I apologize for how long this took. This update required a lot of effort, and in more ways than one. Much thanks to
@Rook and
@FlatlineAskari for their help with the haiku. It is much appreciated.
[x] "Kitsuki-sama, information can be very important when warring against the Darkness, and he seems willing to answer. Could we question him first?"
Courtier Roll: 5k3=33
The Kitsuki Daimyo considers the bound form of Moto Shinichiro, his gaze measuring. The storm in his grey eyes has muted somewhat in the face of the Ronin's request, but you can still see anger there. It is tightly restrained, but that makes it no less deadly. In truth, such control makes the emotion all the more dangerous in a man with as much power as this one holds.
His anger is well justified. Moto Shinichiro tore through Dragon lands during the war he waged on the Empire, laying waste to many provinces and claiming thousands of lives. This duplicate stands as a testament to everything that man did, and all the pain he caused. For being party to such terrible crimes execution seems the only likely response.
Indeed, you've little doubt that Kitsuki Ryojiro will return to his original decree of simply chopping off Shinichiro's head. And yet it seems such a waste. This man stood with you; bled with you, so that a great evil might be vanquished. He did so to make right some of the pain he has caused even knowing he would likely be given such an ignoble fate in the end. Did not such intentions deserve recognition?
You don't believe Kitsuki Ryojiro will see things that way. It is not a slight on the man's character, for you know his rage against Moto Shinichiro is well earned. Glancing toward Shinjo Wanli, you see similar anger in her own eyes as she glares at the Ronin. This, too, is no surprise. The only people who might hold as much animosity toward this man as the Dragon would have to be the Unicorn.
But to have this man, who came to this battle knowing his death was all but certain, be subject to the shame of execution? It seems such a waste. Surely there must be something...
"Please forgive my interruption, Kitsuki-sama," you say, bowing low at the waist. Pain shoots up through the various aches covering your body, but you ignore them as best you can. "Information can be very important when warring against the Darkness, and he seems willing to answer. Could we question him first?"
Kitsuki Ryojiro turns to you, and you feel the weight of his gaze. It is an unsettling experience, and you feel goosebumps break out against your flesh. But as you rise, you see the storm has faded from his eyes. His brow furrows as he regards you and your words, and you have to hold back a smile of triumph as you see him honestly consider your proposal.
"I think that is a fine idea," Asako Akio says, nodding. "By all appearances it seems Shinichiro has been working against the machinations of the corrupted duplicate for some time. Surely he must know a great deal that could be useful in future efforts against such vile creatures."
"There is no need for such," Shinichiro says, cutting his friend off before he could say anything more. "I came knowing that I might die, either in the battle or after, and have told those who followed me all I know that could be of use." He leaned his head to indicate the mounted Ronin in the back, watching with a stoicism bordered on the morose. "They have been instructed to tell you everything."
Asako Akio inhales sharply, staring at his friend. Then his shoulders slump. "You always were more clever than you let on, weren't you Shinichiro?" He sighs, and lets out a small smile. "I really shouldn't be surprised."
"I'm more a fool than many, Akio," Shinichiro responds with a grin. It seems the most natural thing in the world on his worn, weather-beaten face. "But even a fool can have his moments."
The Dragon Daimyo turns his attention back to Shinichiro, and for a brief moment the storm of his rage returns to those piercing eyes… And then it fades, and there is nothing but honest appraisal. He remains that way for a long time, his lips pursed as he observes the face of the man most hated by the Dragon in recent memory.
There is no sound as Kitsuki Ryojiro stands there gazing at the Ronin with his penetrating eyes, no noise save the soft clatter of armor as you all stand ready. There is hardly even any
breathing as you await the Kitsuki Daimyo's words, and it almost seems like the whole world is waiting to see what will happen next. The silence is so gripping that you can't help but shudder as a chill wind blows through the land, rustling the leaves on the trees nearby and breaking the oppressive quiet.
"You really did come with no intention but to help, didn't you," Kitsuki Ryojiro says at last, his words very obviously a statement instead of a question. "Despite knowing, win or lose, that you would die."
"If that is the price to cleanse even a fraction of my shame, then I will pay it gladly," Shinichiro says, his head bowed. "I have lived life without honor and found it meaningless. It would be good to be part of something that has value, even if it's at the end of my time in this mortal world."
"I see," the Dragon Daimyo responds. He takes a deep breath, and then exhales with a nod. "If that is so, then I shall grant you the honor of Seppuku, Shinichiro." He motions to the Bushi watching over the man. "Release him, and have a pyre prepared."
The Ronin looks up, his shoulders relaxing as relief and gratitude washed over him. He smiles at the Kitsuki Ryojiro as his bonds were loosened. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, never looking away. There is no fear in him, just purpose that must be fulfilled.
"There is no honor I can give you to match that which you have given me, Kitsuki-sama. But even still, I must try," Shinichiro says before going to his knees in a bow before the Daimyo. "Would you be my Second?"
Kitsuki Ryojiro blinks. "Me? You would ask that I do this?"
"It is the only way I can give you honor," Shinichiro replies, his forehead still touching the ground. "I have nothing else to show my gratitude."
You inhale sharply, unable to hide your surprise as you observe this spectacle with wide eyes. Shinichiro is showing the Kitsuki Daimyo an
incredible amount of respect with this request. The position of Second is a sacred trust, to allow another to hold your honor in their hands so that there is no shame displayed when the cuts are made.
Glancing at Asako Akio, you can see that it is even more meaningful in this context. The man watches with a flat expression, though there is tension around his eyes. The Elemental Master was, and you suppose still is, Shinichiro's close friend. And yet it is Kitsuki Ryojiro who he asks…
"If that is your wish, then I will act as your Second," Kitsuki Ryojiro says, nodding. He turns to Hideki. "Please see that I have a ladle of fresh water, Hideki-san. I must purify my blade."
"It will be done at once, Kitsuki-dono," the Chui replies, bowing before heading off to see to his Lord's orders.
Shinichiro rises to his knees, and is helped out of his armor by a few of the Bushi standing by. Soon he is sitting in nothing but a kimono and hakama. He does not much smaller now, looming even as he rests in a seiza position. His wakazashi is returned to him, and he sets it across his knees as he waits for everything to be prepared.
All this time, Akio stands by watching. His breathing is slow and even, but his back is rigid like aged wood. This must be a terrible ordeal for him to witness the passing of the same friend once more. The Shugenja is maintaining his face, but it is a close thing.
"Akio, would you please record my death poem?" Shinichiro asks softly. "I would trust no one but you to hold my final words."
"I…" Akio begins, his voice cracking. He swallows once before continuing. "Yes, Shinichiro. I will do this for you."
"You have my thanks, Akio," he says, not looking at his friend. "This means a great deal to me."
Soon enough everything is ready. The pyre is built and doused with oil, waiting to be lit. Kitsuki Ryojiro stands ready, his katana cleaned and purified for the deed to come. Shinichiro grabs his wakazashi by the blade, only a single strip of cloth keeping it from cutting his palm. With his other hand he opens his kimono, exposing a muscled stomach that could have been carved from stone.
For a few moments he sits there with his eyes closed in quiet contemplation. Much of what remains of the army has gathered to watch this event, waiting in silence. These men and women have every reason to despise Shinichiro, but none speak or interfere. Even Wanli, still gripping her spear tightly, holds her peace. The ritual of seppuku is too important, too
sacred, for anything less than the utmost respect.
The wind gusts through the group, bringing with it the chill of the north. You do not shudder, however, and you do not blink. You do not want to miss even one moment of this event, to see the end of the man hailed as both a hero and a traitor for his actions done over twenty years ago. And with this, you hope, there might be some absolution for his name.
Finally, Shinichiro opens his eyes.
"Sun rises, blade glints.
The shadows, and dishonor...
As one, washed away."
The blade plunges in, and the cuts are made. Barely the span of a single breath later Kitsuki Ryojiro brings down his sword and saves Shinichiro from the shame of expressing his agony.
It is a flawless strike.
o\O/o
The army is melancholy and quiet as it marches back toward Shiro Kitsuki, a strange mirror to the mood it had on the journey toward the battle. Back then everyone was set with grim determination, preparing for the conflict. Now, bloodied and bruised, the Dragon Samurai limp their way back home. If you didn't know better, you would think they had lost this fight instead of emerging victorious.
But it isn't as if you cannot understand their feelings. The action taken against the corrupted duplicate of Moto Shinichiro resulted in the deaths of a little over half the army. When confronted by such losses, especially when outnumbering the foe almost three to one, a victory does not look much different than a defeat. A full day was spent after the bloodshed ended just to properly cremate the bodies and have the Shugenja give the proper prayers so that their souls would hopefully continue on to their next lives.
A subject you are growing more and more concerned about whenever someone glances at you with a question in their eyes. No one has confronted you about what happened in the fight against the Giant Shadowspawn, giving you space on the march back to the castle. You are thankful for this, because after having time to think about what happened you aren't sure you are comfortable with the conclusions you are drawing.
Could it be true? you wonder, drawing the hazy recollection of Nisshoku's words.
Could I really be Hida Yakamo reborn?
The very idea is ludicrous, for a hero as accomplished as Hida Yakamo would surely have ascended to Yomi after his fall from Tengoku. And yet it would explain so much… It would give you an answer to the fire you have wielded, and perhaps even the strange dreams that have plagued you on occasion ever since you completed your Gempukku.
You shake your head, dispelling those thoughts for now. This isn't the time to muse on such matters. You can address the topic with your superior when you give him your report, and after that work toward the answer to your strange abilities. For now, you walk in silence.
Your companions do likewise, all drained from the battle and what came after. Hanabi has bags under her eyes, no doubt from how little sleep she has gotten. Himawari, meanwhile, walks with slumped shoulders and is obviously suffering from fatigue. Both march with their faces downcast, keeping their eyes up just enough to see where they are going.
Even Shirou looks tired, the monk's step less animated or vigorous than usual. He keeps pace, of course, but there is less power to his stride. Your friend's strength and endurance is great, easily surpassing your own, but with these events he seems to have reached his limits.
The only one who does not seem taken by exhaustion is Shinjo Wanli, and that is because she appears in the midst of distraction. Her eyes are almost glazed, as if she is staring far away as she walks. She is thinking deeply on some matter, but on what you could not say for sure.
So it is that the hours pass as you walk along the road, with nothing but the clatter of armor and the sound of the wind to remind you there is more to the world than stillness.
[] Interact with your comrades. (Write in.)
[] Continue to march in silence.
