by Nikita Thorn
Letting out a long breath, Mitsue gathered her wits and peered at the box. “It’s still safe at this point,” she said, a little frightfully, sounding as if trying to convince herself.
Okamoto winced, but reached into the golden box to grab a white-glowing pearl. It was perfectly round, not any larger than a marble, but it shone brighter than it seemed possible. The young man shivered. “The officials are going to immediately know it’s unstable.”
“That’s why you have to act fast,” said Mitsue in barely more than a whisper. “Remember you have to get very close. The Shogun always accords Fuoka officials very high honor, so wait until he invites you to approach.”
Seiki remembered where he had seen such a pearl before: in the hand of a ghost lady, who had told him that light-forged weapons were made from Seeds of Light. He could now guess what Okamoto’s plan was. Like light-forged weapons, this Seed was most likely going to set off the Obora poison. With a hundred chests full of poison and such a powerful source of Light, the damage would be massive.
“This is bad, Chief,” whispered Genta in alarm.
“No, this is good,” Seiki said quietly. This development had given him a clear hint at what the task was. The light pearl was integral to Okamoto’s plan, and he hoped all he had to do to stop it was to take it away, which sounded much more achievable than trying to drag an unwilling young man all the way back to the city.
Seiki stood up from his hiding spot and signaled his unit to block the entrance.
Both Mitsue and Okamoto jumped at the unexpected commotion.
“Seiki?” Okamoto turned pale and took a step back, his hand closing protectively around the light pearl. “I… I told you not to follow me.”
“How did you get in?” Mitsue’s right hand suddenly shot out, letting fly a hail of silver shurikens, causing Okamoto to gasp in surprise and retreat out of the way.
Seiki drew his sword and Upslashed the metal bits. At close range, a few got through the wind effect, but none managed to cut through his leather armor. Mitsue’s eyes narrowed as she let loose another bout of shurikens. Not wanting to waste his lockouts over something that was clearly harmless, Seiki dodged aside, blocking the nearest few without energy.
Mitsue had clearly meant the attacks as a distraction and she made a dash for the entrance. “Come on, Okamoto!” she cried, but Genta and Ojisan cut her off with drawn swords, forcing her to retreat back.
“What is this?” The thief girl stopped in the middle of the room, her eyes darting between Seiki and his troops.
“Okay, let’s talk,” said Seiki.
“Don’t try to stop us,” Mitsue said, once again reaching into her sleeves.
Seiki had hoped there would be some way for him to simply dissuade them. But from their reaction, it seemed unlikely, and he knew their lack of cooperation was hardly his biggest concern.
“Watch the corridor,” he told his unit. “Warn me if Shousei shows up.”
“Yes, Chief,” said Rumi.
“But don’t engage,” Seiki added, his eyes still fixed on the thief girl.
“Traitor!” shouted Saburo at Mitsue.
The girl glared at him. “You really don’t have any idea what we’re doing, and how important this is. We are not traitors!” She threw another bout of shurikens that the troops blocked to the best of their abilities. A few projectiles hit their marks, but they did not seem to pierce through the armors. Only Genta suffered a minor graze on his arm.
Deeming the girl not an immediate threat, Seiki spared a quick glance at Okamoto, who had pressed himself against the back wall and was looking nervously at the light pearl in his hand. “Uh, Mitsue?” said the young man, a little helplessly.
His companion, unfortunately, did not seem to hear him. “You’re not going to destroy what we’ve worked so hard to achieve. This is our only chance to get close to the Shogun!” Mitsue rushed in toward Seiki, a short blade in her hand, this time aiming for a direct stab.
Seiki Parried once more without having to use energy, and she let out a soft cry as the force of the impact nearly knocked her off balance. Surprised at how weak her attacks were, Seiki took the opportunity to step in; he grabbed her wrist and twisted the weapon out of her grip.
A panicked cry escaped her throat as the knife clanked onto the ground. “Let go!”
Her wrist was tiny, and Seiki once again wondered how old she truly was. Her strength was no match for his, and her attempt to free herself was futile. Seiki kicked the knife a safe distance away before releasing his hold, letting the thief girl stagger back in surprise.
“This is not what you think it is, ronin-san.” She glared at him as soon as she was out of range. “We’re not betraying Shinshioka. We are not working with the Demonic Clan. We’re…we’re using them.”
“I don’t care what you do with the Demonic Clan,” said Seiki. “My business is with Okamoto.”
At her wits’ end, Mitsue glanced at Okamoto. “Come on, do something!”
The young man had been pretty much frozen in panic, but her voice propelled him into action. His left hand still clutching the light pearl, Okamoto drew the ancient dagger from his sleeve and lunged awkwardly at Seiki.
“Okay, easy.” Seiki took a cautious step back, out of the young man’s attacking range. “I’d prefer not to fight. Shousei’s gonna—”
“Leave us alone.” Okamoto turned his forward attack into a follow-up side-sweep. Seiki blinked as he recognized his own forms: a Focused Strike that morphed into a Sweeping Blade. “There’s nothing you can do. I’ve made up my mind a long time ago.”
Again, Okamoto closed in with the exact same combination, and Seiki realized that perhaps these were the only forms Master Tsujihara had had time to teach him. The old man had said Okamoto never took to the way of the sword, which was evident here. His forms were far from perfect and, with only the first two moves, his attacks were entirely predictable.
Knowing the ins and outs of these strikes by heart, Seiki was fully aware that Sweeping Blade left you wide open if you did not position yourself correctly. Waiting for the young man to finish his outward swing, he aimed at the opening and swept his sword diagonally up in a mirrored Upslash, twisting the blade so that the sword’s flat side slapped the young man on the wrist.
The improvised Disarm worked. The impact was strong, and Okamoto let out a surprised yelp as the weapon flew off his hand. Seiki quickly closed in and gripped the young man’s forearm, twisted, and pushed down.
Caught in the lock, Okamoto had no other choice but to drop onto one knee. Seiki had never attempted this while holding a sword before, and he realized what a good combination grappling and weapons could make.
“Let me go.” The young man grunted, trying to pull his arm away, wincing as it only served to hurt himself.
“Give me the pearl.” Seiki held tight but forced him no further. “Then we’ll talk about the whole thing.”
“Let go!” Okamoto growled, still fighting to escape the awkward position. “Let go, Seiki!” His eyes were bloodshot, his jaws clenched. The arm in Seiki’s grip was trembling violently from strain as he tried to go against the lockhold, desperate but powerless. Okamoto jerked again and let out a scream as the attempt wrenched his arm far beyond what was natural. His health dropped to two-thirds and he started panting heavily.
Seiki knew what desperation felt like. “Okamoto,” he said. “Give me the pearl.”
“No!” Okamoto pulled again. The young man was no longer thinking, and this would have broken his arm. Seiki let go, letting Okamoto drop on all fours to the ground. The young man gasped repeatedly for air, before letting out another pained grunt as he understood that his right arm was too injured to bear his weight.
He collapsed onto his side and glared up. His eyes swelled with angry tears, like a wild and cornered beast. “You can kill me, but you can’t talk me out of my revenge. They have to pay, Seiki. Someone has to pay.”
Sei
ki felt a sharp jolt of recognition at the emotion. It was the first time he had witnessed it from the outside, and having thrashed around in such a state for so long, he saw it like an old friend, perhaps a familiar sparring partner, whose tricks and habits he knew like the back of his hand.
Anger is a weapon of grief, a tool you pick up as the first line of defense against the unbearable condition you find yourself in, and you swing it indiscriminately against all threats. And only after you realize there are no enemies to cut down, you can truly learn to lay it aside.
Still drawing in ragged breaths, Okamoto glanced toward the ancient dagger that had dropped a little further away as if calculating how he could make a dash for it. “If you want to stop me, you’ve got to kill me, Seiki. There’s no other way.”
In his situation, and with an unusable arm, his attempt to reach the dagger was most likely going to be in vain, but Seiki knew well that it was not going to stop him from trying.
Seiki took a small step back and sheathed his Hikari. “Think of the blade as an extension of your body,” he said quietly.
Okamoto looked up at him in surprise.
This was something Master Tsujihara had said to him a long time ago that had in a way started him on a strange and life-changing path, and Seiki recalled it with bittersweet fondness. There was also something else the old master did not tell him but that he discovered on his own along the way. “You don’t always have to finish Sweeping Blade. Bend your elbow and pull the sword back if the opponent’s in close range. That way you won’t leave an opening.”
Okamoto stared at him, surprise turning into bewilderment. His mouth opened as if to say something, but he seemed at a loss for words.
Seiki smiled. “Or you’d be no good against the palace guards. If you’re really going against the Shogun, I guess I can’t stop you, but at least don’t embarrass the old man. He was a great swordsmaster. I can’t tell you what to do, or what to choose. That’s ultimately your own decision to make.”
The young man’s eyes widened, and unrestrained tears broke through the corners of his eyes down his cheeks. The spark of anger winked out as his last line of defense shattered. Then a violent shudder overtook him, and with a long agonized cry like a mortally wounded animal, he dropped to the floor, his head buried in his elbows. His body trembled with barely-controlled sobs.
Seiki slowly crouched down beside him and let him cry. Okamoto was shivering uncontrollably, and many times he drew a breath as if attempting to speak, but no coherent sounds came out. Seiki simply waited until he slowly quieted down.
“Give me the pearl, Okamoto,” Seiki finally said, gently but firmly, and the young man put up no resistance as Seiki carefully relieved the small white-glowing pearl from his loosened grip.
The moment he touched the pearl, he understood why the young man had winced. The object radiated a strange ghastly power that was both hot and cold. It felt weird, as if the pearl threatened to drain his life but never really followed through. For something so tiny, it was terrifyingly powerful, and Seiki held his breath as he read the description.
Unstable Supreme Seed of Light – Light calls to light. Upon contact with energy that has flowed through a light-forged weapon, the pearl unleashes a pure force of volatile light, destroying the weapon and instantly killing all within 10 feet of the pearl, as well as annihilating all demons within a 1-mile radius.
Looking back at the young man, he finally understood what Okamoto was trying to do.
“So you are planning to die,” he said quietly. “Along with the Shogun.” The young man’s goal was clear now. He was avenging the deaths of his parents and master. His mission was to destroy all that had wronged them: the Shogunate, the Shinshioka army, the Demonic Clan, as well as himself. Ultimately, perhaps it was most of all himself.
“Yes,” cried Okamoto without looking up from the floor. “Yes. So let me, Seiki. This is the only thing left for me to do. This is the only thing I can do right now, after… after…” He faltered, gritting his teeth as more tears streaked down his cheeks.
“The last thing I said to him in that cave…” Okamoto began again. “The last thing I said to him was that I wished I had died with my parents, and that I wished he never had taken pity on me, and that I wished I never had to live through sixteen years of blatant lies. I said it was cruel what he did, what they all did, and then I ran, and at the time I wished I would never see him again, and…You see… after that… I can’t. How can I…”
Seiki understood. Even up to this point, he could still offer no answer or advice on what to do when there was nothing else left to blame and when all thoughts led to the same conclusion, that it was too much to bear, and that the only escape was to choose to end it, and that it would be perfectly justified as no human should be made to withstand so much suffering.
As he watched the young man weep, Seiki had nothing to say. Words were in the realm of reason, and reason was a terrible cure for pain. Maybe the remedy took no less than a trip to the darkest abyss of the soul and back, and it was ultimately a journey one had to take alone.
“It passes,” Seiki finally said. That was all he could offer, as one who had walked the same path. “It won’t be easy. You’ll curse and scream and smash a lot of stuff. Then you run out of things to be angry about, then this silence creeps up on you and you start to believe that you somehow deserved it, and then you’re ashamed. You’re sorry for everything you’ve done. You try everything, all these exercises they teach you to do, but nothing helps. And then, one day, you find yourself testing if you can remove the safety bar on your window.” He paused and took a long, deep breath. “But then you push through long enough, and one day, it gets better. Just a little fraction, but it gets better.”
The world, somehow, whether advertently or not, did not let him die. For that he was grateful. Now it was his turn to do it for someone else.
“Get up, Okamoto,” he said. “We’re going to walk out of here.”
The rest of the room was deathly quiet. Okamoto’s breathing slowed and Seiki patiently waited. The first step had to be of his own volition.
“Okamoto,” said Seiki again, gently. He placed the volatile light pearl in his inventory and held out his hand. “Get up. Let’s go.”
The young man finally looked at him. There was no spark of hope or relief in his eyes, not yet, but he slowly took Seiki’s hand and staggered to his feet. His right arm, still injured, hung limply by his side.
Okamoto gulped down air. “I—” He suddenly froze, his eyes fixed at something further away, and it suddenly struck Seiki that the clamor from the fighting outside had long ceased.
Seiki had no idea how long it had been.
“Chief,” whispered Rumi from the entrance.
There was no need to look to know that Shousei’s white-clad figure had appeared.
“Talk about timing.” Ordering his unit to retreat as far as they could, Seiki spun to face the swordsman, just as Shousei flew into the room and jabbed his long sword at the troops.
The tip of the blade shallowly grazed Ojisan, dropping his health by more than a third. Seiki dashed in and Parried before the swordsman could attack again.
The impact dropped his energy to zero and sent a chilly vibration up his arms as a warning that it would have been lethal.
Seiki dropped low, traded health for more energy and stabbed down his Hikari in a Vertical Spike next to the man’s feet. He used the two-second stun to dash out of the way and order his troops out of range. Mitsue and Okamoto had hardly been a challenge, but with Shousei it could easily turn into a massacre.
The swordman’s eyes narrowed. Even when frozen in place, his voice was full of disdain. “That’s my father’s sword technique you’ve stolen.” He was most likely referring to the Vertical Spike. Seiki had somehow never thought of it that way before. The swordsman swept his gaze at the group and scoffed. “Thieves and traitors. Good that you’re all here. Don’t think your fate wi
ll be any different from your demon friends earlier.” A cruel smirk appeared on the corner of his lips. “I left none alive, and none as a complete corpse.”
Both Mitsue and Okamoto paled and took an instinctive step backward.
Seiki knew what sounded like a threat was actually a hint, which he took to mean that the vicinity was now free of demons, which in turn meant that all he needed to do was get everyone out of the room. Shousei was blocking the entrance, and Seiki took a peek over his shoulder to see how he could reposition the encounter.
“We’re not colluding with the Demonic Clan!” cried Mitsue from the back of the room. “We’re double-crossing them. The explosion from the light pearl is going to kill all the demons hiding in the entourage. The Shogun’s not fit to rule, and his demise will be a warning to the noble clans of Shinshioka.”
Shousei paid her no attention. “Where is my father’s treasure? The light pearl. Don’t think I’m not willing to loot it from your corpses.”
Judging from how dangerous the first exchange had been, Seiki knew none of them was a match for Shousei. This man was, after all, the true heir of an ancient sword style.
Okamoto had frozen in fear, and Mitsue, without weapons, was helpless. Seiki’s troops seemed eager to fight, but he doubted they would be able to do much apart from getting themselves swiftly slaughtered.
Shousei let out a sneer as he raised his sword again, and Seiki quickly reached into his pocket to retrieve the light pearl.
“I have it.” He held the object out for the man to see.
Shousei seemed pleased. “Hand it to me, boy.”
Seiki glanced at the entrance. “Let everyone leave, then you can have it back. There’s no need for bloodshed.” He supposed there was no harm in returning it to its rightful owner.
Shousei snorted. “You’re hardly in a position to negotiate.”
“It’s your father’s treasure,” said Seiki. “I think you know what it does. And I’m sure you know my sword is light-forged.”
