by Nikita Thorn
“You should wear the socks,” whispered the ryoushi, indicating the Shadow-woven Tabi. “Don’t you trust people a little too much? These are robbers.”
Seiki simply shook his head. He doubted Gin would try to kill them and take back the loot. After all, the man was still hoping he would say yes to the Rogami invasion.
“I’ll walk you out,” said Gin as he re-invited both Seiki and Yamura into a group so that the Red Dragon Cave attendants would not try to attack them. “Where do you want to go?”
“Mani Shrine,” said Seiki.
Gin thought for a moment. “There’s a West City exit near the scabbard shop. I’ll take you there.”
The reception hall had filled up with several more clan members. Again, Seiki noticed that none of them were above Level 20, and he wondered how a mid-level clan could get all other clans to pay them protection money. He could not help thinking that perhaps it was the Black Market connection that the other clans were actually after, and the whole thing about extortion was nothing more than Gin’s elaborate RP scheme.
“Offer still stands,” said Gin as they exited back into the dark sewage, which felt much damper and dirtier than Seiki recalled after being among so much luxury. “It’ll be easier. There will be at least eleven of us. We’ll be better geared. We’ll even have one healer, and all you need to do is get it to half health. Easy task for a named nodachi sword.”
“Why half health?” Yamura asked.
“I can burst the rest.”
“Yeah, right. Look, okay, we’re not going to tell the Rogami or anything. So, what? Is there a secret thing you can do at half health? Like… tame it and use it to attack the Rogami instead?”
“I have no idea why you think that’s even a possible thing in this game,” said Gin. “But if you’re really curious, I suppose I’ll let you in on a secret.”
Slowly, he reached out his hand and pulled a small bow out of thin air as he retrieved it from his inventory. Marked Gosaiyumi, +16 attack, the bow was pure black, with a multi-colored decorative tassel hanging from its lower limb.
Seiki could see nothing special about the bow. Even with his limited understanding of ryoushi gear stats, he knew +16 attack was nothing.
“Uh, it’s pretty, I guess?” said Yamura.
Gin then pulled out an oddly-shaped quiver and equipped it. Made of black leather, with an identical multi-colored decorative tassel, it was marked Gosaiyugi, +3 dodge, Effect: a green, yellow, red, white or black arrow generates in the quiver every 30 minutes. Maximum: 5 arrows.
“Named quiver,” said Yamura, sounding even more confused. “But only +3 dodge? That’s like super low for a named quiver.”
“Inspect the bow again,” said Gin.
Seiki did.
Gosaiyumi. +16 attack. Set effect: allows users to delay the damage of all their shots fired from all their gosai arrows until a black arrow is fired.
In a set, the matching quiver also had updated stats:
Gosaiyugi. +3 dodge. Set effect: +24 speed. +3% energy regeneration.
Yamura’s jaw dropped.
“It’s a set,” said Gin. “Some named equipment come in a set. Alone, they’re whatever, but together… well, you see.”
Seiki could completely understand now why the man had not been that impressed with the unique bow Arc of the Eaten Sun, considering that, with perhaps a few hours of preparation, his own named weapon would allow him to achieve ridiculous numbers in burst damage.
Gin put away his prized bow and quiver as a right turn brought them to a slope upward. “And here’s our stop.” He gestured with a smile. From above, Seiki could hear faint hooves on the streets and the familiar bustle of Shinshioka.
“So, my offers still stand for the invasion and, of course, auditions,” said Gin. “Like I said before, a lucrative career awaits you.”
This time, Yamura simply sighed. “I’ll think about it,” he muttered unhappily.
With a wave, Gin disappeared back around the corner. Seiki knew there was no way he could locate the Red Dragon Cave on his own, unless he came with an Underground Compass next time.
It turned out that the shortcut put them only less than two minutes from their destination, in a side alley that Seiki was sure had some instancing trick going on, since when he looked back the slope upward had already disappeared.
With Yamura musing aloud about the pros and cons of going against the law, they made their way toward the Mani Shrine to retrieve the ryoushi’s inventory bags. To save time, Seiki was planning to drop the rest of the loot at Master Tsujihara’s altar for a while before quickly heading back to free Ippei from his shop-minding duties. It must not have been more than an hour, but since neither of them had a European-style Pocket Watch, there was no way to be sure.
“But I guess it’s either bandits or war,” Yamura said as they walked through the buildings towards the back of the shrine. “Because your Shogun reps are definitely going to drop and they won’t give you your unit anymore. But then again, that’s only 500 points to maintain, right?”
“Right,” said Seiki, slightly amused at the thought that he might be responsible for turning his friend to the dark side after all. “Oh, and don’t forget Yoshiwara.”
“Yeah, that’s a good point,” said Yamura, apparently taking it seriously. “I totally forgot to ask—hey! Watch it!” he cried as an NPC shrine-goer burst out of the Hall of the Fallen Heroes, almost running into him. “Man, I have no idea why you like coming to this place, with, like, all these mourning, crying people. And this smoke, ugh.” He waved away the thick incense in the air.
“I suppose it gives you a free territory.” Seiki laughed as he popped into the antechamber to retrieve Yamura’s two leather bags from the altar as well as drop off the orbs.
“Sorry, Master Tsujihara. I swear I’ll stop doing this,” he said.
Taking out the Shadow-woven Tabi, however, he thought it would make a nice little gift for Mairin. Despite the fancy effect of allowing the wearer to avoid ryoushi traps, it pretty much had no stats, and he was not sure he wanted to give up the 2% energy regeneration he was getting from his current Inner Feet Slot. Mairin, on the other hand, would probably have a field day pranking people with the socks’ no-feet effect. He was hoping the kitsune was still there at the kakigouri shop. After the unexpected success of tonight, he would not mind spending the rest of the session selling charms.
“Your luck buff apparently worked, Master Tsujihara. I feel like I’m getting closer,” said Seiki as he put the shadowy socks back into his inventory bag. “So maybe I should light another one.” He glanced at the incense pot on the small altar.
And he froze.
In the middle of the pot was not one but two incense sticks: one nearly out, indicating it had been almost ninety minutes since he had lit it. The other one was full, giving off a calm stream of smoke.
Someone else had lit the second stick. But it was impossible. The antechamber was his private instance. The only person who had ever set foot in it was Lieutenant Kato, when he introduced him to the place. Then there was actually this thief or spy Mitsue, when she tried to frame him for theft and arson as part of his class quest.
His eyes darted to the rest of the items. Everything else was still there: the Sheathed Blade, the bottle of yuzu wine, as well as unused charms.
Something was missing, though. Seiki grunted as he realized what it was: Hanae’s Hairpin [Memorabilia].
“You done yet?” came Yamura’s voice from outside.
Seiki burst out of the room and looked toward the exit. “That NPC who almost ran into you. You said he was crying?”
“Uh, yeah,” Yamura said. “But aren’t they all crying over here for dead family and stuff?”
Seiki grunted again. “I know who he is.”
“What’s happening?” cried Yamura as Seiki thrust his two leather bags into his arms and dashed off the Hall of Fallen Heroes.
“Breadcrumb
s,” Seiki shouted back.
He had a feeling, though, that the breadcrumbs were all going to lead him to the same destination.
CHAPTER 14
Seiki found himself alone in an empty courtyard in front of the incense-filled hall, looking down familiar rows of nearly identical smaller shrines dedicated to the various regimens of the Shinshioka army. The intruder was nowhere to be seen, but fortunately Mani Shrine was almost always empty, and Seiki closed his eyes and listened.
Above the faint tinkling of bells from the shrine’s multi-storied tower and the gentle sound of wind, hurried footsteps were fading down a side path. Taking advantage of his familiarity with the layout of the shrine, Seiki dashed forward down the main path before turning sharp right to cut off his target. The small paved side path was again empty, but he managed to catch a flash of blue sleeves disappearing behind one of the shrines.
Yamura was running after him. “Where are you going?” The ryoushi was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to re-equip his inventory bags while on the move, which was slowing him down quite a bit. “What? Is this a quest? Hey, wait!”
Seiki had already broken into a Slide as he heard faint footsteps once more. “No, it’s, uh…” He tried to recall the name. “Maeda,” he finally remembered, before assuming it was probably wrong, since the man most likely did not go by that name anymore ever since he had learned of his true identity.
The smaller shrines were almost indistinguishable, but Seiki knew his way well around them. Turning a tight corner around one of the shrine’s white walls, he finally spotted the man he was chasing.
“Okamoto! Wait!”
In the middle of the stone path, between rows of small candle-lit shrines, the young man turned to look. It was indeed the son of Captain Okamoto and Hanae, raised by Master Tsujihara at his mother’s request, and whose foolish plot to kill the Shogun had cost the old swordsman his life. Clad in a simple kimono of faded light blue, the young Okamoto was still as pale and skinny as when Seiki had last met him—which was after he had dragged him out of a burning dojo—yet, his short hair had now grown enough to be held up in a high ponytail.
The young man did not seem surprised to see him, or pleased. “Stay away, Seiki,” he said. “It’s too late.” The anger in his voice could not quite conceal the fact that his hand was shaking as he placed it on the hilt of his short sword.
Seiki had stopped as soon as he turned the corner to avoid spooking the man, but also partly because he was not sure himself what he was trying to accomplish. In his chest, his heart raced from emotions he could not identify. He had fantasized about this meeting before, and at the very beginning all he wanted was to give the stupid boy the beating he deserved and have him admit that it had all been his fault. Perhaps he was ultimately looking for an apology of some sort. But those thoughts had long faded with the passage of time, lost in the incessant noises of the present that had started up again around him, and Seiki had already filed this away as another part of a closed chapter of his life.
Now that Okamoto had unexpectedly resurfaced, Seiki suddenly found himself confronted with a whirlwind of feelings he had not felt in a while, which was as foreign as a splash of red in a sea of endless gray, but at the same time frighteningly familiar. Just like the young man in front of him, who could be friend or foe for all he knew. Okamoto’s clean-shaven face showed no sign of regret, but only a hint of wild terror.
Seiki forced himself to draw a silent breath. “You know what Master Tsujihara did for you,” he finally said. At the very least, he wanted that much acknowledged. Things had ended abruptly at the dojo after the master swordsman’s death, and he had never had a chance to actually talk about it out loud with anyone else since then.
Okamoto did not respond to the statement. “Don’t follow me, Seiki,” he said, his voice trembling. “You can’t change my mind.”
The man’s eyes were bloodshot, like one who had not slept at all for a month and whose dreams were filled with endless nightmares that only got worse after waking up. Seiki’s voice softened. “Change your mind about?”
Heavy footsteps sounded as Yamura caught up with them. “What’s going—”
Seiki raised his hand to stop his friend, but at this chance Okamoto’s arm swept out in a wide swing. “Stay away!” A line of thick white cloud exploded between them as several tiny cloth-wrapped smoke bombs hit the ground.
“What now? Ninja?” said Yamura.
Seiki had already broken off in another dash after Okamoto through the smoke, in time to see the light blue sleeves fluttering behind yet another building. Recalling the layout of the shrine, Seiki knew there was only one sensible route from there, which was toward the main entrance.
The front courtyard was empty when he reached it, but he was in time to spot a blue shadow flash on the left pillar of the shrine gate.
“Who’s that?” asked Yamura, in utter confusion. “A thief? Spy?”
“Class quest,” said Seiki, not quite sure how exactly to explain, as he activated another Slide across the courtyard’s paved stone floor.
The usual West City message greeted him as he made it through the gate onto Trade Street. Okamoto, now a dark shadow, was already galloping away on his gray horse, nearly running over NPC passersby, who let out surprised cries.
Seiki grabbed his horse whistle to call in Fubuki. From the looks of things, this would not be as simple as he thought, and he would probably need to write to Ippei to say he would be a little late getting back to their charms shop. As he ran toward the side alley where Fubuki was trotting out from, however, he remembered that he had left most of his things back in his territory box at the beginning of the night.
Jumping onto the snowstepper, Seiki could hear Yamura following him out through the shrine gate. “What the hell, man? What’s going on?”
“Hey, Yamura,” he called back to his friend, as Fubuki burst into a spirited gallop as if reading his mind. “Would you mind telling Ippei I’ll be late? No post paper!”
Yamura was yelling something, but within seconds Seiki was already going at full speed after Okamoto. Fubuki’s rapid hooves on the street and the wind in his ears drowned out the ryoushi’s voice.
“Thanks!” Seiki shouted back anyway.
Pushing energy down on the stirrups, Seiki sped west down Trade Street. With his Level 16 Riding, Fubuki almost automatically zigzagged to avoid pedestrians and passing riders, making it easy for him to keep his attention on the blue-kimonoed rider without having to worry about trampling over people.
The young Okamoto kept to the main road, occasionally glancing behind to check if he was still being followed. And after a few seconds, Seiki figured the man was heading straight out of the city. The usual crowd in front of Ichikeya was thick, and Seiki steered Fubuki to avoid them. Straight ahead, the West Gate towered up high against the night sky, its bright lamps highlighting the grand painted sign that said ‘Gate of the White Tiger’ in bold characters. The wooden gate was one of the few constructions in the City left untouched by Rogami colors, and only Shinshioka’s red and black flags hung along the length of its tiled roof.
Swerving around an oncoming mounted unit of more than fifty men, riding behind a high-level Honor Warrior, Seiki burst through the gate. Fubuki’s hooves echoed like storm rain for a brief second under the wooden structure, while the soldiers manning the gate respectfully stood to attention as he rode across the threshold of Shinshioka onto the market lawn.
The market out the West Gate was another popular spot for loitering, but luckily the pale blue kimono was relatively easy to distinguish amidst the majority of red and black that players and troops of various ranks were wearing. Okamoto had turned his horse down a small road that led southward to a group of villages and fields commonly used for instances, which Seiki was fairly familiar with from his dedicated leveling efforts in the past month. The small road was rather empty at the moment, making it quite easy to keep the young man in sight. However,
Okamoto never once slowed down, and Seiki had to keep spending energy as it recharged just to keep up with the gray horse. Passing the first fork, the road would soon curve around a low mound. Seiki was wondering if he should try to cut across the grass to catch the man, when Okamoto steered his horse sharp right into the wayside woods.
“There’s nothing in there.” Seiki followed the man off the road. He was not sure what Okamoto was planning, but he knew from experience that anything that involved going off into a dark forest alone was never anything good. After a few moments, he noticed that the growth was denser than he had originally thought, and the branches of wild stone-oaks hung low, making it impossible to ride. Seiki hopped off Fubuki and dismissed her.
Ahead of him, Okamoto had also dismounted, and in his hand was now a small candle-lit paper lamp—a yellow glowing dot in the dark that waved back and forth as he made his way through the thick undergrowth. Over such terrain, Seiki knew Sliding was not going to make him any faster.
The area was shaded from the moonlight, with the rare occasion where it shone through the thinning canopy of foliage in patches of ghastly gray. The woods did not look familiar at all, even when Seiki judged he could not have been very far from the city. But then again, locations out both the East and West Gates were always a little deceiving by design.
They must have run a decent distance, at least far enough that the sparse low road lamps that lit the way to the nearest mission village were no longer visible. Making his way around a large camphor tree, Seiki noted that Okamoto’s paper lamp further ahead had stopped moving. The area was deathly quiet as Seiki cautiously approached. The lamp was now hanging from a low branch, flickering silently, with its bearer nowhere in sight.
“Okamoto?”
As a response, a clear twang sounded from his right. Even before he could think, Seiki drew his Hikari diagonally upward, using the wind effect of Upslash to push the arrow astray. A second arrow whisked past his left thigh, missing by half an inch, before piercing into the ground beside him.
“Stop following me, Seiki.”