***
He wanted to slay. He wanted to kill. He wanted to murder. He wanted to maim. But above all, he wanted the fucking assistant’s head.
As Ryokawa Hanataro walked out of Ishida’s—he’d be damned if he’d ever refer to him respectfully again—castle, his stomach burned with barely contained wrath. He had seldom known a humiliation as deep and scathing as the one Ishida had doled on him. And all on behalf of some filthy, human-shitstain of a blacksmith! Though the samurai wanted to hurl imprecations at the authors of his debasement, he found no words vile enough to express the seething anger he felt.
Hanataro’s every thought returned to Ishida’s insults. The man may have been his superior in rank, but he, Ryokawa Hanataro, had been appointed by the shogun himself, gods damn it! Rank was of little matter when a man of higher stature had deemed him competent enough to serve as Ishida’s samurai, and yet the daimyo refused to recognize the value in his services.
He had done what was right, he knew he had. The aged blacksmith had housed a returned one, a deed so execrable that summary execution was the only right way to proceed. Hanataro had performed his duty with utmost diligence and slain the traitor on the spot. He should have been lauded for his handiwork, Ishida should have showered him with praise for having discovered the repugnant cover-up of a returned one; yet as he had done before, the daimyo offered no praise nor appreciation, but utter contempt and disrespect.
This time he has gone too far, thought Hanataro. This time he has squatted on my good name, smeared it with his mouth-spewed feces and dragged it through the mud! The samurai was a nobleman, a warrior and a landowner, and regardless of Ishida’s rank, it was Hanataro’s right to demand satisfaction in singular combat.
A sick grin twisted Hanataro’s features as he thought of the possibility. Yes, I can see it, Ishida choking on his own blood, his bowels loosening as life leaves his carcass to rot. He knew what he would do the next time the daimyo summoned him. But for now, he counseled himself, Patience, Hanataro-bushi. Ready yourself to fight against the spurious ruler, and reclaim your honor.
Hanataro’s mood brightened as he savored the promises of violence in his future. He whistled a jolly tune as he made his way towards his horse.
***
His heart rent at seeing Yuki and Ren’s state. The girl was awake, whimpering as she huddled next to her sister, demonstrating the tremendous fear she was being put through. The moment Kain slid open the door, she jumped, startled, and buried her face in sleeping Ren’s bosom. The scene instilled a deep sense of regret in him—after all, it was his fault that they had been put through such an abuse—but his regret was quickly tempered by a cold, calm rage at the hypocrisy which had enabled such a travesty.
Ryokawa Hanataro must pay, Kain thought resolutely as he knelt beside Yuki and kindly said, “Hey, Yuki-chan.”
The girl lifted her teary eyes and took a moment to look at Kain. When she recognized him, she hurled herself onto his chest, crying, “You came, Bushi-sama.”
“Hey, there, youngling, I’m here, and you are safe,” he swallowed loudly and asked, “How is Ren?”
“She’s sleeping. I was scared.”
“Hush,” Kain said, humming as he cradled Yuki’s minuscule frame. “It’s alright, Yuki. I’m here,” and feeling his resolution burgeoning, he intently added, “And nothing, and no one will ever hurt you again.”
He held the girl for a few minutes, until she fell asleep huddled against his chest. Though he felt relieved that both Ren and Yuki were relatively safe, he was restless; deep within his chest he felt the urge for immitigable violence demanding to be unleashed against the man who had caused so much pain to the two girls, and to his family. Kain decided that no matter what Ishida-daimyo ruled about his fate, one thing was irrevocable: He would be the one to kill Ryokawa Hanataro.
A mumbling sound came from Ren as she began to stir up. Kain made no noise, not wanting to startle her; when she opened her eyes, she gasped and recoiled in fear, before she recognized him. “Kain?” she wheezed weakly. “Kain, is that really you?”
“It’s me, Ren,” he replied, managing a weak smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”
“You came, Kain, that’s what matters.” Then her eyes grew large with horror as she said, “Kain, your father, Munesuke-san, I’m so sorry.”
Gods damn it, thought Kain. She has gone through hell, yet she still worries about my father. His jaw ached as he grinded his teeth, but he managed to calm down before saying, “It’s okay, Ren,” then, wondering if it was a stupid question, he asked, “Are you well?” Ren lowered her gaze, and Kain felt a pit forming in his stomach. “Were you...” he paused, reeling from the thought. “Were you... hurt?”
She shook her head. “No, Kain. Not that way. I was starved, and beaten whenever I tried to protect Yuki,” she sobbed, “But they didn’t take me.”
“Gods,” Kain gasped, feeling relief washing over him. “Has Ishida mistreated you?”
“No,” Ren replied. “The daimyo, he’s been kind. He... regrets that we were brought here in the first place.”
“Good,” said Kain. “He offered me quarters, Ren.”
“He did the same with us. He said we can stay as long as we want, so we can recover, as an apology for...” She shrugged, leaving the sentence unfinished.
“Well, in my case it’s different. My fate is in his hands.”
“How so?” Ren asked, not bothering to hide her concern.
“He knows I am a returned one, and law demands I must be executed. But don’t worry, I think he may be up to something.”
“I pray it is so,” Ren said weakly. “I don’t want you to die.”
Kain smiled weakly. “I won’t die, Ren. I’ve made a promise.”
“What promise, Kain?”
A somber countenance took over Kain as he said, “I won’t die until the day I make Hanataro pay.”
Ren stifled a gasp, and then she looked at Yuki before holding Kain’s gaze. “Kain, there’s something you must know. Ryokawa Hanataro is—”
“I know,” Kain interrupted her, pulling her into an embrace. They shared in the silence, and the mutual disdain for the man who had hurt their lives so deeply.
***
An interesting man, this Kain Smith, thought Ishida as he walked beside his daughter. He is not at all as I expected—not an uncouth artisan, but an educated, thoughtful young man. He felt the swaying weight of Zwaihan behind his sash, its scabbard grinding against the lower end of his stately robe. A thinker, a blacksmith, and a warrior, he chuckled under his breath. A dangerous man.
“You like him, father,” Yumei commented as she heard the daimyo’s chuckle.
“The man, Kain Smith?” A smirk appeared on his face. “Yes. I like him. He’s unlike the sycophants and sticklers for traditionalism I’m most often surrounded by.”
“And the polar opposite of Hanataro,” his daughter pointed out.
He shot a sidelong glance at his daughter. “Don’t go getting ideas, Yumei. You can’t have him.”
“But father, why not? He seems well educated and capable of protecting a wife!”
“Because, daughter, there are certain customs not even I would dare overstep. But don’t make that face, Yumei; there’s no point in fretting over that. Besides,” he added, “I haven’t yet decided on the terms of his execution.”
Dismay became plain on Yumei’s features. “Do you truly intend to kill him, father?”
“I am yet to determine as much, my dear. I will not deny that this Kain Smith might yet be an asset to us, an unexpected boon,” he paused, taking a deep breath before admitting, “And the grain needed to tip the balance in our favor.”
“What do you mean, father?”
“Yumei, you are clever, and you have been helping me most adroitly with the edicts, proclamations, and levies imposed by my dear brother Ichiro. Tell me, what did you see as you delved through these documents?�
� Yumei grew silent. Ishida knew keeping her mouth shut wasn’t his daughter’s forte, so he smiled and kindly said, “Daughter, please. I would like to hear your opinion on the matter.”
“Father,” she said respectfully, “Your brother, shogun Ichiro, is choking Nagano, drowning its people in insurmountable taxes and subsuming those under your care into misery,” she stifled a sob. “It’s terrible.”
“I agree, daughter. I have no idea what Ichiro is planning, or what he expects to gain from miring Nagano in poverty, but whatever it is,” he scoffed, “There’s one thing I’m certain about: It’s about me.”
“Is that your ego talking, father?”
“This is no time for jokes, Yumei.”
Chastised, she said, “Apologies, father.”
“Don’t worry about it. I am being serious, however. His ‘older age’ may have earned him the title of shogun, but he knows that if I were given the chance, I would tear it away from his incompetent, petulant fingers.” He let out his breath, trying to calm his burgeoning anger. “The first step, however, would be to rid ourselves of Hanataro.”
“I thought he served under you, father.”
“Technically speaking, yes. It’s my prerogative to command him as he was assigned as guardian-administrator of our family, but I espouse no illusions as to his true allegiance; at the end of the day, the Ryokawa family has strong ties with our own Yorunokenshi family. Or at least to the family’s oldest son.”
“Which would be your brother.”
“Because of four damnable minutes, my daughter.”
“Hmm, why don’t you simply remove Hanataro from your retinue, then?”
Ishida sighed. “Would that it were as easy as that, Yumei. I may not be a strict adherent to traditions, but Ichiro and Hanataro are. I can’t simply tell the samurai to piss off and be done with it—now don’t laugh, I can curse too!” He exclaimed as he heard his daughter’s badly concealed chortle. Ishida continued, “Whatever the case, I need a stately reason to banish Hanataro, but truth is, he has given me none.”
“How hasn’t he?” She asked. “Isn’t murdering a blacksmith, torching his estate, and imprisoning our guest not enough of a reason?”
“Aye, Yumei. Though I find Hanataro’s actions to be deplorable, not to say repugnant, truth is that he had the right to do it. He has the prerogative to act on his lord’s behest—me, technically—and exact summary executions whenever law demands it. Alas, Kajiya Munesuke housed a returned one, his very own son; this deed is punishable by death,” he shrugged. “And so the outcome was lawful.”
Yumei snarled in contempt. “What manner of idiotic, asinine law would countenance the murder of innocents on account of returning from the west?”
“A law sustaining an unsustainable system, my dear. Censure and castigation of any form of dissention or, as priests adore calling it, heresy are mere safeguards against differing perspectives. Should a returned one denounce the hypocritical and archaic nature of many, if not most of our most sacred traditions,” he shrugged, “Rebellion would be inevitable.”
“So they cut away the problem before it presents itself,” Yumei uttered matter-of-factly.
“Precisely. By banning any form of free thought, and imposing our beliefs and traditions, deviation from which is punishable by death, the religious and political rulers of Nippon can maintain their ruling privileges, but at a steep prize: Our nation is stagnant, and its people starve on a daily basis. This must change,” he said intently before adding, “I will change it.”
“What do you intend to do, father?”
“For now,” Ishida replied with a shrug, “Test our friend’s value and ascertain whether he may be of use to us. I spoke to Zwaihan, and as she describes it, this smith uses... unusual methods in his metalworking. I would like to see those methods before I make a decision regarding his life.”
“What will happen then, father?”
“If Kain Smith proves himself an asset for me, he will live. If not, our law will have the corpse it demands.”
Yumei said nothing more as she and her father walked together. Ishida, however, planned ahead based on the terrible illusions conjured by answering the perennial question, “What if?”
What if Kain Smith proved to be an asset to Ishida?
What if Kain Smith provided a different method to approach ikiteiruken smithing?
What if Kain Smith offered new combat techniques?
What if Kain Smith became the catalyst of a war?
Ishida sighed, banishing the questions swirling in his mind. Too many interrogations, he thought, Too few answers, he grinned, looking forward to the future. For now.
Chapter XVIII: Honor and Value
“There exists a common denominator amidst nearly every western nation I have had the disgrace of facing in combat. Be they Albionese, Alemanni, Hellasians and even Caledonians, they are all kindred in their overwhelming, disturbing disdain to tradition. I concede that this gives them an unparalleled versatility—an excellent trait to be found in an army—but what can be strength may also become a weakness. Through every campaign I had the disgust of leading against westerners, I always saw the same chaos, the same disorderly approaches, and the same unfolding of events. Their lack of cohesion and order proved to be their downfall. Were any of these budding nations to decide to form a military tradition, I would be truly, immitigably amused.”
-General Kageyama Onikuma, in “East versus West: Dissertations of a Lifelong Military Career With Regards to Western Reproachable Indiscipline and Disorganization within Warfare Engagements.”
Though the target was designed to retaliate upon being struck, its pivoting motion was a poor substitute for actual combat, but Kain could hardly complain. He swung his bamboo sword, grinning at the satisfying crack it made the moment it connected against the practice dummy. His target spun, reacting with a bamboo sword of its own, but Kain ducked beneath it, parried the practice weapon as it circled back, twirled his own katana and aimed a vicious overhead chop at the target. As it had happened many times before, the bamboo splintered, rendering the practice weapon useless.
Kain let out his breath, feeling the welcome ache of willing exertion in his body. He rolled his shoulders and felt the well-formed ropes of muscle running along his arms. The past few days as a guest to daimyo Ishida had provided him with the necessary respite to recover from his wounds, both physical and spiritual.
The cold anger he felt for Ryokawa Hanataro lent him a grim sense of purpose, leading him to stay active and physically hale; no matter how long it took Kain to face the samurai, he would be the man to slay him, and he refused to be weak and unprepared when he collided against the beast of a man.
Kain took the linen towel he left on the wooden floor, and wiped away the beads of sweat which formed on his skin. He stared at the shattered bamboo sword, smiled weakly, and sighed. He missed wielding Naginata, and wondered what had become of the weapon. Hanataro’s men had sacked his father’s house, and he feared Naginata ended up in their hands.
“Kain-kun,” a voice came from the entrance of the training room.
Kain turned towards the voice and saw one of the servant maids at its frame. “Yes?” He asked.
“Lord Yorunokenshi Ishida-sama has summoned you.”
“Great,” said Kain, “Thank you. I know my way to his audience room.”
“No, Kain-kun. He has summoned you at his forge courtyard.”
Kain blinked rapidly and asked, “He has a forge courtyard?”
“Yes. Should I guide you there?”
Kain lifted a hand, indicating the maid to wait as he walked towards his tunic. He donned the soft silken shirt and fastened it around his waist; he decided to leave his hair loose. “I’m ready, please, lead on.”
The maid bowed and Kain started after her. As he walked, Kain reflected on the past two weeks and the healing effect they had had on him. He smiled, Not only on me, but on Rey and Yuki as well. The
two women had healed too; the haunted expressions on their faces had slowly vanished as their wounds recovered and they were fed. Ishida-daimyo was not as he had expected him to be. He was kinder and better educated than what he thought the average nobleman would be like and, in certain ways, he resembled his father. Regardless, Kain was wary around the ruler; he remained a nobleman, and inextricably linked to the traditions which had subsumed Nagano and Nippon in deep misery. Regardless, as he had conversed with the man, Kain had come to know—even if he had his misgivings—that it wasn’t due to Ishida, but his brother, Shogun Ichiro who ruled over the entirety of the Chubu province, that the country was in such a poor state.
Though he had been given freedom to explore the castle as long as he didn’t leave its grounds, Kain had spent most of his time beside Ren and Yuki. Together, they had strived to recover from the terrible ordeal, while honoring the memory of dead Munesuke. Kain learned of the kindness he had displayed for Ren and Yuki, especially for the latter; the three of them had been joined by the pain they felt at the old man’s death. A fact which motivated Kain to pursue his endeavor, and eventually slay Hanataro.
The maid led Kain along halls he hadn’t explored. Spartanly furnished but well-constructed walls of brick and wood made the place defensible, should any attack come to it. What was unusual for Kain was the lack of major ornaments and lavish decorations. Was the daimyo an austere man? Kain wondered. What little contact he had had with nobility, either from Nippon or from other nations, had always left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, as most noblemen tended to spend exuberant amounts of coin in order to procure the finest silks, the choicest food, and the most exotic women while the populace they were supposedly appointed to serve starved on a daily basis. Kain didn’t know Ishida deeply, let alone intimately, but what little he had seen from the man gave him hope for the future of Nagano.
The hallway led Kain and the maid to a large, square expanse covered in short-cropped grass. Thick bushes lined the walls surrounding it and, at each corner of the expanse, he saw a fully equipped forging station surrounded by sand. The four stations consisted of a tatara, a bellows, a large clay oven, an anvil set upon a pedestal, a woodworking station, a circular grindstone, a long water trough, and a rack full with tools of the trade.
Heretic's Forge: A Crafting Fantasy Adventure (The Warrior Blacksmith Book 1) Page 23