by DB King
A great conflagration of fire and lightning came forth from Jin’s hands. It boomed and sent thunderous waves rippling across the air as it traveled forward, ready to turn Jin’s former master to ashes and crackling.
“Wait!” Nobito went down to his knees and bowed his head, planting his forehead on the ground. Jin’s eyes widened, before willing his fire and lightning to dissipate, sending the brunt of the forces he’d unleashed soaring upward and boring a hole through the roof of Yojimbo’s tent. The foreigner wiped the sweat from his brows, sighing and falling on his bottom.
“Phew! I thought, for a moment, that you were really gonna blow up the place,” Yojimbo said, eyeing his collection of premium rice wines from Hirata.
Jin, however, was paying Yojimbo very little heed. Something was definitely not right if Nobito was willing to go down on his knees, even under threat of death.
Jin sighed and turned to Yojimbo. “Can you leave us alone for a moment? I think I need to talk to the old man and it’s better if it’s just the two of us. I swear I won’t blow up your tent if I end up killing him.”
Yojimbo seemed torn for a brief moment. He nodded and walked out without another word. The sounds of bustling activity from outside covered the sound of the foreigner’s footsteps. Jin turned to regard his old teacher with a stern glare. Nobito wasn’t off the hook, but Jin was willing to hear him out if he was desperate enough to actually submit. Sighing, Jin leaned against the rock wall, where Yojimbo’s tent had been propped against, and spoke, “Explain everything that happened, old man. I know there’s something you’re just dying to tell me so you might as well get on with it. My patience is really starting to run out.”
He still had to run back to Hirata and find out just what happened to him, and then he’d have to raise the defenses, rally the warriors, and ensure the town and its people were prepared for the coming war. And then he had to make contingency plans after contingency plans, just to ensure the people’s survival should the worst come to pass. Jin’s previous discussion with Yojimbo still rang through his mind and he didn’t need his former teacher coming in and adding another problem to the growing pile of problems already on his plate.
“Your father ordered your teachers and instructors out through a series of tunnels that ran underneath the castle,” Nobito began.
Jin raised an eyebrow. Just how many secret tunnels did Castle Murasaki have?
“When the others ran out into the night and fled from the siege, I… decided, against my better judgement and returned to aid in the defense of the family that has treated me with respect and dignity, when all others treated me with disdain and mistrust.” Nobito’s tone was somber, almost defeated. Jin wondered why. “I stuck to the shadows, eliminating as many shinobi as I possibly could. There were many of them—all of whom were sent to kill Hamada, before he alone could change the tide of the battle.”
Jin nodded. Nobito did seem like the perfect counter-assassin tool, given his skills that far outranked even the best of the shinobi. The old man continued, “When the shinobi retreated, I attempted to sneak into the enemy camp and kill their lord. Such a blow would’ve crushed the resolve of their soldiers and severely diminished their morale. Though they far outnumbered the forces your father had mustered, they would’ve crumbled without their lord.”
Nobito’s face fell. “At least, that’s what I thought when I crossed the enemy’s lines and snuck into their camp,” Nobito said. “What I did not expect was for the enemy lord to have two mages at his side—red-robed, magical users. They bore a symbol I did not quite recognize.”
Nobito shook his head. “I tried—I really did—but their magics proved too great, even for my skills.” He sighed. “I barely escaped with my life, after wounding the enemy lord. I had gambled with fate, you see, and threw poisoned shuriken at his neck. The mages intervened at the last moment, and the enemy lord barely moved out of the way.”
“The shuriken missed, after it had sliced through the side of the lord’s neck,” Nobito explained. “I killed one of the mages, when I threw another, but it was far too dangerous to remain after two failed attempts. So, I ran… and, when I looked over the horizon, the castle had already fallen.”
“Where did you go?” Jin asked.
“I journeyed north after that, wandering the countryside, frequenting taverns and drinking away the shame of failure,” Nobito’s eyes seemed lifeless and colorless, as though he had lost everything dear to him. “I wandered the northlands for longer than I care to count. I even contemplated just crossing the border into Varnu territory… but then I hear rumors and whispers of a boy in the southern lands—a ten-year-old boy—who held powers beyond imagining, whose prowess eclipsed even the mightiest bushi, and that warriors from all around the eastern provinces would come to challenge him. They said that this boy was in charge of a village and that it prospered under his care.”
Jin nodded slowly.
“I only knew of one other boy, who might possess such powers.” Nobito sighed. “He was the son of a noble and fearsome lord who perished in the defense of his home.”
“And so I dared to hope that you, my former student, had somehow survived and found your way to some backwater village.” For a moment, Jin wondered if Hamada might’ve survived as well, but immediately shook away the thoughts. Nobito continued, “I journeyed south. The rumors grew. Each one I heard was more exaggerated than the last—the tales of the demon of Hirata, a monster in the body of a child.”
Jin laughed. There were stories about him? Huh, he’d never bothered to listen to anything the peasants and the merchants were saying about him. In hindsight, the stories and legends were probably the reason why Jin once had a constant supply of eager challengers—until they all stopped coming at some point. The fame and awe that came with the rumors and whispers would likely come to his benefit at some point, though, Jin had no real reason to crave something as banal as fame.
Still, he wasn’t about to play the fool and just believe everything his old teacher was saying. Spies and assassins were tricky like that. This whole story could simply be just that—a story—and Nobito might’ve been the whole reason why Hamada was unable to muster a proper army when, by all accounts, he should’ve been able to. “Yeah, that’s a very nice story and I’d love to hear more of it, but I’m not an idiot. Why don’t you tell me what really happened so we can get on with our lives?”
Nobito paused, and his eyes glimmered before his face twisted and his lips curled into a smile. His whole demeanor changed immediately, almost as though a mask had been peeled off of his head. Nobito raised his wrinkled hands and clapped. The tired, ragged, and humbled old man was gone. Standing there was the arrogant and prideful master of the Blade of the Feather-Moon. “Ah, that was so close. I almost thought you might actually fall for that stupid story, Jin. Ah, I really did teach you well.”
Jin smiled and bowed slightly. “Yes, you did. And that’s why I’m not about to believe in some sob story. Tell me the truth, right now.”
Fire and lightning erupted from Jin’s hands. The unspoken threat lingered in the air. Nobito released a heavy sigh and shook his head. “Fine, the simple truth is that I ran out the hidden tunnels underneath the castle and never looked back. I didn’t care about your father or about your castle, and before you accuse me of anything, no, I wasn’t working for whoever sacked your home. I may be a master spy, assassin, and saboteur, but I have standards.”
“It’s true that your father treated me far better than almost every other lord that once hired my services,” Nobito groaned. “Bushi are so close-minded. They think it’s cowardice to sneak up on someone and stab them in the back, instead of stabbing them from the front. I mean, what’s the difference? The person’s going to die regardless. They might as well die, without having the chance to fight back!”
Jin ran a hand across his face. “Stop, this conversation is taking me nowhere. What are you doing here, Nobito, and who sent you?”
“The short answe
r is that I’m here, because I’m bored,” the old man said, flatly. “The long answer is that my death will come soon and I want to teach my art to as many people as possible. Unfortunately, my usual clients—lords and their sons—aren’t as willing to learn the Blade of the Feather-Moon as these rich bandits are. Honestly, I’m teaching a dying art-form to five hundred people, who are all very eager to learn and apply their learnings. Though most of them will not excel at the art, I’m willing to wager that, at least, a few will truly absorb the essence of the Blade of the Feather-Moon, unlike you, Jin.”
The fires and the lightning in his hands were immediately snuffed. Jin raised an eyebrow and leaned back, laying a hand on his chest. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I’m plenty stealthy. I’ve killed a whole squad of shinobi and they never even noticed me.”
“Oh please,” Nobito waved his hand, brushing off Jin’s accomplishment. “Everyone and their grandmother, and their dog, has killed at least three of those buffoons. Shinobi are glorified thugs, lurking in the shadows. They don’t understand the true essence of stealth.”
The old man gestured toward Jin. “Also, you were a terrible student, Jin—no offense. But you’re far better suited for stabbing your enemy in the face, repeatedly, instead of stabbing them from behind. You’re good, but not nearly good enough to carry the mantle of the Feather-Moon. I’m here because I’m hoping one of these idiots is worthy.”
Jin sighed. That one was no longer a lie. It also explained why Nobito was fine with the modest payment when Hamada had offered him exuberant prices. “Fine, I guess, you’ll be staying here as a part of Yojimbo’s retinue, then? We could use a master assassin for the coming war. These people need to learn how to deal with shinobis, anyway.”
“I know,” Nobito said. “And yes, I’ll be staying with the foreigner until I find someone worthy enough to carry the mantle of the Feather-Moon. There is already one among this band of hapless little children, who shows enough potential to become something more than what she already is.”
“I see,” Jin replied, before shaking his head and walking toward his former teacher. He extended a single hand. “Welcome to the army, my former master. I happen to be Yojimbo’s patron.”
Nobito smiled. “I know. Without you, he wouldn’t be able to afford any of the many things he likes to accumulate.”
Jin’s eyebrows furrowed as a sudden thought occurred to him. “Wait, you mentioned a red-robed mage in that story…”
Nobito raised a single eyebrow. “I saw the enemy mages from the window in my room. They wore red…”
His former master’s voice trailed off as Jin’s senses returned to that soft haze it had once been when he first awoke.
Jin winced and groaned as the needle-like pain returned in his chest. This time, however, it was far more painful than the others before it. He fell to a knee, clutching his chest, eyes wide. What’s going on?
In Hirata, a single crack appeared on the surface of an otherwise unassuming wooden box in Jin’s room.
Chapter 18
“What happened to this place?” Shinji muttered under his breath as he beheld the chaos of Hirata.
The small town had once been the very image of prosperity. It was better than the capital and every other town or village in all of Moyatani. Its people lived simple but abundant lives, where even the poorest of the poor did not fear hunger and thirst, for the unlikely governor of Hirata had made it so its people would never have to suffer under such oppressions.
Well, hunger and thirst still seemed distant foes to the people of Hirata, but the whole town looked as though a storm had swept across it and laid waste to everything, leaving a ravaged folk behind. Most of the infrastructure had survived, of course, being made of rock and stone, but almost everything that was made of wood or wasn’t bolted down to the ground had been either ripped apart or torn off. Several of the townsfolk sported injuries, and their eyes spoke of nameless horrors that came in the night.
Even the guards, who were usually enthusiastic in their patrols, were dreary eyed and weary, exhaustion weighing on their faces. Most of them looked just about ready to drop down and sleep on the ground.
Shinji’s eyes narrowed as he approached the nearest person, an old woman, who sold fresh fruits and vegetables at incredibly cheap prices. Her stall was not nearly as shredded as everything else around her was, though her bloodshot eyes and the dark bags underneath them was enough to tell Shinji that she had gone through the same horrors as everyone else in Hirata.
“Excuse me,” Shinji began, slowly approaching the dead-eyed woman. She stared off into the distance, into the gray slabs of stone that made up the tall walls surrounding the small town. When Shinji cleared his throat, the old woman’s eyes widened. She shook her head.
“Y-yes?” She said, forcing out a hollow smile. Her voice was ragged and tired, not the usual warmth and mirth that marred the voices of Hirata’s inhabitants just a few days ago. “I’m sorry for spacing off. Did you want something, young man?”
“Yes,” Shinji nodded, forcing out a smile in turn. He grabbed an apple and tossed a single silver coin at the old woman’s counter. It was far more than what the fruit was actually worth, Shinji realized, but nothing was more effective at making people talk than good old fashioned bribery. Besides, she definitely needed it more than him. His stipend from the Imperial Academy was counted in gold coins—worth far more than silver. In the end, it was nothing to him.
Shinji took a bite out of the apple. It was sweet, crunchy, and juicy—unnaturally so, but he didn’t mind. In fact, it was better than any apple he’d ever eaten in the southlands, though it did seem as though its growth was influenced by magic—likely through the presence of an Emerald-Winged Butterfly, a harmless Magical Beast whose presence drastically affected the plants and the fruits around it.
He pretended to look around, feigning interest and curiosity. “So, can you tell me what happened here? It’s like a storm came through this place.”
The old woman shook her head. The weariness reflected off her eyes. “Something happened… I don’t know what, young man. There were… nightmares. My grandchildren couldn’t sleep and there were… voices in the air. They whispered in my ears, telling me to do terrible things to the people I loved.”
Tears streamed out of her eyes, and Shinji could only listen on in silence as the story unfolded. This didn’t seem like the work of Murasaki Jin, who—by all accounts—wielded elemental powers and cared deeply for the people under his care. A monster he may be, there was little reason for him to lash out at the people of Hirata in this manner—not that he could.
She sobbed, eyes hollowed. Her hands trembled. Her skin paled. “By the time I had realized what I was doing, I was already holding a knife to the throat of my grandchildren. I… I… I almost killed him, my poor little Sakura…”
The old woman became a sobbing mess and Shinji found no further use for her. He did, however, gain a rather substantial amount of information from that conversation. Something came and attacked the village two days ago—judging by the mental effects, it’s probably some kind of controller-type Magical Beast of an unknown class, Shinji reasoned. Though, from the damage and chaos it had apparently inflicted on the village, I’d say it’s either a low behemoth-class or a high leviathan-class.
Then again, there wasn’t a pile of corpses anywhere. Property damage aside, there were just people walking about with weary faces and bloodshot eyes. They were disturbed lot and, judging by the old woman’s brief description, more than one person had tried to kill their family members in the psionic haze that befell the village. I should ask around the Administrative Offices for a casualty report, he decided.
And so, Shinji spent the next two hours asking around, talking to the dreary, dead-eyed villagers, and the guardsmen. The stories were unsurprisingly similar to each other. Save for the very few with the rare spark of magical talent, almost everyone had caught themselves at the crux of murdering a close friend or relative. The wo
rst of it, however, were the few people who’d turned feral and attacked anyone and everyone around them, prompting the militia to respond with lethal force.
Ten people died in a single night. Five of them were children, four adults, and a single guardsman.
Those with a spark of magical talent, however, vaguely remembered a presence of some kind—a dreadful weight in the air. Like everyone else, their memories were hazy and mostly incomplete, but they remembered the presence rather clearly and the overwhelming power that came with it.
And yet no one remembered anything after that. Every single person in the village simply reported waking up on their beds in the morning with no recollection as to how they even got there, after the chaos of it all.
Here are the facts: something exploded in the lord’s manor, Shinji thought. After that, everyone reported feeling a sudden sense of unease and dread. And then the nightmares came, Shinji leaned against a particularly intriguing design for a lamppost and eyed the denizens of Hirata, walking about and minding their own business. They were trying to get a sense of normalcy after what’d occurred some days ago, but the torment in their eyes was clear for all to see. Where was Murasaki Jin in all of this?
Once the nightmares began, the whole town fell into madness…
Still, the presence of a hospital was helping things along quite nicely. Where these backwater bumpkins learned to perform the medical arts was lost on him, but it probably had something to do with Murasaki Jin’s strange wisdom—as everything else did.
Shinji glanced around for a moment, searching for eyes that lingered on him. He found nothing. And so, with a slight huff, the Varnu expanded his magical senses all across the town. It extended beyond the walls, reaching the edges of the woodlands, encompassing every piece of rock, stone, grass, and dew. And still, Shinji found nothing amiss. Whatever happened here had left no magical signature for him to follow and investigate. This village was just one mystery after another.