“Hungry, drawing from you can be debilitating.” Kain sheathed Naginata in the scabbard he had fashioned for his Zweihänder and resumed his path towards the clearing. Though he had been unable to see anything, he couldn’t shake away the feeling that he was being followed.
***
Mistakes could be deadly in Kuroinu’s line of work, and he had nearly committed one. An amateur’s mistake, for a trained ninja must be aware at all times of the soil underfoot, lest he reveals his position to an unwary foe. He was, indeed, growing old, as he was nearly discovered by his prey. Kuroinu’s chest ached as he tried to regulate his breathing, hiding behind the cover of one of the forest’s tall trees.
Shit, that was close, thought Kuroinu. A mistake as small as stepping on a twig could reveal his presence, and though he was confident he could defeat the assistant, he wouldn’t force open confrontation. Not yet.
The clearing ahead seemed to be an adequate area to gauge the man’s abilities. It was open, wide, and offered little in the way of obstacles. Posing as an itinerant ronin would allow Kuroinu to evaluate not only Senshi’s prowess with that strange weapon he carried, but also the man’s honor and alignment to the Empire’s traditions. Given their stature, any commoner would show proper deference to a ronin. Except one with warped ideals, mused Kuroinu as he watched Senshi return the sword to his weird back-slung scabbard and resume his path.
There was something strange in the man’s expression however. Watching him up close as he handled his blade and assumed a combat stance, he had the focused, slightly vacant face of a warrior communing with an ikiteiruken. But that’s impossible, a commoner couldn’t know how to bind with one of the blessed living swords. Could he? A pit formed in Kuroinu’s stomach. A primal part of him dreaded the idea of confronting the blacksmith’s assistant.
His misgivings were quickly quashed under his grim determination, and Kuroinu started walking behind his prey.
***
The forge was almost ready, and Kain took pride in his work. As Ren had promised, she had helped him procure the necessary equipment to restore the forge. It was not a traditional Nipponese forge, as Kain found the process of heating and smelting to be hideously inefficient when following that tradition. Instead he rebuilt it in a western fashion, the kind of forge he had honed his skills in.
The main construction consisted of an oven built above the ancient furnace, which Kain had equipped with a bellows to stoke the flame. He had also procured various hardened clay crucibles, as well as molds for casting pieces such as pommels and crossguards. Some of the more expensive tools had been the drills, hammers, and chisels (and Ren confirmed she elicited a few strange looks when purchasing them.) But the money he had saved throughout his sojourn had sufficed to fully supply the forge. Kain had used Naginata’s help to restore the anvil’s corrosion, a grueling process both for Kain and his weapon, but it had helped not only make the anvil whole once more, it had also helped Kain further understand the abilities—and needs—of his ravenous blade.
Through the days of experimenting, Kain understood that Naginata’s capabilities depended heavily on the giving and taking: He could pour his essence into Naginata, degrading its constitution but hardening its build, sharpening its edge, and even reducing its weight, while he could take from the weapon to augment himself, at the cost of his own physique, the magnitude of the effect being proportional to how much energy he gave or took.
He found the relationship to be strange. Giving weakened the receiver, while taking diminished the taker. The key was in the balance between both, he realized, lest either Naginata or him became unable to sustain the other.
“Huh,” Kain said in a moment of epiphany.
“What is it?” asked Naginata.
“I just realized something. The fundamental flaw in living swords and vessel blades: The former enhance the capabilities of their wielders, but at a hefty personal cost, as demonstrated by my father pouring himself into the ikiteiruken he’s created, while the latter are strengthened through their wielders but decay rapidly in the process.”
“A strange situation. You would think that it would be the other way around.”
“There must be an explanation, but it eludes me at the moment. Besides,” he grinned, regardless of Naginata’s inability to see. “There are more important things to do.”
As he walked towards the forge, Naginata asked, “What do you plan on doing?”
“Finishing what I started,” he replied nonchalantly. “Finishing you.”
“Intriguing,” the weapon stated.
“Misunderstand me not, Naginata. You are a magnificent weapon, but your build remains unfinished and—”
“Answer me this, Kain,” Naginata said, “If I am a magnificent weapon, in what manner am I unfinished?”
“Well, you lack a crossguard, a pommel, and a grip.”
“Forsooth? Then how is it that you have wielded my length without any trouble until now?”
“Because I haven’t yet tested you in actual combat,” Kain replied.
“A difficult matter, wouldn’t you agree? Unless you go out of your way to aggravate someone and engage them, I guess you won’t test me in ‘actual combat.’”
Kain noticed the vexation in Naginata’s voice. “Why the attitude?” he asked, folding his arms.
“Well, if my worth is to be gauged depending on whether I’m ‘finished’ by your perception, or whether I am useful in combat, I guess I’m screwed, am I not?”
Kain sighed. “That is not what I meant, Naginata. What I meant is that as a weapon you are unfinished because—”
“Can you thrust with me?”
“Huh?”
“I asked, can I be used to thrust?”
Confused, Kain replied, “Well yes, but…”
“Can I be used to slash?”
“Yes.”
“Chop?”
“Yes.”
“Parry, deflect, stab?”
“I presume so, yes,” replied Kain.
“Then how am I incomplete as a weapon?”
Kain groaned and shook his head. “I already said so; you lack a guard, a grip and a pommel!”
“Well, what makes you think I want either of those?”
“It’s not about what you want, damn it, I created you!”
A wave of annoyance and, Kain was distraught to realize, hurt washed from Naginata. “So to your eyes I am a tool to be made as you see fit?”
I messed up, Kain admitted to himself. I am no better than the slavers that saw me as a tool. He closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry, Naginata, I—”
“Ho, friend!” called a man’s voice behind Kain. “Odd tidings to encounter someone in this place, and at this time.”
Kain turned towards the source of the voice and saw the interloper. He was dressed as a poor ronin, yet his facial features were plain, completely unremarkable save for the intensity in his eyes. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he replied, “Greetings, friend. Odd to encounter you here.”
The man chuckled. “Indeed it is.” Then, before Kain realized what was happening, the man surged forward, unsheathing the katana by his hip. As he closed the distance, the ronin slashed violently, aiming to eviscerate Kain. Trained instincts made Kain react unconsciously, and he fell to his haunches, tumbling backwards outside of the man’s reach and trying to unsheathe Naginata from his back.
The moment he stood on his feet, he removed the weapon from the scabbard and in the same motion, slashed at the ronin. Deftly, the ronin parried the attack, bouncing Naginata backwards; the abrupt motion hurt Kain’s wrist, as he didn’t hold the cloth-wrapped tang properly. The ronin made use of the opening and slashed once again, but Kain managed to turn and catch the blade in his left arm. Red-hot pain made him grimace as his flesh was rent by the attack, followed by moist warmth as blood stained the sleeves of his tunic.
Shit, that bastard is fast! He thought as he lifted Naginata to parry another bl
ow. The attack was vicious and strong, and made him take a step back as he compensated for the strength behind it. “Naginata, I need your help!”
“Draw my essence!” the weapon exclaimed, and Kain did as told, channeling Naginata’s energy into himself to empower the muscles in his legs and arms, while dulling his sensation of pain.
Kain’s increased strength made him quicker. A fact he used to his favor as he grabbed Naginata’s blade and aimed a half-sword strike towards his attacker. The ronin was unprepared for that move and chose to sidestep it instead of parrying; the movement created an opening for Kain and he let go of Naginata’s blade to shift his grip to the handle, swinging the weapon over his head and violently slashing at the ronin. The attacker caught Naginata’s edge against the flat of his katana; the strength of Kain’s strength toppled him backwards but he quickly tumbled and jumped back to his feet.
Kain made use of the distance and said, “Why are you attacking me, nameless one?”
“To test you, and that weird weapon of yours.” The ronin scoffed, and a feral grin appeared on his face. “You look Nipponese, yet you have the thick, slurred speech of a westerner. Are you a returned one?”
Kain took a deep breath and shifted his grip on Naginata, as well as his stance. “That is none of your concern.”
“Well,” the ronin said. “You are as disrespectful as one, and your fighting style is just as uncoordinated and inelegant.”
Kain grinned. “Yet I made you step back.”
“A fluke, and nothing more.”
“Come then, and see whether it was a fluke.”
The ronin chuckled and said, “Justly said!” before leaping forward with blinding speed. But Kain was ready this time. As the ronin slashed his katana, Kain lowered Naginata and caught the sword’s edge, causing a deep chink on it. Before the ronin could step back, Kain let his right hand loose and angrily punched the ronin’s face, shattering his nose. The ronin reeled back, clutching at his ruined nose, and yelping in pain as he set the broken bone back in place. Kain used the distance to catch his breath—augmenting his strength was draining his constitution away.
“Dishonorable cur!” spat the ronin through gritted teeth. “You dare use anything but your weapon in combat; do you have no respect for tradition or propriety?”
“Only an idiot concerns himself with either when their life’s on the line,” Kain responded.
“Unbelievable,” said the ronin, “You are a returned one! Only one who has been in contact with westerners would disregard tradition in such a way!”
“I fight to survive, ronin, to stay alive against a foe who attacked me without warning,” Kain scoffed, “And whose name is unknown to me.”
“And so it shall remain. What profit is it to stay alive when you have no honor?”
Kain shrugged, wincing as his wounded arm protested. “Honor has a bad habit of not flowing through a man’s veins.”
“Tch, said as a true westerner,” the ronin said.
“Kain,” Naginata said worriedly, “You are bleeding out!”
“I know, Naginata, there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“There is. Channel your will through me, heat my metal and cauterize your wound.”
“I have never done such a thing, Naginata! Besides, you will be diminished and…”
“It doesn’t matter, you idiot! There’s no point to anything we are doing if you bleed to death!”
Naginata has a point, thought Kain. He focused on the metallic structure forming Naginata, and poured his will into it, heating the blade’s metal until it was red-hot. He heard the confused—even scared—gasp of the ronin as Naginata was lit ablaze.
Kain noticed the wraps around the handle weren’t burning, finding the effect strange, just as tiny pits of corrosion started forming on the weapon’s surface. He spent no time musing on it, however, as he quickly brought the blade to his arm.
“AGH!” He screamed despite his dulled perception of pain, grimacing as his flesh sizzled. But the wound was cauterized, and the bleeding finally stopped.
“What devilry is this? What manner of magic was poured into that weapon? Answer me, Senshi, what heresy is this?” The Ronin exclaimed.
Kain’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that name?”
“None of your business. Now answer me, heretic!”
Kain scoffed. “I’d rather not.”
“Then I shall pry an answer from your dying lips!” The ronin yelled as he surged once more against Kain, who lifted Naginata into a medium-guard and attempted to parry the katana. The ronin read Kain’s actions, however, and quickly shifted his grip on the katana, ducking beneath Naginata and slashing at Kain’s abdomen.
Reflexively, Kain jumped backwards, suffering only a glancing—if painful—cut along his midriff. He brought Naginata down in a chopping motion, but the ronin deflected the attack. Sparks flew as the fiery metal clashed against the katana, and the weapons locked. Kain watched in amazement as the pits on Naginata’s surface started recovering, just as the metal on the ronin’s katana started to corrode. The ronin’s eyes widened when he became aware of the effect, and he somersaulted backwards, jumping at least three meters in the air.
The man fell back on his feet and was caught by a coughing fit. He spat a gob of crimson phlegm before saying to himself, “That was costly,” and to Kain, “But necessary. What demonic enchantment have you bestowed upon that weapon?” Kain said nothing, simply holding Naginata at the ready. “A silent fellow. Very well, let’s finish this honorably, as bushido demands: A single slash, the man who connects,” he chuckled, “Wins.”
Kain said nothing while he held Naginata in an upper guard, a stance seemingly open for an attack. The ronin scoffed and lurched towards Kain, just as he sped towards the man. As the ronin was about to strike, Kain shifted his guard and instead of attacking, blocked the incoming attack and surprised the ronin. His opponent’s eyes grew wide as Kain did the unexpected, twirling Naginata over the ronin’s katana and tearing it from his hands before viciously slashing at his abdomen.
A scream of pain escaped the ronin’s throat, accompanied by the sizzling of fat and the stench of cooked meat as he was eviscerated. The man fell to his knees, clutching at the humid ropes spilling from his midsection. He coughed, spat some blood and said, “You have no honor,” before toppling sideways.
Kain released the enchantment on Naginata and himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath as nausea washed over him. “I am alive, that’s what matters.” When he opened his eyes, the man was gone, only the crimson spit and the discarded katana remained. “What the hell? Where is he?” Kain said as he looked about himself, finding no trace of the man. “He’s gone,” he said to Naginata.
“Indeed, but given that wound, he won’t survive long,” the weapon replied.
“No, he won’t,” Kain said before pausing, rolling his aching arm and adding, “I’m sorry.”
He felt confusion coming from Naginata, before it asked, “Why?”
“Because you were right, and I was wrong. You are perfect in combat. I apologize for having wanted to change you.”
“Apology accepted. I believe this proves we can work together in a life-or-death situation, hmm?”
Kain let out a bark of laughter. “Indeed we can!”
“Truly. Now, do me a favor and feed me that katana, I’m starving!”
Kain did as asked, channeling through Naginata and consuming the discarded metal. As he watched Naginata’s blade recovering its integrity, he couldn’t help but wonder who that man was, and why he had attacked him in such a way.
Kain sighed, accepting the fact that he was unlikely to ever find an answer.
***
In Kuroinu’s line of work, mistakes, no matter how small, could be fatal. And he had committed one. He had underestimated his opponent’s abilities, overestimated his own, and fought as if he encountered a common enemy.
He had used
two last-resort ninja enchantment: One, a hex to teleport himself a few meters away, and the other a spell to quickly mend his wounds to give him a last chance to either fight back or report his findings before dropping dead.
Kuroinu sighed painfully; he knew his life was forfeit, but at least he would manage to reach Hanataro’s residence before the effect expired. Or so he hoped.
Every step sent a jolt of pain through his body as the cauterized flesh ground against itself. He couldn’t conceive what he had seen. That was, undoubtedly, one of the dreadful vessel blades of the west, but there was more to it. The man, Senshi, had also amplified himself in the manner an ikiteiruken wielder would. A weapon that was both alive and a vessel... The sole thought made Kuroinu reel at the heresy of such an idea.
But that is a matter for Hanataro to resolve, he mused as he struggled to remain conscious, placing a foot in front of the other and enduring excruciating pain.
He would never commit any more mistakes.
Chapter XII: Regret and Respect
“The western fighting style is inelegant, crude, and more bestial than human. Instead of ascribing to a proper code of conduct—such as kendo and bushido—they flail their abominable tools of war without rhythm or tone, seeking only to maim and damage, instead of killing honorably. Truly, to fight against a westerner, is to fight against a beast.”
-Watanabe Kenshiro, in “Musings and Ponderings on the Contrasting Techniques of Warfare: A Comparison Betwixt Honorable Kendo and Disreputable Western Fighting.”
Kain returned to the Kajiya household a few hours before the break of dawn. The encounter against the mysterious ronin had been exhausting, both physically and mentally. He harbored no delusions about the difference in skill—the man fought with a well-trained economy of movement belied by his plain appearance, leading Kain to wonder whether he possessed the ability to cast spells. The sword wasn’t an ikiteiruken, he thought as he looked back on the encounter. Plus that backwards leap was unlike anything a common ronin could have done. He kept racking his brain for an explanation for the man’s sudden appearance, attack, and prowess in combat, but he could find none.
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