A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

The ronin thought to himself.

’I really want to run...’

But that was not an option for him. If he ran, he would be chased, and if he was caught, then he doubted those that caught him would be forgiving. He would be revealed for what he was. They would be angry. Especially that apprentice of his, who had dedicated more than a year of his life to serving a master as incapable as he.

And so, against his will, his sweaty palm reached for the handle of his sword. He slowly slid it from his scabbard and held it. In his hands, the blade felt unusually heavy. He was used to swinging it around as a means to ill.u.s.trate a point, but he had never held it with this intent.

’I can’t even look him in the eye.’

He realized.

’Oh gods. It’s too hopeless. How can I defeat a man I am so afraid of?’

In contrast to his fear, Gengyo was ice cold. This was meaningless for him. He acknowledged that the fight would not be fair. But nor did he care. It was the ronin who had made the mistake, who had insisted on being dishonest. He was just a brick wall. Something that every dishonest man was bound to meet at some point.

Such was the virtue of honesty: it required less effort.

Kitajo shook his head. He too realized what was happening, and could only hope that the man’s death was painless.

"I am ready whenever you are."

By now, everyone knew that he was no simple merchant. A merchant would not hold a sword with such confidence. But they said nothing – it was not their place.

Silence reigned. No one dared to interrupt the fierce staredown they assumed was going on. The breeze sailed through the trees, caressing the leaves, sending a ruffling sound into their ears.

"YAHHHHH!"

The man roared, putting all his courage on the line for a single reckless charge. It was the only hope he had – to surprise Gengyo, and earn his cheap victory. He did not realize it, but there were tears drifting from his eyes. He had already accepted his own death.

The young man tutted lightly. Such a charge would be defeated even if he was unarmed. As the blade neared, he merely swayed to the side by the slightest of fractions, showing no fear as the sharp edge came within millimetres of his skin.

’No wasted movement.’

Was the single thought that ran through his head. In moving precisely, he was also able to move quickly.

The ronin’s suicidal charge ran past him, presenting the wide target of his back. He showed no hesistation. The fight did not need to be dragged out any longer.

"Kak..."

The dreadful involuntarily sound that came as the ronin stared at the blade sticking out of his stomach.

He gasped wildly for breath, reaching for the sword with terrified fingers. Even though it was already over, he was still overcome by fear – perhaps even more so.

But his fingers did not even manage to touch the blade, before a foot hard in the back removed him from it, and sent him crashing into the hard stone steps, head first.

With a swift and practised flick, Gengyo removed the blood from his sword, allowing it to return to its original owner, as a red waterfall drifted down the steps.

He lay there gasping, as the final death shudders caused his body to convulse.

"MASSSTERRRRR!"

Gengyo turned around to hear the distraught cry of the apprentice, as he ran towards him, his master’s wakizashi in hand, poised to puncture his chest.

SPURT

Kitajo had clocked his every move, and as soon as he neared Gengyo, he swung out, slicing deeply through the boy’s neck, letting loose a spurt of blood.

His arm lost it’s power. Gengyo merely needed to step to the side, and the apprentice collapsed forward, joining his master in death.

Gengyo spared the two corpses a glance, as their blood coated the old stone steps. He felt inclined to tut, but held it back out of respect.

He had been a pathetic man, it was true. He had lived a false life, pretending to be someone that he was not. But in death, he had done well. He had faced his fate without fleeing. It was ironic, because in death he was more like that which he wished to be than he was in life.

"Well, shows over."

He spoke to the two women who were staring, wide-eyed. That had seen their fair share of duals – it was an exciting thing to watch. But this was a world apart from the likes of those. It was a simple, uncaring, slaughter.

"...You’re not a merchant."

The quiet woman spoke, stating the obvious.

"And he was no master swordsmen."

He retorted, cleaning his blade on a clean area of the ronin’s kimono.

"I trust you will not cause any problems. This was a fair and honourable duel."

"..."

It was neither a duel, nor was it fair or honourable. It was a simple execution, that was all. A life had simply been extinguished.

But still, they said nothing, as their eyes only continued to widen. He thought their reaction was a little extreme. By all means, be unsettled by what they had to witness, but he thought their response to his words was a little extreme – he had not said anything that terrible.

"Well, let’s head on the road then, Kitajo."

He said, as he began to walk towards his horse. But as he lifted his foot to move, he felt a sudden sharp pain on his neck.

"Ow..."

He cursed, and reached towards the afflicted area with his hand. But to his surprise, he was not greeted with his warm skin, instead, there was a sharp, cold steel.

His eyes narrowed as he frowned. It was the only expression he could make to disguise how he truly felt. He held back the urge to gulp, for fear of aggregating the wound on his neck, for the blade was still under his skin, though it was not yet deep enough to cause anything more than pain.

He wanted to turn and look towards Kitajo to try and analyse his reaction, so he might have some idea what was going on. But he could not turn his neck.

His heart beat wildly, and for the first time in a while, he began to feel the cold fingers of an old friend gripping his heart. Whoever stood behind him was undoubtedly of frightening skill. He had not heard him approach, nor even felt his gaze on his back. He had managed to slip so firmly under his guard as to point a blade at his neck.

No matter how hard he thought, he could not remember making such a strong enemy.

’Someone employed by Imagawa..? Impossible! He doesn’t even know I’m alive...’

Everyone around him was silent, but the world still moved. His gaze was firmly fixed on the girls in front of him, but the only thing in their eyes was fear, and after a few moments, they simply turned and ran, as fast as they could.

All he knew was that the owner of this blade was terrifying.

’Something must have happened to Kitajo too... Shit.’

He cursed. He needed to do something, and fast. There was no telling when his assailant would get bored, and simply slice open his throat.

His grip on his sword was still tight. He closed his eyes, imagining where the enemy stood, and then, he drove his blade backwards.

His sword hit only air, but the blade was removed along with it – though it was not done gently, and a shallow cut was left around his neck. With swift movements, he whirled round to confront those that had attacked him.

"...You."

Came his shocked statement, as he stared down the bald man in front of him. The last person he had expected was a monk. He’d done nothing to offend them, he reasoned. He had broken none of their rules. And yet... Here they stood.

The man did not respond to his words, and merely charged forward, spear in hand. Gengyo barely had any time to react to the sharp point that was directed towards his chest, and only just managed to redirect it off to the side. But the aftershock of such a strike was immense, and sent a shock up his arm.

’What power...’

He thought to himself. But he was not given time to dwell, as the monk sprung from his rear foot, and continued on with the fearsome onslaught.

The strikes were terrifyling fast, and came from a variety of different angles. It took all his concentration merely to stay alive. And that was without mentioning the immense power that each contained.

Underneath that black kimono and those wide sleeves must have been some hidden muscles, for he certainly did not look capable of wielding such power – not at first glance.

But Gengyo was forced to learn that looks weren’t everything as the monk continued to batter his sword again and again, sending shockwave after shockwave up his arm. He could not even counter-attack – the strikes were far too fast.

For some reason, the monk’s face was twisted angrily, as if he had committed some unspeakable act.

TING

It proved too much, and his sword fell from his hands – that he was no longer able to feel – and he was forced to continue up the steps, doing his best to dodge the monk’s attempt on his life.

The spear point came for his throat, and he only just managed to redirect it with his elbow. But it was too little. The monk held the absolute advantage, and all he could do was dodge.

"HALT!"

Came a bellowing shout, like cracking thunder, and the monk paused midstrike. The point of his spear was but a few centimetres away from Gengyo’s abdomen, and a single droplet of sweat drifted from his forehead as he realized just how close to death he had come.

He dared to turn his head, wondering from which man the bellowing voice had come.

"Ah."

He flinched heavily as he saw the face right behind him. He could have sworn the voice came from atop the steps. And by the looks of it, there was no one else in sight.

It was the face of an old man, though it was hard to tell, for he wore a straw hat that covered much of his face. He was dressed similar to the monk assailant, except he wore an orange length of cloth over his black kimono, which covered one side of his body.

"Good day."

Came his words – softly spoken, causing Gengyo to have doubts as to whether he really was the same man who had shouted so loudly. But he did not dare show disrespect, least he be slaughtered by the younger monk.

"Hello..."

Was his simple response. He had to tread carefully, so simplicity was best.

The old man looked past him, and tutted.

"What a mess we have here, indeed. What a mess."

He said, though there was a wide smile on his face. He behaved amiably like a friendly old man, and so, he half expected for the situation to diffuse slightly.

But when he turned to follow the old man’s gaze, he was greeted with the point closer to his belly than he had last remembered.