±


    Yasu¡¯s eyes follow the man like a wolf stalking a hare, unaware of the sharp teeth that loom over its head. ¡°I have not seen you here before.¡±


    ¡°There is much to see if one never bothers to look.¡±


    ¡°An insult said with one¡¯s back turned is a dull blade.¡±


    As promptly as he could, Hisashi sets the basket down onto the floor and bows.


    ¡°My sincerest apologies, my lord. An insult is the last thing I would ever wish to visit upon you.¡± Hisashi¡¯s bow brings him face to face with the basket he had just emptied. In it, he finds the reflection of his apology.


    ¡°Hm.¡± His gaze rivaling his naginata in sharpness.


    ¡°Please forgive him, Yasu-sama.¡± Tsuna joins Hisashi, and with a hand on the other¡¯s back, she bows with him. ¡°He is my eldest cousin. He came last night and was greatly worried for me and my family when he saw the large blaze in the storehouse. The long journey had tired him, but he was kept awake by the thought that a criminal was on the loose.¡±


    Tsuna kept herself steady with all her might, but being unable to see the Commander only strengthened the internal tremors she fought against. Hisashi, on the other hand, could see the Commander clearly despite being bent at the waist. In fact, By observing Yasu¡¯s feet ¡ª the firmness in which they stood and the distance of one foot from the other ¡ª he was certain of his conviction.


    ¡°A dull blade protects none, especially not the fool cowering behind it.¡±


    Those firmly planted feet finally uprooted and away they went. Hisashi finally allows himself to take part in breathing, something that Tsuna catches on to. Hence, she slowly raises her head, followed by her trunk as soon as she sees that Yasu has gone.


    ¡°Do you think he noticed?¡± She asks cautiously in a volume only a fly could hear.


    ¡°I doubt it.¡± He replies, seeing as how his head remained between his shoulders.


    His words drew out the last of her breath that she held onto so dearly.


    ¡°What did he want?¡±


    ¡°He was asking me about the samurai, the one that hit Seijun.¡±


    ¡°Isamu.¡± Hisashi interrupts, following her back behind the stall to collect the baskets they emptied.


    ¡°Yes, him.¡± Tsuna nodded. ¡°Um¡­m-.. my lord¡­¡± the words themselves curled back in uncertainty, ¡°it is no secret, to us at least, that last night was your doing. But if I would beg a request¡ª¡±


    ¡°I cannot stop.¡± He avowed. ¡°I will not.¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ no, my lord, that is not it. This town needs you,¡± she assured him, ¡°I would be a fool not to see that. But please, do not let Katashi follow in your footsteps.¡±


    The peculiarity of the request stole his attention away from the baskets.


    ¡°My husband is a strong man,¡± she continued, ¡°but his strength is needed by his family. Last night, he came home late. He told me he lit the storehouse for you. Whether or not you asked him is¡­ not important.¡± She smiled. ¡°I know him well enough to know he would have done it either way.¡±


    The gods must have their brows stitched so closely together, feasting their eyes upon a mortal woman who cherished the gaze of a foul demon.


    ¡°I¡­ realize this may be a lot to ask, and I may be in no position to ask this of you. But to stop myself from telling you this would be to stop grass from growing. So please¡­¡±


    The baskets were lifted from the ground, and the Demon¡¯s gaze had been stolen back.


    Without anything to hold on to, the mortal woman¡¯s gaze fell.


    ¡°For as long as I breathe, you will all be safe.¡±


    While Tsuna¡¯s gaze fell, it met the ground with comfort. Her face lit up, but she bent forth to hide it.


    ¡°Thank you, my lord!¡± It was her turn to watch a pair of feet march forth. This time, she does so with glee.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The length of the shadows around her grew with the passing of each hour, until such time that they covered the street in its long and thorough veil. Ever dutiful as she was, Tsuna began to close her stall, sprinkling a kind smile and a wave to the passersby that wished her a pleasant evening and onward. The evening¡¯s veil nearly caused her to miss an oncoming gentleman. Thankfully for her, his very presence lit the way.


    ¡°My darling wife.¡± Greeted Katashi.


    ¡°Just a moment and I¡ª¡± Her quick glance stayed much longer than expected, but how could it not? ¡°Oh Katashi¡­¡± She chimed.


    The sun that was his smile generously showered the flowers he held in his hands with a vibrant glow. And thus, he offers her his gift.


    Tsuna received them, dipping her head slowly to smell the day despite it having passed already.


    ¡°They are beautiful, ¡®Tashi. Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Thank heavens you like them. I was worried.¡±


    ¡°Why would you be worried?¡±


    ¡°I picked these at random, I was not sure they¡­ did the trick.¡±


    ¡°This man¡ª¡± Tsuna looped her arm around his. ¡°If you picked these at random, then the heart chose them free of interference.¡± With her husband in tow, she began their walk home.


    ¡°Mm¡­ this is a perfect¡­¡± She proclaimed. ¡°Did¡­ the Demon tell you I needed cheering up?¡±


    ¡°The Demon?¡± Asked Katashi.


    ¡°Mm.¡± She hummed in approval.


    ¡°No¡­ I did not see him at home.¡±


    ¡°He was not there?¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± He hummed. ¡°The baskets were back, but I had not seen him all day.¡±


    ¡°That is odd¡­¡± Tsuna pressed her cheek against his arm in thought. ¡°Do you think he left?¡±


    ¡°I do not think so. The house still feels...¡±


    ¡°Still feels like¡­?¡± Tsuna urged for the thought¡¯s completion.


    ¡°Do you remember when it rained for two days last year?¡±


    ¡°When¡­ you slipped?¡± She smirked.


    ¡°Yes.¡± His nostrils fumed. ¡°Do you remember how that sounded? That hard of a downpour on the roof? It was almost like Susanoo-sama was scolding you.¡±


    ¡°Ah yeah.¡± She nodded almost instantly.


    The depth of their thought nearly blinded them from the shadow that pushed off the wall to stand in the middle of the empty street. Their laughter had been silenced far too quickly as soon as their sights set ahead of them. With the road so wide and empty, there was no mistaking that this was deliberate. Tsuna sets her sights forward first, tapping Katashi¡¯s arm to lead his attention into the same direction. His footing immediately supersedes hers, as did the arm that once hung from behind her waist that now found itself in front of her. She obeyed the wordless command of his fingers and hid her smaller frame behind his. With her husband occupied by the blockage of the path ahead, she sees fit to search for an alternative.


    A samurai stood in the shadows of the alley to their right.


    A samurai stood in the opposite alley to their left.


    Alas, the final nail to their coffin stood behind them.


    All that was left was to lower them into the ground.


    The walls of their coffin grew smaller with every step the warriors took toward them. With no weapon within reach, Katashi decides that calloused hands would have to do against their blades. The veil of darkness that concealed the warriors would be cast over them instead.


    ¡°You two are coming with us.¡± The voice was nigh bodiless. Rather, it was as if the voice was shared by all four of them.


    ¡°My wife and I are going home.¡± Katashi gazed fearlessly into the darkness where his eyes should be.


    ¡°You mistake my command for a request, peasant. Get going.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Distracted by the confrontation up front, a hand reaches from the side to grab Tsuna by the wrist. Her yelp sends Katashi onto the samurai like a dog that gnaws on his armored forearms with calloused fingers in lieu of teeth. But alas, Katashi is pulled away by the presence of a blade unsheathed and brandished before them. Like the dog that he is, Katashi shies away from the threatening bite that would hurt more than his. It does not, however, keep him from growling back.


    All eyes are on Katashi and Tsuna now, but a pressing matter has effectively called them away.


    ¡°What is that¡­?¡± Asked the samurai in the front.


    ¡°...a horse?¡± Answered the samurai on the left.


    Its hooves beckon their attention, but more than that, it beckons for their hand to drop and embrace the grip of their swords.


    ¡°Ready.¡± Commands the man, locking his eyes on the rider that sat high on the horse. And yet, his brows were thoroughly furrowed.


    While the horse¡¯s approach certainly brought their guard up, it was not the approach they expected. The rider sat too high and the horse galloped too slow for an offensive charge. These peculiarities bring the men¡¯s gazes to one another, but the man in the front holds his steady. The moonlight is scarce, but at a certain proximity, it was adequate in revealing who the rider is.


    ¡°...Yori-dono¡­?¡± He chimed, recognizing the familiar shine of his friend¡¯s shaved head.


    It perplexed him how Yori set out with them for this task, but here he was riding ¡ª and without his armor.


    But there was no mistaking it, Yori is the rider.


    The horse slows to a trot as it moves past them. All eyes follow its movement, eventually resting on the samurai that stands guard behind them ¡ª to the man that is supposed to be Yori.


    In his right hand, the impostor holds the unsheathed blade used to tame Katashi.


    In his left hand, he holds a metal ball, one that he relinquishes from his grasp.


    It explodes as soon as it hits the ground, consuming them all in a cloud of dense smoke. The three men struggle to find their bearings, only to be further disadvantaged as they are simultaneously shoved into the ground. Hoodwinked by the sudden turn of events, all they are left with are the distant sounds of a horse¡¯s escape before them.


    ¡°Is everyone alright?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡ª...¡±


    ¡°Agh¡­ yes¡­¡±


    The strain in their voice reveals more than they intend, prompting him to turn and check on his comrades. But his gaze seems to have overshot.


    And the other two would follow.


    They soon set their sights on the man they thought to be Yori wielding a sword, and kneeling beside him, the man they identified to be Yori. They have the misfortune of bearing witness to the impostor¡¯s swing that severs Yori¡¯s head from his body. Jaws drop simultaneously, but only Yori¡¯s head reaches the ground.


    ¡°DEMON!¡± Shouts one of them, prompting all blades to be set free from their sheathes at last.


    The breath in which he exclaims has a familiar sting, one Hisashi is often bathed in in the ungodly hours of the night. But sticks and stones are nothing to a hardened warrior. The Demon brandishes his sword in the moonlight, granting his victims one last glance at the very weapon that shall render their heartbeats as finite.


    Despite the jouncy escape as a result of Hayato¡¯s haste, Katashi is determined to steady himself and cloak his heart with his hardened back. Head glued to the horse¡¯s crest, the journey passes him by rather quickly. In no time at all, the fierce galloping finally comes to a stop. Opening his eyes for the first time since their flight from the fight, he sets his sights on his heart.


    Tsuna grips onto his collar almost as hard as he gripped on the horse.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Katashi asks, cupping her cheek in his hand to brush her hair away.


    ¡°Mm¡­¡± Tsuna nods. Her breathing finally slowed as soon as their eyes met.


    ¡°Mama! Papa!¡±


    Their locked gaze parts to see their little girl burst out to meet them.


    Hayato¡¯s heavy hooves beckoned her interest, and their voices were reason enough for her to rush outside and meet them. Seijun spared no quarter in making her way to them, embracing them as soon as they alighted from the steed¡¯s back; her small frame was immediately consumed by their own embrace, one that was tightened by the thought that this could be but fiction if the ungodly intervention had not came to be. Her cheeks and her forehead are seasoned well with their affection, and she welcomed it greatly.


    ¡°What happened?¡± she turned to them both alternatively, ¡°Why were you on Hayato?¡±


    ¡°Hayato?¡± Asked Katashi.


    ¡°The horse¡± Seijun points to him, resulting in Hayato¡¯s response in the form of a huff. ¡°Hi¡ª He¡­ named him Hayato, it is his horse.¡± And yet, a quick scan reveals to her that Hisashi is nowhere in sight. ¡°...Where is he?¡±


    With Seijun¡¯s gaze cast so far behind them, neither Katashi nor Tsuna could resist turning back. They both caught onto the exhale that came out of each other in unison. There was both a touch of peculiarity and a comfort in knowing that they both felt the same in seeing an empty path behind them ¡ª both shoulders sunken, both brows stitched together, both jaws tightly wound. The first to turn back around would be Katashi.


    ¡°He will return, Juno. But right now, it is not safe to stay outside. Okay?¡±


    ¡°...H-Hayato needs water. He ran far.¡±


    ¡°I will take care of Hayato.¡± Tsuna chimes in to save them from a lengthy back and forth.


    It is her kind smile that softens Seijun¡¯s stern look enough to reach an understanding. The little girl¡¯s nod is Katashi¡¯s signal to lift her into his arms and march her back into their home. Tsuna can see the remnants of her daughter¡¯s worry as she peeks from above the horizon of husband¡¯s shoulders just before she vanishes into their home. However, she was well aware that the Demon¡¯s return is well outside her control. Tsuna took it upon herself to manage what she could control ¡ª she loops her hand into Hayato¡¯s rein and leads him to the back of the house. Turning a corner brings her in full view of a bucket filled to the rim with water. With a planted foot, she takes a calculated step forward.


    And then another.


    Soon enough, she would not be able to tell when the next step ends and when the other begins, until the rein rattled with tension. Tsuna turns to find that Hayato anchored her back into reality, a gesture that brings a smile upon her face.


    ¡°Come.¡± She calls, her tone soft enough to brush the mighty steed.


    Together, they reach the barrel of water. Hayato walks past the kind woman and partakes of the freshwater that the wooden barrel held steady for him. Whilst he drank, Tsuna tied his rein to keep him from roaming around.


    ¡°They will be looking for you.¡± She whispered. ¡°You can stay here with your master for as long as you like.¡±


    Hayato lifts its head from the bucket, looking as if he was dripping with gratitude from the muzzle. But, he formally extends such by way of a singular huff and a scratch of its hoof on the ground.


    ¡°Thank you.¡°


    ¡°OHMY¡ª¡± The turn on her heel was quick, as well as the step taken away from the disembodied voice that emanated from behind her. Hayato, in the way, stops her from furthering herself from his master.


    ¡°Oh¡ª Oh my¡­ ¡° She finally lets out a breath of relief, seeing as how it was not Hayato that spoke. ¡°Please forgive me, I did not hear you.¡± She bows on behalf of her untoward reaction to her guest.


    Tsuna took her time raising her torso back up, running her eyes across the Demon and his ghastly appearance; it was truly haunting to see that it was as if he was clothed by the shadows themselves. Had her eyes not adjusted, she would never have seen him even if she turned. And yet, even then, only the glimmer of his sharp teeth and his eyes were visible.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± The Demon inquired.


    ¡°I am,¡± she nodded, ¡°we are, thank you.¡± She thought it quite warm of him to ask with such soft words in such an unholy voice.


    Hisashi returns the acknowledgement with a nod of his own before making his way to his steed. His steady breathing indicated a lack of injuries sustained in their getaway ¡ª just thirst and tiredness for his companion.


    ¡°...What is that?¡± She points behind him. ¡°...Is that an arrow?¡±


    ¡°It is none of your concern.¡±


    ¡°I can help you..¡±


    A meek step is taken forward, but a sharp look is fired into her direction that reduces that meek step into the only one she takes ¡ª his wicked growl planting the seed of doubt as to whether or not this was a good idea. And yet, Tsuna swallows that which kept her voice from freely reaching him.


    ¡°Please¡­ Allow me to return the favor for saving us.¡±


    ¡°I did not save you.¡±


    ¡°My daughter would think otherwise..¡± she gestures to their home, from where the faintest hint of a man¡¯s singing voice was emanating from. ¡°She is in there now, getting tucked in by her father.¡±


    Hisashi takes the moment to turn and look behind him, to the bright and warm structure lit by song and solicitude that stood amidst the dark and damp.


    Hayato stands witness to the strength that the farmer¡¯s wife mustered to yank the arrow from the warrior¡¯s back; she resists the urge to step on Hisashi¡¯s bareback in order to push down as she pulls up. The endeavor is not without its noise, she only hopes that neither her daughter nor her husband are awoken to the sound of flesh being ripped ¡ª just as she expected, the Demon made no sound at all. Nevertheless, success came with many drops of sweat later. Tsuna sets the arrow aside before collecting her breath.


    ¡°Alright, the next part should be much quicker.¡± Said Tsuna, placing both her hands around his open wound.


    ¡°You are a kinso¡¯i?¡±


    ¡°I am not. But I believe I can do just as good a job.¡±


    Hisashi is silenced with the predicament as to her qualification for tending to a wound sustained in battle. Even more bewildered was he when the farmer¡¯s wife began to serenade him, with the winds and trees as close to musical accompaniments as can be. A glow radiates from behind him, but he could only turn his head far enough to watch Hayato come closer. The manner in which he moves, the expression on his face, resemble nothing of a trance. Rather, it felt much more natural than that ¡ª such as bees flying into flowers, or the blue of the sky. Upon the song¡¯s conclusion, a light pinch is administered on his shoulder. And yet, the pain of an open wound is absent.


    Tsuna watches as he turns to face her. Without his mask, she could fully grasp his disbelief despite his attempts to hide it. She considers it as a welcome surprise, and so, she smiles.


    ¡°...Who are you?¡± Hisashi cuts straight to the point, standing as he does it.


    ¡°I¡­ I am not sure I understand your question¡­¡±


    ¡°There are no women onmyoji, and it cannot be that a simple farmer¡¯s wife has knowledge of such magic, let alone one that is not written in any scroll, even the ones in Kyoto.¡± Hisashi easily observes that the pace of her heart matches that of her eyes, darting around. ¡°I ask again, who are you?¡±


    No matter where she looks, the walls of his intimidation prove impenetrable. Hence, she prepares herself to shoulder through the challenge of answering with a chest filled with new air.


    ¡°...I am Aikawa, Tsuna ¡ª the Last Priestess of the Aikawa Clan.¡± She shrugs, turning away after such a toilsome affair.


    In nearly an instant, Hisashi¡¯s expression is relaxed by the truth. ¡°How long have you been in hiding?¡± Hisashi asks.


    ¡°I grew up here,¡± She turns back to look at him. ¡°made friends here, made a living here, fell in love, and had a family here. So I beg of you, my lord¡­ keep my secret as we have kept yours. No one must know that I am here. This is not only for my protection, but the world¡¯s protection ¡ª Kotodama is not a power that man is meant to have.¡±


    A task from a priestess is never a small favor. But a true samurai never shies away from a noble task.


    ¡°On my honor.¡± His nod came as stern as his word.


    Tsuna¡¯s shoulders fell, a surprise even to her that they rose to such heights without her knowing. Regardless of this, she welcomes their relaxed state. And more than that, she welcomes the honor of the Demon before her.


    ¡°Thank you. I will¡­ leave you now. I can mend your clothes in the morning¡­ Thank you.¡± Tsuna finally takes her leave, her comfort maintained even thereafter.


    Once again, Hayato paws at the ground, calling his master¡¯s attention. Thusly, Hisashi takes his steed¡¯s rein into his hands and leads him off to slumber.


    ¡°Good job.¡± Hisashi whispers, petting the horse.

 CHAPTER TWELVE: THE TRUTH

    To flee from a battle is nothing short of cowardice, but to flee from a slaughter could only be considered as a worthy strategy. The last standing samurai would not wait to witness The Demon of Kumitsukawa relieve his remaining ally of his head. He bursts into a sprint to safety, his friend¡¯s cries for mercy urging his legs to hasten near beyond his own capabilities. Taking advantage of the Demon¡¯s focus on his prey, he turns the corner abruptly and jumps behind a stack of emptied barrels for cover. The initial attempt to calm his breathing is foiled by the hellish GROWL! that the Demon bleeds into the atmosphere, angered by his vanishing.


    ¡°NOWHERE TO RUN!¡± The Demon declares.


    However, the advantage lies with him ¡ª the Demon might not know where he is, but the samurai knows exactly where his opponent is. His second attempt at calming his nerves prove significantly greater than the first. His bow is equipped, along with an arrow rested on the string. He holds his strongest breath in his lungs and peeks from the corner whilst simultaneously pulling the arrow back; the last man standing set his sights on the mess that was his friends.


    And the warrior from hell nowhere to be found.


    ¡°... I can smell you¡­¡±


    His right ear suddenly buzzes, calling him to quickly turn to his right and aim down the shadows of the alley. Whatever semblance of courage he mustered began to slip faster than his arm¡¯s endurance. It finally dawns upon him that his decision to remain in a knelt position greatly disadvantaged him against an enemy he could not see. He relinquishes his draw on the arrow and pushes himself back up. He receives help from the katana that pins him against the wall and expels a great amount of air from his chest. Properly propped up, he comes face to face with the Demon that made short work of skilled warriors. Who could possibly prepare for hell¡¯s wrath?


    ¡°Your head¡­¡± The Demon¡¯s foul voice drains the samurai¡¯s courage down his leg. He tilts his head back to peek at him from below his straw hat.


    Unable to meet his killer¡¯s gaze, the last man standing focuses on the unholy katana that pierced him. It was a masterful strike ¡ª clean in its technique ¡ª taking advantage of the sliver of a gap between the neck guard and the chest armor that allowed him to push the blade deep. His right hand assures him of the sturdiness of the blade in its position, along with his fate. But with the last of his fleeting strength, his left hand drives the arrow down into the Demon¡¯s back.


    Hisashi pries his own fingers from the hilt of his katana, leaving his prey¡¯s body to stand on its own whilst he silently expelled the pain from the arrow¡¯s strike by way of a steep exhale. A master of the shadows normally conceals the process of his craft from prying eyes, but there were exceptions; Hisashi spots one perched on the roof on the opposite side of the street. Tonight, his only witness bares feathers. Its beak spreads to announce its departure.


    CROA¡ªsashi-kun! ¡®Sashi-kun!¡± Seijun tugs on his hand profusely to bring Hisashi back to reality, but more so to bring them through the gathered crowd in the center of town.


    Making good on his promise to watch her daughter this morning, Hisashi finally turns away from the same rooftop where his feathery witness stood hours ago and allows himself to be dragged further in. His recollection of the previous night comes full circle as he is beholden to the three heads he had taken that night ¡ª alongside the many others he took mere hours before them ¡ª displayed atop Tachikawa¡¯s small wooden stage in town square for all to see. Hisashi wondered as to why a stage had surfaced here of all places, but it was a mystery he would need to solve later. The thick crowd separated him from his handiwork, but it would for the best considering the two gentlemen that stood beside the heads ¡ª Yasu and Makoto. The latter held his arms in front of him, the former had his hands behind, foretelling their roles in this public display of tyranny.


    ¡°Look.¡± Commanded Yasu, quelling the crowd¡¯s chatter. ¡°Do not turn away, people. This is what plagues us now.¡±


    ¡°DEATH!¡±


    ¡°IT IS HIM! THE DEMON OF KUMITSUKAWA! THEIR FLESH HAS BEEN EATEN!¡±


    ¡°I HEARD THE DEMON SPEAK! HE IS HERE FOR US!¡±


    ¡°NO! HE IS HERE FOR THEM!¡±


    ¡°SILENCE!¡± The Commander quells them once more in one fatal swoop. ¡°It is him ¡ª The Demon of Kumitsukawa. But, make no mistake. We are not plagued by some vengeful spirit or its curse. No, we are being pestered by a fool, one that believes in the same lies he tells.¡± Yasu casts his hand out to gesture to the Headman. ¡°Your very own headman was visited by this so-called demon. Were you not?¡±


    ¡°Y-yes¡­¡± Makoto steps forth, but does so in such a way that he would avoid the Demon¡¯s three calling cards.


    ¡°The Headman has told me that when this visit happened, he could see flesh. Am I right?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Am I right?¡± Stressed Yasu.


    ¡°Ah-...ah yes¡­¡± Makoto replied, haphazardly. Even with his proximity to the Commander and the severed heads, he was much more invested in the faces in the crowd. He doubts that the Demon would not be here to watch this.


    Where is he??  He thought. Is he here in the front?? Perhaps in the back?? He suspected. He may not have seen his face, but someone out there must resemble him in some way.


    ¡°Care to expound, Headman?¡± Yasu pried.


    ¡°I¡­ He¡­ Th-.. there was a moment, before the candles were snuffed out¡­ I saw his hands. He had¡­ flesh.¡±


    ¡°Flesh,¡± reiterated the Commander, ¡°on a demon who was supposedly burned to ashes.¡±


    ¡°This is all you have to go on?!¡± Decried a townsman. ¡°The Demon can take on many forms! It is why he was seen wearing your men¡¯s armor last night!¡±


    ¡°He stole that armor from one of my captains.¡± Corrected Yasu. ¡°I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your disbelief will get you killed!¡± The townsman interjected. ¡°You have no idea the power you so easily dismiss. The Demon is real, and he is here now not because of any of us,¡± he turns to his fellow townspeople for but a moment, ¡°but for you and your men.¡± He turns back around and casts a finger against the Commander.


    ¡°Is that so?¡± The curve of his intonation was exemplified by his raised brow.


    ¡°Legend has it that the Demon of Kumitsukawa seeks out his fellow samurai for their sins and their flesh. But he particularly favors those in charge. Why else have your men been dying, but none of the townsfolk have been harmed?¡± The townsman points to the bodiless battalion of men once under Yasu¡¯s command.


    ¡°Hm.. Then shall we start with you?¡±


    Yasu needed only to nod, and the man¡¯s knee was obliterated by a gunshot. While this back and forth ultimately rendered them all as fools in his eyes, he at least sees them as smart enough to back away from the townsman to give way for his men to drag him up the stage and kneel him between Yasu and the Headman. In lieu of his naginata, Yasu unsheathes his katana and rests the cutting edge on the man¡¯s nape.


    ¡°Makoto¡± he called, ¡°I will be instating a new decree. Seeing as how my men are more valuable against an enemy such as a demon, we will be using your people to lure him out.¡±


    Despite it being Yasu that calls him, Makoto¡¯s eyes lock with the townsman instead. The latter watches closely how the former¡¯s irises shiver nigh uncontrollably. With every quake, his confidence is lost, and along with it his hope.


    ¡°MAKOTO.¡±


    ¡°Y¡­yes, my lord.¡±


    The townsman¡¯ head sinks, let down by the headman they long since trusted until this day. It sinks even lower, rolling off the stage and down by the feet of the townsfolk, let down by the commander they had long since scorned.


    The gasps and cries were loud, but none loud enough to disturb Yasu nor his men.


    ¡°For every day that the Demon is not caught and killed, one of you will be executed.¡± Yasu dips to grab the head he had freshly severed. ¡°His head shall dangle by my grasp, and you will know that if there is anyone to be feared¡­ it is me.¡±


    Hisashi watched vigilantly, eyes and ears wide open to accept this challenge laid out by yet another so eager to take him down. Only this time, the wind that carried those words were different; he could almost actually feel this one. So taken was he that he had not noticed how tightly Seijun held onto her kampo, and yet, there was a hint of fragility. Ever so lightly, he takes the medicine ¡ª wrapped in a furoshiki ¡ª from her and offers her the hand she wanted to hold onto.


    ¡°Time to go.¡± Whispered Hisashi, taking the lead to set them on the path home with their errand done for the day.


    Even after having left the fiasco in the center of town, the feeling thought to linger on him. Either that, or a curse of gloom had been cast upon the entire town. Whichever it was, Hisashi had deemed it unsafe for Seijun to remain outside. He delivers her home swiftly, and there she shall stay while he embarks on his nightly escapades.


    It was much easier to conduct tenebrous transactions under the evening¡¯s veil of shadows. Five messengers gathered inside the town¡¯s smithy at the behest of a harrowing choice between obedience or death. While the veil ultimately protected them, it consequently casts a worrisome atmosphere over the five men. It affected some more than others, which would explain why some sat still while others paced back and forth; in part, he hoped the next time he turned about face, there would be a change in scenery.


    In the deafening silence, one could hear a hair drop.


    What more a door being fiddled with?


    The eldest among them, set apart by being the only one with a hachimaki with writings on it, was quick to cast a hand that commanded the rest of them to stay still. He raises the same hand to press a lone finger against his lips, cushioning its landing on his graying beard. Without ever so much as a squeak, he rises from the ground and turns the corner to slither toward the front door. The rest follow suit, but lift a few tools for protection. The closer they got to the door, the harder their hearts pounded. Even worse still when the silhouette came into fruition. The door slides open, prompting the rest of them to raise their weapons high. Once again, the authoritative hand of the elder rises as soon as a fellow messenger crosses the threshold. Their eyes lock, a moment passes to allow for either party to breathe seeing as how the newcomer needed a second for his irises to adjust to the dimness.


    ¡°Just a messenger.¡± The eldest announced to the rest in a whisper, pulling their weapons back down. ¡°Close the door and be quiet.¡± He leads the way back to the cozy corner where they sought to wait; the messengers found the decency in themselves to return the smith¡¯s tools properly.


    In an instant, the silent atmosphere returned. The newcomer felt it rude to disturb it, and so decided to follow closely without a single decibel of disturbance. All would come to sit, except for one ¡ª the very same one that paced back and forth.


    ¡°I have a bad feeling about this¡­¡± Said the incessant one.


    ¡°...Save your strength for the journey.¡± Answered the elder.


    ¡°I really have a bad feeling about this.¡±


    ¡°Maybe if you sat down, your mind would wander less.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± Finally, he comes to a stop. ¡°How can you sit there knowing he called us here?¡± His eyes wandered to the elder messenger¡¯s hachimaki; the words steady and strong were written in bold, it might as well be coal in his inner furnace for all he cared.


    ¡°I can because I am chosen. We all are. We are under his protection, and we are here to do his bidding.¡± A hand is cast sideward to gesticulate at the stack of crates covered in tattered fabric.


    The worrisome messenger¡¯s eyes would follow. ¡°Do you have any idea what it is¡­?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He straightens his back on the wall and drapes his eyes with their natural curtains. To further fasten him in his stationary state, he saw fit to cross his arms.


    ¡°... Only one way to find out, right?¡±


    Minding his own curiosities, he finds it bothersome that responsibility calls for his eyes to open at once. ¡°I would think twice.¡±


    ¡°Yeah? What do you think I have been doing for the past hour? We have been waiting in this smithy since sundown. Not to mention it is a dead man¡¯s smithy.¡±


    His brows rose high, enlightening his expression for the other to see despite the limited lighting; he was reminded of the beheading that occurred just this afternoon. ¡°Are you afraid his ghost would haunt us here?¡±


    ¡°No¡ª¡±


    ¡°Good, because he would scare the ghost away.¡±


    ¡°That is not¡ª¡± If he pinched the bridge of his nose any harder, he might spare himself this annoyance. But then again, he would spare himself from seeing the next daylight. ¡°I am going to take a small peek.¡± He points to the crates behind him. ¡°You can easily stop me if you wish.¡±


    But not a soul in the smithy would even consider moving.


    ¡°Just as I thought.¡± He muttered, proud to turn on his heel to come face to face with the Demon of Kumitsukawa.


    ¡°SHIT!¡±


    The ground meets his rear rather harshly, but he prefers it after being mere inches away from the Demon¡¯s sharp teeth. Finally, he joins his fellow messengers in sitting. And it was only now that he understood the value of staying still ¡ª although the lesson weighs much heavier for him. In the dead hours of the night, a moving shadow was as terrifying as being within the panorama of a creature borne of pandemonium. It draws a sweat while simultaneously rooting the poor soul in a chill. As such, his sudden presence in the room is comparable to death¡¯s hand traveling up the spine and holding them still.


    ¡°Is everyone here?¡± His words sunk deep into their flesh and crawled into their heads to echo in their minds profanely.


    ¡°Y-yes, my Lord¡­¡± Said the eldest, approaching to slowly lower his head onto his knuckles as he lays them down on the floor. ¡°I do not hope to offend you, but¡­ may I ask what we are here for¡­?¡±


    ¡°If you do not hope to offend me, you would do well to accomplish my bidding.¡± The Demon grips the covers, and with a mighty pull, finally allows the humble moon beams to find the stack of arquebuses ¡ª rifles and pistols ¡ª that he scavenged from his fallen prey.


    The messengers all rose like flowers in the dawn¡¯s presence, each seeking to peek into the crates and ascertain what they thought them to be. But that which was most obvious, their brows sought to ask for; the stern shadows answered for them, reflecting that which was conspicuous. Taking the lead, as he has done, the elder takes his share of the arquebuses and places them into his wooden backpack. Inside the crates, they would all find folded parchments ¡ª one for each messenger. The fact that the mythical warrior wrote something was fascinating, but bound were they to their duty never to read a document entrusted onto them.


    ¡°Where shall we take these?¡± Asked the elder whilst the rest followed in his example.


    ¡°Somukawa.¡± He says, tossing the cover to the side. ¡°Find Machida, Hiroshi. He will¡ª¡±


    His decisive left hand severs his thought on its way to grabbing onto the elder¡¯s shoulder and pushing him to the side, clear of the sword he pulled with the right hand. The arrow might not respect the window pane¡¯s presence, but it would a katana; it splits upon contact, halved as close to perfection as possible ¡ª a good draw will make for a good cut.


    ¡°GET DOWN!¡± Commanded the Demon, kicking the blanket onto the majority of the messengers that jumped away from the moonlight and into the shadowy floor.


    He stands his ground, ready to counter the barrage of arrows he knew would follow suit. There was always an opening to them, a flaw in the tactic of volley fire consisting of arrows. And there he would have stayed if not for what seems to be hundreds of explosions that set off in the distance. His quick thinking to leap into the shadows spares him from the same fate as the wall of the smithy ¡ª mercilessly peppered with a hundred holes. Hisashi watches its destructive potential, only to be further convinced of its value to their cause if they are to win a battle against a trained army. More than that, his findings on its weaknesses were also affirmed as the silence settled in. He moves quickly, pulling the blanket away from them to find that the elder shielded them all, even the one that led them there; he could see the newcomer tucking himself tightly amongst the rest. There was no time to point fingers, he must deal with the hand he was dealt.


    The elder¡¯s act of bravery and kindness is rewarded by the gods by making sure that he was spared. Free of the blanket¡¯s cover, the elder¡¯s gaze meets with the Demon¡¯s if but for a brief moment as the latter turns on his heel to provide divine intervention. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    The elder rises to his feet and points to their escape. ¡°Get to Somukawa at all costs!¡±


    More so than the sense of urgency that laced his words, it was fear that got them back on their feet. Whether it be fear of the Demon or the new murder weapons that their enemies commanded, it was fear nonetheless. Across the hall they run, exiting through the window on the opposite end of the smithy. The weight of the weapons weighed on the six messengers greatly, diminishing their near superhuman abilities to sprint. Under the current circumstances, the consequences prove fatal. They come to a near skid as a band of samurai warriors pour into the streets from an alley to keep them at bay with their polearms. But with their weapons honed in on the six messengers, they could not stop the rampaging riderless horse that plows through them with ease. Between those heavy steps is an unmistakable crushing sound. It weakened the knees of the newcomer, but he was advised against succumbing to it by the worrisome messenger who loops his arm around his to toss him further.


    ¡°THERE!¡± He shouted, pointing towards an open alley.


    As they were about to enter, their momentum is significantly quelled after a samurai is sent flying through a window and blocking their path. His attempt to roll himself back up is inevitably and effectively stopped by a kunai that invades his flesh and severely damages his knee cap. Left in an excruciatingly stagnant position, the Demon appears to sink his blade from the jugular down to the waist; his body is kept erect only by the presence of metal.


    None of them are wearing their helmets and masks. He thought, examining his kill. Looks like posing as one of them is no longer an option.


    His ungodly presence was duly noted with more samurai coming to pour into the alley, blocking their exit. The messengers watch the Demon pull his sword from the corpse and make quick work of an entire squad of samurai, weaving masterfully through each and every one to leave behind a trail of his work.


    Some fell with his touch.


    Some without.


    No matter how many guns they fired, the Demon was unaffected.


    And if not even their firearms could stop him.


    What more their swords?


    The last man is smart enough to wait for him to get closer before he pulls the trigger, only to miss by a hairline ¡ª but not for a lack of trying ¡ª and have his hand kicked away whilst the Demon inserted his sword between his eyes. Having felled the last of them, he turns around, stepping aside to show the messengers a clear path carved out of flesh. All that was left now was to take their attention away. And thus, the Demon vanishes into the shadows.


    ¡°INTO THE WOODS!¡± Yelled the worrisome messenger, a wise strategy to lose their pursuers despite also raising the possibility of losing one another. And yet, it was better than running with the moonlight fully upon them.


    He takes the lead away from the elder, who seemingly began to lead his own half of the group; he became privy of this idea as he looked over his shoulder to find that a number of them had gone missing. There was no time for him to worry, nor to look for them. Off into the forest they go, the town shrinking behind them.


    Hisashi could hear them, calling out to their brothers in arms that the Demon of Kumitsukawa had been spotted here, or there, or wherever they thought that the shadows looked back at them ¡ª the ones cast by the town, or perhaps even their own. Either way, it was an advantage to him; he shall allow them to continue their chase while he went on his own. Finally reunited with his mighty steed, Hisashi races after the band of horses that he caught pursuing the elder¡¯s group out of the town.


    Even with their strengthened legs, two were no match against four. He could hear them closing in, the soil being crushed under the horse¡¯s weight, and the distance being shortened with each passing second. There were too many feet to count.


    Each step was deafening.


    But a voice breaks through from behind them.


    ¡°HE IS BEHIND US! HE IS UCCKKK¡ª¡±


    The elder, unable to spare himself from the curiosity, casts his gaze back to find one of them falling off his horse. His resolve grew stronger, knowing that they were protected. With a mighty cry, he pushes on and takes the rest of his group along with him ¡ª steady and strong.


    One by one, the samurai fell with arrows through the throat, courtesy the Demon that chases after them on his own horse. The last one came into view, but his fingers continued to clench the arrow on the string, waiting for the trees to part wide enough for him to fire. But a rustling in the leaves above calls his aim elsewhere, although far too late. A fully-armored samurai warrior descends upon him, sinking the sharp edge of his naginata through his hat and into the Demon¡¯s shoulder; its entry prematurely releases the arrow, while its maintained presence there allowed the warrior to steer the shot away from himself.


    Hoping to spare himself the preserved sensation of the blade gliding against his bones, the Demon delivers a swift kick to the warrior¡¯s chest that sends the both of them off of Hayato¡¯s back. The former saves himself with a combat roll, using its momentum to bring him to his feet immediately to watch the latter lift himself up from a crouched position. From beneath his hat, Hisashi forgoes the opportunity to commit his enemy¡¯s armor to memory, save for the noticeable menp¨­ he wore designed like a beak. Instead, he peeks at the wound on his right shoulder. It cries for him, a wound with a depth capable of housing the same darkness that he torments men with.


    ¡°That looked like it hurt.¡± Even if it were slightly muffled by the presence of a menp¨­, Hisashi knew who it was underneath.


    ¡°I would advise against drawing your sword,¡± says Yasu, ¡°that is unless the Demon of Kumitsukawa is a true abomination.¡± He lightly tipped his naginata forth, pointing to the Demon¡¯s left hand. He approaches, the weight of his steps seemingly heavier than any horse that came rushing through these woods.


    Hisashi hides his eyes darting from left to right in dire search for an escape, but he could not hide his torso¡¯s rise and fall to compensate for the agony he was in ¡ª better this than to scream. The attack was expertly planned, a deep cut to the elbow to keep him from using his sword properly; he can respect a master of combat and war, even as his own blood watered the grass beneath him.


    ¡°Nothing to say, Demon?¡± Yasu leans forward over the defeated man, hoping to hear even the slightest squeak or wail. But nothing would come through, ¡°Very well.¡±


    Yasu lifts his naginata into a two-handed grip and drives it downward to end the myth once and for all. The bladed end meets Hisashi¡¯s flesh, but at the wielder¡¯s disadvantage. Quick reflexes allows Hisashi¡¯s left hand to slither past the blade, gaining a mighty grip on the polearm while sacrificing a deep and long cut from his thumb to his forearm in return. He tugs Yasu down towards him, towards the kunai that he summoned. Its tip plunges into the small weak point between the armor¡¯s chassis and the skirt, allowing Hisashi to deliver his own lethal attack and plant his metal into Yasu¡¯s abdomen.


    ¡°Death is upon you. Innocent blood marks your soul. Your head will be mine.¡± Whispered the Demon. While his kunai pierced Yasu¡¯s flesh, his eyes pierced his soul.


    Yasu delivers the kick to grant himself distance, but in doing so, grants the Demon his freedom. A puff of smoke erupts from the ground, and as it vanishes, so too has his foe. There he stands, left only with a tale to tell and the injury to prove it. Realizing this, Yasu raises his polearm mere inches from the ground and plants his frustration into the soil forcefully.


    Such a sour seedling can root deeply, disturbing the peace in a constant throbbing that was bound to reach far and wide. Seijun¡¯s eyes fluttered open, an incredible feat considering their weight at this hour in the evening. Her reason to return to sleep was superseded by a noise that originated from behind their house. Rodent control was her responsibility, though it had been a long while since she¡¯s seen any. Regardless, the little girl sets out to get to the bottom of her disturbed slumber. Armed with a small pick in one hand and a lantern in the other, Seijun finds herself in the presence of a brooding figure hunched over in a seated position. Its sudden appearance under the lantern¡¯s watchful gaze froze her momentarily, but she thawed herself quickly and raised her pick.


    ¡°Careful not to hurt yourself with that.¡±


    The voice disarmed her almost instantly. ¡°¡®Sashi-kun?¡± She called.


    His efforts to spare her of his gruesome state by turning ever so slightly failed greatly with the lantern in hand.


    ¡°Turn off the light, and come here.¡±


    Little Seijun did as she was told, emptying her hands to sit with the bloodied swordsman. The shadows that coated him did her no favors in allowing her to assess the damage he had sustained, and yet, she could tell he was one cough away from dying¡­ again.


    ¡°Wh-... what happened to you¡­?¡±


    ¡°I will tell you what you need to do, and you will do exactly as I say. Pull my right sleeve dow¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Seijun crossed her arms. ¡°Not until you tell me what happened to you.¡±


    With this marking the second time that he was caught off-guard, Hisashi raises his left hand and sternly points back to her home. ¡°Leave.¡±


    ¡°I just want to know what happened!¡±


    ¡°And I told you to do exactly as I say.¡±


    ¡°I will, just tell me really quickly what happeeeened.¡±


    ¡°Leave.¡±


    Please! I just wa¡ª¡±


    ¡°Leave.¡± Hisashi reasserts the stern quality of his pointed left hand.


    The combination of the staggering silence and his piercing gaze knocked the wind out of her, with which she was supposed to plead once more. ¡°I just wanted to know¡­¡± Onto her feet she went, ¡°You are a bad person.¡± and off she goes.


    Her steps grew heavier with each pace she took away from him, rocking a tear into accumulation.


    ¡°Wait.¡±


    His voice rooted her, keeping her tear in its place, cozied in the corner of her eye. She turns to find him peering at her from the darkness in which she left him.


    ¡°Do as I ask, and I will tell you a story.¡±


    ¡°... About what happened a while ago¡­?¡±


    Hisashi shook his head, ¡°Something better.¡±


    ¡°...What¡­?¡± Seijun¡¯s feet turn toward him.


    ¡°Do as I ask first.¡±


    ¡°... You promise?¡±


    Hisashi, turning ever so slightly for her to get a better view, raises a straight pinky in the air. Such a display weighed heavy on Seijun¡¯s mind, as indicated by her head tilting to the right as she approached him.


    ¡°What is that?¡± She queries.


    The swordsman surrenders his current gesture for but a moment, switching to an open hand to invite her own hand atop his. Upon her compliance, he arranges for all her fingers to bend into the coziness of her palm with the exception of her smallest finger. With it extended, he wraps hers with his.


    ¡°What are you doing¡­?¡± A gentle giggle borne from the strangeness of it all escapes her lips, but she remains enthralled by it, seeing as how her pinky remains clenched.


    ¡°A gesture,¡± Hisashi says, ¡°to symbolize a promise between two people, one that is as unbreakable as the red string.¡±


    ¡°Red string?¡± Yet another heavy bit of curiosity that tilts her head.


    ¡°An invisible string that connects us to the people we are fated to meet.¡±


    ¡°Why is it there? Why a string?¡±


    ¡°Do as I asked and I will tell you.¡±


    Hooked by the lip like a fish, Seijun frees her hand to help Hisashi¡¯s right arm out of his kimono ever so gently; her hands were tempered well, a mark of her parents¡¯ upbringing that Hisashi continuously observed. With his torso now free, Hisashi takes the piece of cloth he had tucked away for this very occasion ¡ª spares by which to clean himself up with. He soaks a piece with water, but on its way to the wound, it was swiped by the little girl who crumbled at the sight of his trembling hand. Her courage dictated where she starts, which was why she thought it best to start cleaning the trails of blood around his chest first. She looks to his eyes for a reaction ¡ª something to guide her ¡ª and finds only surprise with a hint of satisfaction. Alas, she continues, and so does he.


    ¡°Legend has it that when we are born, we have a string in our little finger.¡± Hisashi traces hers with his left index finger, ¡°Through it, we are tethered to the people we are supposed to meet ¡ª fate.¡±


    ¡°Why is it red¡­?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ do not have an answer to that.¡±


    ¡°If it is a string¡­ can it be cut?¡± Seijun made sure to pause to ask her question, only resuming after it was complete.


    ¡°No.¡± Hisashi retrieves his hand, gripping onto his knee to steady himself. ¡°It cannot be cut. That is why a promise sealed with the little finger is thought to be unbreakable.¡±


    ¡°Why can it not be cut?¡±


    ¡°Because fate is inevitable.¡±


    Seijun paused once more, but said nothing, drawing a sigh from the swordsman.


    ¡°It means no matter what, it is bound to happen.¡±


    She nodded thereafter, watching the drops of water leave from the wet cloth as she pressed it onto his skin. It followed an irregular path, on its way down, but it went down nonetheless. ¡°Fate¡­¡± She reiterated, as if to thoroughly capture the taste of the word.


    ¡°Take your parents for example. Their meeting was fate. Against all odds ¡ª distance and differences ¡ª they met, fell in love, and had you.¡±


    ¡°Does that mean that their string is severed now? Like¡­ is it done?¡±


    ¡°Not necessarily. Now that they live together, fate has more in store for them ¡ª together. I suppose it is there for as long as they live.¡±


    ¡°...So death is the only thing that can sever fate?¡±


    His silence was obscure, but as it always does, the eyes reveal what is kept hidden within. Seijun smiled as she saw it, reveling in her victory before proceeding to clean his wound properly. Hisashi, on the other hand, was more astounded at the fact that he had not thought of it. Rather than tasting the thought in his mouth, he inspected it in his hand, rolling an invisible thing against his fingers resting on his lap. After a brief moment, he concluded that the reason her thought came as a surprise to him was because he had not thought of death in a while.


    Why should I? He thought back then, when clarity finally came to him, visited him in the cold and damp cave he took refuge in during his first years on the run. It would have been otherwise foolish, comparable to a fish who longs to walk among horses. However, regardless, she was right. Death imbues finality into things once ever-changing.


    ¡°...So, did we meet by fate?¡±


    She was his next visitor, peeking from the rim of the dark cave. Hisashi turned to see her there, and the sight of her stopped his fingers from rubbing against each other. It was refreshing to see a face in such a cold and damp place. He was nigh helpless to stop her from meekly inching closer to sit with him, eagerly waiting for an answer to a question he just barely missed.


    ¡°I suppose so.¡± He admits, albeit rather quietly.


    ¡°There.¡± Seijun wrings the piece of cloth free of the reddened water that it absorbed. Now free of blood, she could clearly see the wound that was inflicted upon him, and imagine the damage sustained by his seemingly immortal robes. ¡°I think you need new clothes, ¡®Sashi-kun.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Mama and I stitched your clothes, you know. She told me you were smart to wear dark ones, it hides the stitches. But I think this will make too big a stitch¡­¡±


    The heat of his reluctance exits through the nostrils. ¡°We will see.¡±


    Seijun nodded. ¡°Well, I helped you. Now I want my payment, ¡®Sashi-kun.¡±


    ¡°That you did,¡± Hisashi looks as close to his own shoulder as he could, comforted by the look of an already healing scar, ¡°so listen and listen quietly, or I send you back to bed. Understand?¡±


    Once again, she nodded.


    Hisashi exhales to temper the breath in which the story would be told:


    Being a samurai, once, meant that Hisashi was both well trained and well educated. His mastery of the fine arts reveal themselves to the little girl as he paints the images for her as vividly as he sees them in his own mind, and he does so with but word alone.


    Seijun is introduced to a valiant samurai, one that trained relentlessly day and night to become the best of his peers and to serve his master without failure. The fruits of his training was sweeter than even he could ever imagine, as he became beloved by all those who he protects with and without his sword. The gods looked upon his village with favor. They considered it a breath of fresh air to have a patch of land teeming with peace and harmony amidst their neighbors who were frequently ransacked by fear, death and agony. The lord he served was responsible for this paradise. He colored the grass greener, the skies bluer, and the sun brighter and warmer than anywhere else, the samurai was merely charged with keeping it that way. But even the sun sets on paradise, and the village mourns the passing of a good lord, seemingly the last of his kind. The valiant samurai nearly fell to a life of dishonor, but was caught by the hand of the lord¡¯s son who assumed his father¡¯s duties. Little did the samurai know that the hand that caught him merely wanted to have the pleasure of ushering him into the dishonorable life himself. The sword the people rallied behind was used against them, and the valiant samurai was left to wash their blood off his own blade. Try as he might to speak against the cruelty, the samurai is vehemently reminded that the only thing keeping him from falling into a life of misery was his new master. Three years came to pass, and by then, even the sun hid whenever the samurai strolled through town. One evening, the new lord would entrust a task upon his most trusted samurai.


    ¡°I have received word that pirates have taken over a ship and docked at the nearby shore.¡± He said. Hisashi points far. ¡°Find them and kill them.¡±


    Set out on a task of protecting his village from pirate scum, the valiant samurai rides off into the night and lays waste to the docked pirates at shore. He approaches the last pirate, but was stopped by their sudden decision to whisper prayers and apologies. This stunned the samurai, long enough for him to ask:


    ¡°Who are you? Why have you come here?¡±


    ¡°MERCY!¡± Cried the cowering man. ¡°We are voyagers! Sailors! We come with spices to trade!¡±


    The horror of his deeds swallowed him whole; while the heavens wept a melancholic blue tear, his blood dripped with a sinful red color. Angered by his new master¡¯s sick game, the valiant samurai rode back to the castle and made his way to the lord¡¯s chambers. There he stood, waiting for him with a sly smirk and a handful of words. But the samurai¡¯s lips remained sealed. Instead, he draws his sword and slays the wicked master. The full weight of the body fell to the floor, but the samurai had never felt lighter. But even then, something still weighed heavy on his shoulders. He had killed one sinner, but another remains ¡ª himself. Kneeling onto the wet carpet, he draws his wakizashi and drives the blade into his abdomen to regain his lost honor. Although there was pain, death would not take him. Rather, Death would meet him.


    The Shinigami meets the valiant samurai, and with them face to face, the latter pleads to die and be taken away from his crimes. But the former only pitied him, and instead, bestowed upon him his final task.


    ¡°You have sent hundreds of innocents to their deaths. Atone by sending the guilty to theirs.¡± The Shinigami grabs a hold of the wakizashi and reverses the cut, leaving his mark in the form of a scar that shall act as the samurai¡¯s reminder. ¡°Evil is in the hearts of men. Find them all and end them all, Only then will you be free ¡ª only then can you rest.¡±


    Determined, the valiant samurai flees into the night in search of those with evil in their hearts. The shimmer of his dishonorable blade was the last thing evil men ever saw before it stopped their hearts from ever beating again ¡ª vanquishing evil permanently.


    Hisashi leaned back to take a breath, finding yet again that death truly was the final chapter to all things. And yet, it lies so far away from his reach. The distance was palpable to Seijun who noticed how far off the swordsman gazed. Seijun would be the first to speak seeing as how her thought was just right in front of her.


    ¡°The samurai¡­¡± she declared, ¡°why did he keep following the lord¡¯s son if he was bad?¡±


    Hisashi turns to her, seeing that the depth of her curiosity rivaled the depth of his troubled ruminations. ¡°It is a samurai¡¯s duty to serve his master. To do one¡¯s duty is to be honorable.¡±


    ¡°No they are not.¡± She shook her head vigorously. ¡°All they have done is hurt people.¡±


    ¡°They are not all the same.¡±


    ¡°They all hurt my mother.¡±


    Stumped by a lone child was the seasoned warrior; he could never hope to teach a little girl of the complexities of morality in the world. Hence, Hisashi gives her something worthy of a child¡¯s attention. Hisashi leans close, ensuring that not an ounce of his breath is wasted. ¡°They may wear the armor, and they may carry the sword, but I see no samurai here.¡±


    The little girl¡¯s gaze fell as a puzzled look came upon her, and the swordsman knew his plan had been a success.


    ¡°Go back to bed, before your mother finds you.¡±


    Hisashi watches her carry her puzzle back to the house, but he was not without his own, puzzles that he will stow away for a later time. He rises from his seat, collecting his things whilst his clothes hang from his waist. From the angle where he stood, the moonlight in the water reflected back to him his dim image; he would say that the darkness was doing him a favor. Nevertheless, he remains firm in his resolve.


    He sees no samurai here.

 CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE MESSENGER

    Drawing one¡¯s breath inward prepares the body for the exertion of force, it is an undoubtedly pertinent practice to properly collect and compose oneself for a task. However, it is when this breath is expelled that the result is produced. The right exhale produces the right result.


    ¡°HURGH!¡± The fish is yanked from the sea.


    ¡°HURGH!¡± The plow is pushed across the soil.


    ¡°HURGH!¡± The enemy is dealt a fatal blow.


    Hiroshi stood at the forefront of their formation, watching his neighbors convert their livelihood skills into combat and defense skills. He himself served only as an ashigaru for a brief moment, and could only promise to teach them within that capacity.


    ¡°Great work! One last time now.¡± Called the Baker, restarting their run through the different kata for polearms.


    He remembers how he was trained, and what he was trained for. The longer he watched, the longer his smile dripped, realizing that Lord Ataru already ushered in an era in which the layman would no longer have to exchange his sickle for a sword. The late lord took that peace with him, and now, here he was, passing his knowledge onto the next generation, so that they may live to see the generation that succeeds them. By this time, they had gotten used to getting up and allotting an extra hour in the morning for training ¡ª a few days was all it took, and they can now be rightly regarded as foot soldiers. The thought of their growing competence, which ultimately translates to the rise in their rate of survival, brought back a glimmer of his bright smile.


    ¡°Hiroshi-san!¡±


    The call pulled him by the shoulder, setting his sights on a kind young man that had done him the great service of rushing to him with important news. Reluctantly, the Baker departs from his station and does his own rushing to Chiyo¡¯s. The restaurant would normally be fully packed, but no one would wander into a restaurant this early. The door slides open at Hiroshi¡¯s behest, immediately greeted by four faces that turn to stare at the sudden appearance of sunlight ¡ª one of them he remembers to be his good friend, Chiyo. The rest were as familiar to him as a blade of grass in a field. Besides the presence of sunlight, the three new faces lit up almost instantly. And thus, he joins them at the table.


    ¡°Messengers from Tachikawa.¡± He greeted, ¡°Welcome to Somukawa, I am Machida, Hiroshi.¡± He bows. ¡°You look as though you have been through hell.¡±


    As if the sunken state of their eyes did not tell him enough, the worrisome messenger would regale him with the tale.


    Never in their lives would they have expected to fear the sound of horses galloping. But the rhythm of a pursuit would put the fright into any heart that beats. More than that, the shadows did not help either, striking doubt as to whether or not they even had a chance to escape. The trees and the rocks were only big enough to hide one person at a time; they frequently shot their gaze across the dark to try and see where each of them was.


    BANG! BANG! BANG!


    Pursuers fired their guns at creatures they thought to be them. The woods were illuminated each time if for but a second. Their consternation became tangible within these split seconds, but so was their path away from Yasu¡¯s men and out of the woods toward freedom. Carrying heavy cargo made the trip even more treacherous; to move quickly was not an option though survival necessitates it, but to lose their cargo also meant to forfeit their lives by the hand of the flesh-eating demon. This explanation of theirs prompted them to finally reveal what cargo they had in store. Onto the floor, the messengers sprawled out a bundle of guns and written instructions for the foot soldiers that the Baker had been training.


    The circumference that Hiroshi¡¯s eyes achieved foretold the worth of the cargo at hand. He might as well be feasting his eyes on jewels.


    ¡°Oh¡­ Oh well done. Well done.¡± Hiroshi looks at them, wide eyes suddenly brought to a shimmer. ¡°The three of you have saved lives by bringing these here, thank you.¡± The Baker bows low before them, which was reciprocated in a stunned show of kindness.


    But it soon dawned upon them. Their heads rose slowly, but their gaze was pointed at each other.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Asked Hiroshi.


    ¡°You said¡­ the three of us.¡±


    ¡°Yes, what of it?¡±


    ¡°...There was supposed to be six of us¡­ N-..no one has shown up yet?¡±


    ¡°I am afraid not.¡± Answered Hiroshi. ¡°You three are the only messengers to have come here in days.¡± He gestures to them.¡±Before you, others have come bearing news from as ordered by the¡­ creature¡­ that sent you here. Though,¡± he clasped his beard, twiddling with the follicles in deep thought, ¡°I have not seen them in a while, mostly out for deliveries¡­¡±


    Once again, their eyes aligned toward one another, save for the newcomer who could not bring himself to raise his head. Nevertheless, their brows stitched together to weave a string of concern. The Baker caught their unsaid worries, and offered his comforts.


    ¡°I am certain they too would have had a difficult time. Rest assured, they will arrive soon.¡±


    A plausible explanation was capable of vanquishing even the worst of fears, at least for the meantime. And thus, their brows unraveled, and a faint smile was detected.


    ¡°Somukawa owes you a debt. Though we do not have much, we will provide what we can. For now, rest.¡± He nods to them. ¡°We can get you lodging until you are ready to depart. Please accept these tokens of gratitude. ¡±


    While their gracious host lowers his head to the floor, the messengers would lower their heads on the pillows provided with their temporary lodging. The fatigue they felt comforted them; it patted their backs and tucked them in without consequence. The sun beams continue to pester them, but to no avail. Realizing her attempts to be futile, Amaterasu would have to try to wake them tomorrow instead. Her disappointment was no less than palpable when her sunbeams remained nugatory, compared to the sound of his comrades¡¯ devouring of their first meal. He peeks from the slits that are his barely open eyelids. It is serendipitous at best that his vision, as opposed to his nose, allowed him to detect the smell of the food in their room. Regardless, it, alongside the rumble in his stomach, beckoned him to rise.


    ¡°Hey.¡± Greeted one of the messengers. ¡°Time to eat before it gets cold.¡± He nudges a bowl toward him.


    More dazed than worrisome now, he inches closer to feast his eyes on a small feast prepared for them ¡ª complete with rice. Without hesitation, he finds his seat and eats to his heart''s content. To clear his palette, he downs a bowl of soup. And with the bowl out of the way, he sets his sights on his two fellow messengers staring at him.


    ¡°What?¡± He asked, surprisingly without food still in his mouth.


    ¡°Nothing.¡± Said the messenger, clearing his throat to turn the conversation to the next page. ¡°This is as good a time as any, so I will start.¡± He places both hands on his lap adjusting to a more movable stance. ¡°My name is Aoto.¡± He bows, ¡°We figured we have been through enough to warrant each others¡¯ names. This is¡­¡±


    ¡°Hinata.¡± The newcomer bows just as his senior did before him, the gap between their age made known by the pitch of their voices.


    ¡°Ah¡­ In that case, I am Sota.¡± His voice was the lowest; the worrisome messenger bows to them both. ¡°How many days has it been?¡±


    ¡°Just one.¡± Answered Aoto. ¡°We slept through the whole day yesterday.¡± He points to the newcomer. ¡°This one snored so loud it woke me up.¡±


    With all eyes cast to Hinata, he quickly lowered his head. ¡°S-sorry¡­¡±


    ¡°Ahh there is nothing to be sorry about. We all needed to wake up at some point.¡± Aoto said.


    ¡°Yes there is.¡± Sota interjects, vanquishing the smile that Hinata sent to Aoto. ¡°There is something to be sorry about.¡± The look he sends to Hinata tugs the young man¡¯s eyes back down to the floor, missing the finger that was pointed his way. ¡°You led them to us.¡±


    Sota lunges past the bowls on the floor to wrap his fingers around Hinata¡¯s gracile neck. His years would grant him an advantage over the young man, who finds his back against the floor. Hinata¡¯s shrunken pupils darted across the room, finding Aoto lunging after Sota to pull his aggressor off. The sound of air struggling to claw its way back into Hinata¡¯s throat called Aoto¡¯s hand to crumple into a fist, one that he fails to use as the door to their room slides open. The sight of a kneeling young girl robbed their strength, substituting a singular pulse of confusion.


    She bows, ¡°I am sorry to intrude¡ª¡±


    With her forehead close to the floor, she could only see a slender shadow pass by with haste; she needed not lift her head to know who and why they left in such a hurry, but her decision to keep it lowered was to spare the man his dignity.


    ¡°I was sent by Hiroshi-sama.¡± She continued. ¡°Please, follow me.¡±


    Though stunned, the mystery of what awaits their answering the call of the settlement¡¯s gracious host motivated their legs to move without delay. Out into the streets they went, basking in the rejuvenating sunlight that generously showered the people with warmth, whereas in the town, it was scorching heat. Sota¡¯s search for Hinata was replaced by his marveling of the community, but also, his curiosity. Looking at Aoto, he could tell the other messenger also caught a whiff of the peculiarity.


    It was nothing out of the ordinary for a village, town or settlement to be as busy as bees, especially in the morning. However,


    These bees look like they are scrambling for a deadline. He thought.


    The young girl leads the two men to a two-storey house. Having left their footwear at the genkan, they proceed upstairs. In a similar fashion, the young girl pulls the door open to bare Hiroshi accompanied by a number of men seated on the floor in a circle. The Baker turns accordingly, and casts a wide smile toward the young girl.


    ¡°Perfect!¡± He exclaims, ¡°Thank you! Everyone, these are our guests.¡± He waves a hand to introduce them, his jovial approach effectively hiding his wonder as to where the third messenger had gone.


    Wary, though not at all estranged to warm welcomes, they cross the threshold and greet the score of men that accompanied Hiroshi. Their host stood and met them halfway; with him absent from the circle, the two messengers caught a glimpse of what sat in the middle of their huddle.


    ¡°I sincerely hope the meal we prepared was to your liking.¡± Said Hiroshi.


    ¡°I thought I was still dreaming when I took my first bite.¡± Aoto chuckled, extracting a chuckle from Hiroshi in return.


    ¡°Good, good. I am afraid, however, that I must ask you for another favor.¡± He immediately raised his hands humbly. ¡°Worry not, you will not run nor carry anything. At least¡­ perhaps not yet.¡± Hiroshi steps aside to unveil the mikoshi in a ruinous state as left by the samurai under Homura¡¯s leadership. ¡°As you can see, the festival is tomorrow and this must be ready by then. The others have already begun reconstructing it, but we could use the help. You will be compensated, I promise.¡±


    ¡°A festival?¡± asked Sota, ¡°What festival?¡±


    ¡°Ah, you see,¡± Hiroshi instinctively lowered his voice, which single-handedly pulled the two men closer to him, ¡°the province celebrates a festival dedicated to the Demon of Kumitsukawa every year. Tomorrow will be the third annual celebration.¡±


    ¡°A celebration? For him?¡± Despite the outrage in his voice, Sota replicated Hiroshi¡¯s volume.


    ¡°It used to be to ward him off, but the Demon liberated this settlement not long ago,¡± he casts his gaze to the same score of men, meticulous in their approach to rebuilding the mikoshi, ¡°and they would like to do right by him to gain his favor and protection against the real evils of the world.¡±


    ¡°Is that why all your decorations outside are black and gold?¡± Aoto inserted himself to fill for the silence left by Sota.


    ¡°Mm,¡± hummed Hiroshi in approval, remembering the banners, lanterns, and clothes that he saw as he passed by this morning, ¡°the colors of the Demon¡¯s armor. The people have found their trust in him. They even gave him his own emblem and prepared masks to look like the Demon himself.¡±


    ¡°The orange lilies.¡± Said Aoto, recalling a number of sashimono decorated with them throughout Somukawa.


    ¡°Yes, very astute, Aoto-san.¡±


    ¡°So the mikoshi is¡­¡ª¡±


    ¡°They will parade the Demon around the settlement to ward off evil spirits, yes.¡± Hiroshi nods, his head seemingly assisted by pride in this endeavor. ¡°Which is why I must ask for your help. Everyone else is far too busy with their own preparations, and the more hands we have on this, the faster we will finish.¡±


    ¡°As long as I get another bowl of rice.¡± Aoto smiled.


    ¡°Consider it yours.¡± Hiroshi returns the smile, turning to Sota next to inquire the same question without ever having to move his lips.


    Just as always, he was taken by the wrist and led astray from the path he set his sights on. Left with no other choice, Sota nodded.


    ¡°Splendid! Follow me.¡±


    One pair of feet dragged heavy along the floor compared to the other, but both found their way to the circle, and both pairs of hands worked tirelessly. The sun would soon reach its peak, and then begin its decline; what was once a rejuvenating yellow glow was now a soothing and sentimental orange. Sota was the first to find his way back downstairs and out the front door, unable to stand another second in the room. And yet, in all his hurry, he found himself without anywhere to go. Thusly, with his legs in a standstill, his eyes wandered instead. Black and gold dominated the settlement in almost everything, along with the mon of orange lilies; they might as well dye the grass black and the road gold. A pat on the back sets him free from his thoughts.


    ¡°In a hurry?¡± Aoto came into view.


    ¡°What gave it away?¡± Sota¡¯s sarcastic tone was met with a huff of amusement from the other.


    ¡°Names are as far as I go, Sota. I will not ask for your life story,¡± Aoto shrugged, ¡°but do as all a favor and play nice with these people.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    Aoto relinquishes his touch, and proceeds on foot. It would seem that he knew exactly where he wanted to go. ¡°Hiroshi-san will be gathering everyone for dinner later, I will see you then.¡±


    Sota watches Aoto vanish into the busy crowd with envy, how he wishes he too had somewhere to be. He was lost, a recurring problem for him despite him being a messenger; they supposedly always had somewhere to go, and knew how to get there without failure. And yet, here he stood, lost in thought. Habitually, when lost, one seeks something familiar by which to steady themselves after whirling in a dark abyss.


    A place?


    A taste?


    A smell?


    A face?


    Where the hell did Hinata go? Sota thought. The settlement could almost fit in the palm of his hand, to lose a familiar face here would be no less than ludicrous.


    At long last, his sole lifted from the ground and the first step away was taken. The houses and businesses passed him by as fast as the people did ¡ª at a snail¡¯s pace. His slow approach befits the investigative nature of his stroll. His stare into the incoming alley was prolonged by a gracile silhouette, one that bestowed upon him a feeling of familiarity that he longed for. But so long was this stare that he came into contact with a fisherman; their collision released the fish he freshly caught, thankfully onto dry land. Despite his nigh lack of compassion for these people, his respect for a man trying to make ends meet was more than relatable. Thus, his knee bent accordingly, and his hands came to smell like fish as he picked them up one at a time.


    ¡°I am sorry, I thought I saw someone I knew.¡± Said Sota.


    ¡°Ahh that is not a problem, it happens to the best of us.¡± Replied the fisherman. ¡°Do not worry, whoever you are looking for will be easier to see in a little while.¡±


    ¡°Why is that?¡±


    The fisherman stops to point upwards and around, to the lanterns that slowly came to life, all in the colors of the vengeful demon that brought him here ¡ª black and gold. Regardless, the streets were brighter, with light seeping into every nook and cranny of Somukawa. With the light provided, the rest of the fish could be easily seen, and easily returned to the basket. It would come to a surprise to Sota that the fisherman carried two.


    ¡°You look like you are about to offer me help.¡± Said the fisherman.


    ¡°Ahh¡­¡± The eloquence and the form of Sota¡¯s response fails him, ¡°well, you look like you need it.¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡± Huffed the fisherman. ¡°Might as well, I am going to need to reserve my strength to help my wife with the preparations for the festival.¡± He taps on the lid of one of the baskets. ¡°Take this one, much lighter.¡±


    Sota held his breath, wanting to speak out against being looked down upon ¡ª he did just carry a bundle of firearms on foot from Tachikawa, while being chased down by murderers. But he keeps quiet, not wanting to spark an argument with the lean-bodied man. Simultaneously, the baskets were hoisted up, and onward they sauntered, and Sota followed the fisherman¡¯s lead.


    ¡°I do not know everyone in Somukawa, but I know you are not from here.¡± He turns his head to his companion.


    ¡°Is that a problem?¡± Asked Sota, looking right back at him.


    ¡°No, I just consider it a relief that there are still nice people outside the province.¡± The fisherman shrugs. ¡°I suppose all this¡± he nods around, ¡°must be strange to you.¡±


    The fisherman waited for a response, but received only silence. Little did Sota know that this was as much a response as any.


    ¡°Not a believer?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Of the Demon?¡±


    ¡°Of anything.¡±


    The two men stop abruptly as children quickly cut through them, chasing one another whilst adorning their best demon masks and colored hats. As soon as they pass, their journey continues.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I do not suppose you are open to discussing why.¡±


    ¡°I will need my breath to carry this basket.¡±


    The fisherman chuckled, ¡°It is smart to keep that sentiment to yourself then. To us, the Demon is as real as the fish in these baskets. I would even say there are as many evil spirits out there as there are fish in these baskets. And that is below the fact that he saved us.¡± The fisherman pauses, seizing both his lips and his legs, having reached their destination. ¡°I would not be here burdening you with my fish if it were not for him.¡±


    ¡°And I would not have ran from Tachikawa to Somukawa if it were not for him.¡± He puts the basket down, simultaneously to the fisherman. Sota took a brief moment to scan the house. The presence of fish hung out to dry alongside large earthen pots decorated it as a typical fisherman¡¯s house indeed.


    ¡°Ah haha,¡± he raises his little finger, ¡°now that is fate.¡± Having finally arrived home, the fisherman dug his hand into his pocket to retrieve a piece of white cloth that he uses to wipe his forehead with. ¡°I appreciate the help and the small talk, truly. But for now, this is farewell.¡±


    ¡°Where did you get that?¡± Sota could not have been faster in asking the question as soon as the fisherman concluded his sentence.


    ¡°Pardon me?¡±


    ¡°The hachimaki¡± Sota pointed to it, ¡°where did you get it?¡±


    ¡°Oh this? My wife got it for me.¡± The fisherman spreads the hachimaki to display the words that were written on its front ¡ª steady and strong. ¡°She thought it might bring me luck, steady and strong hands to make for a good fisherman.¡± While happy to show the hachimaki, the fisherman reads the other¡¯s stitched brows differently. ¡°...Is something wrong¡­?¡±


    ¡°...No¡­¡± Sota shrugged, smiling. ¡°I just wished I had one since mine is blank.¡± He points to his own hachimaki, dirty after a day¡¯s work, but still as white as snow. ¡°This is farewell.¡±


    Sota could not wait any longer, but could not risk being found out. He levels his speed to a brisk walk out of sight before sprinting down the road. The black and the gold blurred into streams of light that led him directly to the restaurant where they were received. He cared not for the number of eyes that he attracted, making a beeline for the counter to see an old woman standing behind it.


    ¡°Hiroshi-san. I need to speak with him.¡±


    ¡°Young man, you will apologize to the people who have patiently lined up for their food.¡± Said Chiyo.


    ¡°Food? Wh¡ª This is not about food. This is urgent.¡±


    Sota¡¯s shoulders perked up upon the presence of a firm hand, and a familiar voice.


    ¡°Excuse my friend, he has had a long day.¡± Said Aoto.


    Sota turned immediately, and took him by the shoulders. ¡°Aoto, where is Hiroshi-san?¡±


    ¡°I have not seen him yet, why?¡±


    ¡°I know where they are.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean who?¡± His grip on Aoto¡¯s shoulders tensed, his nails pricking him like needles. ¡°The old man and the rest!¡±


    ¡°What old man?¡±


    ¡°The others!¡±


    ¡°What is all the commotion about?¡± Hiroshi arrives from the backroom, standing beside Chiyo and dipping his feet into the same puddle of confusion she stepped in. Although, she was much deeper in it than he was.


    ¡°Hiroshi, do you know them?¡±


    ¡°Mhm, they are the messengers from this morning.¡±


    ¡°Messengers?¡± She gasps. ¡°Finally.¡±


    ¡°Come in the back.¡± He beckons at them with his hand while the other hand pats the clerk¡¯s back. ¡°Not to be disturbed.¡± He whispers.


    Leading the other two men into the back, the bustling kitchen provides them with as much privacy as they needed. Just as before, they huddled in the corner.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Asked Hiroshi.


    ¡°I know where the other messengers are. They are here in Somukawa.¡± Said Sota.


    ¡°Are you sure? None of us have seen them.¡±


    ¡°I have no doubts.¡± Sota turns to Aoto, once again placing a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Do you remember? The old man? His hachimaki? It had writings on it.¡±


    ¡°Steady and strong¡­¡± Said Aoto.


    Sota squeezed and nodded simultaneously, ¡°Someone here had his hachimaki, a fisherman.¡±


    ¡°Who? Who is this fisherman?¡± Hiroshi inquires.


    ¡°I¡­ I did not get his name, but I can point you to where he lives. I carried his basket of fish home with him, and that was when I saw it. He was using it as his own. There is only one way he could have gotten that hachimaki.¡±


    Hiroshi lifts a reluctant hand. ¡°The accusation you imply is , without a doubt, heavier than the basket you carried, Sota-san.¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± Aoto crossed his arms, ¡°he could have bought that from anywhere. Someone could have made it for him.¡±


    ¡°What are the chances that his and the old man¡¯s are not the same? They were headed here, like us, and now that hachimaki is here with us, but not him.¡± Sota pointed to the ground. ¡°Those words meant something to him, and if there is one thing I learned today, it is that people will hold on to their beliefs until death. That man killed him for it. I do not know why, but he did it.¡± He turns to Hiroshi. ¡°You have to believe me.¡±


    Aoto could not disprove his own theory, but could not disprove Sota¡¯s either. He turns to Hiroshi, attentive and waiting.


    ¡°... Lead the way.¡±


    Hiroshi had taken more than a handful of steps already following the Sota¡¯s lead to the fisherman¡¯s home, but in his mind, he remained stagnant ¡ª standing on the precipice, where he could either fall backward into disbelief, or forward into believing madness. While he followed Sota, his men followed him; armed with the very weapons that the samurai used to frighten them into submission, now used to keep submission at bay. Their march through the streets sends ripples across the land, a warning that a powerful force is making its way through to quell a great evil that has come to plague their land


    and a call to any of those lurking in the shadows and the trees, behind the blades of grass and beneath the surface of the river, to watch.


    These powerful steps come to a stop at Sota¡¯s command upon arriving at the house. All its doors were closed, and not a single light was lit. Firmly planted were their feet to the ground, but more so out of reluctance in taking another step forward. Their whispers grew loud, enough to further shake even Hiroshi¡¯s resolve. In spite of this, it is Hiroshi alone who steps forward; the roles have been flipped instantly with Sota, and Aoto, following him closely from behind. The closer they get, the more evident becomes the proof to Sota¡¯s theory; the walls of the house fail to contain the wails of a man that emanated from within. They grew louder with every passing second, as if to call to the heavens for relief from the torment. Hiroshi only needed to stretch his hand outward for a young boy to come to him and bring him his arquebus.


    ¡°Kaito!¡± Called Hiroshi, quelling the wailing at the base with one fell swoop.


    The sound of worried whispers were expected, both messengers would have leaned closer to listen if not for Hiroshi¡¯s silent command to stay put. The front door opens, albeit warily, to behold Kaito.


    ¡°Hiroshi? What is it? What is wrong?¡± Kaito immediately set his sights on the Old Baker, but soon found another familiar face in his periphery. By pushing his gaze farther behind them, Kaito finds a score of men, armed with lanterns and weapons. ¡°...Are we under attack? Let me get dressed.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± his response, and the haste in which it was delivered, stopped Kaito without delay, ¡°we are not under attack, but there is a problem.¡±


    Their voices faded to nothing as Aoto thought to focus on something else. Not only was Kaito scarcely dressed, he also evidently rushed to put clothes on. This allowed him to see more of the fisherman¡¯s skin, riddled with dots of what he would assume to be sweat, revealing themselves under the exiguous amount of moonlight. The slightest shift in his stance creates folds in his clothes, revealing more to him that initially met the eye; Aoto could have sworn he feasts his eyes on a set of bruises on Kaito¡¯s shoulder ¡ª a realization that shocks him back to his senses.


    ¡°What are you implying?¡±


    ¡°You already know.¡± Interjected Sota.


    ¡°Sota-san, please.¡± Hiroshi subdues the worrisome messenger, calming him with his own exhale before turning his attention back to the fisherman. ¡°Kaito¡ª¡±


    ¡°I did not see any messengers,¡± he told Hiroshi, ¡°and I did not see any old man,¡± he told Sota, ¡°if I did I would have told you immediately. Chiyo told me we have not received word from the Demon in a while.¡±


    ¡°Then where did you get the hachimaki?¡± Sota interjected again with an accusatory tone, but no protest would come from Hiroshi as he too was eager to know.


    ¡°I told you my wife gave it to me as a gift.¡±


    All three men turned to one another, seemingly barred from furthering their quest to find their truth, realizing that the wails may have been moans; Aoto began to realize that the bruises were love bites, and the drops of sweat that plagued the fisherman was a result of¡­ hard work.


    ¡°Is that her?¡± Sota, on the other hand, would not allow himself to be denied by what may be a facade of the truth. He casts his gaze yonder, peering through the small crack in the door between which Kaito stood. ¡°Oi, come here, we have questions for you to answer.¡±


    The ill-mannered approach of the worrisome messenger brought the fisherman¡¯s brows into a stern formation, but a fist would not fly just yet out of respect to Hiroshi.


    ¡°Apologize, now.¡± Demanded Kaito.


    ¡°Bring her here, and I will apologize after she answers my question.¡±


    The continuation of Sota¡¯s arrogance urged Kaito¡¯s steady and strong hands to grip him by neck, but Sota does not easily succumb to this show of strength and retaliates without delay by pushing the fisherman against the wall of his own home. Aoto was quick to once again act as the intervenor to this violent altercation, but this only meant that Hiroshi is left to stand to gaze at Kaito¡¯s wife in the distance. He caught her eyes, or maybe she caught his. They had each other locked in a stalemate, and he could not decipher as to why it was so delicate ¡ª so fraught, like bubbles from a boiling pot of rice that reached for the rim, on the verge of spilling to the floor.


    ¡°Nanami-san?¡± Hiroshi searched deep in his mind for her name. He inches closer, an action that the woman mirrors. There was a subtle unfamiliarity in the way she moved, not so much because this is his first time seeing Nanami, but rather in the sense that something seemed odd.


    Though still ways away from the door, it took but one step to bring her within a range that favored the Old Baker¡¯s eyes. She stood warily on both feet, as one would if their home were to be approached in the dead of night whilst enjoying an evening of intercourse.


    But what caught the Old Baker¡¯s attention was that she stands on webbed feet.


    Hiroshi was quick to aim his gun and openfire on Nanami. The parted door framed the shot perfectly, allowing him to hit her in the shoulder before she scuttled away.


    ¡°NO!¡± Empowered by the sense of urgency, Kaito pushes both Aoto and Sota away from him to quickly close the door and grab the gun¡¯s muzzle to raise it to the sky. His fist would have met Hiroshi¡¯s jaw had it not been for the two messengers that held his arm back. ¡°WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!¡±


    ¡°Surround the house and hold your fire!¡± Ordered Hiroshi, relinquishing his firearm to Kaito. With the shot having been fired, it was practically useless ¡ª a lesson he learned from Hisashi¡¯s letters to him.


    The orders were followed without delay. A firing squad surrounds the house, eyes and gun barrels heavily trained on the windows and doors, all of which were thankfully closed. However, it''s the woman¡¯s silhouette that they need to watch out for now.


    ¡°Let him go.¡± Another order from Hiroshi, relayed to the two messengers that saved him from a beating.


    ¡°That might be a mistake, Hiroshi-san.¡± Aoto¡¯s words came jagged as he continued to keep Kaito at bay.


    ¡°He is a friend.¡±


    Kaito swings the firearm at Hiroshi, yet another attempt rendered moot with Sota stepping in to catch the butt of the gun. He yanks the gun from Kaito¡¯s grip with Aoto swooping in to restrict both the fisherman¡¯s hands. Hiroshi himself bent back to dodge, but his age would have kept him from successfully evading the attack; his gratitude was expressed when Sota met his gaze.


    ¡°Kaito, you have to listen to me.¡± Hiroshi stood behind Sota. Though he recognizes Kaito as a friend, mutual sentiments were out of the question, at least for the moment. ¡°Your wife has bewitched you, she is not who she says she is.¡±


    ¡°THE ONLY LIAR HERE IS YOU! I TRUSTED YOU¡ª¡±


    ¡°Trust me now, my friend. Your wife has not returned to you. Something else took her place.¡±


    ¡°SHE IS MY WIFE!!!¡± Kaito would waste all his breath, as one should for the truth. ¡°YOU WILL NOT TAKE HER FROM ME!!! NOT AGAIN!¡±


    ¡°... I am sorry¡­¡±


    Aoto understood his role in all of this and dragged the screaming fisherman away with relatively ease. It would take a long while for both Sota and Hiroshi to rinse their ears of Kaito¡¯s cries, but that was the least of their worries tonight. Sota returns the gun to Hiroshi who immediately begins the tedious reloading process.


    ¡°Do you know how to use one of these?¡± Asked Hiroshi, pouring a bag of gunpowder into the barrel, followed by a small metal ball before ramming the contents further with a ramrod.


    ¡°Aim and pull the trigger¡­?¡± Sota answered from his recollection of being shot at on his way here, and with how Hiroshi himself used it just moments ago.


    The Old Baker nodded, unable to find an error in his answer. As such, with the gun ready, he hands it to Sota. ¡°Your friends need you.¡±


    Hiroshi realized that he brought enough men to subdue a killer, but not enough to kill a y¨­kai. With all his men surrounding the house, he would need an extra hand in entering it. Just as Hiroshi rammed the powder and the ball down into the barrel, so too did he ram any protests from Sota with success. His defeat was indicated by his sigh, but his shoulders rose not long after, and so he mimics the manner in which the samurai pointed their guns at him. Hiroshi would not remain unarmed for long, receiving his naginata from the same young boy that gave him his gun.


    ¡°You only get one shot.¡± Said Hiroshi, something he needed Sota to understand in its entirety.


    Finding their footing, the door was opened and the two men filled in the gap by entering quickly and closing the door once again thereafter. An eerie silence fills the house, but they both knew that this was the calm before the storm. Sota finds the interior to be just as typical, the walls decorated with Kaito¡¯s equipment, empty racks for fish drying in the corner, and more sealed pots. A gut-churning thought crossed his mind, one he scorns himself for even thinking of and fears to communicate as breaking the silence might bring the monster down upon them. Sota takes the lead once more, and approaches the pots with caution. Though Hiroshi had no clue where he was going, he follows suit. Sota¡¯s approach was slow, careful not to upset this unholy balance of cat and mouse, meticulous in checking every corner with the barrel of his gun first. Upon reaching the pots, it was Hiroshi who steps forth, believing the other to be too valuable a warrior to hold his firearm with but a single hand. Hence, the Old Baker uses the butt of his polearm to push the lid away.


    ¡°WEEEEEEERRGGHHHHHH!!!¡±


    The two men turn away from the pot in a heartbeat to look behind them, called by an unholy shriek of an angered Umi Nyobo that dashes at them with a knife. The creature leaps at Hiroshi with a fury he keeps at bay by lifting his naginata upward. The pots were pushed onto their side, rolling to give way to the struggle that prohibited Sota from pulling the trigger. Nanami clawed, bit, and swung at nothing but the air as a result of Hiroshi¡¯s naginata steady on her collar. With what little light seeped in through the paper windows, Hiroshi was beholden to her features. Nanami had rows of sharp teeth resembling jagged shards of glass that she bared with like a feral creature, which also loosened her clothing enough to show that her skin had been replaced with scales. In fact, she was as slippery as the salmon they hung to dry outside, an asset she found useful; Nanami shifts her weight to create an imbalance that temporarily allows her to slide low on the naginata and come into range with her knife and cut Hiroshi¡¯s left forearm open.


    ¡°ARCKK!¡±


    Adrenaline pours out of him along with the blood, and he rolls to the side to further lower her onto his foot which he uses to propel her into one of the pots that cracks under the pressure of her body. But even with that much force, she gets back up quickly and scurries toward him. She dashes unpredictably, like a fly around rotten food, but Hiroshi reels her in with what seems to be a harmless flourish. He strikes her across the cheek with the butt of his weapon and goes in for the stab, but is easily deflected by a mere knife wielded by a strong monster. With his weapon shifted sideways, leaps at Nanami to pin her against the wall.


    ¡°SOTA-SAN! NOW!¡±


    For Sota, the moonlight that seeped into the house acted as a spotlight that centered on the monster. He hears nothing else but his own breathing, and the seconds that passed him by passed by at a snail¡¯s pace; he watches Hiroshi deliver a lasting knee to her gut that kept her in place whilst he leaps to safety to give way for the shot. In a decisive moment, Sota pulls the trigger and sends the ball flying.


    If only Kaito had not burst through the door and pushed Sota in the nick of time to save his wife.


    ¡°STAY AWAY FROM HER!¡± He exclaimed, in as much a feral rage as his betrothed.


    With Nanami freed, Hiroshi returns to his duty of subduing, and possibly killing her. Stunned by the sudden entrance of her dear husband, Hiroshi found an opening to once again stab at her with his naginata¡¯s blade end. The knife was swatted away, and she was forced to hold onto the blade at the end of Hiroshi¡¯s pole to keep it from entering her skin. Once again, he has her cornered, pressed against the corner while she clutches his blade; it grinds against her webbed hands, cutting into the flesh that stretched between her index fingers and her thumb. Her cry was irresistible to Kaito, who could have stopped Hiroshi if not for Sota who swung the arquebus at his head. Free of an intervening party, Sota rushes to Hiroshi¡¯s aid and drives the fallen knife into the side of her head.


    Nanami¡¯s eyes grew wide with the realization of her defeat, a stern, sharp, and cold realization that creeps further into her head inch by inch. Her irises locked onto Hiroshi, steadying themselves despite quaking in either fear or pain. A long and final squelch fills the now silent room, and Nanami¡¯s irises roll into the back of her head, leaving Hiroshi with what he could have sworn to be a glimpse at her humanity. But no protest was heard from him ¡ª her hands finally let go of naginata¡¯s blade and the curtains were pulled on her gallery of teeth. Sota followed suit, and with nothing to hold her up, Nanami collapsed to the ground in a thud, one that awakened Kaito from his slumber. The husband¡¯s screams for his departed wife alerted the men outside ¡ª it was over, and their guns slowly fell to their sides. More than that, their eyes fell to the ground as well, their hearts rang to his inability to accept his wife¡¯s passing, to his pleas to whichever god was present to return his wife to him. But all of this was nigh inconsequential to the fact that every word was made more melancholic with the tears that wet his lips.


    Hiroshi leaned his weapon on the wall and knelt before Kaito who took Nanami¡¯s body into his hands. He could not meet his gaze, seeing as how the latter buried himself in her neck. Regardless, he offers her a token of his regret, and offers him a token of his condolences in a single bow.


    ¡°Kaito, Nanami did not come back to you. Look at what she had become, she killed those men. This is not her.¡±


    ¡°....This is her, Hiroshi.¡± His tears had flowed into his mouth, softening his tongue and the words it flung. ¡°She is my Nanami.¡±


    Hiroshi was stifled, both by a dark realization, but also with the depth of Kaito¡¯s affection; it was a complete opposite of Sota who looked only with disdain as the fisherman cradled the monster¡¯s lifeless corpse. He could have melted him with the stare had Aoto not rushed in clumsily, holding onto a bruised cheek.


    ¡°What happened? I¡ª Oh¡­¡± His finger rose to point behind Hiroshi. ¡°No¡­¡±


    Sota and Hiroshi turned to find Hinata¡¯s head, surrounded by the shards of the broken pot as a result of the skirmish from earlier. Despite having gone missing just a few hours ago, he was already reduced to a jawless head with eyes as white as the fish they hung outside ¡ª he was their freshest catch. Some of Hiroshi¡¯s men came pouring into the home, and at his command, had both Kaito and Nanami removed from the premises. Cleared of any obstructions, Hiroshi instructs the house to be searched while he locates the first pot they had opened. In doing so, Sota¡¯s hunch is reluctantly satisfied upon seeing the old man¡¯s head in a far worse state than Hinata.


    ¡°Shit¡­¡± He cursed quietly, dropping to his knees. He once peered into those eyes and felt disdain. But now, he peers into an empty socket and finds sorrow.


    ¡°Hiroshi-sama,¡± a voice called from behind them, a man approaches with several folded papers in hand, ¡°we found this stashed away.¡± He hands them to the Old Baker, who went through them one after the other. Relief came to him as soon as he saw the handwriting, recognizing them to be Hisashi¡¯s.


    ¡°Did you find anything else?¡± Asked Aoto.


    ¡°We found guns, lots of them.¡±


    A deep breath of relief was expelled from Aoto¡¯s lungs. The rest of them may not have survived, but their journey here was not in vain. Not at all.


    ¡°It is odd that all her victims seem to be messengers.¡± The man continued, pondering.


    ¡°She targeted us because we were not from here.¡± Sota did not allow him to ponder any longer than he needed to. ¡°No one would know we went missing.¡±


    ¡°And with her husband away at sea, she could do it all here, in her own home.¡± Added Aoto.


    Sota finally pulls his head back up after sulking in pity, and turns to Aoto, ¡°We got lucky.¡±


    ¡°Oh god¡­¡±


    Their discussion was put on hold upon hearing Hiroshi¡¯s quiet exclamation.


    ¡°This was sent this morning.¡± Said the Baker, his eyes sprinting to the end of the letter.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Asked Aoto.


    But his query was left unanswered with Hiroshi reaching for his naginata to help him rise to his knees. Even then, the messengers waited for a response, but the old baker had every man pulling out of the house without delay ¡ª dawn was just around the corner. Sota grabbed the letters in his stead, searching for the one that seemingly had Hiroshi running for the door.


    ¡°Well? What the hell is it?¡± Aoto reiterated.


    Sota understood as soon as he reached the last syllable of the last word. His soul sunk deep, cradling itself in the dark that overshadowed any semblance of hope he had in him.¡°...We are too late¡­¡±

 CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE FESTIVAL

    A veil of a soft orange sky blankets over Tachikawa, the very same one that covered it yesterday when noon came to pass. White streaks took away its purity, but not its beauty; the clouds wrote something in the sky, but man was far too busy to understand ¡ª most especially today of all days. Hisashi was no different. He treads his path through the town to the marketplace with a heavy basket in hand, but his mind saunters down memory lane weightlessly. The pacing of his legs and breathing both steady, a common indicator of contemplation.


    Numbers were always taken into great consideration in battle. An army of ten thousand would lose less than half against an army of a mere two thousand, the former would still have approximately eight thousand or more to spare for the endeavor of capturing a city and making it their own. Homura clearly thought the same, with the number of his men tripling in Tachikawa with each passing day; his banners ¡ª decorated with three-legged crows ¡ª were like walls, suffocating the town from the rest of the world.


    And yet, Sun Tzu would suggest otherwise.


    Reliance in numbers alone confers no advantage. The general with but two thousand in his army can find the opposing general knelt before the sharp end of his blade if he truly knew how to wage war ¡ª all kinds of war, in every battlefield he could imagine. Besides, an argument can be made that numbers in the thousands were inconsequential. He only ever needs to sever one head to reduce a united army into small bands of miscreants if not into nothing altogether. Hisashi exhales deeply at the thought, much to his regret. The inevitable inhale involuntarily welcomes the smell of rotting flesh into his system. He finally pays them mind ¡ª the severed heads of the townsfolk taken by Homura¡¯s men ¡ª a calling card to the Demon of Kumitsukawa that called louder with each passing day; the number of heads grew steady as promised, as did the flies that revolved around them. He huffs in silence, hoping to expel the thought along with the rest of the foulness from within.


    ¡°Seijun,¡± he called, reaffirming his grip on the basket of produce whilst making sure none fell from the wicker backpack he had on, ¡°give me your backpack if you feel tired.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Seijun?¡±


    Hisashi looks to his side to find the girl missing. It instantly nailed his furthermost foot  to the ground, but his search would not take long as he found that she merely fell behind by a handful of steps. His exhale was as austere as his stroll back to fetch her.


    ¡°Seijun.¡± He calls again, stopping beside her. ¡°The sun is on its way down, and your mother needs these at the stall. Come.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    Her silence pinched his nerve, but the expression she wore stayed his tongue from sharpening. The proximity at which they stood only made them more susceptible to the foul stench; it surprised him that she was able to withstand it. However, more than the smell, Hisashi finally became susceptible to the details of the heads on display. It was only now that he realized that among the dead was a young boy. He had never seen one so young among them before, or he simply had not been paying attention. It did not take much for Hisashi to connect the dots. He sets down the basket and spares her the horrors by standing before her, pulling her head into his waist. Her small hands took to the fabrics, muffling her whimpers as they embraced her face in his stead.


    ¡°Sorry, Sashi-kun¡­¡± an apology uttered between sniffles, knowing that she wiped her tears on his new outfit. She pulls back to steal a glance at him.


    ¡°Your mother needs you. We should get going.¡±


    Seijun nodded, taking in a deep breath of her own. She too would be filled by the foul stench, but more than that, she filled herself with the motivation to move forward; just as before, something else outweighed the former, and thus, she remains unphased.


    Tsuna steps out of her stall to properly capture the street in its entirety. With the sun setting, the shadows were cast and the people were starting to get reduced to mere silhouettes, but the silhouette that had her chewing her lip from within her mouth was not among them. A particularly long stare to one end of the street allows both Hisashi and Seijun to sneak up on her.


    ¡°Mama?¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Her shoulders rose in fright, her hand rushing to her chest meekly. But the voice soon came into recognition, and she turned to set her sights on her sweet little girl. ¡°Oh Seijun, you scared me.¡±


    ¡°Ohh¡­ sorry Mama¡­¡± Seijun puts her wicker backpack down to accept her mother¡¯s invitation for a warm hug.


    Hisashi came into view thereafter, taking her daughter¡¯s basket after having put his own away to allow Seijun the comfort she sorely needed.


    ¡°Hello.¡± Tsuna greeted him. Though the honey in her voice was present, it did not flow as smoothly as before. ¡°Your new clothes suit you.¡± She smiles.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Despite finding a great deal of comfort in the clothes she gifted him, a simple nod and two words was all that would express his gratitude.


    ¡°I made sure to get a black one. It will help hide any stitches. Plus it will help you blend in.¡± Her eyes pointed out the abundance of black and gold that clothed the town.


    ¡°Where is Papa?¡± Asked Seijun, burying her mouth in her mother''s shoulder.


    ¡°He has not come back yet?¡± She asks in turn, feeling her daughter¡¯s head shake in their embrace.


    ¡°Mm¡­ it must have taken him longer to help with the decorations for the festival later..¡± She pats Seijun¡¯s back. ¡°He will be here, do not worry.¡± Parting from their embrace, she shines a smile upon her before taking her hand into her own and granting her money. ¡°I think Daddy might want a hat this year. Could you buy him one?¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± Seijun¡¯s tone, albeit sour like sudachi, ran smoothly unlike her mother¡¯s; the weight of reluctance weighed her feet down, but she walked onwards anyways.


    Tsuna stood, watching Seijun stroll away to search for a hat. A group of children wisp by her, adorned in black and gold, just like the masks they wore and the toys they chased each other with. They seemed much older than her, and in that brief moment that she captured a mental image of them in the same footing, another image flashed in her head. Seijun was much taller now. Her hair ran longer, and her clothes tightly hugged onto her figure, though she wished Seijun would eat more rather than worry about her weight like she once did. Maybe one of those boys would find that they were worthy enough to receive her bright smile when she turns to look at them, and partake of the recipes that she learned from her. And perhaps a smaller child would run up to her and ask for their hand to be held, just as she cradled Seijun¡¯s hand by brushing her index finger on her palm and massaging her knuckles with her thumb.


    As parents would, Tsuna wondered if she would live long enough to see this before her very eyes. But under present circumstances, she was left to wonder if Seijun herself would live long enough to stand before her as such.


    ¡°Tsuna,¡± Hisashi interrupted respectfully, ¡°what festival is this?¡±


    His stark voice pulled her from the depths of her mind, but the sudden nature of this pull was not that which stunned her. She blinked twice, hoping to better grasp the nature of his question.


    ¡°Forgive me¡­ but¡­ I am surprised you do not know¡ª the festival is for you.¡±


    ¡°For me?¡± The symptoms of disbelief transferred to Hisashi, but deep down inside, he knew that a fiasco of this scale had big enough bread crumbs to follow and digest without failure.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she nodded graciously, ¡°but, I think it is more appropriate to say the festival is about you.¡±


    Hisashi¡¯s brow rose sharply.


    ¡°Makoto-sama started the festival when news spread of a great evil that had taken root in the province. He said this would help ward off the Demon of Kumitsukawa.¡± She explained.


    ¡°And wearing the color of my armor helps with that?¡± Hisashi asks.


    Despite the solemn nature of his question, Tsuna could not help but crack a smile. But she hides it behind a hand to preserve her modesty. ¡°They believed looking like you might make you leave them alone, that or scare you away.¡± She raised her hand again just as it started to lower itself to conceal a chuckle this time. ¡°Everyone thought it best to exhaust all options to keep you away.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡± He hummed, unimpressed by the logic of it. ¡°You are not dressed for the festival.¡± Hisashi observed the colors of her clothes. In hindsight, Seijun was also not dressed in either black or gold.


    ¡°Black is not our color.¡± She smiles. ¡°But I am glad it is yours.¡±


    ¡°...Hm.¡± Hisashi looked yonder to see how they had come to interpret his image.


    Clearly, the colors of his armor had been the most striking, seeing as how it colored the town. The details of his menp¨­ were far from accurate, though he supposes this was expected since most of those that had seen him up close were no longer among the realm of the living. His katana, on the other hand, had some accuracy to it; another group of children came running by, and among them, he spotted several of them with a circular tsuba designed with silver clouds. Some even sported a kabuto with a broken datemono, said to have been severed by the Demon¡¯s lord on the night that he fended him off and failed. This is how they saw him, this was the fruit of his deeds.


    ¡°Eventually,¡± she continued, ¡°the local kannushi offered to purify the town whenever the festival was held to ensure that the Demon is kept away all year round.¡±


    ¡°Purify?¡± He peels away from the group of children, refocusing on Tsuna.


    ¡°When night falls, it is said that you lurk in the shadows. So the kannushi leads the townspeople in a parade around town with an effigy of¡­ uh.. you.¡± She gestured meekly, withholding any forwardness to quell any disrespect she may impart unintentionally. ¡°During the parade, the kannushi purifies the town. The parade ends in the town square where the effigy is¡­ burned¡­¡± Tsuna felt the urge to drop her gaze. It all sounded rather objective in her head, but the words came out like a threat. ¡°Because you were¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± Hisashi spares her, and a sigh of relief from her was evident thereafter. Convening with himself, Hisashi was now beyond certain. No doubt the festival was to be used for his capture. And if such a charade were to be put up, then the dying breath of his most recent victims carried true words, and consequently, so did the last letter he sent Hiroshi ¡ª Homura will be here today.


    ¡°But anyways, it seems none of these were effective if you are here now. But if you did not know about the festival, perhaps¡­ it worked for a while? The kann¡ª¡±


    A child¡¯s cries bellows through the busy street, somehow suppressing the noise of everyday life in a single blow into near complete silence. Tsuna turns on her heel, as if by mother¡¯s instinct, but keeps her foot planted upon seeing that the crying child was not Seijun. It was one of the masked children that chased his friends from earlier, and he seems to have bumped into a samurai that was passing by. Veiled in the warrior¡¯s growing shadow, the child continued to pour his tears down his cheeks. But with his eyes closed, he would be the only one oblivious to the samurai¡¯s approaching hand. Tsuna took one more step, but had her wrist restricted by Hisashi himself, pulling her as he simultaneously steps forward in front of her. Hisashi watches the samurai take the child¡¯s mask from them, inspecting it. Without a mask of his own ¡ª a mandate levied on them as a tactic against him ¡ª the samurai¡¯s amusement was palpable. The mask falls from his palm, and his wicked foot comes on top of it, crushing it instantly. He walks past the child thereafter, his smirk being the only thing that survived the altercation.


    ¡°I should look for Seijun.¡± Hisashi said, more of a command for her to stay here where it was safe than an offer of kindness.


    Tsukuyomi finally rises to observe one of his favorite days in the year. He sets his sights on Tachikawa, glowing as bright as gold amidst an ocean of black shadows. The waters seeped into the streets, with black fish that swam in every which direction, but among them was a fish that swam against the currents. Hisashi¡¯s search continued, keeping his eyes peeled for the peach that floats in the water. Instead, he catches a porcelain vase in his midst while passing through the town square, Hisashi stops, just as the other fish did, to revere this oddity. Adorned with pristine white vestments and a sense of fragility, the kannushi with his miko stands with Makoto on their wooden makeshift stage.


    The festival. Thought Hisashi, finally realizing why a stage had been constructed in the town square days ago.


    The headman was probably explaining to the priest that this is where the long line of heads were extracted before they were displayed on the street. His vigilance pays off, seeing as how the samurai warriors stood idle by the sidelines, not wanting to suffer a yearlong haunting should they upset the holy figure in any way.


    The priest is here already. Where is Homura? Hisashi thought.


    All of a sudden, a small and slender set of digits curled around his hand. Hisashi threw his gaze downward in lieu of a kunai to find an iron jingasa with two horns in the front. The hat itself and the horns were colored black, but the tips of the horns and the rim were colored gold. The hat tipped back to show Seijun beneath. As soon as she had made herself known, Hisashi clenched her hand in his to keep her from getting lost in the current, albeit this current had met a standstill with the kannushi present.


    ¡°Sashi-kun.¡± Seijun calls, bringing the gentleman to kneel before her.


    ¡°We need to get you back to your mother.¡±


    ¡°They said there is no parade this year.¡±


    ¡°Who said that?¡±


    ¡°I heard them talking about it.¡± Seijun pointed, leading Hisashi¡¯s gaze through the bamboo of bodies that obscurely framed Makoto and the kannushi into view.


    ¡°What else did you hear?¡±


    ¡°The samurai are bringing everyone to the town square now.¡± She points outward now. ¡°I saw them.¡±


    Shifting his view, Hisashi peers at the way from which he came, spotting a band of samurai that formed an impenetrable net that hounded the fish into one spot. The torches they held further contributed to the net¡¯s impenetrable nature. If he had to guess, this was happening from every which direction. ¡°Hm.¡± He hummed. Hisashi lifts the hat from her head and places it on his own. ¡°Stay close, and do as I say.¡± He stands back up, the quickness of it all discouraging any retaliation she may have thought of.


    Hisashi peers back at the kannushi and the headman. The scenery did not change much, until a decorated warrior rode into view on his horse. The size of his helmet¡¯s crest and the accessories he adorned chased away the shadows of doubt. To Hisashi, the newcomer was practically glowing ¡ª The Blue Moon shines tonight.


    Homura. Hisashi clenched his jaw.


    Lord Homura climbs off his steed and makes his way up the stage, but not without pulling on a rope that stretches behind him. Finally, the end of the rope comes into view, as well as that with which the end was tied to. The townsfolk feast their eyes on another samurai, armored from head to toe, whose wrists were bound together helplessly. Hisashi deduced that the parade must have been abolished for Yasu¡¯s antics, and today¡¯s demon bait was to replace the effigy in being ¡®freed from his mortal flesh¡¯. They watch Lord Homura place the bait at the very center, knocking him behind the knee to force him down on all fours. All the while, the townsfolk kept their lips sealed.


    ¡°Tachikawa.¡± Homura calls out to the town. Using the silence they offered wisely, his grizzly voice roars all over the square, ¡°your lord has returned!¡±


    His men matched their lords roar with an ear-bursting ovation. It was prolonged by Homura¡¯s waving of his sensu as one would do with an open flame, searing whatever hope the townsfolk had into a crisp.


    As soon as his hand drops, so did their voices. Homura continues, ¡°The warm welcome with which you receive me does not go unnoticed. I have come a long way, and along that way, I was¡­ bedeviled¡­ by the thought that I would arrive empty-handed. Luckily, the gods provide.¡± He gestures to the man at the end of his rope. ¡°I come bearing a gift ¡ª an integral part to your celebration.¡±


    The kannushi and the miko had long been concerned about where this was leading to, but with Homura¡¯s speech, they both turned to Makoto for an explanation. The kannushi would be the next among those to be let down by the headman¡¯s lack of compassion. On the other hand, the miko finds that Makoto¡¯s quivering lips told a different story, like a cage being rattled from within. Regardless, his inaction would lead to an outcome most undesirable, and as a spiritual leader, the kannushi would not follow in the headman¡¯s example.


    ¡°My sincerest apologies, my lord.¡± The kannushi bows, and the miko follows suit so as to properly interject. ¡°While I¡­ understand¡­ the lengths we must go through to ward off evil spirits, I must advise against this course.¡± He gestures to the man knelt on the ground. ¡°A death may bring about more misfortune for the town. I humbly propose that I begin with the purification ritual instead to allow for a yearlong protection against the Demon of Kumitsukawa, to ensure that your coming reign be peaceful.¡±


    The miko could not help but turn her eyes, albeit while keeping her head steady, at Makoto, who seemed to have finally broken free from his stasis. She was left wondering as to why his head shook, and why it did so discreetly.


    ¡°Please consider this recourse, my lord.¡± Once more, the kannushi bows, with the miko almost lagging on the timing in replicating this gesture.


    Homura¡¯s gaze bent them even lower. He hums at the thought. ¡°I cannot possibly hope to challenge your wisdom on the matter. I am a warrior, and you, a priest.¡±


    Bent down, the kannushi could only hear the praise he was given, but it was enough if it meant sparing the poor soul an early trip to the afterlife. A breath of relief  exits him in silence, and a smile forms thereafter. If only he could see that the Blue Moon had quickly drawn his katana and used the priest¡¯s perfect bow to bring the blade down upon his exposed nape. His head came off without hesitation, and the miko would come face to face with her master and his lasting smile. Her scream was inevitable, extending far beyond the town and into the forests by the gravity of the horror she was forced to witness. She fell on her rear, crawling into the corner away from the headman and the warlord.


    ¡°I am no fool.¡± The warlord declared. ¡°I am a warrior!¡±


    HAI! The samurai responded in chorus.


    ¡°We are warriors, and this is a battlefield!¡±


    HAI!


    ¡°I need no opinion from a priest!¡±


    HAI!


    ¡°The gods have no place here!¡±


    HAI!


    ¡°This land belongs to me!¡±


    HAI!


    ¡°Witness what fate has in store for those who think otherwise.¡±


    The Blue Moon grips the bait¡¯s face and relieves him of his mask and helmet.


    ¡°GRAH!¡± Katashi roared, freed of the gag that suppressed him. ¡°YOU WILL NEVER GET AWAY WITH THIS! THIS LAND BELONGS TO US, MURDERER!!¡± Katashi spat at the warlord¡¯s feet. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    The volume of the crowd¡¯s gasp carried the weight of their wishes against this barbaric act; more than the loss of a life, they would be witnessing the passing of a husband and a father. Heads quickly turned, in search of either the wife or the daughter, but this was a fruitless endeavor. While the former remains unseen, the latter had been veiled by Hisashi¡¯s hand. He pressed her against him, just as he had done before.


    ¡°No¡­ no no no nonono¡­¡± she gripped onto the fabric of his clothes, desperate to drown out the image of what was to become of her father. Through her grip, Hisashi could feel her shiver. More than that, he could feel her plead.


    Hisashi turns away from her temporarily, casting his gaze toward the stage and around it. His attention was caught by a black bird that soared to perch on the roof of a nearby building situated near the stage. To his surprise, his eyes were led to notice a shimmer in the open window below the bird. His focus was returned to the stage where a burst of flames had occurred, causing him to bring Seijun closer into his figure. His hand drew closer to her ear to further deny her the horror. The torch had been lit, and two samurai mounted each step one at a time to get up on the stage and stand before their lord, about to perform a great service. One held a torch, and the other, a jar of oil. In the latter¡¯s pride and preference for threatrics, he raised the jar over his head and slowly tipped it onto Katashi.


    PHEW! CRRRKK!


    A kunai had flown across the night to pierce the jar from below. With its integrity severely compromised, the oil poured onto the samurai instead. The torchbearer turned skyward, following the direction from which the kunai had come from, bringing his sights to hone onto an open window. Something shimmered amidst the darkness, and it flew right toward him. The arrow flew faster than he could think, and though he failed to protect himself in time, he would be relieved to know that he did not stand at the impetus of its trajectory. Instead, it flew through the torch he held and transferred the flame onto the samurai doused in oil, igniting him brightly and excruciatingly loud.


    ¡°OPEN FIRE!¡± Ordered one of the captains, prompting the squad of samurai near the stage to take aim and unleash a barrage of gunfire that sent the Demon back into hiding and scaring the bird off into the sky.


    Thunderous gunfire forced the screams of the townsfolk to finally tear through the veil of silence they held for so long. With it in shreds, pandemonium flooded in. A stampede of frightened townspeople ensued in every which way. They began to push at the line formed by the samurai, the stubbornness of whom were rewarded with punches and kicks thrown their way. But this only egged the warriors to turn their guns toward the townsfolk instead with no unfair preference between man, woman, or child. The sound of thunder no longer only emanated from within, but started to erupt from all over the town square. Safety became scarce, and it was every man for himself.


    Amidst the chaos, Katashi jumped to the stage floor to cradle himself, not wanting to be skewered by an arrow or blown away by a gun. He attempts to squirm away inch by inch, but finds that the rope binding his hands was caught on something. He looks back, finding the other end caught beneath Lord Homura¡¯s heavy foot. From behind Homura¡¯s mask, he hid a smile. But while his amusement had set in, he was yet to be satisfied ¡ª he will not be denied the fulfillment of his gift. He takes the rope into his left hand and tugs Katashi back into the fold. Homura raises his sword with his right hand and finds Katashi vanishing amidst an explosion of dense smoke. Instead of a bound farmer, he is met by the Demon of Kumitsukawa, swinging the sword he took from the waist of the archer he killed from the window. With Homura¡¯s blade already raised, he adds his left hand to strengthen his grip and blocks the Demon¡¯s attack, locking their swords in a stalemate.


    It was unfortunate for him, however, that the Demon held his sword with but one hand.


    His left hand flew in from behind the lingering smoke to drive a kunai into his armpit. Its presence weakens Homura¡¯s hold on his katana. Hisashi takes the opportunity to drive his knee into the old man¡¯s stomach and flip him over his shoulder to slam him into the ground, effectively disarming the warlord and reducing him to just another injured victim. He almost felt sorry for him, hearing him wheeze. It seems like he knocked the wind out of him and spared none as a courtesy.


    But his ears perked up the longer he heard him wheeze.


    Hisashi kneels beside Homura and rips his menp¨­ away from him. In that instant, the grizzly and hoarse voice that struck fear into the hearts of the town melted into a mellow voice, mostly garbled by the strike to the stomach. Hisashi inspects the back of the accessory, seeing letterings carved into the wood ¡ª a wind spell that allows the wearer to change their voice, the very same type of spell he uses. Without the mask, he was also beholden to the man¡¯s face ¡ª he was barely older than Hisashi. As the stones of realization sank to the bottom of his ocean, Hisashi heard a faint laugh. It served as the backdrop to the chaos that slowly became audible to him as the gray curtains of his smoke bomb were pulled back, revealing the mayhem that had ensued. Their screams mixed in a sinister symphony of slaughter, accompanied by gunfire and the cleaving of flesh. The townsfolk were reduced to fish, speared and suffocated inside the net cast by their oppressors; they scattered, hoping to subdue as many as they could, or snuff them out in the process.


    ¡°A fool¡­¡± says the Impostor, his words competing against his blood-filled coughs, ¡°will light any fuse¡­ ckk¡ª and chase that flame¡­ like a fl¡ª..¡±


    Vehemence twists the kunai injected into the impostor¡¯s side, cutting his breath short, and consequently, his death poem. A set of hurried footsteps ran along the stage, calling Hisashi¡¯s attention to the here and now, spotting several samurai on their way to cleave him. He tugs the kunai from the impostor¡¯s side and throws it on his hand¡¯s way up. The slightest shimmer that the metal of the kunai reflects calls for a block, but one that was wasted on misdirection as the Demon slithers inward like a shadow and cuts down the samurai with a swift slash through his belt and into his stomach. Another rushes in after him, prompting the Demon to raise his sword above his head for an upward strike. The samurai makes the right decision to equip a high guard stance, meeting the opponent¡¯s downward strike before it ever touches his head. Alas, it proves unfortunate that his attention above him limits his attention below as the Demon sweeps his feet and drops him to the ground. Hurried attempts to return to his footing were futile when a blade cleaved his face in two. Pulling his sword out, Hisashi watches the last body fall out of alignment with the impostor, the charred corpse, and the other samurai that charged at him.


    His objective then became clear: cut the net, free the fish.


    The perimeter around the town square was wide enough that the chaos was yet to fully spread across, but inevitability looms like clouds. South of the stage, voices competed in volume; the townsfolk raised their voice to proclaim freedom, but the samurai raised their weapons as a response. The men quickly stepped forward, forming their own line to safeguard their wives and children, but the samurai forces remained steadfast.


    ¡°We do not want trouble! We simply want to go home!¡± Explained a man.


    ¡°Stand down, and there will be no trouble.¡± The samurai kept them at bay with but his hand.


    ¡°What right do you have to keep us here?! This is our town!¡± Shouted a man.


    The show of aggression calls for his gun to be hoisted up and aimed at them. ¡°This land belongs to Lord Homura, peasant.¡±


    ¡°Please!¡± Pleaded yet another.


    Ever so gently, the townsman reaches for the muzzle of the gun in an attempt to tilt it downward and away from the children. But the samurai pulls his weapon back and takes a swing at the peasant instead, forcing him to the ground.


    ¡°DADDY!¡± A voice pierced from the crowd behind them, but her father could not speak with a cracked lip. He could only raise his hand in protest.


    ¡°BACK!¡± The samurai brandished his weapon. ¡°STAY BACK!¡±


    While the townsfolk were forced to obey this oppressive command, a lone rock seeks to defy it. It soars through the flurry of arms and hits the samurai in the nose. The force behind it, doubled by its weight, drew blood in an instant, and along with it, his rage. He swings a kick into the downed peasant¡¯s ribs, turning him onto his back that he might see the black abyss that is the barrel of his gun.


    BANG!


    The gunfire was loud enough to shatter the ferocity that constituted the expression of the townsmen in their protective line, revealing the docile and obedient interior beneath. Slowly they backed away, stretching their arms sideward to take their families with them. But soon, their families would push back, an involuntary reaction to the spreading chaos that drew closer. Far behind them, people poured in from every which way in search for a way out. Desperation had led them to exhaust all possible options, regardless of how high the possibility of success was.


    ¡°Hey.¡± Called a samurai. ¡°Get back!¡±


    ¡°My lord, it is not us! More are coming in from the back!¡± The line slowly moved forward, closer to the samurai. Try as they might to stop, the soil itself opposed their advance, and yet it continues.


    ¡°Please just let us go!¡±


    ¡°Let us go!¡±


    ¡°Stop pushing!¡±


    ¡°MOVE BACK! MOOOVEEE BAAACCKKK!¡±


    ¡°HEY! HEEEEYY! HEE- AACCCKK!¡±


    ¡°AAAGGGHHHCCCC¡ª¡±


    The line of townsmen were offered as sacrifices ordained by greed of those behind them, pushed into the polearms and swords of the immovable samurai barricade and skewed like dumplings in rows. Their cries mixed in with that of the children¡¯s, but theirs were diluted by gargling on their own blood. With the first line of defense simultaneously torn down, a mixture of men, mothers and children were next.


    Surrounded were they, overwhelmed by the panic and pandemonium behind, in front, and around them. They could not help but watch their impending doom draw closer, or rather, it was them that inched closer to it. With nowhere else to look, they throw their gaze skywards, where there was nothing but stars


    and a passing shadow.


    The shadow fires his last arrow into the foot of one of the samurai warriors before discarding the bow, pinning him to the ground. Unable to pivot, the samurai could not see that the shadow had landed right behind him to claim his life by driving a sword through the nape and out the mouth.


    ¡°THERE HE IS!!!¡±


    They turn, gazing upon their impending doom.


    Standing behind them, The Demon of Kumitsukawa pulled his blade back for another strike, and those within his reach were felled with a single swing of his sword; clean cuts to the exposed throat drained them instantly, and their bodies dropped before they were totally emptied out. He avoids retaliatory fire by throwing his iron hat to the left to rob a few teeth out of the samurai¡¯s mouth, and leaping to the right to insert himself between enemies and engage them in extreme close-quarter combat ¡ª rendering their guns useless. He weaves in between them masterfully, striking their weapons away to deliver the killing blow as quickly as he could.


    But, numbers were not at all without their value.


    His next swing was successfully blocked, allowing the enemies to raise his hands and drive a knee to his stomach. Any attempts to counter seemed to result in his arms getting caught on something repeatedly, continuously leaving him open to be punched and kicked. Instantaneously, a hand grips his collar from behind and pulls him to the ground. On his way back up, a yari twirls to strike his katana out of his hand. A foot quickly follows, knocking him back down. The yari¡¯s pointed tip rested on his chest, while the rest of the men followed suit, encircling him with the barrel of their guns trained on him as well.


    The samurai holding the polearm nudges one of the guns away from the Demon¡¯s face.


    ¡°Keep his head untouched. Lord Homura will grant me my own province for it.¡±


    SPPROOOCHHH!!


    Hisashi watched a hole suddenly appear between the samurai¡¯s eyebrows. Another man¡¯s shoulder sparked when his armor plating gave in. Another had his neck pierced. The entire squad of samurai had been gunned down, filling the floor with blood to mix into the disbelief that Hisashi sat in. But the explanation would not take long, most especially since it rode on the back of a horse.


    Its neighs were familiar, instantly bringing his shoulders into its first relaxed state since he began running around in a mad dash to take out as many enemies he could on his way to cut the net open. He slowly pushed himself up and watched black and gold sashimono pierce the horizon. Hiroshi and all of Somukawa arrive ¡ª armed, armored, and ready. Upon the Old Baker¡¯s command, his soldiers would create a path to escort the citizens to safety while simultaneously feeding reinforcements back up into the heart of the town square; the walls of this path is made evident by the soldiers adorning armor they scavenged from the fallen samurai ¡ª lacquered in black and decorated with gold.


    ¡°I brought your weapons, all of them.¡± Hiroshi dismounts Hayato and approaches the Demon who seemingly marches onward and reaches for an iron hat to put on. His attention falls not onto the hat, but onto the pile of bodies from whence he got it. ¡° I¡­ Hisashi, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°There is still time.¡± Hisashi cuts past the inevitable sorrow. ¡°More civilians are trapped inside the square and need a way out. The east, west and northern streets are barricaded too.¡± Hisashi walks past him and mounts Hayato.


    ¡°I understand.¡± Hiroshi nodded firmly.


    ¡°One more thing.¡± Said Hisashi, fastening his katana to his belt and leading Hayato past the threshold of dead bodies. ¡°I need you to find two people, a man and a woman ¡ª Katashi and Tsuna. He  is wearing armor that looks like mine, and she is not wearing black.¡±


    The Old Baker¡¯s brows folded following the arch of a question mark, lost as to the purpose of this particular task in the midst of the chaos.


    ¡°Find them, at all costs.¡±


    The tone in Hisashi¡¯s voice told him more than enough. He nods firmly yet again. Alas, he could not escape the gruesome sight to behold ¡ª a line of corpses, indicating the precipice of bloodshed. Stepping beyond this point gave only two options ¡ª kill or be killed. ¡°Homura¡­ He is a monster, he will pay for this.¡±


    Hisashi stops, turning over his shoulder. ¡°He will. I am his monster.¡±


    And with that, Hisashi leads the charge into the fray. With him in full view, the soldiers of Somukawa sprint behind him without hesitation, carrying weapons, sporting his colors, replicas of his mask, and bellowing hearty war cries to strike fear into the heart of their enemies. These cries permeated the chaos in the town square, and soon enough, all eyes were on them. The first to come into view were the tall and striking banners flying with orange lilies as their emblem. Directly below them were an army of demons led by the Demon of Kumitsukawa himself. Mounted on a powerful steed, Hisashi bursts through the line of men that saw fit to stand in his way. The black and gold swarmed into what was once a solid ocean of navy blue; demons hacked, slashed and shot at them from every which direction, the chaos playing well into their hand as they spread across the field like wildfire.Under the masterful guidance of a seasoned rider, Hayato narrowly dodges anyone that seemingly stood in their path. With reinforcements having arrived, he was no longer the sole target of gun, sword, or otherwise. Their training became evident soon enough, seeing as how random samurai warriors would drop without ever so much as a touch from him.


    Onward he rides back to where he stood with the stage in view moments ago. He aids his fellow demons by mowing down the enemies in his path along the way to even the odds. Hisashi equips his bow and arrow and fires a round of shots at whoever was unfortunate enough to fall in his sights, difficult as it was that the head was his best chance at efficiently using his limited number of ammunition. As soon as he empties his quiver, Hisashi slithers down his saddle to grab an enemy¡¯s kanab¨­, and with the speed and momentum in which he rode, swinging the club at the enemies below thoroughly sent them flying off into the afterlife ¡ª armor and bone likened to egg shells.


    But even this would have its limit.


    His next swing shatters both the weapon and the samurai¡¯s skull, inadvertently saving Tsuna from her attacker. Quickly, she rose up, catching a glimpse of the Demon as he rode away into the distance.


    Discarding the broken piece of wood, Hisashi taps Hayato¡¯s side. ¡°Back to Hiroshi.¡± He commanded.


    He stands on Hayato¡¯s back and leaps onto the eaves of a house, making his way inside. The wooden interior and the shoji reduced the chaos outside as but a play of shadows. Even still, Hisashi approached with caution, making his way downstairs. He heads straight to the doma, leaping into the dirt and facing one of the wooden panels. Moving it away, he finds Seijun. Her hands fought hard to keep the horrors away, she even closed her eyes hoping it would help. And between her right hand and her right ear, he finds her still clenching the kunai he had given her. Hisashi was struck with a fit of hesitation for but a brief moment. As soon as his hand wrapped around her small wrist, she quickly pulled away to reel for an attack. But the moment their eyes met, hers softened with familiarity to see a friend ¡ª not a monster.


    ¡°Sashi-kun!¡± She exclaimed, nearly jumping out of her makeshift hiding place to embrace him. ¡°You came back for me¡­¡± Whispered Seijun, muffled by his shoulder.


    Hisashi took his time in this embrace, hoping to forget that for a brief second, she looked at him the way everyone else has. He pulls away so that he may meet her gaze yet again. ¡°Stay close,¡± he grips her hand holding the kunai, ¡°and do not let go of this.¡±


    Seijun clenched her jaw just as her hands clenched the kunai. She nods and follows Hisashi¡¯s lead outside. It came as a surprise to her, how badly things had gotten since he hid her in the house. She would not falter in following him closely, but there was so much to look at, so much to look out for. They invaded her senses like a siege;


    the orchestra of flesh being punctured like a cushion, ripped like paper, smashed like a fruit, partnered with the bones that snaps in two, wedged themselves into her ears;


    a sharp tang of iron attacked her nostrils borne from the abundance of blood around her, prolonged exposure lathered her tongue with a metallic taste;


    her eyes were forced to consume the image of her neighbors peppering the floor like fish scales on a butcher¡¯s chopping board.


    The echo of gunfire pushed her next step back into place. In an instant, she casts her gaze downward, covering her ears with her hands. Her hands did spectacular in keeping the gunfire out, but they manifested as ripples in the puddle she unknowingly stood in. When the ripples cleared, she found herself accompanied by her reflection. Despite it still being warm, a chill traveled up her spine and froze her in place. From amidst the chaos, a hand reaches in and grabs Seijun by the forearm, yanking her into the unknown.


    ¡°Seijun! On my signal, run to that house!¡± Hisashi pushed and off any body that found its way in his path, clearing a path for both of them. ¡°Seijun?¡± But as he turned to find her, she was no longer there.


    Not beside him.


    Not behind him.


    He dodges an incoming polearm and severs the man¡¯s jaw with a quick draw of his sword, kicking him back into the depths of the fighting. Hisashi immediately turns on his heel and marches back, releasing yet another handful of sinners from their mortal shells along the way. He stops before his foot plunges into a puddle of crimson, finding a trace of red footprints that leading into the street ¡ª into the thick of the battle. Helpful as they were, it was no use tracking footprints like this. Instead, Hisashi returns to the rooftops from whence he gains a bird¡¯s eye view. With it, he spots movement down below, like a snake slithering through tall grass. Locked on this trail, Hisashi dashes and traverses through the rooftops. His hunting skills were exemplary, following Seijun and her captor to the town¡¯s castle with relative ease. He treads the eaves and climbs into Makoto¡¯s chambers, this being the most familiar room to him given his last visit. As expected, the room was empty. As a matter of fact, the entire castle should be empty.


    He spares his weight in making his way to the door so as to not give his location away, but Seijun¡¯s captor did not have the same foresight as their footsteps broadcasted their location to him. Hisashi detected hurried steps coming up the stairs, but they slowed on their way to the third floor. A silhouette climbs up the stairs and stands before the door. Hisashi could recognize the build of the captor to be none other than the headman, wrapping his arm around what he could surmise as Seijun, possibly to keep her from screaming. Makoto was not necessarily a name on his hit list, but this had certainly earned him his place.


    Hisashi waits for the wood of the door to part in the very slightest before stabbing his sword through the shoji paper. To secure his kill, he drags the blade downwards diagonally and pulls his blade back to deliver a swift kick. But upon tearing the paper with his foot, he finds nobody tumbling down.


    As a matter of fact, his foot hit nothing but paper.


    As if to add insult to injury, laughter emanates from behind him.


    ¡°Chasing shadows?¡±


    Seijun wriggled and writhed with the hope of freeing herself from her captor¡¯s grasp, but her release was entirely out of her control. With an arm wrapped around her mouth, she could not scream either, and was rendered helpless as she watched Hisashi vanish behind the shrubbery of violence. Eventually, a door slides into view and cuts her off from the slaughter that continued to pervade, and sweet release was finally granted. The little girl pushes her captor away in an instant, and rushes to the door. She wedges her fingers in between to fling it open, but a larger hand maintains that the door be closed.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Said her captor, a masculine voice carrying the order.


    To her surprise, she finds her captor to be the Headman.


    ¡°Makoto-sama?!¡± But her surprise lasted for but a second as she continued to claw the door open. ¡°I have to go! Sashi-kung is out there!¡±


    ¡°No!¡± He lunges at her, wrapping his arm around her waist and hoisting her up and away from the door. ¡°It is far too dangerous! We must stay inside.¡± Makoto brings her to the center of what he could only surmise to be a small house of a merchant.


    ¡°But my friend is out there!¡± Seijun continued to wage war with the headman, scrambling for a way to slip his grasp.


    ¡°He will not survive!! None of them will!!¡±


    Makoto takes her by the wrists, and holds them close so as to keep her from clawing at him. However, he seems to have put a stop to her entirely; he watches her shoulders soften, alongside her expression.


    ¡°None of them will survive this,¡± he continued, ¡°but I can get you out ¡ª out of the town.¡± Makoto nodded, ¡°I can get you to safety. I just need you to follow me.¡±


    ¡°JUN!¡±


    ¡°JUUUN!¡±


    ¡°SEIJUN!¡±


    ¡°SEIJUUUNN!¡±


    Both heads turned in unison, both eyes trained on the silhouettes that were cast by the moonlight on the shoji paper that constituted the door. Makoto needed not to guess who it was that hollered outside. But with his eyes away, he could not see her head on its way to ram his nose. Hardheadedness prevails, and the little girl sprints away from the headman to throw the door open. Moonlight and violence come pouring in, but so did the clarity in Katashi¡¯s call for his little girl.


    ¡°JUNN!¡±


    ¡°PAPA!¡±


    Katashi instantly turned, facing the way of the merchant¡¯s home to find the door open and Seijun standing just across the threshold. Judging by the look in her eyes, he could see a confusion mixed with the feeling of elation she felt seeing him; it was inevitable considering this was the first time she would see him in samurai armor, let alone wielding a club. But Katashi would not complain, there was no better way to protect his daughter than to be armed and armored.


    ¡°TSUNA! I FOUND HER!¡± Katashi plants a firm foot before swinging his club behind him, connecting with the head of a samurai that sought to run after his beloved wife.


    She ducks under her husband¡¯s attack and sprints the remaining distance to embrace Seijun once more.


    ¡°Mama!¡± Seijun chirped, succumbing to the warm embrace.


    ¡°Oh Seijun¡­¡± she whimpered, feeling the tears well up on the sill of her eyes. But she fought them, not wanting to sprint with a distorted vision. ¡°We are leaving, okay?¡±


    ¡°I still have the money you gave me.¡±


    Confused, Tsuna pulled away, watching Seijun pull out the money she had given her to buy Katashi a hat ¡ª still whole, without a deduction in the slightest. She broke into a smile, pulling Seijun back into her arms and peppering her forehead with kisses that rivaled her little girl¡¯s gesture in sweetness. Her mother¡¯s reaction was all but clear to her, leaving Seijun dumbfounded. She watches as Tsuna folds her little fingers for her, clenching the money she was given for the hat.


    ¡°Keep it safe.¡± Tsuna bestowed upon her daughter her undivided gaze. ¡±You can give it to me after all of this is done, okay?¡±


    ¡°Okay, Mama.¡± Seijun nodded, illuminating their dim expressions with a smile as she tucks the money back into her person.


    Tsuna takes Seijun¡¯s hand and takes their first step back to Katashi who fought with the strength of ten men, an attribute he gained after years of working the field. But a farmer¡¯s hard work stands no chance against a storm, and this was an undisputed truth. Thunder struck loud, but Katashi¡¯s fall to the ground was much louder.


    ¡°KATASHI!¡± Cried Tsuna. The instinct to sprint came immediately; perhaps if she made haste, her song could save him, but the cry she bellowed drew the attention of the dark clouds toward her. She need not see to know the storm was upon them.


    Swiftly, she turns them around and pushes Seijun back into the merchant¡¯s home. Her nails dig into the wood of the door and closes it with a BANG! The paper is peppered in holes in the blink of an eye, some of them falling inside the figure of the silhouette that she knew all too well.


    A silhouette she knew all her life


    The silhouette grew darker as the figure leaned on the door and slid down to the ground in a slump, and there, she sat guard.

 CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE FIRST TIME

    Makoto had just recovered from cradling his nose after a brutal attack, but was given no time to breathe; he had to cradle himself as ammunition flew past him. It was just the kind of karma he has come to expect, the value of questioning it had come to pass. The ammunition¡¯s trajectory was revealed by the moonlight that came pouring in through the holes in the door, the tatami mats and the walls wished they were as lucky as him, if such a thing could be called luck.


    Sitting up, he could only wonder if he could say the same about the little girl.


    Moon beams passed her by, just as they passed by him.


    A silhouette covered her in what he assumes to be a protective shadow, just as it covered him scarcely.


    Finally free of the vines of fear that bound him, Makoto pushed himself up to approach the little girl. Into his arms, he pulls her; he makes sure to turn her away from the gruesome implication that the silhouette imparts. A soft hand brushed the back of her head as he himself went into thought as to who it was outside the door. He finds this as yet another thing of which questioning was moot. Pulling back, he made sure to meet her gaze so as to make no mistake in the transfer of his instruction.


    ¡°We need to go, okay? I have a horse¡± Makoto threw his hand outward slowly, ¡° waiting outside of town. Can you run?¡±


    It concerned the headman that she did not respond, and perhaps even more so that her cheeks were as dry sawdust; her eyes were that of a starless sky, he knew there was no point in repeating himself. Hence, Makoto sought to carry her instead and make his way out the window. He hung a hand beneath her rear on which she sat on, while the other hand wielded his tanto for their protection. The Headman drops onto the floor, and moves with the weight and subtly of cat¡¯s feet. He made sure to remain behind the houses as the main road was where most of the samurai were.


    Each alley he passes is a test and a spectacle; a glimpse of a slaughter that had somehow turned into a battle, and a trial to see if anyone would see him as he dashes across to hide behind the next house in front of him. Thankfully, his speed renders the glimpses as just that, and the trials as successful, seeing as how no samurai has come running through the alleyways in pursuit of him. So as to not risk being seen, Makoto utilized his sensory organs to the best he could. His confusion is then palpable when he hears a galloping horse approaching from within the house that he hid behind. Despite this, he quickly pivots his foot; acting immediately made all the difference in not being flattened by either the wall that fell or the horse that came bulldozing through it. More than the wall in ruins, the horse leaves behind its rider that it had been dragging across the streets for some time now. Makoto could only assume this, seeing as how much damage the samurai sustained to his armor. He prays that the samurai would roll to a stop, and remain lying down.


    But karma decides to do him one better yet again.


    Though dazed, the samurai puts his feet beneath him while attempting to stop his head from spinning any further. As the dust settles, his face becomes clear, and Makoto finds himself to be in the presence of the same samurai that stood guard at his castle chambers. He is reminded of the pain that throbbed in the arm the samurai twisted, and the grip on his tanto tightened.


    Makoto turns to Seijun, and whispers ¡°Stay here.¡±


    He lets the little girl down behind a stack of boxes, and takes his first step toward the samurai that leaned on the wall, dusting himself off.


    ¡°Botan.¡± Called Makoto.


    It interested the samurai greatly that of all the things he would hear tonight, it would be his name that was called. The voice came vividly, as did the bitterness that carried every letter. The ringing in his ears did, however, suspend his ability to familiarize himself with the voice, prompting him to look upon he who calls him.


    ¡°Makoto-sama.¡± Said Botan, drawing a dirty smile, reddened by his injuries. Contrary to the usual response, seeing the headman with a tanto in hand only made his smile grew even further.


    ¡°Botan, my honor can only be restored by blood. Owing to the fact that you are too much a coward to offer me reparation, I will seek it out myself.¡± His right hand lifts the tanto.


    Had it not been for the pain it caused him, Botan would have expelled a glorious laughter from within. Instead, he settles for a measly chuckle. He proceeds to pull his sword from his belt ¡ª scabbard and all, with the blade still in the sheathe ¡ª to brandish it in opposition.


    ¡°The coward is the man who seeks to duel an opponent in such a sorry state that he could not stand straight on both legs. Then again, a duel necessitates fairness. This is fair enough, for the likes of you, is it not, Makoto-sama?¡±


    The tanto shook in Makoto¡¯s right hand, a detail that would not escape Botan¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°If you wish to challenge a samurai to a proper duel, then use this.¡± Botan throws his sword to Makoto, the latter having to drop his tanto to catch it, but nearly fails in doing so; he had to embrace it, locking it in place with his forearms.


    While Botan drew his wakizashi with relative ease, Makoto seemed to struggle; he wondered if he should still slip the scabbard in his belt or discard it completely.


    ¡°What are you doing? Pull out the sword!¡± Botan yelled.


    Makoto grips the hilt with his right hand and pulls the sword from the scabbard as instructed. Because he did not simultaneously pull the scabbard away, he needed to extend his right arm further than what was necessary. Having drawn it, he drops the scabbard and places his left hand beneath the right on the handle. Even with both hands at the helm, the sword shivered in his grasp.


    ¡°Your footing is wrong.¡±


    The Headman¡¯s gaze instantly dropped, finding his left foot ahead of the right; he alternated his feet immediately and placed the sword ahead of him, assuming the basic stance with a middle guard ¡ª ch¨±dan-no-kamae.


    The Samurai assumed his own stance, with the wakizashi placed above his own head in a high guard ¡ª kasumi-no-kamae. ¡°Something feels out of place, does it not, Makoto-sama?¡±


    ¡°I will cut you down.¡± Spat Makoto.


    ¡°A proper cut requires a proper stance,¡± Botan remains still, ¡°your flaws will betray you.¡±


    ¡°Be quiet!¡± Makoto takes a strong step forward, raising his sword above to faint a strike, but it was read too easily. On top of that, the distance that remained ¡ª along with the distance taken ¡ª was nowhere near threatening.


    ¡°Such a fate is unimaginable, but inevitable,¡± Botan remains steadfast, ¡°especially if the weak branch seeks to carry more fruits than it should, or bear a fruit far too heavy for itself ¡ª such is one¡¯s nature.¡±


    Though much dirt stands between them, several of Makoto¡¯s nerves had already been struck. He shakes these projectiles off, hoping to find an opening in his opponent¡¯s high guard stance; he inches even closer whilst reaffirming his grip on his sword.


    ¡°I must commend your gift for theatrics, Makoto-sama. But here you stand on a battlefield, not a stage.¡± Botan gestured to him with an upward nod. ¡°You can drop the act.¡±


    Makoto had been rather obedient; he found no reason to suddenly stop now. He renews the breath in his lungs and shifts his entire stance. The left hand rises above the right on the hilt, and the left foot takes the lead from the right foot on the ground. Botan¡¯s red smile returns, and he takes his first step forward before reaffirming his stance. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°The tree with weak branches stands tall.¡± He tightens his grip on his sword, a result of his being certain of his duty and finally having cause to carry it out. ¡°What an abomination.¡±


    Both sets of feet take their steps as soon as the insult was punctuated.


    Both swords sing as they were swung with conviction, but only one sang the song of victory.


    The slightest delay in his swing allows Botan¡¯s sword to pass him by, and his approach on the left foot introduces him to an advantageous opening. Makoto swings his sword after narrowly evading the other¡¯s attack and administers a cut that stretches from Botan¡¯s right eye to the left corner of his lip. However, untrained in the use of a katana, the strike fails to kill his opponent. Crouched, Botan braves through the pain of having lost his eye and aims to swing his sword at Makoto¡¯s gut with but one hand instead. Its path is impeded by a musket ball that enters Botan¡¯s wrist before the blade could even sever the fabric of the headman¡¯s clothes.


    ¡°I got him!¡±


    ¡°You may be more of a marksman than a messenger, Aoto-san.¡±


    With the wall gone, the voices echoed within the house and out the hole that the horse had made. Makoto finds that the shadows were pulled back to reveal the shooter accompanied by a familiar face. His eyes grew wider than when realization set in that Botan¡¯s attack was effectively deterred by gunfire.


    ¡°Hiroshi-san,¡± Makoto called the name out loud, a name he whispers in his thoughts whilst in prayer, ¡°is that you?¡±


    The call of his name pulled his attention to the last man standing. ¡°My god¡ª Makoto-sama.¡± Hiroshi immediately jogged, meeting the headman with a hearty embrace that kept the cold air at bay. He pats his back, an act gladly reciprocated in a fashion just as cheerful, if not more than.


    The weight of Makoto¡¯s hand was made heavier by disbelief, but with each passing second in their embrace, the weight vanished. The headman pulls back to gaze upon the blessing he did not know was upon him ¡ª upon eyes he thought had long been lost to the abyss, only to ever be seen again through memory. ¡°Do my eyes deceive me?¡± He wondered. ¡°How is this possible? Lord Homura burned Kumitsukawa to the ground.¡±


    Hiroshi beams with delight. ¡°A little fire in the kitchen is of no consequence to a baker.¡±


    Makoto gestures to Hiroshi¡¯s polearm with the katana he held in his left hand, ¡°Is this what you cut bread with these days?¡±


    To which Hiroshi does the same, ¡°Is this what you use to collect taxes?¡±


    On such a cold night, the warmth of a friendly interaction was enough to pull any man to sit. If only they had time to do so.


    ¡°Excuse me, Hiroshi-sama.¡± Aoto interjected, pulling the rod out of his gun¡¯s barrel and completing the reload process. ¡°I regret to intervene, but we still have not found them.¡±


    ¡°Right, yes.¡±


    ¡°Them?¡±


    ¡°A husband and wife. It is imperative that we find them, but I do not know where to begin looking for them in all of this.¡± Hiroshi briefly explains, turning to Aoto thereafter. ¡°Rally with Sota and the others..¡±


    Seeing this, Makoto turns his attention to Botan¡¯s lifeless corpse as he goes deep in thought, to a depth where noise could no longer reach. And it is there that he finally remembers, and pivots his foot to look back at the stack of boxes. His heart sank, but it would sink much lower upon finding that the little girl vanished.


    In an ocean of black, gold, and navy blue, it was easy to spot something as pristine and white as the moon itself wisp by. Seijun¡¯s attention was hooked on this oddity, her feet hooked along with it. So bewitched was the little girl that her feet were compelled to move, superseding the prior instinct to stand still ¡ª alongside the headman¡¯s instructions to stay put ¡ª despite the clear risk of being caught and butchered. The little girl quickened her pace, seeing glimpses of this figure of purity move in haste and shrink with each passing second. The houses blocked Seijun¡¯s view, but this would not persist as a problem as the chase ultimately led them to the town¡¯s outskirts. Without any obstruction to her view, Seijun was able to set her sights on what seemed to be a woman with a pristine white top and a bright red hakama. Seeing the woman whole, her memory was pieced together swiftly ¡ª Seijun recognizes her as the miko from earlier. She looked to be struggling, as if her wrist had been caught on something. Squinting her eyes, it was then that Seijun could see navy blue armor hidden under the veil of the night.


    A samurai clasped down on her wrist, pulling her toward a horse whose lead was tied to a tree. However, with both the horse and the priestess writhing, control slowly slipped from the samurai¡¯s grasp. A fresh round of gunfire spooks the horse onto its hind legs, scaring the samurai enough to let go of the lead and hold onto that which he believed to be most valuable instead. And so, off the horse ran, leaving the samurai with the priestess. Though the words were lost to the distance between them, Seijun could hear the desperation in how she whimpered; perhaps she wished she had the strength of the horse to scare him and run off to freedom. The samurai¡¯s yells brought her to tears, compelled to step back and away from him. But the tree stood in her way, and she was left to watch as the samurai approached. She would have otherwise closed her eyes, if not for the sighting of a little girl that she caught a glimpse of behind the samurai¡¯s shoulder. The priestess blurted out what she saw, her mentioning of it was enough to stop the samurai in his tracks to maintain her purity for just a bit longer. Relief came upon her like rain, seeing as how the samurai still had a sliver of a conscience in him. The warrior turned to see the little girl behind him, and his expression shifted from night to day in an instant. He lowers himself onto his knees, resting his hands on his lap.


    ¡°Hello there.¡± He greeted, bending at the waist slightly. ¡°Are you lost? It is dangerous to be here at this time..¡±


    While the priestess was stunned in disgust to see the duality by which the samurai wielded with mastery to advance his agenda, Seijun was mostly amazed to meet the first among the samurai to treat her with such kindness. The former felt her stomach churn to see the samurai reach out to her with an open hand.


    ¡°Where are you parents? Were you separated?¡± He tilts his head downward, but maintains her as the object in his eye. ¡°I can bring you to them.¡±


    The priestess would protest, if not for the thought that the same hand could tenderize her flesh with ease. Instead, she pantomimes her warnings, shaking her head and waving her arms profusely. These acts would quickly come to cease when the samurai takes a brief moment to peer over his own shoulder. Hence, without her to intercede, the little girl drew ever closer.


    ¡°There is nothing to be afraid of, I will help you.¡±


    In no time at all, Seijun stood before the kneeling samurai who recognized the stark look in her eyes. The hand he reaches out with was curled to wrap around her, pulling her into a comforting embrace. He hoped to pat the sorrow out of her, but was careful to do it considering her significantly small frame compared to him.


    ¡°You are safe, little girl.¡± He whispered, hoping to mask the sinister tone that came with his full breath. ¡°I am sure we can find your paren¡ª...tttssss¡­¡±


    The last letters of his trickery seep through both his teeth and the slit that came into existence on the floor of his mouth. Having been dragged through an entire town that erupted into battle, the priestess recognized the sound of a man choking on his own blood without failure. She gasps as soon as she did, covering her face when the sound of flesh being torn ensued thereafter. The samurai pulls back, but in doing so, his tongue is parted down the middle.


    He tastes his own blood as it gushes out of both holes.


    He tastes the metal of the blade that protruded into his skin.


    He tastes the inevitability of his own death.


    His eyes shiver at the thought, to have been felled in that instance, without a sword in his hand.


    Even then, he still had some strength in him. And yet, no matter what he told himself, his limbs dared not move. The little girl¡¯s neck was bare; he could easily wrap his fingers around them and squeeze the air from her lungs, but his arms never moved an inch. What was inevitable indeed came soon enough, and the samurai fell lifeless to paint the grass red, just as he did the little girl¡¯s hands. Her arms drop at last, and the rain follows suit. Unlike the priestess, Seijun was a step away from the tree¡¯s shade. Water found her easily, and she bathed in it without hesitation.


    ¡°There she is!¡±


    Seijun recognized the headman¡¯s voice in spite of the rain. But to her surprise, he was not alone. Another old man ran with him. Washed by the tears of the gods, Makoto¡¯s eyes widened to see that the little girl held his tanto with a mighty grip. While the headman tended to the little girl, the baker approached the frightened miko. Her chest rose and fell quickly; Hiroshi could only imagine her heart was racing in the same pace as a bee¡¯s wings.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Hiroshi asked, but gained no response in return.


    The priestess does not seem to acknowledge his presence, both her eyes still trained on the little girl and the samurai that laid motionless at her feet ¡ª still attempting to grasp exactly what she had witnessed.


    ¡°...What happened here?¡± He asked.


    Finally, she detaches her hand from the bark that she dug her nails into and points at the little girl. ¡°....She killed him¡­¡±

 CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE BLUE MOON

    ¡°Chasing shadows?¡±


    The Demon peers to the floor to find a long shadow cast from behind him. He follows it as it recedes back to the figure that cast it, but looks over his shoulder instead so as to maintain his upright and ready position. Even as the figure stood in the corner of his periphery, he recognized who it was. He turns to see that the door to the headman¡¯s balcony had been opened wider, allowing a wide beam of bluish moonlight to enter


    along with a great evil.


    Even as a silhouette, he recognizes the armor¡¯s figure to be the one worn by his attacker a few nights ago; the scar on his shoulder healed completely by now, but the memory remains as fresh as dew drops on blades of grass at dawn. But more than that, the beak of his menp¨­ cast aside all doubt.


    Yasu. He thought as he moved away from the door in a slow fashion and toward the end of the room closest to him. The Demon meticulously shuffles his feet sideward, keeping the enemy in his sights while maintaining a balanced torso and a steady resolve on his way to where the moonlight meets the shadow, remaining in the latter and standing mere inches away from the former.


    Like a shadow, Yasu mirrors him in this movement, carrying his naginata and moving opposite of him in unison. Rather than stopping in the shadows, he freely enters the realm of the light. It is there where he situated himself. Receiving the moon¡¯s full blessing, the details of his suit came into full view. The armor he wore was much older, evidenced by its box-like shape. More than that, his had a wider shoulder guard that catered to the samurai¡¯s defense against arrows at a time when horseback combat was more prominent, compared to the newer kind of armor that clung onto the figure of the arm to serve them better as they battled on foot. His helmet was designed with a profound fukigaeshi and had a gold ornament on top that resembled a crescent moon. Unlike the warriors that sat below him in rank, he bears no emblem on his cuirass. Instead, his menp¨­ was designed to have a crow¡¯s beak in lieu of the usual scowl. The Demon¡¯s gaze traced the decorated warrior¡¯s figure loyally like a tear trickling down a cheek. Though he may be situated in the shadows, enlightenment was not out of his reach.


    ¡°Flowers prosper under a yellow sun. Murderers prosper under a blue moon,¡± The Demon lifts his sword to point its tip at his opponent, ¡°Lord Homura.¡±


    Such a show of wit had, if but for a moment, cracked his stern resolve. From behind his beak, his lips curl into a smile. Tremors sent his shoulders to quake, the cracks growing far worse when the deafening silence was replaced by his chuckle.


    ¡°The sun¡¯s absence did not deter you from rising when your liege lord called to slay those voyagers.¡± Homura lifted his head, setting his sights across the room and toward the thorn on his side. ¡°And as I recall, it did not deter you from taking your liege lord¡¯s head either.¡±


    ¡°He was no liege lord of mine.¡±


    ¡°Masahiko was Ataru¡¯s heir.¡± Homura corrected, allowing his polearm to tip and point towards the window. ¡°Blue moon beams passed through the windows of the castle that night, they even reflected off the blade of your sword.¡±


    The Demon¡¯s katana, as if privy to Homura¡¯s remark, shied away from the moonlight that seemed to creep closer toward them.


    ¡°The blood I shed are that of my enemies,¡± Homura continues, thrusting his index finger across the room, ¡°your blade bathes in dishonor.¡±


    ¡°Your talent in weaving tall tales is unmatched.¡±


    ¡°My memory serves me right. Can you say you have done the same for your liege lord?¡±


    ¡°Blind judgment can cast no chains.¡±


    Homura shook his head, ¡°The moon sees all, especially that which we wish to hide from daylight, Miyahira Hisashi.¡±


    Hisashi¡¯s grits his teeth from behind closed lips.


    Moon beams push further into his position, vanquishing the shadows within which he stood. However, before it could, he made sure to return his katana into the scabbard, cradling it closely at his side. Hisashi lifts his head just enough for his hat to clear away. The light reveals his eyes, just as they reveal his opponent¡¯s, rendering their masks as moot. Yielding to the moon¡¯s presence, Hisashi steps forth and allows himself to bathe in its illuminating light. The Demon of Kumitsukawa comes into full view, and he approaches with the same mastery of his own balance, just as he did moments ago. The Blue Moon follows suit, mirroring the other¡¯s movements to close the gap between them. Both warriors reach their marks, just one step short of the room¡¯s center. Hisashi widens his stance, bringing his sword¡¯s handle closer to allow his right hand to rest upon it; his left thumb pushes the handguard to eject the sword slightly forward. Lord Homura lifts his naginata from the ground at long last; he tips the bladed end to the ground with his left hand and slides his right to the butt of the polearm, activating a low guard achievable through the gedan-no-kamae stance.


    ¡°I suppose I should thank you,¡± says Yasu, ¡°for ridding my fief of filth in preparation for my return. Ataru and his son were vermin. All that is left is you. Then, I can finally do as I see fit with what is mine.¡±


    ¡°My word shall be kept: Your blood is mine to consume, your head is forfeit.¡± Growled Hisashi.


    ¡°To the true victor go the spoils.¡± Chirped Homura.


    Hisashi lifting his heel from the ground was enough to spring Homura¡¯s naginata upward, but more so as a defensive response to an attack than an attack itself. With the naginata on its way up as a result of a successful feint, Homura¡¯s mid section was exposed. Hisashi draws his katana swiftly, aiming at his opponent¡¯s belt to horizontally cut Homura¡¯s stomach open in one swing.


    But the latter¡¯s defense rises into action.


    The butt of the naginata blocks the sword on its way to his belt, and in half the time, the offense returns with a vengeance; the bladed end comes back down alongside his stomp to further increase the weight of the attack. Though having missed his opponent, his right hand pushes the polearm through his left to stab at him. Left with no other choice, Hisashi evades these attacks before leaping backward to outside the limit of the blade¡¯s reach.


    I need to get closer. Thought Hisashi, recognizing that Homura will want to maximize the polearm and keep him at bay.


    However, to bypass its length, he will need to be faster.


    He lifts his heel from the ground and erupts into a sprint. Under the guise of swinging his hands, he throws a trio of kunai to close the distance with haste. Late to realize the presence of projectiles, Homura turns to bare his shoulder instead, collecting all three on his wide shoulder guard. But, having utilized this particular defense, the Blue Moon was blind to the Demon¡¯s approach. Raising his katana to guard against a potential swing of the naginata, Hisashi¡¯s blade kick meets Homura¡¯s exposed side. The momentum of the kick, charged by his sprint, sent the lord rolling back; he stands idle, observing this most fruitful outcome.\. Having been placed at a safe distance, Homura takes the moment to rise. On his way up, he saw to place his hand on the epicenter of the pain, finding his palm smeared with a red substance.


    Lord Homura could not help but crack a smile beneath his beak, amused by the Demon¡¯s cunning, even in battle. ¡°Wise of you to come searching for old wounds.¡± He struggled to straighten his stance after Hisashi reopened the puncture wound he gave him nights ago. ¡°I will give you new ones.¡±


    The first bite is always sweetest, leading Homura to believe that another was imminent. The ground quakes with the Demon¡¯s fast approach, an approach he quells by whirling his polearm in his hand. The quickness in its spin deters both his opponent¡¯s projectiles and his plan to step forward, and Homura uses this hesitation to affirm his grip and use the spin¡¯s momentum to swing at Hisashi. The naginata¡¯s reach proves difficult to outdo, leaving Hisashi no choice but to block the incoming blade and every succeeding swipe thereafter. Noticing the constant collision they ended up with, Homura takes the lead and winds Hisashi¡¯s katana in a circle. Each wind brought him closer to his opponent, lifting Hisashi¡¯s hands into the air by sneaking the naginata¡¯s blade below his forearms and administering a cut as he pulls the polearm back to him. He allows the sting of his laceration to stun his enemy while he takes a step back to wind up for another attack with a flourish. Lord Homura¡¯s blade shines under the moonlight, and he throws this shine in the shape of a crescent moon hurling across the room; the crescent only becomes visible once it enters the shadows, leaving Hisashi¡¯s chest defenseless. Upon impact, the Demon is sent flying across the room; his flight is hindered by the wooden post that meets his back. And even then, a moment to breathe was not allowed.


    He shifts to the side to avoid Homura as he meteors down at him to plant the bladed end into the ground. Hisashi quickly wraps his left arm around the polearm, bringing himself back up when Homura sees fit to retrieve his weapon. A swift kick to the cuirass pushes Homura away, but not without nicking Hisashi¡¯s side as he stumbles back. The Blue Moon twirls his polearm proudly, having revealed his strongest hand effectively ¡ª judging by the state the Demon was in, a heaving pile of tattered fabrics. He looks past it though, to pride himself on the look in Hisashi¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°The fall of petals, the fade of pigmentation, beauty is fleeting.¡± Said the lord. ¡°I have seen that look countless times before, and I have savored every moment ¡ª every opportunity ¡ª before I wipe it from existence. ¡±


    ¡°The Lunar Technique of the Homura Clan.¡±


    Yasu smirks, ¡°Ours is a tale unknown to most. It saddens me that a worthy heir has not surfaced to continue the clan¡¯s legacy. It might as well die with me.¡±


    ¡°I will make sure of it.¡± Hisashi retorted.


    Yasu huffs in amusement. ¡°The lunar light tends to vanquish the dark and leave no such trace in its wake.¡± He assumes his stance, tucking his weapon behind him. ¡°Nature wills your defeat.¡±


    Standing before an enigmatic enemy has never stopped him before. But the stakes were far too high for him to allow an initial loss. Besides, with his own hand revealed, a death here would mean certain imprisonment and endless torture ¡ª something he would not want to repeat. It has to end here. Just as before, the world gathers to witness the Demon¡¯s battle ¡ª the light against the dark. Whilst the moon had already taken its seat in the sky, clouds sneak in front of the celestial body, peeking in through the open doors and momentarily shrouding the room in darkness. The winds blew harder, carrying the orchestra of violence that continued below to complete their spectacle. But gunfire would soon be ultimately replaced by the rumbling of actual thunder; divine drums pounding from within the clouds. Even a lone bird joins the audience, perching itself on the wooden balustrade, revealed by a sudden flash of lightning. Its sudden intrusion caught Hisashi¡¯s eye, the beat of its wings rang with familiarity. It was now that he had come to realize that the bird he had been hearing in the night was a crow; perhaps it came to watch, or perhaps it came to take shelter from the coming storm.


    Hisashi quickly turns his attention back to Yasu, realizing his attention to detail drew him away for too long. But then he wondered, Why did he not attack while I was distracted?If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The clouds pushed each other in succession, eager to witness the fight, cycling the light and dark in the room alternatively. As soon as moonlight comes upon him, Lord Homura weaves yet another hand seal, one that pulls the shadow he cast on the wall to stand alongside him. It mimics his shape to perfection, from the tip of his toes to the ornament on his helmet. After having completed his arsenal, Homura sends his Dark Side of the Moon forth into battle whilst quickly flinging a barrage of Waning Crescents with his naginata, some dragging and scarring across the tatami mats on their way to shred Hisashi. But the latter¡¯s swiftness proves its worth, allowing him to evade these attacks and close the distance between him and this dark side. A quick maneuver allows Hisashi to bypass him, setting his sights on the caster rather than busy himself with the spell cast. He saw fit to engage Yasu in combat, but his dark side proved loyal, joining the battle at Hisashi¡¯s disadvantage. Bobbing and weaving against two polearms simultaneously proved difficult, leading Hisashi to embark on a quest to divide and conquer. He ducks behind a swing and manages to deliver a blade kick to Yasu¡¯s chest, sending him stumbling back. With the dark side alone, Hisashi engages him, but the opponent vanishes before he could drive his tip through his face. With him gone, he quickly looked to Lord Homura who he had seemingly kicked out of the moonlight.


    It dawned upon Hisashi in an instant; his dark side was tethered to his feet. He cannot cast a shadow in the dark. I need to keep him there.


    He rushes the Blue Moon while he still stands in the umbrage, and maintains as close a distance as possible, navigating around the polearm¡¯s defenses to prohibit Yasu from keeping him at a distance and from marching back into the light. Aiming straight for the body, Hisashi continues his assault through a mixture of slashes, kicks, and the occasional unforeseen kunai that he throws. But the lord¡¯s armor proves useful, catching each and every attack. Hence, Hisashi orchestrates yet another ploy. Using his iron hat, he blocks the naginata from advancing on his side while he takes a step inward to drive his right elbow across Yasu¡¯s cheek. While both men were sent into a spin, Hisashi was much quicker, allowing him to perform an upward slash that severs the intricate rope system on the lord¡¯s back and strikes his helmet off. With the ropes freed from their knots, his armor swung wildly with each movement, granting Hisashi a variety of weaknesses to exploit.


    Lightning struck once more, and rain came falling thereafter. Along with it is the realization that his armor has been compromised. Lord Homura, recognizing the disadvantage, could not allow himself to be pushed into a corner. He initiates the battle, going on the offensive in a vicious game of catch.


    As time went on, he realized that the growing presence of storm clouds minimized the amount of moonlight that seeped into the room. As such, he had to time his use of it. His naginata searched for Hisashi with every swing, knowing well that completely dodging an opponent was an impossibility that will cost him the duel; a continued effort will tucker out the Demon in time, and his use of the Lunar Technique would only hasten this effect. He made sure to chase every moon beam he could find, hurling it toward Hisashi in as quick a succession as he could before the clouds came upon them. Similarly, he plants his foot in the fragments of light he finds scattered about to bring his dark side to life if for but a moment; to advance an attack, to grant him a moment to breathe, to deflect or catch the Demon¡¯s advances that would have otherwise reduced him to a corpse. Soon enough, Yasu would be able to catch Hisashi¡¯s hat with a crescent, forcefully stripping him of his only bit of armor and leaving him with but no other choice than to cross blades with him ¡ª a taste of his vengeance for his own helmet lost.


    This was a fact that Hisashi could not escape.


    Alas, at the risk of damaging his blade, the Demon employs brute strength in lieu of swiftness as he meets the Blue Moon¡¯s polearm with every swing. He comes to find this to be advantageous, as it allows him to push the obstruction out of the way long enough to take a swipe at the other¡¯s body. Yasu realizes that this was a mistake, finding his polearm to be less effective as Hisashi began to control the fight by purposefully meeting his weapon in a clash. Soon enough, Hisashi had more successful strikes on the polearm¡¯s handle than its wielder; the abundance of cuts made it incredibly painful for Yasu to slide his hands up and down the handle, severely limiting the moves in his playbook.


    On his next swing, Lord Homura finds his naginata¡¯s bladed end in a collision course with Hisashi¡¯s katana yet again. The Demon replicates his enemies move and winds the polearm before pushing it away to grant himself an opening; he leaps forward to impart a powerful strike aimed at Homura¡¯s exposed head. However, it would be Lord Homra who finds the opening with Hisashi¡¯s arms raised above for an attack. Holding the naginata horizontally, he swings the polearm to cut at Hisashi¡¯s exposed side while Hisashi aims to bring his sword down upon him. Success was within arm¡¯s reach, most especially as the bladed end was to pass through a sliver of moonlight on its way to digging into the Demon¡¯s flesh ¡ª obliteration was moments away.


    If only the Demon had truly been aiming for his head.


    The slightest turn on his axis shifts Hisashi¡¯s target to the naginata instead. Their blades meet, but the stronger force of the katana deflects the naginata to the floor and away from the moon beam. Planting his hind foot firmly, Hisashi swings his sword to strike at Homura¡¯s visage, sending his menp¨­ and his neck guard flying in the process. And from the swing, Hisashi brings his sword above his head once more to bring it down upon Homura, channeling the force of the torrential rain that fell outside. The blade lusts for the exposed neck in sight and wedges itself deep into the lord¡¯s flesh. Hisashi drags the blade out, unleashing a waterfall of crimson to paint Homura¡¯s armor in defeat.


    The Demon of Kumitsukawa rises above the kneeling Blue Moon as the victor, watching closely as the latter drops his weapon to feel at the incision the former made on his jugular. Yasu realizes that there was not much time, but as he opens his mouth to exhale his poem, he finds his throat clogged with blood. Their eyes meet, just as their blades did moments ago. And even then, it would be Hisashi who controls the exchange.


    Hisashi circles his opponent, situating himself to his side. ¡°Flowers will perish, the light will dim soon enough,¡± a great cloud had come upon them robbing the room of illumination, lightning strikes to reveal the Demon one last time before shrouding them in total darkness, ¡°I am eternal.¡±


    Following the crescent moon¡¯s arch, Hisashi brings his sword down upon Lord Homura¡¯s nape. Much to his surprise, the crow had not left. More than that, it flew inside the room to perch on his shoulder. Their eyes meet, and somehow, Hisashi understands; his simple nod sends the crow down onto the severed head to feast on what remains.


    Though the rain had not ceased, the clouds did part once more if but to cast a spotlight on one of the eaves of the castle. The soldiers of Somukawa were dumbfounded to see that the forces of Homura had come to a stop. But the answer to their query was not far. They follow the spectacle that the samurai gazed upon with deep sorrow; a silhouette stood upon the eaves of the castle. A single crow circled him, calling out to all below to send their eyes skyward. The Demon of Kumitsukawa pulls his hand up, clenching the hair of Lord Homura between his fingers. And as the victor, he lets out a demonic roar that brings Homura¡¯s remaining forces onto their knees.


    The long night comes to an end


    and the sun rises on a town free of oppression.


    Mounted on Hayato, the Baker trots along the streets of Tachikawa. He finds himself struck with a feeling of nostalgia, setting his sights upon a town days into its efforts to rebuild and rise from the ruins it was left in. As he passes by, Hiroshi sees that a vast number of them would look upon him and smile briefly before bowing in his direction. It was only for a moment, but he could see that the difficulty they had smiling was a shared one. His own heavy heart made it difficult for him to return the silent pleasantry, but his work in Somukawa brought him confidence ¡ª this sorrow shall come to pass.


    ¡°Hiroshi-sama!¡± A lone man called, waving his hand to be spotted before running back into his store.


    His holler would not go unnoticed, leading Hiroshi to stop before the open door. Waiting outside, the Baker took notice that this building, along with those that neighbored it, were all still decorated with black and gold banners; orange lilies had become so common in the province all of a sudden, and he had a feeling they would stay in bloom for quite a while. His wait would not be long as the man returns with a present tightly wrapped in a cloth. Its shape revealed to Hiroshi that the man was in possession of a sword.


    He bows, ¡°It took me a few days, but it is done. I would like to give it to him personally,¡± pleaded the man, ¡°as a token of thanks.¡±


    ¡°My apologies.¡± Hiroshi¡¯s words were immediately understood, and thankfully well received. As such, the man rests the item on both his hands and lifts them up. Hiroshi accepts, bowing in its reception, and places it onto the saddle. ¡°Know that you have done him a great service with this.¡±


    The man nods and turns on his heel.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Hiroshi called again, just as the man was to cross the threshold of the smithy. ¡°There is something I would like to borrow.¡±


    Onward Hiroshi rides, past the town square and the various residences that sprawled thereafter. He makes his way to the farthest home, slowing their pace as the small house came into view. To his surprise, he was already standing outside, with a gaze that lingered at the barely open doorway. With their destination at hand, a tug on the rein pulls Hayato into a stop.


    ¡°Hisashi.¡± Greeted the Baker, receiving his attention and a silent nod in return. Though he wanted to say more, he thought it best to apply a gentle approach; he starts by gently alighting from the horse to stand beside the swordsman.


    ¡°The vote was final?¡± Hisashi asks.


    ¡°It was,¡± Hiroshi nods, ¡°but a part of me still refuses to believe it.¡±


    ¡°Then I suppose I should call you Lord Hiroshi now.¡± Hisashi peeks from beneath his hat, watching the older gentleman shiver at the thought. ¡°The town has your banners on display, with your own emblem too.¡±


    ¡°Mine?¡± The Baker¡¯s intonation rose to the same height as his disbelief. ¡°I am flattered that you think so, but it is yours.¡±


    Hisashi shot him a look, which Hiroshi expected.


    ¡°Those are your colors, and the people of Somukawa chose that emblem for you. Many have forgotten, but all the legends still refer to you as a vengeful samurai, and samurai must have an emblem.¡±


    Hisashi turns away, steering away from this with but another topic at hand. ¡°What of Makoto?¡±


    ¡°I saw fit to keep him as the town¡¯s headman.¡± He nodded, ¡°It is a big province, and I will need all the help I can get.¡± The thought lingers, and to his surprise, he finds Hisashi glaring at him.


    ¡°Your silence is deafening.¡± He remarked. ¡°Do you doubt me?¡±


    Hisashi turns away.


    ¡°I fought side by side with Makoto when all of Kaga came under siege. At the time, I was still young.¡± Hiroshi vividly recalls how Makoto picked up his weapon for him, and with his left hand open, offered it to him before running with him into battle. ¡°I could barely hold my weapon, but he held his with such mastery I have never seen before. We were both just foot soldiers then, but Lord Homura saw something in him. And so did Lord Ataru.¡±


    Hisashi allowed this drizzle to slide down the tiles of his roof, keeping his eye trained on the slightly open door to the Aikawa Home.


    Hiroshi continues nonetheless, ¡°Sometimes, a rising tide swallows us more than it raises us. But,¡± Hiroshi lifts the item up with both hands to Hisashi, ¡°everyone deserves a second chance.¡±


    Finally, his gaze is pulled away to trace the figure beheld by the fabric used for wrapping. Hisashi takes the sword from him and unravels his katana. The cloud handguard shined anew, and the scabbard was made spotless. He carefully curls his fingers around the handle and draws the blade to listen to its song ¡ª solid, sound, and sharp. Upon inspecting the cutting edge, he finds his own reflection instead ¡ª in the same condition as the blade. Both men had their eyes shifting to the door when it slid open to reveal Seijun stepping out.


    ¡°Your name was the first thing she uttered when we found her ¡ª the poor thing.¡± Said the Baker. ¡°How is she?¡±


    ¡°She finishes her meals now.¡± Replied Hisashi, his shoulders lowering as a heavy breath leaves his lungs.


    ¡°When did she start doing that?¡±


    ¡°Today.¡±


    Hiroshi looked to Hisashi. ¡°She is under your care now, Hisashi. Look after her. You owe them.¡±


    The Baker hushes upon her approach, bending his knees to meet her gaze. In the presence of sealed lips, he opens his arms instead. Seijun walks into them, wrapping her little arms around the old man in return. Her initiative was refreshing, granting Hiroshi the same feeling of relief that Hisashi felt. Parting, he clenches her chin, affirming it with a soft pinch and a smile, one she could barely return.


    ¡°Time to go.¡± Hisashi¡¯s words pull her away from the Old Baker.


    The swordsman and the little girl approach the steed who huffs a pleasantry toward her. He takes her by the waist and hoists her up onto the saddle to sit. He follows suit, looking over his shoulder one last time to find Hiroshi holding a rock and a piece of metal that he grazes against one another to shower them from behind with a few sparks. At his command, his loyal steed walks them out through the gates, past the fields of orange lilies that bloomed in his wake. Hisashi held onto the reins to lead Hayato onto the right path, readying to sprint, but Seijun only had him to hold onto. He looks down to find her small hands gripping at the fabric of his clothes. They barely reached around him, but even then, the tightness at which she held onto him spoke in volumes. Hisashi loosens his grip on the reins, opting for a light trot instead.

 EPILOGUE

    Somewhere across the country¡­


    In the woods¡­


    After a month of battle, the warlord sits in triumph, warmed by the fire his men had built by which to celebrate their victory. He casts his gaze outward. Although his vision of the forest was curtailed by the tents they erected to mark their camp, he was confident in knowing that the land which lay behind these tents are now part of his fief. And now, sitting here, he attends to his duty in honoring his retainers for their valued loyalty. However, gratitude must come with evidence of their service.


    A long line stretches within their camp, a line composed of samurai, each carrying the heads of their enemies harvested straight from their battlefield and encased in a wooden jar. At the warlord¡¯s command, the next man was to approach and place the jar on the ground. The lowly samurai bows in the presence of his lord, his officers, and his guards; the latter quietly muttering an incantation. From behind his fan, the warlord permits the warrior to begin.


    ¡°My lord.¡± He greeted. ¡°I, Choei Ashikaga, have captured the general¡¯s commander ¡ª Fuku Eguchi.¡±


    Choei lifts the cover of the jar, revealing the well-kept head of a fallen samurai. While the warlord further raised his fan to leave but one eye to peek at the head, the rest of his trusted officers leaned forward. Their inquisitive approach manifested as the arch in their brow.


    ¡°Mmm, ¡± hummed the warlord, ¡°capturing the general¡¯s right hand man is no easy feat. This head is sure to fetch you a large reward.¡±


    ¡°If,¡± one of his officers interjected, ¡°only that was the head of the general¡¯s commander.¡±


    The guards turned to each other, but never broke from reciting the incantation.


    ¡°Oi!¡± Shouted the same officer. ¡°Bring your heads!¡±


    Upon his command, two more samurai were asked to return and kneel before their liege lord.


    ¡°Show your heads!¡±


    The other two, positioning their heads beside Choei, were compelled to unveil them simultaneously. All three were tagged with the same name, but their features widely varied; the ridge of the nose differed, along with the depth of their eyes, as did the shape of their ears and the hair that grew on their face. Such distinct characteristics called the warlord and his entourage to step forward with a deep sense of scrutiny. Sharp eyes traced every bit of detail, but spotting them was useless in the face of uncertainty.


    ¡°The three of you thought you could take any head and buy your way into the lord¡¯s generous hand?¡± Outraged, the officer stood.


    ¡°N-no!¡± Protested Choei, ¡°The commander had a cut on his lip! Like this!¡± He points to the head he brought.


    ¡°You placed that cut!¡± Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I did not!¡±


    ¡°He had a cut on his ear! Not his lip!¡±


    ¡°That is a fresh cut! You put it there to pass as the commander! THIEF!¡±


    ¡°LIAR!¡±


    ¡°SILENCE!¡± The officer¡¯s voice quelled their quarrel swiftly, bringing all three men to once again lower their heads to await their liege lord¡¯s judgment.


    But he was so deep into his inspection that silence was the only thing that ensued. The two guards that stood by him were not immune to the curiosity; they too would join the rest of the officers in leaning forward to partake of the mystery at hand. Both of the guards were aware of the tale that Fuku Eguchi had sustained a cut on his face when he was young, but the location of the cut was unknown. Taking an alternative means to solving the conundrum, they would inspect the freshness of the lacerations on his face, an endeavor that required silence and focus.


    ¡°Sigh¡­¡± the warlord folds his fan, dropping his hand onto his lap in a fit, ¡°Your cowardly act has made it impossible to determine the real commander. Neither of you will gain anything from this. Take your heads and go.¡±


    ¡°But my lord!¡± Choei bowed deeply, ¡°I would never seek to deceive you! I have the real head!¡±


    ¡°The lord¡¯s generosity is that you keep your own heads on your shoulders.¡± The officer interjected, but the liege lord saw fit to pull on his leash with but the raise of his fan.


    The warlord inches forward, ¡°What proof have you?¡± He ferociously points his folded fan at him. ¡°Your only hope is if these heads could talk, but dead men tell no tales.¡±


    Cough.


    All those present bit their tongue.


    Cough.


    All eyes went on a silent search.


    Cough.


    ¡°MY LORD.¡±


    The officer points to the center head, drawing the attention of all as it coughs a fourth time. Its eyes fluttered before bursting open to unveil an unholy green glow. Despite the lack of lungs, it carries its profane roar with rot-tainted winds. It bites at the air, turning its gaze at the warlord who nearly jumped from his seat, returning the cover of the fan to shield his eyes from its horrific gaze. The officer quickly came to his aid, drawing his katana and cleaving the head in two. All men stood in disbelief at what it was that they had seen, but the officer shot a look at the guards situated at their East and the West.


    ¡°YOU FOOLS!¡± Shouted the officer, ¡°THE INCANTATION!¡±


    Their bodies jerk at the realization; the guards quickly return to their muttering, but in their minds, they pray instead that it was not too late. They did not even make it past the third word, and the two remaining exposed heads began to awaken in the same fashion, staring daggers at the living with green-filled eyes. Shrieks and yells begin to emanate from the men still in line; more heads begin to move, the covers of the jars begin to rumble as unholy groans and moans seep out. The guards saw fit to speak louder, faster, only to end up with gibberish rather than an actual incantation. The samurai traded their heads for their swords, dropping the former to the ground in an instant to draw their weapons. But even then, none dared to come close, fearing what befalls them should they strike at these hellish things.


    Discarding the fan, the warlord stood and drew his own sword. Now elevated, he sees that the worst was yet to prey upon them, for he stood at the entrance of their camp; his white robes contrasted with the dark forest behind him, a long katana cradled comfortably in his left hand ¡ª waiting.


    HISASHI and SEIJUN will return in FUSHI NO SHOKUZAI: LEGACY