by Nikita Thorn
Seiki realized Shousei had started talking again.
“Where is that thief?” repeated Shousei, enunciating every word. “And what did she do with the handle?”
“I… have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Seiki. The poison was numbing his brain, and his ears were now ringing with the sounds that reminded him of Gin’s clanking metal contraption that led down to the sewage system. Forcing himself to concentrate, Seiki stared at where Genta was, wondering if he could try dragging Genta back across the instance threshold, or if it would be any use.
Shousei seemed to relax as he saw the poison taking hold of him. Letting Genta drop limply to the ground, the man sheathed his dagger and took a step forward. “At the bell tower, you and that thief stole my father’s treasure.” His eyes still on Seiki, Shousei casually bent down to pick up the dropped sword and dagger, and he tossed them further away to one side.
Thinking back, Seiki vaguely remembered. That had been his previous ability quest, and at the time he had admittedly spared the story line no attention.
“What did she do with the handle?” said Shousei again, slowly. “I trailed them to their hideout and found a map they left behind, and I tracked them to this area.”
“Uh, who again?”
“The thief and Tsujihara’s boy.”
Seiki’s mouth twitched, that bit of information catching his attention like a torch sparking up in the dark. “What?” He stared at the swordsman. He felt that he should be able to make a significant connection by now, but with uncontrollable thoughts competing for attention in his head, his brain was a canvas of chaos.
“I shouldn’t have let that boy live,” Shousei said. “Your master promised me he would put an end to this treason if I left both of you alone, but it seems his death has achieved nothing.” He let out a mild scoff. “Tsujihara claimed you were innocent. I doubted it. It seems I was correct in my assumption.”
“You’re talking about Okamoto?” Seiki asked, knowing there was no point in trying to defend himself, since Shousei was going to believe what he wished to.
Shousei’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve seen him,” he said slowly.
All these encounters were connected, Seiki realized. “How is Okamoto involved?”
“It’s me asking questions, boy. Where is he?” His tone had turned dangerous.
Seiki paused. This was finally a question he knew the answer to, and which put him in an impossible situation. They had now given him a choice, but since he already knew he had no intention of answering the question, there was only one way left for this scene to play out. By the time Shousei threatened to kill Genta again, there would be nothing he could do.
Surprise worked best when you were at a disadvantage. Fighting against nausea, Seiki suddenly rushed at the swordsman. The world whirled around him in all shades of dizzying black and gray, and the movement filled him with vertigo, but he kept his focus on the shape of the swordsman’s white-clad figure in front of him.
The distance was relatively short. It took only half a second to reach Shousei, but the man seemed to be able to read his intention. The moment Seiki burst into action, Shousei had already started reaching for his sword. Instead of picking up his Hikari, at the last second, Seiki threw himself at the man, grabbing his wrist and slamming the curved sword back in its sheath before it was fully drawn. His other hand went for the dagger on the man’s obi.
Blades could not cut their owners, and this one posed no threat to Shousei, but Seiki knew better than to try to fight him in this condition. Pulling the dagger free, Seiki dropped to the ground beside his unit member. He steadied his grip on the blade and—in one swift stroke—sliced through the rope binding Genta’s legs.
“Dismissed,” he gasped. “Run, Genta. It’s an order.”
All he needed to do was to make sure Genta was safe, then even if Shousei killed him, he supposed it did not matter.
Genta’s eyes widened, but he obeyed and scrambled to his feet, just as Shousei caught his balance and landed a heavy kick to Seiki’s chest. Already nauseous, the impact made his head reel. His vision darkened as he rolled in the dirt.
Seiki grabbed blindly at the swordsman as he felt another sharp kick in his stomach. It knocked the wind out of him, and he gasped for breath. From somewhere ahead, Seiki could hear Genta’s rapid footsteps on the grass, just as he could hear Shousei reaching for his bow behind his back. An arrow whisked, shrilling through the air, and Genta let out a faint muffled cry.
Catching his breath, Seiki blinked the world back into focus. Genta had made it more than twenty feet away, but the arrow had pierced through his left knee, and he staggered a few more steps before falling over. Shousei was already aiming again. Seiki lunged forward, grabbed hold of the swordsman’s foot and pulled him off his balance as he released. The arrow shot harmlessly into the thicket.
With a grunt, Shousei abandoned his attempt to shoot and swung the bow at Seiki, hitting him across the shoulder. A streak of numb flashed down his side and Seiki fought to hold on. Genta was still trying to drag himself forward, gritting his teeth against the pain from his injury.
“It’s a shame this kind of spirit is wasted on efforts to overthrow the Shogun.” Shousei freed his foot from Seiki’s weakened grip. Tossing his bow aside, he bent down to grab Seiki’s right arm, twisting it behind his back, while his left hand produced a length of thick rope from his pocket.
Struggling in vain, Seiki felt the rope loop around his right wrist and his left ankle, before a knot constricted around them. It was a simple binding, but effective enough to leave him incapacitated for a while. Any attempt to pull it apart only served to further tighten it.
Shousei let out a short breath. “You could have saved us all this trouble, boy.” Satisfied that he had Seiki secured, he made his way toward where Genta had fallen.
Seiki desperately twisted his wrist in the bond, but to no avail, since the position was very awkward in the first place. On the ground ahead of him, Genta, his hands still bound, attempted a weak kick at the swordsman as he came within range.
His face still betraying no expression, Shousei lifted his foot and stomped down on the arrow wound on Genta’s knee. A muffled scream escaped through the gag as Genta’s health immediately dropped to a third.
“Leave him alone,” cried Seiki, panic surging through his stomach.
Shousei crouched down beside the injured man, before turning toward Seiki, in his hand another white, slim ceramic bottle. “This is a different kind of poison,” he said. “I think you know what this means.”
Genta’s eyes widened in alarm.
“No!” Seiki felt a chill gripping his body. “He has nothing to do with this. If you want to stop Okamoto—”
“Wrong answer, boy,” said Shousei.
The swordsman yanked off Genta’s gag, before forcing the liquid content down his throat. Genta choked, sputtering for a moment before succumbing to labored wheezing.
“No!” Seiki screamed.
Shousei turned to Seiki again, his voice perfectly calm. “Every twenty seconds, it inflicts excruciating pain on the person affected as they bleed from within.”
Genta let out a cry when the first of the poison effects overtook him. His body locked in spasms as his health dropped, slowly, as if it was being squeezed out of him. The episode lasted for only a few seconds, and after it passed, he gasped for air. “I’m sorry, Chief. I… I tried…”
“It’s a long, slow death,” said Shousei. “It’s either this man or that Okamoto boy. So choose. Tell me where to find Okamoto, and he’ll live. I have the antidote right here.” Shousei produced another bottle of liquid from his pocket.
Seiki struggled against the rope, and against rising despair. His head was still spinning. It was helplessness all over again, with doors of possibilities slamming shut in front of his eyes, one by one, swallowed in the depth of the endless and eternal darkness.
His palms sweating, his wr
ist twisting painfully in the bond, Seiki forced himself to breathe, and to think. It was an instance. There was a way out of this. Perhaps they meant for him to give up Okamoto, perhaps it was meant to be this way, but that would be betraying what Master Tsujihara had given up his life for.
Shousei’s voice was cold. “Choose.”
One thing Seiki had learned through his recent struggles was that there was no actual choice when he did not get to define his options, when he only got to decide between one hell and another, when all he could do was to settle for the lesser evil.
His mind raced wildly, for things he still had within his grasp. With a little stretch, he could get two knees on the ground. That much was possible. A Slide would break him out of this, just like how it freed him from everything else.
But for that he needed energy.
Seiki reached for it, willed it, pleaded for it, but there was nothing there for him to grab at. The poison’s block was complete, sealing him off from the burning source of power, and all that answered him was a wall of solid ice.
“I take that as a no, then,” said Shousei. “Very well. You can now watch your man die. Remember, this is only the first.”
Genta was thrashing again, and Seiki could no longer breathe. His mind was reeling, from rage, from panic, from fear, as he clawed at the block of ice. They had disarmed him, and taken away his tools, cut him off from all his resources. But he was alive. Deep in the eternal darkness, life was still burning in him, as well as will and hopes and wishes that had no outlet.
He slammed himself against the blockade. Genta’s scream was ringing in his ears, and Seiki threw everything he had at the wall. All he needed was a drop of energy, just a drop, and nothing would be able to hold him back. They could take away everything, just like they had, but no more, nothing else, not this, not the next fifty years or what the rest of the future was. That source of power was thrashing deep within him, and he reached for it with everything he had. It was hot, scorching, intensely alive. And it was his. It was all his.
The ice shattered.
Warm energy flooded him, like life itself, gushing forth like an endless hot spring that flowed and melted the last foothold of winter. Without thinking, Seiki was already on the move, bursting forward, the ropes miraculously falling off as his Slide broke him through the bonds.
He was free, and with full force he charged at the man in front of him.
Congratulations! You have learned a new ability: Blood Rush. Energy required: none. Variation unlocked: Infinite.
Blood Rush [Seiki – Level 15]: trade a percentage of health for an equal percentage of energy and increase energy generation by 50% for the next 45 seconds, clearing poison and curse effects. May not be used to drop the user below 20% health. 3-minute lockout, during which health regenerates 10% slower. Ability modification: none. Enhancement: none.
Variation – Infinite: allows the user to activate the ability when between 2%-20% health and to use the ability during the lockout period for subsequent trades, with the health cost doubling after every 100% of health spent.
Seiki had no time to fully grasp what it meant, since when he traded, he traded it all, and no trap in the world was ever going to hold him prisoner again. His health dropped sharply right to the point where he could activate his Strength of Will, and the world came in focus once more with crystal clarity.
Energy burned within him, warm, vivid, and he appreciated it as he never had. In that moment, he perceived every slightest movement around him. Shousei had not been expecting resistance, and Seiki knew exactly what he needed to do. Learning from his recent experience, he broke out in another Slide before slamming into the man, using the momentum of the impact to land on the ground exactly where he wanted to be.
Helped by the force of the move, they skidded over the grass, and instantly the Kohagane dagger was within reach. Using his knees to pin down Shousei’s arms, Seiki reached for the blade, his hand closing around the familiar leather wrap.
Behind him, Genta violently thrashed on the ground as another episode gripped him. His voice was hoarse. “Chief,” he said. “I can’t. Tell... tell Rumi…”
“No, Genta. You’re going to hang in there.” Pulling the dagger free from its sheath, he pressed the blade against Shousei’s neck. “Antidote. Now.”
Shousei visibly paled, more from shock than fear. “How did you—”
Seiki exerted force on the dagger. “Now!” The faint blue blade drew blood.
“In… in my left hand,” said the swordsman.
Holding the dagger steady, Seiki snatched the bottle from the man’s grip. A quick glance confirmed that it was indeed labeled Supreme Bannou Antidote [Instance Item]. He tossed it toward Genta, who reached for it with shaking hands, before flicking off the cap with both thumbs.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Seiki could see Genta drinking the liquid, and he returned his full attention to Shousei. “And the map,” he said.
The man’s eyes narrowed.
“The map,” said Seiki again firmly. “You said you found a map that led you here. You were tracking Okamoto. Give me the map.”
Shousei studied him for a moment, before icy calmness slowly returned to his expression. “It’s in my pocket. I need my hand.”
Seiki evaluated the risks. Another poison episode was probably due by now, but Genta remained silent. “Genta, you all right?”
“Yes…” The man’s voice was faint, but he no longer sounded in pain. “Yes, Chief.”
Seiki waited for a few more seconds to make sure that Genta was no longer affected, before considering the man pinned under him, whose face still betrayed no other expression but disdain.
“No tricks,” said Seiki. He cautiously shifted his weight off Shousei’s left arm, allowing him to reach into his chest pocket, from which the man produced an old piece of parchment. Folded into a small rectangle, it was marked Ancient West Plains Map: Ketsui Gorge and the Renkan Mountain Range.
Grabbing the item, Seiki quickly pinned him down once more, his right hand still gripping the dagger tightly, ready for sudden movements should the man decide to try something. However, Shousei remained perfectly still, his impenetrable gaze quietly sizing him up.
The blade had drawn blood, and a thin streak of red was now clearly visible on its razor-sharp edge. Seiki felt his hand shaking. A little more force on the dagger would perhaps end it all, and this man would forever cease to be a threat.
“So?” the swordsman’s lips twisted into a smirk, his eyes hinted a challenge, as if daring Seiki to follow through with what he was thinking.
Clutching the thick piece of paper hard in his left hand, Seiki tried to stop himself from trembling. The man deserved it, considering how remorseless he had been about inflicting pain to forward his own goal, and given the chance he was sure Shousei would not hesitate to do it again. The hilt of the dagger was hot in his grasp, damp with sweat. It would be so simple, and it would be over, and he could finally stop being so afraid.
The question was whether he needed to be afraid, or if he was even afraid anymore.
Seiki unclenched his jaws, allowing a reassuring sense of calm to spread through his body. “I’ll handle Okamoto,” he said, firmly, meeting Shousei’s gaze. “I’m going to stop him from doing whatever he’s planning to do. So leave him alone. I don’t know if you can understand me, but leave him alone.”
Shousei scoffed.
“Give me your word,” said Seiki. “Do you underst—”
With a soft whir, thin metal flashed silver on his right, and Seiki drew up the Kohagane to Parry. The dagger met the small projectile in a bright clank, and the slim throwing knife landed on the grass a few feet away. Judging from its trajectory, it had not been aimed at him, but at Shousei’s throat.
Shousei, perhaps caught by surprise, made no attempt to struggle.
“If you’re not going to kill him, let me, ronin-san,” a female voice broke out from the darkness
. This one, Seiki could immediately place, given the recent context. The forest rustled with movement, and out of the corner of his eyes, he could spot Mitsue, the thief from the bell tower, peering out from behind one of the trees. She was again disguised as a young boy, in an all-black kimono. “This will end all our troubles.”
Seeing that Shousei was still trapped, she boldly stepped out, and instantly another knife shot from her hand. Seiki Parried once more, sending it spinning into the ground.
Mitsue grunted in frustration. “Please, don’t make me kill you, too, ronin-san. This man has been hounding us ever since he caught wind of the gunpowder shipment at the dojo.” She shook her head. “The silly boy left a trail.”
This hardly surprised him now. “You’re behind all this,” said Seiki as pieces of the puzzle slowly fell into place. “Working with the Demonic Clan.”
The girl let out a disgusted laugh. “Look a bit closer, ronin-san. It’s not us who are working with the Demonic Clan. We, unlike the rest of Shinshioka, know where our loyalty lies.”
She made no further attempt to clarify what she meant, but reached into her pocket, retrieving a large bamboo tube with sealed ends, the shape of which reminded Seiki of the toy firecrackers he used to distract the abbot back at Nezumi Temple with. This one was at least ten times the size. Even without having seen it before, Seiki could guess what it was.
“If you don’t let me kill him, I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you both.” With a flick of her wrist, Mitsue lit the fuse attached to the end of the tube, and it started hissing, shooting out bright volatile sparks that lit up her face at an odd angle. “Ronin-san. I’m not joking. Don’t you think I won’t do it.”
She did give him a second to move, but when he did not, she pursed her lips in determination. “Sorry, ronin-san. I warned you.”
Seiki growled as the explosive flew from her hand toward them. Parrying was out of the question. So, grabbing Shousei’s front collar, he threw himself aside in a Slide, dragging the swordsman along with him out of harm’s range. Right behind them, the tube exploded in mid-air, bursting in a flash of orange flames and thick smoke. Seiki could feel a wave of hot air slam into him as they skidded to a hasty stop a safe distance away
