Rurouni Kenshin

The Silent Sword

by Moguera

 

Disclaimer: Don‘t look here for it.  It’s in the prologue.

 

Chapter 3: Training Begins: Wandering Ends

 

            Soujiro was more than a bit apprehensive at the thought of walking right through the middle of Kyoto.  However, he needed to follow Takezo if he was going to find Seijuro Hiko, so it was a risk Soujiro would just have to take.  Of course, none of Soujiro’s nervousness betrayed itself on his face.  To the casual observer, Soujiro was just a calm young man on a walk through the city.  Soujiro’s greatest worry was the fact that both he and Takezo were carrying swords, something which would undoubtedly attract the notice of the local authorities, seeing as swords were banned following the revolution.

            Fortunately, Takezo had provided a simple solution for that problem.  The night before they had gone into the city, Takezo had pulled something out of his haversack.  The object was a simple wooden storage sheath.  After removing the handle and guard of his sword, Takezo replaced them with a wooden handle that accompanied the storage sheath.  When the sword was inserted into the sheath, the entire thing looked like a simple wooden staff.  Soujiro knew that it was actually a rather common method for people who still wished to carry swords but avoid attracting the authorities’ attention.

            Takezo reached into his haversack again and pulled out a spare wooden handle and tossed it to Soujiro.  The sheath of the Kikuichimonji was already sufficiently plain that it would blend in with the newly attached wooden handle and make the formerly deadly sword appear completely harmless.  Soujiro dropped the distinctive white handle of the sword into his haversack.

            The two walked right down the streets of Kyoto with nobody sparing them so much as a second glance.  The morning was young and few people were in the streets.  The police were not yet out in force as few criminals would attempt anything in such an open setting.  The criminals, like the police, would wait until later in the day, when the crowds that choked the streets could mask their crimes.

            Soujiro felt a little more at ease knowing fewer police were about.  However, he also felt vulnerable out in the open.  One of his best abilities was becoming lost in the crowd, so Soujiro, like the other criminals, preferred to go about his business later in the day, when he could walk among the people, all but invisible to those who searched in vain for him.  But then, thanks to Chou and his own intuition, Saitou probably figured that as well.  I guess it’s not so bad traveling in the morning, thought Soujiro, It’s good to get an early start on the day.

 

            Were he in any mood but his present one, Hajime Saitou would be hard pressed to disagree with the former assassin.  However, a single incident on the road had not only caught his attention, but had also landed a literal mountain of paperwork on his desk.  Not a good way to start another day on the job.

            A traveler had come across five dead bodies in the middle of a road, about a week’s travel north of Kyoto.  A quintet of Ronin had been slaughtered before they could even draw their blades.  The entire incident would have never reached Saitou’s ears had two circumstances not been met.  First, the man who discovered the bodies was one of Saitou’s many agents.  Second, the ground displayed a distinct path of footprint pockmarks that had been the result of strides of unbelievable power; a clear sign of someone capable of using the Shukuchi, that legendary technique which Soujiro was said to have known.

            “Look’s like Soujiro’s gone back to his old ways,” remarked the man who stood behind Saitou.  His blond hair stood straight up, giving the appearance of the head of a broom, earning the man his nickname.  He kept one eye closed and smiled annoyingly.  His body was decked out with a number of various swords, earning him his other nickname.  Chou the Sword Hunter was a collector of many fine blades.  He was one of the first of the Juppongatana to be apprehended by the authorities, thanks to the work of Kenshin Himura.  After Shishio’s defeat, Chou, like many other members of the Juppongatana had been offered a job in the government.  Quick to accept, Chou became, in effect, Saitou’s assistant.

            “Ha!” scoffed Saitou, “The Battousai is more effective than you think at swaying others towards his silly non-killing ways.  Soujiro wouldn’t resort to killing so easily.  Furthermore, he rarely ever killed anyone, even in self defense, if it wasn’t at Shishio’s order.”

            “True,” agreed Chou, “It’s more likely that he would use the Shukuchi to make a quick getaway.”

            “However,” interjected Saitou, “We cannot ignore the fact that the Shukuchi was quite obviously used in this set of killings.  If Soujiro was not responsible, then someone else who knows the Shukuchi must be.”

            “But who else would know that technique?” wondered Chou.

            “I don’t know right now, but I will find out,” stated Saitou determinedly.

 

            “Mr. Seta,” said Ishiro, “I present to you Kojiro Shinmen, former second in command of the third squad of the Shinsengumi.”

            “I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Matahachi.

            “You did not tell me that I was to be working for an enforcer of this pathetic government,” Kojiro hissed to Ishiro.  Kojiro still wore the very same garments that he had worn during his time with the Shinsengumi.  His black hair ran freely all the way down to his shoulders, restricted only by the trademark headband worn by members of the Shinsengumi.  He was of average height.  His hands were marred by the scars and calluses of one who was accustomed to wielding a sword.  The man’s fingers were long and almost delicate looking, belying their substantial strength.  His mouth seemed fixed in a permanent smirk of one who viewed almost everyone else as an inferior.  It was his eyes however, that were truly the most striking feature of him; narrow, emerald green eyes that gleamed with an insatiable lust for battle and blood. 

            “I do not work as servant to the Meiji government anymore,” said Seta haughtily, hearing every word Kojiro said, “They have betrayed honor for profit, defiled justice, retribution and vengeance.  It is a government of weaklings, of profit driven mongrels who would consort with the foreigners that would desecrate our sacred isles.  I serve them no more.”

            “Well said,” commented Kojiro, smiling slightly.

            “You will be in my employ for one purpose,” said Matahachi, “To kill Soujiro Seta, my bastard cousin.”

            “As you wish,” said Kojiro, his smile growing.  He liked killing.

            “Now all that is left is for us to find him,” finished Matahachi, “Go Ishiro.”

            “Yes sir,” replied Ishiro, getting to his feet and walking from the room.

            “You will wait here,” Matahachi said to Kojiro, “Ishiro will find a way to bring Soujiro to us, so that we may kill him here.”

            “As you wish,” replied Kojiro tonelessly.

 

            Takezo led Soujiro up a small path leading out of the outskirts of Kyoto.  The forest was growing thick around them.  Up ahead, Soujiro could make out smoke from a fire.  Takezo led them out of the woods and into a clearing.  A small house occupied the center of the clearing.  Off to one side, a small kiln was the source of the smoke that Soujiro had noticed earlier.  Sitting in front of it on a log was a very tall man, not as tall as Mr. Fuji, but tall nonetheless.  His frame was powerfully muscular and his brown hair was tied in a long ponytail behind his head.  The man wore a white mantel over his shoulders and rested what appeared to be a short walking stick on the ground next to him.

            This must be Seijuro Hiko, thought Soujiro.  This meant that the walking stick lying on the ground next to him was most likely a cunningly disguised sword and sheath, much like the one Takezo had used to conceal his own blade.

            Soujiro stopped at the edge of the clearing but Takezo continued on without halting.  His footsteps were soft, like the whisper of wind over grass.  Soujiro was certain that the man still heard Takezo coming in any case.  Takezo did not stop until he was directly behind the man.

            Then, to Soujiro’s utmost shock, Takezo drew his sword and slashed across the man’s back…

            …Or where his back had been.  The man vanished before the blade ever made contact.  Soujiro looked up to see the huge man coming down from a very high jump.  He touched down lightly behind Takezo.  “That’s no way for an apprentice to greet his master,” chided Hiko calmly, as if he were merely correcting a child’s bad manners.

            Takezo seemed to ignore the comment and instead turned to face his master and gestured behind Seijuro to Soujiro.  Hiko turned around to look at the new arrival.  “And who are you?” he asked.

            “Soujiro Seta,” replied Soujiro, bowing respectfully.

            Hiko’s eyebrows shot up.  “Soujiro eh.”

            Soujiro gulped nervously.  Apparently Mr. Hiko had heard of him.  Upon seeing Soujiro’s apprehensive expression, Seijuro Hiko smirked.  “So you’re the one who gave my dumb apprentice that nasty scar on his backside,” he remarked.  Soujiro nodded, growing paler by the second.

            After a few intense seconds of staring into the poor boy’s eyes, Hiko turned away, chuckling.  “Serves that idiot right for letting his guard down.”  Soujiro very nearly fainted from surprise and relief.  Fortunately, he was able to remain conscious enough to sigh.

            “From what Kenshin told me, you’re a pretty good swordsman already,” said Hiko, “Why did you come here?”

            “Takezo brought me here…” said Soujiro.  He was silenced almost immediately.

            “Bah!” scoffed Hiko, “Quit blaming things on someone else.  You are the only one who brought yourself here.  Now, why did you come?”

            Soujiro sighed.  “Because I have nowhere else to go.  For a year now, I have wandered around north of here looking for my own truth in life.  When I was a boy, the only truth I knew was Mr. Shishio’s.  Then, Mr. Himura showed me his truth, the truth of not killing, of using strength and the sword as a means to protect others.  Mr. Himura told me that if I wanted to find the truth, I had to go look for it myself.”

            “That sounds like that idiot alright,” muttered Hiko.  “So you’re just like Kenshin then.”

            Soujiro looked up.  “Pardon?”

            “Yes.  Just like Kenshin…and Takezo for that matter.  Both of them came to me having nowhere else to go.  Kenshin when everyone he had ever known had been killed and Takezo when he saw his family murdered by Battousai the manslayer.”

            Soujiro gasped.  “So Takezo’s family was killed by Mr. Himura?”

            Hiko snorted.  “Didn’t I just say that you numbskull,” he sighed in resignation, “Yeah, you’re going to fit right in here.”  Hiko walked back to his log and sat down.  He then reached down and picked up a cup and a bottle of sake that Soujiro had only just noticed.  He poured himself a cup and gulped it down without batting an eyelid.  “So you’ve been looking for the truth have you?”  Though Soujiro knew Hiko couldn’t see him, he realized that the man probably could sense him nodding.  “And you’ve been wandering for a year now, trying to find it?”  Soujiro nodded again.  “And have you found it?”

            Soujiro shrugged.  Hiko sighed again.  “I’ll think about taking you on as my student.  Stay for lunch.”  Seijuro transferred his gaze over to Takezo.  “What are you waiting for?  Go make lunch,” he ordered.  Takezo nodded and went into the house.  Soujiro was quite surprised.  Takezo obeyed Hiko’s orders almost mechanically.  It reminded Soujiro of when he had been Mr. Shishio’s prodigy.  Every time Mr. Shishio had given Soujiro an order, Soujiro just did it.  He didn’t think on that order past what he needed to think to get it done.  After spending all that time traveling with Takezo, Soujiro had been certain that Takezo would have been more independent than that.  He had been expecting Takezo to at least glower when given that kind of instruction out of the blue.

            Seijuro Hiko apparently noticed this train of thought.  “You’re thinking about what just happened,” he observed.  Soujiro nodded.  To his surprise, Hiko smiled slightly.  It wasn’t the same cocky smile he had displayed not much earlier.  This one made the man seem like a great sage, a font from which knowledge poured by the bucketful.  “This is a good sign,” the big man mused.

            Soujiro raised an eyebrow.  Hiko continued.  “You considered why Takezo behaved the way he did when I told him to make dinner.  I’m guessing that that is very much the way you behaved when Makoto Shishio gave you an order.  Am I right?”  Soujiro nodded.  “Very good, you are beginning to consider and understand peoples’ emotions and how the interaction between the emotions of two people dictates their actions.  This is central to the Hiten Mitsurugi style.  Man is a being ruled by emotion.  Fear, anger, joy, and sorrow, all dictate our actions down to the tiniest twitch of a finger.  As a student of the Hiten Mitsurugi style, you must learn how to read the emotions of others and understand how that knowledge will allow you to predict their movements.  How each person acts on their emotions will be different.  You must learn how to know an opponent better than you know yourself within the space of an instant.  Learn these things and you will learn the core of the Hiten Mitsurugi style.”

            Soujiro was slightly confused.  “That’s it?” he said, “Reading emotions?  That’s all the Hiten Mitsurugi style is about?”

            Seijuro Hiko nodded.

            “What about all those techniques.  What about the Kuzu-Ryu-Sen and the Amakakeru-Ryu-No-Hirameki?”  Soujiro was stricken with disbelief.

            “You nitwit,” said Hiko evenly, “The core of any style of swordsmanship is the driving force, the philosophy behind it.  All those fancy techniques are just for flare.”

            “Really?”

            “No.”  Seijuro snorted as he watched Soujiro’s head almost literally spin with confusion.  “The purpose of most of the techniques of the Hiten Mitsurugi style is to complement the understanding of human emotion.  Some techniques are purely functional, providing a swordsman with certain options in certain situations.  Others take the ability to read human emotions and make that their strength.  One, and only one, takes the wielder’s own emotions and uses that to determine the success or failure of that attack.”

            “The Amakakeru-Ryu-No-Hirameki,” whispered Soujiro.  Hiko nodded.

            Seijuro Hiko then turned to look back to the house where Takezo was preparing dinner.  “I worry about him,” said the man suddenly.  Soujiro leaned closer, trying to learn more.

            “Takezo took quite well to the Hiten Mitsurugi style.  He learned it all with unbelievable ease.  Takezo has the talent, the dedication, and the skills to become one the greatest swordsmen in all history; one whose skill could surpass even Musashi Miyamoto, the Kensai.”  Soujiro was dumbstruck by Hiko’s prediction.

            “That is quite the grand prediction,” commented Soujiro.

            “However,” Hiko continued, ignoring Soujiro’s comment, “I fear that Takezo’s life might not exist beyond his pursuit of swordsmanship.  He was traumatized when he witnessed the murder of his family at the hands of Hitokiri Battousai and was rendered mute as a result.  Swordsmanship is the only thing that gives him a purpose in life.  It is his life.  I fear that when I am gone, Takezo will be forever lost.”

            “Perhaps if Takezo were to meet Mr. Himura, they might be able to reconcile the past and help Takezo to begin a real life,” suggested Soujiro.  He knew from personal experience that Mr. Himura had the strange ability of helping people sort out their troubled emotions enough so that they could help themselves.

            “Perhaps,” muttered Hiko, nodding, “But that will have to wait.  For now I have another task that will take up my time.”  He looked at Soujiro.  “Are you willing to make the commitment to learn the Hiten Mitsurugi style?”

            Soujiro thought about it for the moment.  “If I spend time learning your style, I would have to put my search for my own truth on hold for a while.”

            Seijuro Hiko snorted in derision.  “Search for truth,” he muttered, “Are you a swordsman or a philosopher?” he snapped, glaring at Soujiro.

            “Swordsman,” replied Soujiro without hesitation.

            “Then leave the truth seeking to those who make a living out of it,” growled Hiko, “And focus on that which only has application to your understanding of the way of the sword.”

            “Is not knowing one’s truth a part of that?” inquired Soujiro.

            Hiko raised an eyebrow.  “Is it?” he asked, turning the question back on Soujiro.

            “Every man needs a truth to guide how he lives his life,” said Soujiro.

            “A truth?” said Hiko, “As in only one?”

            Soujiro blinked, taken aback by question.  “Why…yes.”

            “And why is that!?” demanded Hiko.

            “If a person has too many truths, he would get confused as to which ones to follow,” answered Soujiro.

            “So you would only recognize one truth.  What does that make all the others?  Lies?”

            Soujiro was baffled by the turn this discussion had taken.  “Well…I don’t know…I guess so.”

            Another snort escaped Seijuro Hiko.  “You guess so,” he said in a mocking tone.  “I take it back.  You aren’t as dumb as Kenshin, you’re even dumber.”

            Soujiro merely blinked.

            Hiko continued.  “There is no such thing as ‘the truth’ boy.  The world is full of truths.  The sky is blue; that is truth.  Things fall down, not up; that is a truth too.  There is no absolute truth because all things may contain a measure of truth at least.  So what then is this preoccupation with finding ‘the truth’?”

            Soujiro scratched his head.  “It is the purpose for which one lives Mr. Hiko.  It guides how he conducts himself throughout his life and how he acts in any situation.”

            “You are correct,” said Hiko, making Soujiro’s jaw drop, “A truth is helpful in determining how a person acts in his life.  But what makes you think that you have to go traipsing far and wide across all of Japan to find it?”

            “I figured that since it seemed to work for Mr. Himura, it might help me to find my truth,” said Soujiro.  Truly, Seijuro Hiko XIII was a very perplexing man.

            “If there’s one thing you shouldn’t do,” said Hiko, “You shouldn’t be following the example of my dumb apprentice.”

            “How can you say that?” demanded Soujiro.

            “Kenshin knew what his truth was since the very day he took up that ridiculous backwards sword of his.  Wandering through Japan was just his way of doing penance for all the lives he took during the revolution,” said Hiko, unfazed, “If you’re going to look for the truth, scampering across the continent, too poor and too preoccupied as to where your next meal is coming from, where you’re going to bed down for the night, is not the way to go about it.”

            “Then how else will I find my truth?” wondered Soujiro.

            “Sit down and think about it you numbskull,” thundered Hiko, “If you plopped yourself down and gave about half a day’s thought once a week or so, you should be able to figure out a truth that works for you in a couple, three months.”

            “I suppose,” said Soujiro, slightly confused.

            “Good, now back to the question at hand.  Are you going to learn my style or not?”  The scowl Hiko wore dared Soujiro to get off topic again.

            Soujiro could only stare blankly at the perplexing man.  He wasn’t sure he had an answer yet.

            Takezo exited the house, balancing trays holding their midday meal.  Soujiro went up and helped him.  As he came back, Seijuro Hiko simply helped himself to another cup of sake.  “Spend the night and consider this,” was all he said.

            They ate in silence.  Afterwards, Soujiro walked off a short ways from the house.  In a clearing not far away, he lay down and gazed up the sky, and pondered the decision that he had to make.

            Day turned into night.  Soujiro finally got up and went into the house.  He was surprised to find that Takezo had prepared a futon for him.  Soujiro lay down and dozed off rather quickly.

 

            If there was one thing this particular man was proud of, it was his strength.  Of course, that went for a lot of people.  But like most of the others, this man believed he was stronger than all the rest, particularly when he was drunk, which he was quite often.  The man liked to visit the sake bar quite regularly.  As a result, he built up a considerable tab in most of the local sake bars.  This was a new one however, and he was starting with a clean sleight.  Thus, the man was more than happy when he made himself a friend.

            The stranger had come into the bar and sat down next to him.  This much smaller, unassuming man had slapped a few yen onto the countered and ordered a round of drinks for both him and the strong man.  Despite the fact that he had no knowledge of this stranger, the man wasn’t one to turn down a free drink and gladly obliged.  The stranger was happy to order the self proclaimed strong man drink after drink after, while drinking at a much more sedate pace himself.  He was dressed in dark clothing and wearing a wide, basket hat over his head, tilted at an angle that made it difficult for anyone to see his eyes.  Nobody paid him any mind, except those he chose to show himself to.

            “Damn,” hissed Ishiro.  After delivering his charge to Matahachi Seta, he had gone out to find something, anything on the location of Soujiro.  However, the young swordsman was nowhere to be found.  That was the problem with Kyoto.  It was big city, with plenty of places to hide.  As he was walking, the man passed a sake shop.  At this late an hour, the only patrons still there were likely to be getting themselves very drunk.  Ishiro didn’t care.  He didn’t partake in alcohol.  As a swordsman, it was his duty to always be in a state of readiness.  Anything like sake, that dulled that edge, could not be allowed in his regimen.  The man didn’t give the bar a second thought as he walked past.

            “Do you see that guy,” muttered the stranger.  His voice was slurred, probably from the multiple drinks he had consumed that night.

            “Yeah,” rumbled the much larger man.  His speech was almost in coherent from the amount of sake he had downed.

            “That guy looks pretty tough,” said the stranger, “I bet you another round of drinks you can’t take ‘im.  The man’s tone was quite persuasive.

            “Yer on,” growled the strong man, pleased at the prospect of getting yet another round of drinks.  The man clumsily pushed himself away from the bar and walked out into the street behind Ishiro.  “Hey tough guy,” he shouted, his voice still heavily slurred from the effects of the alcohol.

            Ishiro turned and regarded the man carefully.  As he did so, his grip tightened on the staff he carried.  Another piece of drunken gutter trash, he thought idly.  His swordsman’s senses weren’t alerted in the slightest bit by this man’s presence.  However, Ishiro soon felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, a clear sign that there was more to this scene than what met the eye.  He found his gaze drawn to the second man, still seated at the bar, watching the two of them with a gaze that showed that he was anything but drunk.  This man, Ishiro observed, was obviously the more dangerous of the two and bore watching.

            “What is it that you want?” asked Ishiro, not bothering to keep condescension from his voice.  The bulky man that stood before him was obviously no match for Ishiro.

            “You act all tough,” growled the drunken man, “But I bet that I could knock you of ‘o yer high horse in short order.”  Even from ten feet away, Ishiro could smell the alcohol on the man’s breath, more so than the usual late night patron.  It seemed likely to him at that moment, that someone had taken great pains to get this man drunk.

            “Oh,” replied Ishiro, raising an eyebrow.

            “I’ll show you tough,” yelled the man.  He lurched forward, swinging around with his right hand.  Ishiro sidestepped the clumsy attack.  His left foot tripped the still moving brute, while he delivered a stinging slap to the man’s backside with his staff.  The oaf fell face-first to the ground.  With a groan, he got to his feet and turned around to face Ishiro.  Ishiro smiled disdainfully.

            The fool came up swinging, trying to clobber Ishiro with an uppercut.  Stepping back slightly, Ishiro dodged the attack with the greatest of ease.  The man loomed over him, only to get Ishiro’s staff in the stomach.  As he doubled over, Ishiro leapt back a ways and waited for him to recover.  While he did so, Ishiro threw a glance in the direction of the more sinister seeming man watching from the bar.  The stranger was still there, watching Ishiro’s every move with a keen gaze.  A wordless roar drew Ishiro’s attention back to the drunkard.  The man was once again lumbering towards him with every intent of crushing Ishiro with his sheer size and weight.  Ishiro waited until the man was almost upon him, before pulling the head of his staff, revealing the sword hidden within.  Then, Ishiro sidestepped once again and lashed the man on the back with the edge of his blade, just deep enough to draw a considerable amount of blood, but not enough to kill him.

            The drunkard turned around.  It wasn’t until after he saw the blood-stained blade, that the pain reached the man’s sluggish mind.  It took him even longer to realize that the blood decorating that sword was his own.  “Forget it,” he grumbled loudly, “I aint fighting no stinking swordsman.”  He turned tail and made an ungainly attempt at running away.  However, Ishiro had no intent of letting the fool get away alive without paying for his impudence.  Ishiro tapped his foot lightly on the ground once and in the next instant, he vanished from sight.  A loud pounding reached the ears of the many witnesses and the doomed man.  Spurts of dust arose from potholes that just seemed to appear on the ground.  Ishiro overtook the running man in the space of a heartbeat.  Without even slowing down, he made a right-angle turn and crossed in front of his victim’s path, coming from the left.  His slash cut a neat line across the oaf’s throat.  He was on the other side before blood spurted from the man’s throat.  A second later, the man fell face-first onto the ground, dead.

            With a flick of his blade, Ishiro flung the blood off.  He sheathed his sword and looked over at the bar.  The strange man who had been watching had vanished without a single trace.  Ishiro’s eyes narrowed.  He had the feeling that there was more to this fight than simple inebriation.

 

            “Is that so?” inquired Saitou, folding his hands together, and resting his chin on them.

            “It was the Shukuchi,” replied his spy, “I’m certain.  It was just as you described it.  The swordsman vanished; there was the sound of footsteps in a rapid tempo, accompanied by deep, pothole footprints.  He was able to change direction quickly and easily, despite his great speed.  Everything matched.”

            “So I was right,” mused Saitou, “Someone else does know the Shukuchi.  It appears that our friend might be the one responsible for the killings on the road earlier.”

            “There is more to it than that,” added the spy.  “While I was shadowing him, I observed this Ishiro enter a mansion that had recently been bought by a man named Matahachi Seta.”

            “Hmm,” Saitou lifted an eyebrow, “Seta eh?”

            “You know him?” inquired the spy carefully, knowing full well that questioning Saitou too much could lead to some very painful consequences.

            “A passing acquaintance,” replied Saitou, “A man whose skill with a sword is perhaps his one strength, even if overall intelligence isn’t.”

            “I did some digging and it appears that Matahachi Seta has had extensive dealings in the underworld,” added the spy.

            “Of course,” said Saitou.

            “And one more thing,” interjected the man.

            Saitou merely looked at him and waited for him to continue.

            “The last time he visited Seta’s place, he was accompanied by a man named Kojiro Shinmen.”

            Saitou’s smile widened.  “That is interesting.”

            “You know this man?” asked the spy.  He was silenced by the look that Saitou gave him, a look that told the spy that he was prying too deeply into the matter.

            “Step up the search for Soujiro Seta,” ordered Saitou, “I want him found as soon as possible.  Also, keep an eye on Matahachi Seta and his associates and keep me informed of their activities.”  He got up from his seat and walked over to the window that looked out over the train station.  “You are dismissed,” he said finally.

            The spy scurried out as quickly as he could.  So, he thought, My wayward apprentice has finally come back.  And it appears that he has forgotten our code.

            “My dear Kojiro,” he muttered with wry smile, “You are Aku now.”

 

            When Soujiro awoke, he sat up and looked around the room.  The surroundings, which seemed unfamiliar at first slowly came back to his rapidly clearing head.  He was in the house of Seijuro Hiko XIII, master of the Hiten Mitsurugi style, teacher of Kenshin Himura.  And Soujiro was now Hiko’s most likely candidate for an apprentice.

            What would be his answer to the inevitable question that Hiko would probably pose first thing?  Finally, the swordsman made his decision and went to see about breakfast.

            Takezo was already cooking.  As with the lunch and dinner that he had done the previous day, the fare was simple and easily made.  It was clear that Takezo was used to cooking for himself and Hiko, and knew how not to cook food.  That was enough for Soujiro, who didn’t really care all that much for elaborate meals.  Whenever he had been on a mission for Mr. Shishio, he had always taken as much money with him as he wanted.  Despite that, he rarely ever spent it all, or even most of it.  In order to keep a low profile, the Tenken had always taken relatively cheap rooms in the inns he passed along the way and eaten simple.  It helped keep him out of sight.

            Seijuro Hiko’s huge frame filled the doorway as he came into the room.  He stopped and looked briefly at Soujiro before setting himself down across the table from him.  Takezo promptly brought out a cup and a jug of sake for the man before seating himself at the table.  They ate in silence, Hiko downing two cups of sake before even touching his food.

            As he ate, Soujiro looked expectantly at Hiko, waiting for him to ask the question that Soujiro now had an answer to.  However, the question never came.  Seijuro Hiko said not a single word as the meal passed.  And of course Takezo was his usual quiet self, which was of no help to Soujiro.

            Finally, Hiko looked up and glared at Soujiro.  “If you’ve got something to say, you’d better say it and stop wasting daylight.”

            It finally dawned on Soujiro.  Hiko wasn’t going to ask him anything.  If Soujiro wanted to take up Seijuro Hiko’s offer of apprenticeship, he would have to take the initiative.

            “Mr. Hiko,” said Soujiro, “After thinking the matter over, I have decided to accept your offer to become a student of the Hiten Mitsurugi style.”

            “Took you long enough,” growled Hiko sourly before turning his attention back to his food and his sake.

            Once they had finished the meal, Seijuro Hiko took Soujiro out into the front yard.  Takezo had loaned Soujiro his reverse-blade sword for the duration of the lesson.  “Training begins right now,” he said, “If you want to learn the Hiten Mitsurugi style, you had better not waste any time.  So let’s get to work.”

            Soujiro nodded and tied off the open ends of his hakama.  At full speed, even the light folds of loose cloth of untied hakama could interfere a great deal with his legwork, making everything much more difficult for him.  Normally, when preparing to go into pitched battle, Soujiro wore a set of armguards and leg guards.

            The leg guards were also important to his use of the Shukuchi.  The Shukuchi was capable of breaking apart earth, wood, and whatever other materials Soujiro might run across.  This kicked up quite a bit of debris and, especially when encountering a fast object, such as a Shukuchiing leg, could cut through even the coarse, tough material of Soujiro’s hakama and the much softer cloth of his socks and could open some nasty wounds on his legs.  To prevent this, the leg guards were worn.

            The armguards served a completely different purpose; actually, more than one.  The leg guards had been a given when Soujiro had first learned the Shukuchi.  It wasn’t until later, after his first sparing match with Mr. Shishio using the Shukuchi that he learned of how necessary they could be.  First, the armguards were able to help dampen the jarring impacts of two blades colliding at incredible speeds.  The second and final reason was the cause of his deciding to use armguards in the first place and the direct result of his duel with Mr. Shishio.

            They had already exchanged several blows.  Neither fighter had yet managed to connect with a serious hit.  However, when Soujiro had come in for another attack, Mr. Shishio had angled his defense slightly, so that Soujiro’s sword, instead of being stopped and thrown off by the blade, was made to scrape upon its edge.  This set alight the oils in the teeth of Mr. Shishio’s Mugengen.  As Soujiro had passed by, the left sleeve caught fire, forcing him to stop and put it out.  He had done so easily, swinging his sword carefully over his arm so that the speed of his slash moved the air and blew the flames out.  Then, Soujiro had looked up, only to find the Mugengen scratching the very tip of his nose.

            From then on, Soujiro had worn armguards to prevent a similar situation from occurring whenever he sparred with Mr. Shishio.  They would protect his arms from the flames long enough for Soujiro to find a better opportunity to put them out.  Over time, he found out that he was much more effective with them than without them and so continued to wear them whenever he went into battle.

            When Soujiro began his time as a wanderer, he had disposed of both sets of guards within a week.  They were of no use to him as he hadn’t intended to do any fighting during the next ten years he planned to wander.  Now, Soujiro regretted that decision slightly.

            “Let’s begin,” said Seijuro Hiko.  He drew his sword and came into a stance with his left leg leading.  He held the handle just under the guard with his right hand, pointing the sword forward at a slight angle towards the left so that it came across his body.  Finally, Hiko lifted the pommel with his left hand, tilting the sword at a downward angle so that it covered most of his torso, a superb defensive stance that would allow him to react quickly and launch a counterattack with great ease.

            Soujiro knew right away that he couldn’t hold back against Seijuro Hiko.  However, he couldn’t go into battle without first gauging his opponent’s abilities.  Gauging strength was not one of Soujiro’s best skills though.  His usual strategy was to approach an opponent discreetly, use the Shukuchi to get in close and strike before his enemy even realized what was happening.  However, that depended on his opponent being unaware of him in the first place.  Also, should he not have been able to sneak up on his foe, Soujiro still depended on the sheer speed of the Shukuchi to get in before his opponent could react.

            Of course, in a sparring match, stealth was not an option.  Furthermore, Seijuro Hiko didn’t look like the kind of man that would be easily surprised.  The Shukuchi might or might not work, depending on whether or not Soujiro could summon its use suddenly.  Undoubtedly, Mr. Himura had told Hiko about the Shukuchi, and so he would not be caught off guard so easily by the technique.  Still, thought Soujiro, The Shukuchi is much faster than the Hiten Mitsurugi’s godlike speed.  So even if he knows what’s coming, Mr. Hiko will have trouble reacting in time to defend himself.

            Soujiro stepped forward with his left foot, holding his right hand an inch from the handle of the sword loaned to him by Takezo.  I’ll save the Shukuchi for later, he thought.  Soujiro’s form blurred as he rushed at Hiko, drawing the sword in his second favorite Battoujutsu technique after the Shuntensatsu.  As he drew, Soujiro realized the slight mistake he had made.

            He had miscalculated the difference between a real sword and a reverse-blade sword.  The Battoujutsu worked on the principle that the sheath would protect the sword from air resistance, so that only the handle and guard would encounter it when the sword was drawn, which allowed the blade to reach a much higher speed than normal.  Furthermore, the graceful curve of a katana allowed the sword to almost flow from its sheath, further increasing the speed at which the blade could be drawn.  This meant that the sword would have an incredible amount of momentum when it went into the slash, ensuring that it couldn’t be slowed by air resistance until its momentum was spent.

            However, the reverse-blade sword’s leading edge was blunt and flat, creating a wider surface area that added drag to the blade when it cleared the sheath, slowing it down by a slight fraction.  When Soujiro had used the Battoujutsu against those thugs on the road, the slowing of the blade had been so slight that it made no difference against such weak opponents.

            But against Seijuro Hiko, that delay was more than enough.  Hiko’s sword came down and caught Soujiro’s slash head on.  Then, not stopping he rolled his blade under Soujiro’s and used his left hand to lever both swords upward so that Soujiro’s blade went high and missed.

            Soujiro used the power of his swing to help throw his body to the side so that he could avoid any counterattacks.  Once he was away, he believed that he better understood the kind of swordsman that Seijuro Hiko was.  He tended to fight defensively and let his opponents wear themselves out against him.  Soujiro now understood that he needed to lure his opponent into attacking.

            It was now Soujiro’s turn to take a defensive stance.  Hiko had not moved since fending off Soujiro’s opening attack except to position his sword to intercept another strike should it come.  For what seemed like a great deal of time, the two of them stood still, observing one another with the greatest intensity.  Soujiro was reluctant to go on the attack again, knowing how powerful Hiko was.  But he couldn’t wait forever.

            Slowly, Soujiro began to tap his back foot on the ground.  Gradually, his tempo increased as he prepared to launch himself into his attack.  He would start three steps short to test how quickly Hiko could react to such a swift technique as the Shukuchi.  Finally, Soujiro kicked off the ground and vanished in a spray of dirt and gravel.

            As he approached, Soujiro took full advantage of the Shukuchi’s maneuverability, changing direction, zigzagging and circling around, trying his very best to confuse his opponent as to his position and the direction of his movement.  If Hiko couldn’t discover which direction Soujiro would attack from, then he would be helpless against the Shukuchi.

            Hiko’s eyes were no longer open.  Soujiro smiled.  So he’s recognized the futility of trying to see me, he thought.  Seijuro Hiko’s expression remained calm though, as Soujiro continued to move around him at unbelievable speed.  Finally, Soujiro believed he had spotted an opening.  A feeling of elation filled him and he rushed forward to attack from Hiko’s left flank.

            Metal rang against metal as swords met.  Soujiro stifled a gasp of surprise and leapt back.  No sooner had his feet touched the ground than he was moving again, still using three step speed.  While he once again dashed around and about his enemy, he pondered what had just happened.  Soujiro realized almost instantly that Hiko hadn’t reacted to attack.  His sword had been in position even before Soujiro had begun to move in for the strike.

            Soujiro came in at what looked like Hiko’s unguarded side again.  However, this time he came in at an angle.  Once again, Hiko’s sword was already there, waiting for his blow.  Soujiro continued his run past and turned around and attacked again almost immediately, this time on the opposite side.  Yet again, Hiko’s blade caught his in a flawless parry.

            Soujiro went into a flurry of attacks, seeming to attack from all directions at once, striking once with his sword and moving into position for another attack.  No matter what he did, Seijuro’s sword was always there, an impenetrable barrier between Soujiro and his target.

            Soujiro decided it was time to try an alternate strategy and retreated back to his circling.  He switched directions frequently and randomly to keep Hiko confused.  Though, Soujiro could have sworn that he saw Hiko smile as he raised his blade above his head.

            “Hiten Mitsurugi style,” Hiko intoned, “Do-Ryu-Sen!”  He flipped the blade over and slammed the ground with the blunt side.  The earth at his feet seemed to tear itself apart, flinging rocks and dust in the direction of his swing and breaking apart the ground in a straight path in front of the swordsman.  Soujiro yelped when he saw that it had been perfectly timed.  He would hit the broken ground just as it formed, which could cause serious problems if continued at his current speed.  Seeing no other alternative, Soujiro jumped.

            Boosted by the Shukuchi, he took to the air with great ease, jumping high enough to easily escape the technique’s affects.  Then, when Soujiro looked down; his eyes widened.  Hiko was gone.

            “Hiten Mitsurugi Style,” Soujiro heard the firm voice from above him, “Ryu-Tsui-Sen!”  Soujiro shifted his weight madly, knowing what was about to come.  He had to get into position to intercept Hiko’s strike, or he would be dead.

            It was too little too late.  He had just barely managed to shift his weight so that he was facing in the direction of the voice, when Seijuro Hiko’s sword flashed downwards.  To Soujiro’s unending surprise, the attack missed.  Hiko fell past and dropped to the ground.  Soujiro did so as well, landing rather clumsily.

            Hiko chuckled as he rested the back of his sword against his right shoulder.  Soujiro was still stunned that Hiko had missed even though his target had been completely open.  “How could you miss?” asked Soujiro.

            Hiko raised an eyebrow.  “Did I?” he inquired rather calmly.  It was then that Soujiro looked down and noticed the perfect cut that Hiko had made.  The cut had sliced open his western shirt that he wore under his kimono, cutting off all the buttons, as well as cutting through the bottom of his kimono, ending right at the edge of his obi.  Not a single drop of blood was to be found along the line of the strike.  Hiko’s cut had been so perfect that it had neatly sliced Soujiro’s clothes without ever touching his skin.

            Hiko didn’t stop there.  He lowered his sword in a straight line and rushed Soujiro with tremendous speed.  Soujiro quickly put his sword in the best defensive position he knew.  How could anyone so large move so fast?  Then again, he thought, Mr. Senkaku could move pretty fast too.

            “Hiten Mitsurugi Style: Kuzu-Ryu-Sen.”  Soujiro smirked when he heard this.  He had seen Mr. Himura use this technique before and he had been able to dodge it with ease.  While he did have to admit that the nine-hit combo of the Kuzu-Ryu-Sen was fast, it was no match for the speed of the Shukuchi.

            And thus, Soujiro’s surprise was all the greater when he saw what happened next.  When he had fought Mr. Himura, Himura’s Kuzu-Ryu-Sen had been nine strikes in rapid succession, leaving phantasmal images of the sword where it passed.  The speed of the attack was beyond belief.  But Soujiro could see the opening and had more than enough speed to slip through due to the tiniest delay between the strikes.  However, Hiko’s use of the technique was much different.  Soujiro swore that he could actually see Seijuro Hiko’s sword become nine separate swords, all of them converging on him.  It was a wall of steel, leaving him no room on any side, nor above or below, to escape.  He was trapped.

            Then, Hiko was past.  He skidded to a stop behind Soujiro, who was stunned speechless.  After a moment, Soujiro finally noticed all nine of the perfect nicks, all barely drawing blood on each of the technique’s target points.  Had Hiko wanted too, he could have slain Soujiro in an instant.  So this is the true strength of the real master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Style, he thought in awe as he turned to regard Seijuro Hiko.

            After chuckling at the look of disbelief on Soujiro’s face, Hiko once again lowered his sword into position.  “Well,” he said, “Shall we continue?”

 

            Meanwhile, Takezo was busy taking inventory of the pantry.  When he was finished, he looked at the list he had made of the things that needed to be restocked.  There were some herbs and spices that they were running low on, an extra bag of rice would be nice to have on hand, and of course the sake reserve needed to be replenished.  To be honest, Takezo was surprised that Seijuro Hiko’s liver hadn’t failed him years ago.

            Takezo went into his former master’s room and rummaged around until he found Seijuro Hiko’s wallet.  That man never carried money with him unless he was going into town to get something, an errand he always delegated to his apprentice whenever he had one around.  Takezo took up the wallet and extracted from it the money he would need for the groceries.  Without a second thought, he went down the well known path to get what he needed.

            On the way in, the mute stopped and looked in on the shop belonging to the old carpenter who had taught him in his younger days.  The old man had taken himself a real apprentice a couple of years ago and now mostly directed from a nice, comfortable chair in the back of the shop.  A position he had more than earned in his many years of work.  Glad to see that everything was going well, Takezo went off to complete his task.

            Many of the shopkeepers he visited were familiar with him and his inability to speak.  The nice man who sold him the sake knew full well where all that alcohol went, having catered to Seijuro Hiko for many years even before the man had taken on his first apprentice.

            It was close to noon when Takezo returned with the groceries.  As soon as he got back, he immediately began to prepare the midday meal.  Once again, nothing spectacular, but good enough to eat.  The other two occupants of the home returned from Soujiro’s first lesson.  When he saw them, Takezo smiled.  Seijuro Hiko looked as fresh as he had when he finished breakfast.  Soujiro was another matter entirely.  The poor young man was breathing rather heavily.  His body was covered in sweat, which had completely soaked the garments he wore.  And while Takezo couldn’t see through the folds of Soujiro’s light blue gi, he was willing to bet that there were a considerable number of bruises.  A single long cut in his clothing ran down Soujiro’s torso.  The palms of Soujiro’s hands were covered in abrasions.  Takezo had suffered from the same problem several times over the course of his years training with Master Hiko.  The strength in both the man’s attacks and parries was enough to jar the blade so that one could feel it in the handle, making the handle vibrate and the wrappings rub against the skin of the palm.  After an intense session of sparring, Takezo had always emerged with his hands rubbed raw from the incredible impacts.

            During the meal, Soujiro handled his utensils quite delicately, trying to keep from aggravating the already painful condition of his hands.  Never in all the years that he had learned swordsmanship, had he ever been pushed to such extremes.  Even when he had sparred with Mr. Shishio, he had never been forced to endure such fierce exchanges of blows in a simple sparring session.  When they had begun their training, Hiko wanted a match to test Soujiro’s limits.  And that was exactly what he did.

            “What are my limits Mr. Hiko?” asked Soujiro, smiling slightly and trying to make polite conversation, and also attempting to understand the turn his training was about to take.

            “First off,” growled Seijuro Hiko, not even looking up from his cup of sake, “If you’re going to be training under me you had better refer to me as Sensei, you numbskull.”

            “I guess that makes sense Mr. Hiko,” said Soujiro, smiling even more widely.

            Hiko drained his cup of sake and with a flip of his wrist sent the cup sailing into Soujiro’s forehead, bringing a surprised yelp from the boy as he fell over backwards, more out of reflex than from any actual power that was in Hiko’s throw, which was pretty strong nonetheless, seeing as he had only used his wrist.  The cup bounced away, directly into Takezo’s outstretched palm.  In a single smooth movement, he returned the cup to Hiko, who poured himself another draught of sake.  As he did so, he spoke in a scolding tone.  “If you’re going to joke around like that, you’re going to regret ever becoming my apprentice.”  He lifted the full cup to his lips and drank it down, looking up at Soujiro as he did so.  When he did, Hiko nearly choked and fell over.  The wide eyed, open mouthed stare Soujiro was giving him was almost identical to the one Kenshin used whenever he didn’t understand something his master did.  It’s too close for comfort, thought Seijuro Hiko irritably.

            Soujiro blinked a couple of times and returned to his normal, slightly smiling self.  “Anyway, about my limits Sensei?” continued Soujiro.

            “Well, you’re certainly fast enough,” said Hiko, “With that Shukuchi thing of yours; you won’t have any trouble where speed is concerned, so I think we can skip that part of the training.  However, I noticed that you lack when it comes to leaping.”

            “Leaping?”  Soujiro’s smile disappeared as he raised his eyebrow.

            “Yeah,” answered Hiko, “Many aspects of the Hiten Mitsurugi style depend on your ability to jump substantial distances.  While that is not your actual weakness, it is part of the problem.  Many opponents have techniques and/or abilities that allow them to alter the battlefield to suit their designs.  Even the Hiten Mitsurugi style has such a technique, the Do-Ryu-Sen.  The best way to defeat these techniques is to circumvent the problem they pose by flying over the battlefield.”

            “I can certainly jump high and far enough to do that,” said Soujiro.

            “However, there is more to your problem to that.  Your opponent will also know that this is the best way to circumvent a ground-shaping technique and anticipate your jump.  You have to be able to maneuver yourself, contort your body, and even change the direction of your flight, and still land on the ground so that you are in a position to take to the air once again immediately afterward.”

            “Oh,” was all that Soujiro could say.  Thanks to the powerful legwork that was required to perform techniques like his Shukuchi, Soujiro had more than enough leg strength to perform jumps of great length and height.  However, what Seijuro Hiko said was true.  Since his original style had been ground based (after all, the Shukuchi doesn’t work very well in midair), he had little practice with airborne maneuvering.

            “Is that all?” he asked.

            “No,” answered Hiko, “Your sword work is also a bit sloppy.  You’re too used to using that Shukuchi technique of yours to get in and strike an opponent before he has a chance to defend himself.  As a result, the majority of your actual sword techniques are rather basic and pretty poorly executed at that.  About the only thing sword wise you can claim to be really good at is your Battoujutsu.”

            “How is my Battoujutsu?” Soujiro wanted to know.

            “Let’s just say you’ll never match mine,” replied Hiko loftily.  That wasn’t entirely true.  In retrospect, Seijuro Hiko had been rather surprised to see just how swift and powerful the Battoujutsu of the Tenken was.  It had exceeded all his expectations, both low and high, surpassing even Kenshin’s sword-drawing technique.  And Kenshin was the man who earned his name, the Battousai, from his skill with the Battoujutsu technique.  However, Hiko wasn’t about to let his new trainee know that.  Like most teachers, Hiko believed that a certain feeling of inadequacy helped to motivate a student to apply himself more to his studies.  The method worked well, so long as that feeling wasn’t overwhelming for the student.  It was a fine balance, the kind that Hiko had mastered long ago.

            Soujiro pouted.  If there was one thing he had ever been proud of besides his Shukuchi, it had been his skill with the Battoujutsu.  After all, not many people could claim to have broken the Battousai’s sword clean in two.  However, he understood that it probably was no match for Hiko, the man who had taught Mr. Himura.  The difference between master and apprentice was always rather great.  Soujiro resolved himself to think about it later and resumed eating.

            After the meal was concluded, Seijuro Hiko dragged Soujiro back outside.  This time though, they went farther than the training yard.  The big man led Soujiro through the forest surrounding his home until the came to a ledge overlooking a waterfall.  “It is here,” said Seijuro Hiko, “That your real training begins.”

 

            The sun was setting by the time that they returned to the house.  Soujiro was in an even sorrier state than when he had come back for lunch.  Takezo winced in sympathy.  His friend could barely stand.  While the food was still cooking, Takezo took out a role of bandages and an almost empty jar of ointment, Takezo made a mental note to restock in the morning.  While Hiko seated himself in his favorite spot in front of the now unlit kiln, Takezo took Soujiro back into the house.

            Keeping one eye on dinner, Takezo took Soujiro’s right hand.  He hissed softly when he saw up close the damage the hand had suffered.  The palm was covered in blisters and some parts were bleeding openly.  Gently, he began to rub the ointment into Soujiro’s sore palms.  He looked up and saw his friend’s eyes close as the pain faded from his left hand.  After he had finished with the ointment, Takezo took the bandages and wrapped Soujiro’s right hand.  Takezo then gave the other hand the same treatment.  When he was done, Soujiro looked gratefully at him.

            “Thanks Takezo,” said Soujiro softly.  Takezo nodded and smiled, knowing full well how painful his first bouts with Hiko had been.

            That said and done, Soujiro began to aid Takezo in preparing dinner.  By the time the sun had dipped below the horizon they had finished a sizeable spread.  Like every other meal, dinner was a quiet affair.  Seijuro Hiko rarely said anything, Takezo, of course, said nothing at all and Soujiro was too tired to be very talkative.  After dinner, Soujiro went straight to his room where he fell asleep almost immediately.  As he watched, Takezo let a small smile appear on his face.  Even if there was one extra, it was just like old times.

 

            Later that night, Takezo was awakened by strange sounds coming from the room next to his, Soujiro’s room.  It sounded like someone alternating between whimpering in fear and sobbing with grief.  Quietly, so as not to disturb his master, Takezo got up and slid open the door to his room.  He crept down the hallway to Soujiro’s door and slid it open a crack so that he could look inside.

            Soujiro, still clad in his training clothes lay on his futon.  He was curled in a fetal position.  His hands were clasped to the sides of his head, the tips of his fingers interlacing with one another in the back.  It looked like he was trying to cover his ears and shield the back of his skull at the same time.  As Takezo watched, Soujiro’s body trembled violently.  A wretched sob escaped his lips, followed by a slight whimper.  Most disturbing of all was that those lips, from which the anguished cries came, were turned up in a bright smile that belied the young man’s obvious suffering.  At some point he had kicked off his blanket, leaving him exposed in the chilly night.

            Takezo was baffled as to the cause of Soujiro’s condition.  However, he couldn’t stand by and watch as his friend suffered so.  Gently, Takezo picked up the blanket that Soujiro had kicked off in his earlier struggles and pulled it over the young man’s curled body.  As he settled it around Soujiro’s shoulders, the boy’s muscles loosened slightly and he began to unfold back under the blanket.  Then, Takezo brushed back the bangs of Soujiro’s hair and gently ran his fingers across his cheeks, vaguely remembering them as actions his own mother had done to soothe him during troubled nights.

            Soujiro’s whimpering became softer and finally disappeared altogether.  The smile on his face disappeared, leaving a look of complete tranquility.  Once he was sure that Soujiro was sleeping better, Takezo left and returned to his own room, not noticing that his friend’s eyes had opened slightly.

            Soujiro’s gaze lazily flickered over to the door that Takezo had just exited through.  As his eyes closed again, he realized just how lucky he was to have such a good friend.

__________________________________

 

Author Extra: Who is Musashi Miyamoto?  Well, actually, it’s Miyamoto Musashi if you say it in the traditional Japanese fashion (with last or family name being said before the individual’s name).  I simply decided that since the official dub of Rurouni Kenshin was switching the names around, I’d follow suit.  It helps make things less confusing, as long as you stay consistent.  Well, anyway, back to the subject at hand.  Musashi is considered one of, if not the greatest samurai in Japanese history.  He lived during the early years of the Tokagawa regime.  His surname, Miyamoto, is the name of the province where he came from.

            The legend of Musashi began immediately after the battle of Sekigahara in which the forces of Tokugawa Ieyasu, the last of Japan’s three great unifiers, won control of the country.  Back then, Musashi was living under his original name, Shinmen Takezo (now you know where I got those names from.  In fact, a great majority of my names came from the book, more on that later).  Takezo was a survivor from the losing army.  He managed to flee back to his home village where he hid as a fugitive for quite a while.  The rest is details that can be found in the pseudo-biography of Musashi that was written by Eiji Yoshikawa, a translated version of which can probably be found in your local bookstore and easily on Amazon.  I get most of the Japanese names I use in this fic from the book.  I call this book a pseudo-biography because the author mixed a good bit of fiction in with fact (mostly to spice up Musashi’s life’s story).  Be warned, it is a pretty big book and is a hefty thing to read.

            Anyway, back to Musashi.  Another little fact about Musashi is that his name is a different way of reading the characters which make up his old name, Takezo.  After he took on his new name, Musashi dedicated his life to the sword and its use.  It is said that Musashi fought in as many as eighty duels and never lost a single one, thus earning him the title, Kensai (or Kinsei or any one of a myriad of other spelling for the word), or sword saint.  You could say that Musashi was the original rurouni.  He wandered all over Japan and learned his lessons more often from nature and solitary study than any particular teacher.  Musashi even went so far as to use a wooden sword in order to further test his abilities, and he was no less lethal with it.

            Besides the simple fact of his legend, Musashi is famous for two things.  The first is his unique sword style.  During his time wandering, Musashi earned the ire of a school of swordsmen.  Infuriated by the losses Musashi inflicted against several students and even the school’s two masters, the men of this school made a last ditch effort to preserve their honor by challenging Musashi to a final duel, pitting the lone swordsman (who had willing forgone having any seconds) against over seventy members of the school.  In an intense battle against overwhelming odds, Musashi hit upon a new form of swordsmanship when he, acting on instinct, drew and fought with both his swords, an idea unheard of before his time.   After this, Musashi developed a new philosophy behind swordsmanship.  Since all samurai carry two swords (daisho), it seemed dishonorable to fight and die while wielding only one, to fail with a weapon yet undrawn.  Musashi began to perfect his Two Swords style through further experience.  And it is still practiced today

            Musashi also wrote a manuscript called Go Rin No Sho, or The Book of Five Rings in English.  You could say it’s Japan’s equivalent of the Art of War, which heavily influenced Musashi during his time.  This book on military strategy has found many applications outside the battlefield as many people see analogies between war and business.  It has thus become an important resource for many successful businessmen, Japanese or otherwise in the modern world.  Overall, Musashi is one of the most important and influential person in Japanese history.

 

Author’s note:  Besides my piece on Musashi (above) I thought I’d take a moment to mention a few things about sheaths, or saya as they are called in Japan.  The plain wooden storage sheath, complete with a handle that complements that sheath is called a shira-saya.  It is generally an airtight container used to protect a sword’s blade from wear while it is not being used or carried.  Quite obviously, many of the characters in Rurouni Kenshin, including our dear Seijuro Hiko, have found a different use for the shira-saya.  A carefully crafted shira-saya can be made to look like an ordinary staff or wooden sword until it is actually drawn.  Of course, this kind of method does has its defects.  The handle is not designed to stand up to the forces and strains of an all out battle, as Kenshin proved in his fight with Chou.  And the airtight nature of the sheath’s seal makes it unsuitable for technique’s like Battoujutsu, which is probably why Kenshin never used one, considering that his favorite technique is the Battoujutsu.

 

            Another thing, I know I overdid it a little bit with Hiko’s drinking habit.  But the amount of sake Hiko consumes without showing the slightest sign of inebriation is often exaggerated as a kind of joke among RK fanfiction writers.  I just wanted to add that touch of the slightly ridiculous that makes Rurouni Kenshin such a popular show in the comedy department as well as the action genre.  That’s all for now.