Rurouni Kenshin

The Silent Sword

by Moguera

 

Disclaimer: See Prologue

Author’s Note: Finally, the latest chapter in my story.  This one features a fight between Saitou and Soujiro.  The outcome may be a little different from what you expect.

 

Chapter 6: The Long Expected Duel: The Wolf’s Fang Pierces the Void

 

            Matahachi glared at the girl who had entered through the back of the room.  Misao Makimachi faced him defiantly, ready for a fight.  Behind the man, Soujiro Seta rested on his knees, seemingly oblivious to the events unfolding in front of him.  Off to one side of the room, Aoshi Shinomori stood calmly, watching their every move.

            Matahachi tightened his grip on the handle of his saber and slowly drew it from its sheath.  He was a skilled swordsman and far be it for some woman who didn’t have a single weapon to be able to defeat him.

            Misao’s eyes carefully followed Matahachi’s blade as it flowed from its sheath.  She tensed, her hand inching towards the pilfered knife she had stashed in her sash behind her back.

            “Misao.”  Aoshi’s abrupt, verbal intervention halted both combatants.  Misao shifted her glance slightly in his direction, careful to keep one eye on Matahachi.  She half expected Aoshi to order to stand down so that he could deal with this himself.  She was shocked to see a whirling Kodachi hurling at her.  Remembering her training, Misao caught the weapon by its handle in her right hand without getting so much as a single cut.  “Take care of yourself,” Aoshi finished.

            Misao smiled at him.  Matahachi lunged forward to attack her, his blade coming in from overhead.  Misao raised the Kodachi to block the attack.  But the strike was a feint.  The sword halted a hair’s breadth from the Kodachi before Matahachi twisted his wrist to send it arcing around to come at Misao from the side.  However, Misao turned her wrist and easily blocked the strike.

            Matahachi twisted his wrist again, pulling the sword away before he came back, this time coming in with a series of rapid, one-handed thrusting attacks, which Misao easily parried, before again twisting his wrist to come at her from the opposite side.

            Misao was slightly confused by his style, which so far seemed to be taken from Western fencing, in which thrusting was the more prominent form of attack than slashing.  It seemed odd.  He mostly relied on his wrist to control the sword, which worked with the lighter blade of the saber, but would have been nigh impossible with a Katana.

            Matahachi came in again, this time using his wrist to deliver a rapid series of slashes.  As Misao retreated slightly, the man advanced, but maintained his stance, right leg in front with the foot pointing forwards while the left foot pointed perpendicular to that.  Misao couldn’t understand how Matahachi hoped to win with a fighting style like that.

            The next time Matahachi’s blade came in from her left, Misao parried it out wide, which crossed her right arm in front of her chest.  Following through with the motion, Misao spun around, using her right shoulder as the axis and being careful to maintain contact between her sword and her opponent’s.  As her back came parallel with Matahachi’s arm, Misao snapped her left arm out in a backfist that caught the man in the stomach and knocked him off his feet.

            Matahachi somehow managed to keep his legs under him despite the fact that his feet had lost contact with the ground and the fact that he was on the verge of falling over backwards.  Finally, his socks scraped against the floor and Matahachi skidded to a stop, several feet away from Misao.  The girl was stronger than she looked.  But Matahachi didn’t have any time to ponder that thought as he closed quickly with her again, trying to keep her from getting her guard up.  The edge of his saber came in at Misao’s seemingly undefended back, only to clang against the blade of Misao’s Kodachi as she reached it over her shoulder and across her back to perfectly intercept the attack.  Misao snapped her arm back over her shoulder, knocking Matahachi’s blade away and spinning around just in time to catch the return strike as it came about.  This time, as Matahachi’s blade pressed against hers, Misao snapped off a kick at his stomach.  Matahachi leapt away as the blow barely grazed his abdomen.

            Matahachi looked down in surprise at the tear in his shirt.  If that attack had connected in full, he might not have been standing.  As it was, the pain reached his brain and the man had to put a hand to his abdomen and did his best to keep from doubling over.  The strike had been just a graze, but even that held substantial power.

            “There’s no doubt in my mind, girl,” he hissed, “You’re dead.”

 

            Hajime calmly reached into his coat, pulled out a cigarette.  He put it in his mouth, smirking as he did so and reached in for a match, which he lit.  Saitou then applied the flame from the match to the cigarette, lighting it.  Having disposed of the match, Saitou took a drag of smoke, removed the cigarette from his mouth, blew the smoke out so that it hung in a gray cloud in front of him, and calmly watched his apprentice squirm.

            And on the inside, Kojiro was indeed squirming.  He had seen that look on his former sensei’s face a great many times.  It was always right before he dealt the killing blow to a doomed opponent.  A great many men had met their end on the point of a sword, behind which lurked a sinister smile and a pair of eyes gleaming with the promise of death.  And those same eyes now rested their gaze on the fear stricken Kojiro.

            Saitou sucked in another lungful of smoke and exhaled it before dropping the cigarette to the ground in front of him.  He then stepped on it with his shoe to ensure that its light went out.  To Kojiro, that light seemed to represent his life and how that life would soon be extinguished as well.

            “Is something the matter,” said Saitou mockingly, “You’re sweating bullets my dear apprentice.  Whatever could it be that has you so nervous?”  With his left hand, Saitou reached down and took hold of the sheath in which his sword rested.  Adjusting it so that the handle was angled forward, Saitou popped the sword free with his thumb and drew it with his right hand.  He then let it rest easily at his side.

            Kojiro was trembling madly, but a faint glimmer of hope sprang into his mind.  He had known better than to try and use it in his battle with Aoshi, but Kojiro had a concealed sword running down his back.  If he could just reach it in time, he might be able to strike Saitou before Saitou could get far enough away to take up the Gatotsu stance.  The concealable weapon’s thin and brittle blade wouldn’t have stood up to a fight with Aoshi, but if Kojiro could catch Saitou off guard at such close proximity, then the battle might very well be his.

            All Kojiro had to do was reach over his shoulder and grab the hilt which lay just below the collar of his kimono.  Then he could pull it out and slash down with it.  A clumsy attack to be sure, but it could be enough to catch Saitou with his defenses down.

            Saitou’s smirk widened.  He switched the sword from his right to his left hand, gripping it near the pommel.  “You have forgotten what it means to be Shinsengumi, Kojiro,” he said wryly.

            “How can you say that,” growled Kojiro, “When you serve the very government we once fought against.”  He didn’t have any more time.  His left hand rushed up over his shoulder and down to grab the hidden sword.  “But I’ll show you what happens to those who forget our mission.”

            Kojiro didn’t even see the attack coming before it connected with the force of a small cannon.  The sword pierced his chest with ease, passing all the way through his chest and back out the other side.  Saitou released his grip on the sword, letting the force of his attack send Kojiro flying back through the doors from which he had emerged and across the foyer before slamming into the wall above the next set of doors.  The sword through his chest pinned him there.  What happened, Kojiro wondered, Since when could Gatotsu be done at such close range.

            “An apprentice should know better than to overestimate his skills,” said Saitou calmly as he strode up.  “But you did show me what happens to those who forget our mission,” he added, smiling up at Kojiro, “Aku Soku Zan, Kojiro”  He let out an evil chuckle.  “I never did teach you the Gatotsu Zero did I?”  Saitou began to go through the somewhat tedious process of retrieving his sword, while listening to the sounds of battle that emanated from the doors in front of him.

 

            Misao blocked a series of slashes from Matahachi, but failed to see any openings for counterattack.  Aoshi watched quietly from across the room.  He remembered when there had been at time that he wouldn’t have allowed Misao to fight.  But that was a while ago.  It turned out that he hadn’t made such a bad decision after all.  At this point she had skill comparable to his own when he had first crossed blades with Kenshin.  She handled the Kodachi with incredible ease and he didn’t think it would be long before Misao would be able to learn double Kodachi techniques.

            Misao leapt back from the latest strike instead of countering it.  Alright, she thought, It’s time I put what I learned from Lord Aoshi to use.  Misao charged forward and attacked Matahachi with her Kodachi.  Matahachi blocked her attack with ease.  It wasn’t until he actually blocked the attack that Matahachi realized the mistake he had made.  Her downward strike made him block laterally so that his sword came across his eyes like a blind.  She could strike him at her leisure now.

            As he expected, Misao’s Kodachi barely tapped his saber before retreated back.  But the expected blow never came.  Matahachi carefully lowered his sword into a defensive position, but the girl was no longer in front of him.  Matahachi caught a small bit of movement out of the corner of his eye.  Whirling around, he saw Misao’s figure vanish, like a phantom.  This is the same technique Aoshi used against Kojiro, thought Matahachi, Jissen-Kenbu.

            Misao faded in and out of sight, first circling one way, and then the next.  Because she was constantly in motion, sometimes slow and other times fast, it was almost impossible to find her.  Matahachi had seen how Kojiro had anticipated Aoshi’s attack, and he had a fair idea how to not be caught off guard when Misao did likewise.  He held his ground and waited.

            Aoshi watched more than a little apprehensively.  He could tell that while Matahachi wasn’t the best at swordsmanship, he was good enough to observe and learn the weakness in the techniques of others.  If he had already caught on to the secret of Jissen-Kenbu, then it was unlikely that Misao could catch him off guard.

            “Oh!”  A startled voice from nearby drew Aoshi’s attention.  Soujiro had finally regained his senses and was watching Misao’s fight with intense interest.  “You taught her well Mr. Shinomori,” he observed.

            “I couldn’t agree more,” concurred a cold voice from the entrance.  Aoshi whirled around to see Saitou, smiling and smoking as always.  He did not look away from Misao’s fight, not even to glance at Soujiro, who remained on his knees.  “But,” continued Saitou, “While Matahachi may be an arrogant son of a bitch, that doesn’t mean he’s completely incompetent.  He might have succeeded in his little plot for revenge if his plan hadn’t been colored with so much bad blood.  You seem to have quite an effect on that man, little Tenken.”  Saitou chuckled.  “But the Weasel’s giving a better account of herself than I anticipated.  She’s not too bad.”

            It was taking far too long for Misao to launch an attack.  Aoshi was really beginning to worry.  If Matahachi hadn’t already known Jissen-Kenbu’s weakness, then he would have figured it out by now.  What was Misao waiting for?  There was no way she was going to be able to catch Matahachi off guard now.

            She can’t be planning to attack while still on the move, mused Aoshi, Her technique wouldn’t have enough power.

            It happened so quickly that Aoshi was barely able to follow the sequence of events.  Light glinted off of metal as the knives Misao plundered from some of the guards came flying at Matahachi’s back.  The man whirled around quite quickly and deflected both attacks, but he wasn’t quick enough as Misao reappeared behind him, perfectly poised for an attack.

            “Kaiten-Kenbu!”  Misao’s body became a blur as she made three rapid spins, striking Matahachi three times in succession.  The force of her attack sent the man’s limp body flying through the air.    He landed only a few feet from Soujiro, completely motionless.

            “Did you…”  Soujiro couldn’t bring himself to finish.

            “No,” said Misao, who was quite clearly pleased with he handiwork.  She held up her Kodachi, which was held backwards, making it not unlike a reverse-blade sword.  “But he’ll regret he ever tried to kidnap me.”

            A clapping sound filled the ears of all present.  They whirled around to see Saitou, applauding, a mocking smile on his face.  “Well done Weasel,” he said, a chuckle in his voice, “You certainly put that clod in his place.”

            Misao’s face was livid.  “WHAT DID YOU CALL ME!”  She held her Kodachi at the ready, but was restrained by an outstretched hand from Aoshi.

            “A wise decision Shinomori,” said Saitou, mockingly, “I am here to have a few choice words with the Tenken and I’m afraid that I have very little patience for interference.”

            “I’m afraid,” said Soujiro, forlornly, “That there is no longer anyone here by that name.”

            “Fine then,” said Saitou, his tone not changing in the slightest, “I wish to speak to one Soujiro Seta, if you will.”

            Soujiro rose to his feet, putting away his sword as he did so.  “What is it that you wish to speak with me about?”

            Saitou, chuckled while lighting his cigarette.  “You know,” he said calmly, after taking a drag, “The first thing that cousin of yours, before anything else, was to come before me.  He offered to personally assist in the hunt for you.”  Saitou inhaled another lungful of smoke.  “I was quite naturally suspicious, already knowing to a certain extent of the circumstances under which you joined with Shishio.  After I ascertained that Matahachi’s sole purpose for assisting in my investigation was so that he could watch you die for your treason, I was left with the most difficult task of telling the man that we had no intention of killing you.

            “As you can guess, Matahachi found this information most upsetting.  He decided there and then that he would find you himself and have you killed.”  Saitou flicked his fingers, sending the half-smoked cigarette flying away.  “But in doing so, Mr. Seta got sloppy and I noticed that he was beginning to spend much more money than a man like him should have been able to afford.

            “Quite naturally, figuring that eventually he would drag you out into the open, I decided to occupy my time by finding out where Matahachi was getting all his extra funding.  Me and my agents learned that the man did a thriving opium trade and was part of a drug running ring that included the entire Seta family.  Matahachi was in charge of making sure that the authorities never took any notice by redirecting their attention elsewhere.  It helped that the man himself was a member of good standing in the sword corps.  His cousins, the very people you lived with, were in charge of smuggling that opium around the country…in rice barrels.”  Saitou’s smirk widened when Soujiro’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets.  “Indeed, many of those rice barrels you hauled as a child probably contained a small fortune in illegal opium.”

            Soujiro was dumbstruck.  He had lost count of the number of times his stepfather went on about how he was a disgrace to their family name, how he would never amount to anything.  And right behind his back, they were conducting an illegal operation, something they claimed to detest.  They had tried to kill him for hiding a rebel because it went against the government.  Could it be that the very barrels that Mr. Shishio had been hiding among contained large amounts of opium?  The irony of the situation made Soujiro’s head spin.

            Saitou’s voice brought Soujiro back to the present.  “I’ve gone through a lot of trouble for you Soujiro Seta.  I am going to do the right thing and offer you a job, one where your skills will be put to good use.”

            “No,” grunted Soujiro.

            “Pardon?” growled Saitou, “What I mean to say is that I’m going to give you two options.  Either you can take my very generous offer, or you can grant that troublesome cousin of yours his wish and go to meet the headman.”

            “No,” said Soujiro, much more clearly, “I want no part of you secret deals.  I don’t want any job where my skills can be put to use.  I don’t want to become an assassin again.”

            Saitou’s eyes narrowed dangerously.  “If that’s the case, Tenken,” he reached down with his left hand and with his thumb, popped the sword free from its sheath, “Then perhaps I should carry out your execution right here and now.”

            “I just want to live my life,” said Soujiro, nearly sobbing now, “I don’t want to kill anymore.”

            “In case you didn’t notice,” snarled the Wolf of Mibu, “You’ve already killed again.”  He indicated the two parts of Ishiro’s bisected form.  “Or does that not qualify?”

            “I…I.”  Soujiro was at a loss for words.  “I didn’t mean to do that.  I couldn’t stop myself.”

            “Quit making excuses Tenken,” said Saitou, “Don’t try to stammer out justifications for the murder you just committed.  My point is that you were a killer then, and you are now.  So stop living in this foolish illusion where nobody ever gets hurt.  Welcome to the real world, Soujiro Seta.”

            “STOP!” screamed Soujiro, “I don’t want to kill!  I don’t want to do anything!  I just want to be left alone!”  He sank to his knees, pressing his hands against his head, a look of terrible agony on his face.

            “I have to put a stop to this,” hissed Misao, he began to inch towards Satiou.  A hand landed on her shoulder.  Misao whirled around to see Aoshi, who was now behind her.

            “This is one fight we cannot interfere with,” said Aoshi calmly.

            “What fight?” demanded Misao, “All I see is that damn cop torturing poor Soujiro out of his mind!”

            “Soujiro may not be fighting,” replied Aoshi levelly, “But Hajime Saitou is.”

            “What do you mean by that?” Misao wanted to know.

            “Saitou’s most dangerous weapon is not his sword, not his Gatotsu, nor is it any other sword technique that he has ever learned,” explained Aoshi, “The deadliest weapon in Saitou’s arsenal, the one he is now bringing to bear on Soujiro Seta, is his mind.”

            “I don’t understand,” said Misao.

            “This is how Saitou can defeat an opponent, even if that opponent is much stronger than him,” Aoshi continued, “Saitou’s greatest gift is to see through all the masks and facades and look into the inner workings of his enemy’s head.  Too many warriors try to win through the skill and will to fight alone.  But Saitou wages two battles at once.  One with the sword, and the other with the mind.  While he parries, he also thrusts, reaching into his enemy’s head, seeding doubt, anger and frustration.  His enemy begins to lose control and makes mistakes; it is then that Saitou strikes the killing blow.  He is now picking apart Soujiro’s resolve, slowly dissolving him into a weak, defenseless boy, into whom the Wolf of Mibu will soon sink his fangs.”

            In front of them, Soujiro managed to recover from his bout of pain and confusion and rose to his feet.  Instead of doubt and fear, Soujiro’s eyes shined with renewed determination.  “You’re right,” he said calmly.

            “Now those are the words I’ve been waiting to hear,” said Saitou smugly.  He turned around.  “Well, if you’re through moping, let’s go.”

            “I can’t justify my reasons for killing that man,” said Soujiro calmly, “Nothing I say or do will change the fact that what I did was wrong.”  Saitou stopped and turned around.  The look in his eyes would have killed, if such a thing were possible.

            Soujiro went on.  “And that means that I cannot accept a lifestyle where I profit from bringing death to others.”  He shook his head, smiling sadly.  “No.  I will kill if I must, and I will accept the consequences.  But I will not work for you, not as an assassin.”

            “Is this your final answer?” asked Saitou, his hand once again going for his sword.

            Soujiro nodded.  “Yes.”

            “Then,” said Saitou in his lowest, most threatening growl, “There is nothing more for us to discuss.”  He drew his sword and took his favorite stance, the Gatotsu.  “I will subject you to the justice of the Shinsengumi!”  Saitou launched himself at Soujiro, sword leading.

            Soujiro leapt aside as Saitou thrust forward.  Soujiro’s blade came up and parried the follow-through side slash.  The young man leapt back several paces.  As Saitou set himself up for another Gatotsu, Soujiro began to tap.

            Saitou lunged at the former Tenken once again.  Soujiro stood his ground, still tapping carefully.  Saitou thrust forward, but encountered empty air once again as Soujiro vanished in a burst of dust and wood splinters as the force of his footsteps shattered the floor beneath him.  Soujiro, moving at two step speed, dodged around behind Saitou.  He ground to a halt and attacked, drawing his sword in the Battoujutsu.

            However, Saitou anticipated Soujiro’s strike and had already brought his sword around to parry the attack.  Soujiro’s blade clanged against Saitou’s.  The two parted and took up their respective stances, Saitou in his Gatotsu and Soujiro tapping in preparation for his Shukuchi.

            Saitou once again came at Soujiro.  But this time, he leapt up into the air and came at the young man from above.  Soujiro decided that the time had come for him to put what he had learned from Seijuro Hiko to good use.

            Soujiro vanished as he used the Shukuchi again.  Satiou’s sword impacted the floor with explosive force, sending wood chips and dust flying everywhere.  Soujiro was already gone.  Before Saitou had even begun to stand, the young man had gone up the wall, across the ceiling and was now coming at Saitou from above.

            “Hiten Mitsurugi Style,” yelled Soujiro as he descended, his blade held overhead, “Ryu-Tsui-Sen!”

            Saitou brought his sword up and braced the blade with his right hand.  His block intercepted the full force of the attack.  The ground beneath groaned, cracked and crumbled as Saitou absorbed the full downward source of Soujiro’s strike.  Even as Soujiro connected, Saitou’s legs were slowly bending, the wolf lowering himself into a crouch, enabling him to slowly play out all of the energy transferred by Soujiro’s strike.  To aid in this, he angled the point of his sword downward slowly letting it lower too, to further dissipate the strength of the attack.

            Then, just as he sensed that all of the Tenken’s momentum was expended, Saitou thrust forward with his right arm, turning the sword into a lever.  The power of his counter actually forced Soujiro back into the air.  Their blades parted.  Saitou brought his sword up and angled it towards Soujiro.  “Gatotsu Third Stance!”  Saitou sprung out of his crouch and launched himself at his adversary with terrible speed.  Soujiro immediately realized the severity of his situation.  Saitou’s counter left him without any ability to parry at all.  He was completely open.  Soujiro twisted his body and managed to avoid taking the stab in the heart.  Instead, the sword punched through the flesh between two ribs, its tip just grazing Soujiro’s right ling as it pushed all the way through and out the back.

            Soujiro went limp.  His hope was to trap Saitou’s blade with his body and then attack the man when his guard was down.  Soujiro’s hopes were dashed as Saitou began his follow-through.  The wolf’s sword was trapped between two ribs, meaning there was no way he could twist it around, so Saitou instead yanked outward, causing the blade to cut through the boy’s flesh and exit out his right side.  As he did so, Saitou used the momentum from his attack to launch a roundhouse kick to Soujiro’s other side.  A loud cracking sound filled the room as the young man flew through the air to hit the ground several feet away.

            “That was a mistake, Tenken,” remarked Saitou coolly, “Of all who know the Battousai, we of the Shinsengumi know him better than anyone else.  There is not a single technique of Himura’s Hiten Mitsurugi Style that I haven’t seen and analyzed.  Switching to his technique only made it easier to predict your actions.”

            Soujiro slowly rose to his feet.  He held one arm across his chest to stem the flow of blood.  Despite his best efforts, it streamed out past his hands and spattered on the wooden floor staining it a deep crimson color.  His left side was on fire as well, no doubt from at least one cracked rip that Saitou had dealt him.

            Saitou snorted.  “Try as you might, you are a pale imitation of the Battousai.”  The Wolf relaxed his guard and held his sword down by his side.

            “I am not imitating Mr. Himura,” said Soujiro, through gritted teeth, “I am a student of the Hiten Mitsurugi Style.”

            Saitou laughed maliciously.  “So, since you can no longer cling to your beloved Shishio, you instead latch onto Himura instead of finding your own strength; how pathetic.”

            “The path I follow is my own,” growled Soujiro, “And no one else’s.”

            “You can’t even bring yourself to acknowledge your own weakness,” said Saitou, “Makoto Shishio would be most disappointed in you.”  He shook his head sadly.

            “I am not weak,” said Soujiro, straightening.

            “You aren’t?”  Saitou raised an incredulous eyebrow.  “Then how do you explain your loss to Himura.”

            “I was defeated by his ultimate attack,” grunted Soujiro.

            Saitou snorted again.  “So that’s your pathetic excuse.  Of course, blame it all on Himura’s ultimate technique.  Shishio would be downright ashamed of you now.”

            “Obviously, you don’t know the power that Mr. Himura’s technique commands,” spat Soujiro.

            “Of course I do boy,” snapped Saitou, “I have seen the technique first-hand.  In fact, I have seen parts of it that you had no idea existed.  I know very well the power of Himura’s Amakakeru-Ryu-No-Hirameki.

            “But that doesn’t change the fact that what defeated you was not the Battousai’s ultimate attack, but your own weakness.  You would never have survived against the Battousai’s true strength.”

            “That’s not true!” exclaimed Soujiro, “Mr. Himura was using his true strength.  That was the only way he had been able to get stronger after I met him at Shingetsu village.”

            “Himura was fighting with his full strength,” agreed Aoshi, “I know this all too well.”

            “Speak not of what you can’t understand!” Saitou barked at the leader of the Oniwaban Group, “You have never beheld the Battousai’s true power.  Neither of you have.  I one of the few men who has ever survived a fight against the true Battousai, and I assure you, not only is it true that Himura wasn’t using his full strength against either of you, but it is impossible that he could do so and yet you would remain alive.”

            “What do you mean?” demanded Soujiro.

            “You fools all think that the reason Himura can fight so well and yet not kill is because of that ridiculous sword of his,” said Saitou, “Taking up a weapon like the reverse blade sword isn’t enough.  Himura could quite easily slay someone with that weapon without even turning it on its edge.
            “Mankind has a proud, if primitive history of killing one another with blunt weapons.  Men were beating each other’s brains out with fallen tree branches long before the first sword was ever made.  Musashi Miyamoto slew countless foes with a mere bokken.  Yet you stare in the face of this irrefutable evidence and claim that it isn’t possible for the Battousai to slay with a weapon that is as well made as the finest of true Katana.”  The man brought his sword up across his chest and rested the back of the blade against the fingers of his right hand.

            “In order to fulfill his vow to never kill again, Himura had to give up more than his sword.  He had to sacrifice a portion of his strength as well; the kind of strength that can only come from a true will to slay your enemy.  That is why he was able to fight without killing his opponents from then on.

            “You never fought Himura the Battousai; you only fought Himura the wanderer.  If you, Soujiro, had ever fought the real Battousai, you would have been dead long before you had a chance to use that ridiculous Shukuchi technique of yours.  There would be no hope for your survival.”  The familiar smirk returned to Saitou’s face.  “In other words, it was not the Battousai’s strength that defeated you.  It was your own weakness.  The same is true for Aoshi Shinomori.”

            “You’re a liar!” shouted Misao.  She took a step towards Saitou, her Kodachi raised.

            “One more step and you’re a dead weasel,” snarled the former captain of the Shinsengumi without so much as glancing in Misao’s direction.  Misao stopped in her tracks.  There was nothing but grim certainty in Saitou’s voice.

            “But Mr. Himura couldn’t have beaten me without his ultimate technique,” said Soujiro, “It was the only thing fast enough to defeat me.”

            “The truth is that Himura didn’t speed up,” replied Saitou, “You slowed down.  While I may not have been present, I know for certain that you and Himura exchanged more than blows.”

            “Yes,” agreed Soujiro, “He told me about the importance of finding my own answers in life.  He made me realize that I didn’t really want to spend my life killing others.”

            “And yet,” said Saitou, “That was enough to destroy the gap, between you and him.”

            “What do you mean?” asked Soujiro.

            “In Shingetsu Village, the difference between you and Himura was obvious.  You broke his sword in two with ease.  And had I not called the fight a draw and ended it, the Battousai would have needed a full squad of officers to collect the pieces you would have made of him.”  The man chuckled at the thought.  “But then, in the second battle with you.  Something different happened.  Because of your Shukuchi, your ability to beat Himura at his own game of speed, you had the upper hand throughout the entire battle.  And yet, you weren’t able to kill him.

            “At some point, your roles reversed and Himura became the one in control.  Not much later, he struck you with his ultimate technique and ended it.”

            “What’s your point?” demanded Soujiro.

            “What was it that changed the circumstances of the battle so radically?”  Saitou sneered at his opponent.  “I’ll tell you what it was.  Himura reached inside of you and broke the seal that held in place all the emotions that you hid away when you joined Shishio, perhaps even before then.  When those emotions flooded your being, your mind snapped.  You lost your focus, your control, your clarity of thought.  And it all went downhill from there.  Himura’s ultimate technique was simply the final shovelful of dirt on your grave.  In other words, you lost that battle the moment you experienced that change inside of yourself.  Kenshin Himura broke you in two without lifting a finger.”

            “No,” hissed Soujiro, “He was trying to help me, to save me from myself.”

            “Was he?”  Saitou laughed contemptuously.  “Or was he following the most basic principal of battle.  Go for your enemy’s weakest point.  Perhaps to the Battousai, you were nothing more than a stumbling block on the road to Shishio, an obstacle that needed to be removed.  He merely said what he did to eliminate the advantages you held over him, to sow doubt, to destroy your confidence and your ability.  Perhaps the Battousai’s so-called help was actually nothing less than his most dangerous weapon.”

            “You mean like yours,” interjected Misao.  She stepped forward.  “You know better than to believe this creep, Soujiro,” she shouted at Soujiro, “Even though I wasn’t there, I know that Kenshin was trying to help you because that’s the kind of guy he is.

            “If Himura thought he could, he would have done everything in his power to help Shishio.  I saw him risk his life for people he didn’t even know.  I saw him fight to protect people who wouldn’t lift a finger to help him if his life depended on it.”

            Aoshi stepped up behind Misao.  “Even though my only thought, my only reason for living was to kill him,” said Aoshi, “Himura did everything in his power to help me as he did you.  The only reason he would have done so was because he saw something in me and in you that was worth saving.”

            Saitou snorted.  “Believe what you will,” he scoffed, “But know that I understand the Battousai better than anyone who has ever known him.  He and I are more alike than you can ever imagine.  In the Revolution, we were both manslayers who sought to defeat our enemies using whatever means could work.  In the world of a manslayer, there is no room for compassion.  There is no thought given to trying to save your adversary.  There is only the heat of battle and stench of death.  Himura and I helped to shape that world.  No one will ever understand him like I do.”

            Saitou leveled his sword at Soujiro once again.  “Now, if you don’t mind, we have differences to settle, Tenken.”

            Soujiro sheathed his sword.  “I am Soujiro Seta,” he said as confidently as he could manage.

            “This isn’t good,” Aoshi commented to Misao, “Soujiro has lost his resolve to win and is now focusing on proving Saitou wrong.”

            “Isn’t that the same thing though?” Misao asked.

            “No,” Aoshi said with a sigh, “In his mind, Soujiro is debating Saitou’s points and trying to counter them.  His thoughts are not focused on the battle.  I’m afraid that he has lost control.”

            “Was he ever in control?” Misao wanted to know.  Aoshi could only shrug.

            “Misao,” he said quietly, “I would like my Kodachi back now.”

            Misao handed Aoshi the sword while giving him a questioning glance.

            “I have the feeling that Soujiro may be grievously wounded in their next exchange.”  He took his Kodachi and held them at the ready.  “When that happens,” he continued, “I want you to get him out of here.  I will stall Saitou as much as I have to.”

            Misao nodded and they waited for the confrontation to be resolved.

            Soujiro took the stance for his ultimate attack.  Saitou smirked and lowered his sword.  He faced Soujiro fully from the front.

            I’ll win, thought Soujiro, With my Shuntensatsu.  His sank further down as his knees bent, ready to spring.

            At that moment, Saitou went into a much shallower crouch as he bent at the waist while also setting on his knees.  His arms drew back in preparation for his own strike.

            Soujiro vanished.  He shot forward, closing the distance between them in an instant.  His sword flew from the sheath, flying at Saitou’s undefended chest.  Then it hit him.  Soujiro felt the pain of a sharp object penetrating his right shoulder.  He then became aware of the colossal force that sent him flying backwards across the room  Soujiro’s sword flew free from his grasp and clattered across the floor as the boy hit the wall with an impact substantial enough to completely smash the wood behind him.  Soujiro’s body actually sank into the wall a good two feet before his body finally came to rest.  His vision swam.  Saitou was a rapidly shifting blur across the room from him.  Soujiro could barely make anything out at all.

            “I’m disappointed,” said Saitou, “But, you did manage to come close.”  While Soujiro couldn’t, Misao and Aoshi could see what Saitou meant.  There was a very fine cut in Saitou’s jacket and through the shirt underneath.  The cut just barely opened the officer’s skin, letting out a finite trickle of blood.

            “You were slower than I expected,” Saitou continued, “From the stance you took I thought your attack would be much faster than that.  But, in the end, that is probably what bought you a few more moments’ time.  I was overextended when we connected, meaning that the majority of my power had been wasted because I was expecting you to come within striking distance much sooner.  Too bad your surprise was spoiled.”

            “W-what do you mean?” gasped Soujiro.  His shoulder was on fire, while his arm was completely numb.

            “When I saw your spectacular skill at the Battoujutsu in Shingetsu Village and when I learned about your Shukuchi from Chou, I knew from that moment that you had undoubtedly created a technique that combined the two.  And when I saw your stance, I understood that your technique, whatever it is called, was much faster than mere Shukuchi.”

            “What are you talking about?” asked Misao, from the sidelines.

            “I got a good look at how the Shukuchi works when the boy used it against me,” explained Saitou.  “The technique serves two purposes.  First, it is a charging technique.  It is meant to bring the user to within striking distance of his target before said target has a chance to react.  And second, it is a technique not unlike what you and Aoshi use.  Soujiro can rapidly move around his target, making said target completely incapable of determining the boy’s position until it’s too late.  However, unlike the technique you use, Soujiro can attack while he is on the move because his sheer speed lends him the power that he would otherwise lose, due to his high center of gravity, which is required to maintain the Shukuchi’s extreme maneuverability.

            “Soujiro always starts off with his feet close together so that when he is moving he can change direction easily.  But when he used that last attack, he took a very different stance, one with a low center of gravity, even lower than what is normally expected for a Battoujutsu stance.  I knew from the moment you took that stance, Soujiro that you were sacrificing all of the Shukuchi’s maneuverability in order to launch yourself in an all-out charge that would far surpass the speed of the Shukuchi and slay me in an instant.  Then, when you began your crouch, I knew then that you were about to attack, so I began my own in advance.  I switched to the Zero style because it would allow me to strike before you could complete your own attack.  Since I knew you were coming to me, there was no need for me to meet your charge with one of my own.

            “But, because of our previous discussion, you were distracted when you began your attack.  As a result, your attack wasn’t as fast as it should have been and you escaped the full force of my own. But my attack was still strong enough to disable your dominant arm, which means you can no longer fight.”

            Saitou raised his weapon and ran his tongue along the edge of the blade.  “And now,” he said, “I will put you out of your misery.”  With that, Saitou stalked forward, his sword ready to take Soujiro’s life.

            Aoshi and Misao were about to make their move when the back door to the room exploded, sending the wooden doors flying straight between Saitou and his intended quarry.  Saitou whirled around to face this new threat.  His jaw nearly hit the ground at the sight before him.

            “Battousai,” he hissed.  But a second look made him realize who it really wasn’t.  “No,” he said after a moment, “You aren’t him.”

            Takezo calmly stepped into the room.  His gate was smooth as he crossed the floor and positioned himself neatly between Saitou and Soujiro.

            “Who are you?” demanded Saitou.

            Misao stifled a sigh of relief.  Takezo saves the day, she thought.  Without a moment’s hesitation, Misao broke into a run.  She dashed around Saitou and Takezo to get to Soujiro.  Looking down at the poor boy, Misao realized that he had lost consciousness.  Carefully, she pulled one arm over his shoulder.  But the young man was heavier than he looked.  Misao was surprised to realize that she could barely lift him.  A tug from Soujiro’s other side drew her attention.  Aoshi was there, taking Sojiro’s other arm and helping her take the weight.  Together, they carried Soujiro from the room.

            “I am giving you one warning to get out of my way,” said Saitou coldly, as Takezo faced him.

            Takezo stood his ground, refusing to back down.  Saitou snarled in frustration.  “This whole night has been one problem after another,” he growled.  He took the Gatotsu stance.  “Any obstacles in my path,” Saitou said as he charged, “Will be forced aside!”

            Takezo held his own sword in his left hand down at his side.  He remained motionless as Saitou approached.  The Wolf lashed out with his sword, thrusting forward to catch Takezo with the peak force of his attack.  To Saitou’s surprise, Takezo gave way, retreating from the oncoming strike.  However, it wasn’t fast enough to escape Saitou’s attack.  With his arm fully extended, Saitou was still closing the distance between them.  Then, Takezo raised his sword and caught the tip of Saitou’s sword on the blunt side of his blade, bracing it with his right hand.  Having ensured that he wouldn’t let the thrust past him, Takezo dug in with his back leg and came to a gradual stop, slowly dissipating the force of Saitou’s Gatotsu.

            Takezo let the tip of the enemy sword slide out to his right as he scraped his down the length of Saitou’s blade, aiming to catch the Wolf between the eyes.  Saitou however, was much too canny to fall for that trick.  He twisted his wrist so that Takezo’s sword was now sliding down the flat of his blade and caught the reverse-blade sword on the guard of his weapon.  Then Saitou attacked, not with his sword, but with a right hook that smashed into Takezo’s jaw, sending him flying off to one side.

            Takezo hit with his shoulder and turned his fall into a roll, using the momentum of his flight to get him back on his feet almost immediately.  Saitou, not one to give quarter to an enemy, was coming at Takezo with another Gatotsu, this one from above.

            Takezo sank the point of his sword into the floor and dragged it forwards and upwards with such force that the floorboards broke apart and was thrown out and up in a hail of wooden shrapnel.  Saitou, undeterred by the maelstrom plowed right through, hoping to punch through the technique and strike his enemy.  But his Gatotsu only smashed into the floor where Takezo had been standing.  Acting on instinct, Saitou sank as low as he could.  Sure enough there was a sharp whistle as Takezo’s sword cleaved through the air overhead.  Twisting to face Takezo, Saitou surged upwards, bracing the back of his sword with his right hand in an attack that was similar in form to the Ryu-Shou-Sen.  But Takezo backpedaled and the attack barely clipped a few strands of hair from his head.  From there, Saitou stepped smoothly back into his Gatotsu stance.

            “You fight like the Battousai,” remarked Saitou, “And yet, you are not he.  In fact, you are just as good, if not better than he is.”

            Takezo did not respond.  He merely remained where he was, watching Saitou’s every move.  On the other hand, Hajime had no intention of making the next move.  It was a stalemate.

            Five minutes passed then ten, then fifteen.  After almost a full eighteen minutes of inaction, Saitou abruptly lowered his sword and sheathed it.  “Be on your way,” he said to Takezo, “I will come for the Tenken another time.”

            Takezo gave Saitou a suspicious glance before sheathing his own sword.  He then left via the front door.  Almost alone in the room, Saitou turned to inspect the still unconscious Matahachi.  “I suppose that you might be worth something,” said Saitou resignedly.

 

            Soujiro’s eyes slowly opened and he let out a faint groan.  The room around him swam in and out of focus as he became vaguely aware of his surroundings.

            The first thing Soujiro noticed was that the fire in his shoulder had been reduced to a dull throb.  The same could be said of the wound in his chest.  Furthermore, he now had some feeling in his arm now, faint, but there nonetheless.  He was lying down, on a futon as far as he could tell.  There was a light sheet over him, probably to protect from the early morning chill, if this even was early morning, which made Soujiro realize that he also had no idea what time it was.  He also became aware of the fact that he was quite thirsty.

            Soujiro tried to sit up, but pain shot through his shoulder chest and he gave up before his back even left the pillow.  Sunlight streamed in from a window to his right, bathing him in its warm radiance.  On the other side of the room, a door opened out into a hallway.  From the furnishings and the layout, Soujiro could tell that this wasn’t his room back at Seijuro Hiko’s house.  And, quite obviously, it wasn’t prison either.  That only left one option.  He was at the Aoiya.

            The sound of footsteps came from outside the door.  A young woman, clad in a violet kimono with here black hair tied back in a modest bun behind her head peaked in.  “Oh!” she exclaimed, “You’re awake.”

            She disappeared and came back a moment later.  After some work, she managed to arrange it so that Soujiro was now resting on cushions that were propped up against the wall, leaving him in a sitting position.  She then held a cup to Soujiro’s lips.  When he felt the first drop of water touch them, he drank deeply until the cup was empty.  Feeling much better, Soujiro coughed slightly before managing to choke out a hoarse “Thank you.”

            “Just rest now,” replied the woman, “And leave the talking to people with lungpower to spare.”  She then held up a bowl of vegetable broth and proceeded to spoon feed Soujiro the substance.  Soujiro was quite glad for the assistance, considering he felt too weak to move even his uninjured arm.  From her appearance, Soujiro guessed that this was Omasu.

            While he was being fed, Soujiro assessed his condition.  His right arm was in a sling while his shoulder remained heavily bandaged.  His chest was bound as well, where Saitou’s sword scored a hit, a hit that had been echoed a second later with his boot.  Most likely, Saitou had broken two or three ribs with that hit.

            “You aren’t going anywhere for a little while,” explained Omasu, “And you won’t be picking up a sword in an even longer while.  I’m afraid the doctor insists that you keep off your feet and don’t exert yourself too much.”

            Soujiro nodded.  With his thirst quenched and his stomach full, he was feeling more than a little drowsy.  Already, his eyes were beginning to droop.  His head was sinking down and he soon fell asleep.  He didn’t even notice Omasu carefully arranging it so that he was again lying down.  After leaving the room, while balancing the tray on one arm, she slid the door shut behind her.

 

            Misao sat in the courtyard, silently watching the clouds pass by overhead.  A noise behind her made the girl sit up and look around.  Omasu was already there next to her.  “The poor young man was awake for a little bit,” explained Omasu, “But once he had eaten he went right back to sleep.”

            “Poor Soujiro,” remarked Misao, “Saitou really knocked him around.”

            “The doctor said that he will make a complete recovery,” said Omasu, “But he’s going to need more than a month before he’ll be able to use that arm again.”

            “No one deserves that kind of treatment,” mused Misao.

            “That doesn’t change the fact that Soujiro is a wanted man,” interjected a calm voice.  Okina joined them in the courtyard, “As much as we may dislike Saitou and however much we have come to understand Soujiro, he is still a criminal.  Hajime Saitou has followed his instincts since his days in the Shinsengumi.  And those instincts have told him to preserve order at all costs, to eliminate anything that may undermine the stability of this nation.  That was why Saitou fought against the Imperialists in the days of the Revolution and that is why he fights for them today.  To him, Soujiro is one of two things.  He is either another pillar of stability, which can be used to shore up our government and prevent another time of chaos and turmoil.  Or he, he may be the instrument of that same disorder which may one day threaten to bring about the downfall of the Meiji.  The Wolf of Mibu holds his duty sacred above all else, even his own feelings on the matter.”

            “Are you saying that Saitou may feel guilty about doing this to Soujiro?” demanded Misao.

            “I am saying that he cannot allow himself to be deterred even if he does.  As a member of the Shinsengumi, Saitou’s duty and honor are closely bound.  He cannot have one without the other.  And as a true samurai, he could not allow himself to live without either.  One slip, one act of leniency and Hajime Saitou could destroy an entire lifetime of work.”

            “But it’s not fair,” exclaimed Misao, “Soujiro is just confused and wants time to work things out.  He doesn’t plan on being a danger to this nation anymore.  He just wants to find a new life for himself.  Why is that so hard?”

            “Because, like Himura, Soujiro cannot simply ignore the fact of who he once was.  And if he can’t accept that, then he may very well end up like Himura was before he finished his training.  Soujiro could become a man who sways between the hearts of a manslayer and pacifist, a perpetual danger not only to those around him, but to himself as well.  Saitou knows this himself and that is why he hunts Soujiro.  He has been trained to hunt down and eliminate any and all threats to this nation of Japan.  And as far as he is concerned, Soujiro is just that kind of threat.”  Okina shook his head sadly.

            “Then why would Saitou ask Soujiro to work for the government if he’s such a big threat?”

            Okina sighed.  “Saitou understands how dangerous Soujiro can be because of the young man’s confusion about what to do in life.  But if he gives Soujiro direction in life, something to do with all the abilities that he has, a way to put all those instincts that Soujiro developed under Shishio to work, he can keep Soujiro from falling prey to his own confusion and make the young man’s abilities into something productive at the same time.”

            “How is that any different from what Shishio did to Soujiro?” Misao wanted to know, “He just waltzed into Soujiro’s life and shoved his kill or be killed mumbo-jumbo on Soujiro.  Saitou’s doing the same thing, isn’t he?”

            “The difference is that Saitou probably knows this, but doesn’t care.  He has no need for philosophers or people who are trying to find a way in life.  What he needs are warriors with the skill and strength to ensure that Japan remains strong.  To that end, he doesn’t care that he may be doing the same things as Shishio; he’s just trying to do his job.”

            “So it all boils down to the fact that Saitou’s chasing Soujiro because he’s trying to do what’s best for the nation of Japan,” mumbled Misao, “And there’s nothing we can do to change that.”

            “Correct,” agreed Okina, “The only thing we can do is keep Soujiro out of Saitou’s hands long enough for the young man to end his confusion in the same way that Himura did; though it seems that Soujiro is already heading in the right direction.  Perhaps, one day Soujiro will be able to make a deal with Saitou, like the other members of the Juppongatana and get a job where he will no longer have to slay others for a living.”

            “In the meantime,” interrupted Omasu, “We’ve still got work to do and customers to serve.  I think we’ve all spent enough time chitchatting about that poor boy.  It’s time for us to get back on the job.  This is a restaurant after all.”

            Misao and Okina nodded.  They stood up and went about their business.

 

            Saitou grimaced as he pulled the glove onto his left hand.  Shortly thereafter, he put one on his right hand.  With his uniform now complete, he turned his head to look at Akemi, who sat across from him.  On the desk between them, an unopened package of cigarettes lay.  Saitou hadn’t touched a single one since his fight with Soujiro.  And that told Akemi right away that something was wrong.

            “Why don’t we search the Aoiya,” she suggested, “Seta is most likely there right now.  We know that he has allied himself with the Oniwaban Group and we know that that restaurant is their base of operations.  So why don’t we search the premises?”

            “Because,” replied Saitou, “The Oniwaban Group’s services to the government are indispensable.  Even though they are not a government agency, or even supported by the Meiji, Japan may very well collapse without the Oniwaban’s assistance.  If we searched the Aoiya and found Soujiro there, we would have no choice but to arrest them for obstructing justice.  Furthermore, just searching that place would be stepping on a lot of toes politically speaking.  We cannot afford to attain censure at this point and time.

            “But, Soujiro cannot stay in there forever.  And the instant he sets foot outside of that place, he will be mine, one way or another.  In the meantime, he does not pose a threat while he is there.  He is under the watchful eye of Aoshi Shinomori, a man whose skill rivals even that of the Battousai.  There is no way that Soujiro can cause trouble while he’s in there.”

            Akemi sighed, “Surely there are better things that you can do with your time, Hajime.  What’s one former assassin to you?  All we need do is post a competent spy by the Aoiya who will report on the Tenken’s movements after he leaves and we can apprehend him at our leisure.”

            “You don’t seem to understand,” growled Saitou, “Soujiro Seta was the right hand man to Makoto Shishio; his right hand.  After a year, we have only barely begun to pull at the ends of the complicated network that is Shishio’s syndicate.  As the second to Shishio himself, all Soujiro would have to do is say the word and Shishio’s organization would be his to do with as he pleases.”

            “If that is true, then why hasn’t the Tenken done that already?” Akemi wanted to know.

            “After meeting him, I have reassured myself that Soujiro wants no part in furthering Shishio’s plans,” said Saitou, “But he doesn’t have to want that part to be a threat.  Right now, Soujiro is little more than a naïve child.  It would be far too easy for someone to manipulate him, to turn the Tenken into a puppet with which to tug the strings of the entire syndicate.  I more than assured my suspicions in our duel.  I got past his defenses so easily that it was pitiful.  He is currently in a very delicate state mentally, a state where he can be easily controlled.  That is the greatest threat Soujiro presents.  He is the perfect figurehead.  And it would be laughably simple to make him such.”

            “Why don’t you allow me to see to the Tenken’s capture Hajime?” Akemi asked, “I assure you that I am more than capable of doing the job.”

            Saitou seriously considered the offer.  “Very well,” he agreed, “You may monitor him, but make no move to apprehend him unless you have my direct approval.  Is that understood?”

            Akemi nodded.  “I understand completely.”

            The smile returned to Saitou’s face.  “Good,” he replied, “Now that I think about it, I have a few questions I would like to ask the Seta who is in our custody.”

            “I believe that Matahachi is currently in Osaka,” remarked Akemi, “He will soon be shipped north to Hokkaido.”

            “Not before I have a few words with him,” commented Saitou.

            “By the way,” added Akemi, “Where is that blond buffoon who works for you now?”

            “You mean Chou,” answered Saitou, “He’s off duty for the week.”

            “You’re afraid that he will become too personally involved with the Tenken’s situation?” inquired Akemi.

            “Actually,” said Saitou, “I rather hope that he will.”

            “What do you mean?”

            Saitou chuckled.  “I believe now that I may have been too…direct in my handling of the situation.  But, should Chou happen to, by accident or design, bump into the Tenken, it may be possible for Soujiro’s old comrade to ease him into the idea of working for us.”

            “You don’t expect that to work, do you?” asked Akemi.

            “Not right away,” replied Saitou, “But I’m counting on Chou being a bit more civil to the Tenken than I was.”  Saitou folded his hands together and rested his chin on them.  “But enough of that,” he stated, “It’s time that you began your new assignment.  What do you think you are going to do first?”

            Akemi smiled slyly.  “I think that I will pay that fine restaurant, the Aoiya, a visit, unofficially, of course.”

            Saitou snorted.  “Of course.”

 

            Matahachi slumped against the wall.  The wooden bars of the prison cell crisscrossed the doorway in front of him, the gaps between revealing the hallway beyond.  Across that hall was an identical cell; same dimensions, same stonework, same furnishings, same disgusting stench.  That was the way of prison, monotonous, dull and disgusting.  Matahachi had thrown countless people into cells like the one he was in now.  Never in his darkest nightmares had he ever imagined that he might one day be the one behind the bars.

            It was all Soujiro’s fault.  Matahachi knew that beyond all doubt.  If that little whore spawn hadn’t slaughtered his family more than a decade ago, Matahachi would have never have needed to make arrangements with opium dealers and a thousand other criminal cartels in order to find something, anything about his cousin, the butcher of his family.

            And then there was Saitou.  The thought of that man made Matahachi snarl with barely contained rage.  How dare that wolf throw him behind bars like he was some kind of common thief.  Saitou had no respect for the ties of family.  He would rather have that murderer on his payroll than see justice dispensed.  When he got out of prison, Matahachi would see Saitou die as well.

            And then there was Aoshi Shinomori and that bitch of his.  If they hadn’t interfered, revenge most certainly would have been his.  But they had to stick their noses in his business and mess everything up.  Matahachi quite conveniently forgot that he had drawn Aoshi into the conflict by kidnapping Misao.

            It had been two days since he had been tossed in this hellhole.  He had heard that he was going to be shipped out in the morning to Hokkaido.  But only a little while earlier, Matahachi heard that the order had been changed.  Apparently, Saitou himself (under the guise of Gorou Fujita) was coming to ask Matahachi a few questions.  Now doubt, the Wolf of Mibu wished to unearth just who and what Matahachi’s underworld connections were.  But Matahachi Seta would not talk, not even under the worst of tortures.

            Not that Matahachi would ever get the chance.  Moonlight was streaming into the tiny window of his cell when it happened.  Thunder boomed outside.  Or at least he thought it was thunder until the wall across from him exploded, sending dust and debris flying outward into the hall while shards of rock and slivers of wood buzzed through the air like angry hornets.  Matahachi ducked and used his arms to shield his vitals as the shrapnel went flying his way.

            The excited shouts of guards and officers caught by surprise were drowned out by more thunderclaps as several other portions of the prison exploded and or burst into flame.  It seemed that someone was firing a large amount of artillery at the place.  It seemed plausible, since the prison and the adjoining police headquarters were within shelling distance if a ship were to fire cannons from within the harbor.

            The explosions continued, decimating the jail with alarming swiftness.  A round hit the cell right next to him.  That one had been occupied.  However, said occupants didn’t have an opportunity to scream as their bodies were shredded by shrapnel while simultaneously being engulfed in flames.  He was thrown to the ground as the walls and floor reverberated with the force from the blast.  The shockwave caused the wooden bars in front of him to almost completely disintegrate.  Getting to his feet, Matahachi didn’t hesitate to take his first steps towards freedom.

            He halted almost immediately as something, no, someone seemingly materialized from the inferno in the cell across from his.  The person, his appearance obscured by the smoke that wreathed his body and his own shadow, cast from the flames behind him, seemed to tower over Matahachi.  His only unmistakable feature was the sword hanging at his side.

            The man looked down on the former police swordsman with eyes that seemed to glow a hellish shade of red.  Matahachi couldn’t stop himself from blurting out his question.  “Who are you?”

            “Names are useless to the dead,” replied the man, “And seeing as you are about to become so, you won’t be making any use of the ones you already know.”  He drew his sword.

            Matahachi frantically looked about for some kind, any kind of weapon.  He couldn’t spot any.  His mysterious assailant seemed to be savoring the moment, slowly raising his sword over his head in careful preparation for the final blow.  And what a blow it was.  The downward cut completely bisected Matahachi from head to toe, the two halves of his corpse dropping in opposite directions.  His killer calmly flung the blood from his sword and re-sheathed it before melting back into the flames.  He was unaware that a small part of his loose hanging garment had snagged on one of the few pieces of wooden bar still anchored in the wall.  The tearing sound was obscured by the thunder of artillery and the crackling of flame.  He didn’t even notice its absence.  After the man vanished, the barrage finally ended, leaving the prison to burn in the night.

 

            Aoshi was roused by a silent, almost inaudible tapping on his window.  Rising from his futon, he carefully slid the window open to reveal a pigeon, perched on the roof outside.  From the looks of things, it was a carrier that had come straight from Osaka.  Carrier pigeons were the most frequently used means of contact by the Oniwaban Group.  Because they were common, reliable and difficult to intercept, the birds were perfect for carrying sensitive information.  Each contact had a special mark that could be seen on the message without ever removing it from the bird’s leg that allowed the recipient to immediately know where the bird had come from.

            Aoshi stood aside as the bird fluttered into the room and set down on the stand he had for just such an occasion.  He carefully unwrapped the strip of paper that had been tied around the bird’s leg.  The message must have been extremely urgent for the bird to have come directly from Osaka.  From the mark, Aoshi knew it came from one of his informers in the police.  Normally, sensitive, but less urgent information that was sent from that was sent over a considerable distance was sent from one contact to another who passed it on to another, sort of leap-frogging it to the recipient.  Each successive contact recopied the message and changed the mark before sending it off to the next one down the line, thus preventing it from being traced directly to the source by anyone who might intercept it.  Because the risk of such seizure increased with the distance, it was important to maintain this chain of delivery.  However, if it was imperative that the information be received immediately, the bird could be made to fly directly to the message’s intended destination.

            This was just such a bird.  Aoshi knew that there were no less than three contacts between Kyoto and Osaka.  One ran a restaurant on the fringes of Osaka.  The second was the owner of a rest stop between the two cities and the third operated an inn on the outskirts of Kyoto.  For a carrier to have been sent over such a substantial distance directly must have meant that the information was very important and very urgent.

            The message read, Osaka police headquarters shelled.  Matahachi Seta was found dead.  It was short and to the point.  Aoshi’s eyes widened.  Shelling the police department was a bold maneuver.  If Matahachi had indeed been the intended target, then this was something far bigger than some drug runners trying to silence a potential snitch.  And it certainly didn’t smell of a botched attempt to spring Seta from prison either.  Whoever the culprit was would have tried a much more subtle method than bombing the prison.  This was grave news indeed.  Aoshi decided to go see for himself.

            After putting his fighting clothes on and slipping into his brown coat, the Leader of the Oniwaban group took only one of his Kodachi.  It would prove more than adequate for his defense if he encountered trouble along the way.  He stepped out of the Aoiya and into the night, determined to see things for himself.

 

            Saitou, on the other hand, was much less delicately roused.  He awoke to a loud pounding on the door of his bedroom.  With a low snarl, he lurched out of the comfortable futon and prowled toward the door.  If the imbecile who was waking him didn’t have a good reason for doing so, Saitou planned on showing him why he was called the Wolf of Mibu.  He flung the door with enough force to almost tear it away from the wall.  The glare he gave to the young officer outside would have melted ice on the coldest winter day.

            “What is it?” he growled, “You’d better have a good reason for waking me at this ungodly hour.”

            “Mr. Fujita, sir!” the officer replied in a panicky kind of voice, “It’s Osaka!”

            “What about Osaka?” Saitou was working hard to stifle the urge to rip the man’s head off.  Why did these young ones always try to dance around the subject?

            “The prison, police headquarters, it’s been destroyed!”  The man blurted out.

            The news snapped Saitou into instant wakefulness.  “What of the prisoner, Seta?” he demanded.

            The officer shrugged quickly.  “That was the only news we got,” he answered, “There’s no information on what happened to any of the prisoners.”

            “Have a carriage ready immediately,” snapped Saitou, “I will go to Osaka at once.”

            The young man saluted smartly before dashing off down the hall of the inn where Saitou made his quasi-permanent residence while he was in Kyoto.  It was near the station so he was always close to his work.  That alone made the inn suit Saitou’s purposes just fine.  He shut the door and changed out of his nightclothes and into his police uniform.  After putting on his cap and putting on his belt, sword and all, Hajime Saitou, now Goro Fujita, made his way down the hall towards the inn’s front door.

            When he left, he quickly amended his opinion of the young officer who had woken up.  The carriage was already there; ready to go with a driver who, surprisingly enough seemed wide awake.  The horses were harnessed and the officer who had woken him up was holding the door open for him.  Saitou stepped into the carriage, but not before shouting out his instructions to the driver.  “Get to Osaka as fast as you possibly can!”  The driver didn’t ask any questions.  He simply cracked the reigns and urged the horses into motion.  In mere moments, they were rattling their way down the road towards Osaka.

 

            The sun was well up over the horizon by the time the Aoiya opened for business.  Despite the evident absence of Aoshi, business at the restaurant carried on as usual.  The place had to be ready, though people rarely ate breakfast out.  It gave the workers a chance to get a jump on things and get a head start on preparing for the lunchtime crowd.

            As noon approached, more and more people entered the establishment, intent on having their midday meal there.  Among them was a young woman who drew the attention and admiration of a great many men.  Despite the fact that she dressed quite modestly, the girl was undeniably attractive.  As she took a seat, alone at a table near the back of the restaurant, one of the waiters approached her.

            “Welcome to the Aoiya,” he said, “My name is Shiro and I will be your waiter.”

            As Shiro began to expound on the special meals available that day, the girl thoroughly surveyed the room and all the people therein.  Shiro, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his customer was seemingly paying him no mind, continued to ramble on without pause.  Finally finished with her inspection the girl turned to look her waiter in the eye.

            “I believe that I am ready to order,” she said calmly.  She then raised a hand to forestall any acknowledgement.  “But before I do, I would like to ask a few questions first.”

            Shiro nodded cordially.  “Go right ahead and I will try to answer them to the best of my ability.”

            “I have only just recently arrived here in Kyoto and I have been seeking a place to stay.  You wouldn’t also happen to have a room that I could rent?”  The girl’s question seemed innocent enough.

            “I’m afraid that we are a restaurant only,” replied Shiro, “But I can recommend a number of fine inns that might meet your expectation.”

            “But inns can be so very expensive,” protested the girl, “From where I came in, I could see that the Aoiya is very large and with many rooms.  Surely you must have room for just one boarder.”

            “I’m sorry, but we still can’t accommodate your request,” said Shiro, “The only boarders here, besides the staff are close personal friends of the owner.”

            “Perhaps I could meet with the owner and make my situation clear to him, would that be possible?”

            “I’m afraid that the owner is indisposed currently,” answered Shiro, “Now, what would you like to order?”

            “I’m afraid that I have lost my appetite,” replied the young woman.

            “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Shiro, “Call me again when you are ready.”  He turned around, offering Akemi just the opening she needed.  Her right hand lashed out like a striking snake to grip Shiro’s wrist.  Applying more strength than she appeared to have, Akemi twisted the man’s arm behind his back.

            Of course, mild mannered Shiro was a ninja of the Oniwaban Group; a group that prided itself on the quality of the ninja it provided.  He could have easily broken free from such a simple hold.  He was more than motivated to do so when he noticed the soft grating sound of a sword being drawn.  However, the girl’s voice stopped him in his tracks.  It’s once gentle tone now sounded like a venomous hiss.  It was cold, calculating, and deadly.

            “Easy now,” she said softly, her voice sending chills up and down Shiro’s spine, “Let’s not startle the other customers.”

            “I don’t know what you want, but you don’t want to do anything foolish here,” said Shiro as calmly as he could.

            “I will be the one who judges whether or not I am being foolish,” she said, her voices not changing in the slightest, “Now follow my instructions very carefully or you will die very quickly.”

            Working in a restaurant had its perks and its dangers.  Shiro, like anyone else who worked at the Aoiya, had a fair amount of experience, with thieves and robbers.  He himself had had to deal with a few armed robberies on occasion.  People with weapons, knives, swords, or even guns, were rarely a problem for him.  But this girl was different.  Shiro felt her gaze burning into his back and knew that if he tried anything that she would make good on her threat…no, her promise.

            The girl seemed to sense his inward submission.  “Good,” she said calmly, “Now, take me to the one who is currently in charge.  Aoshi or Okina, or even that Weasel girl of yours will do.”

            Weasel girl!  That nickname for Misao, rang a bell in Shiro’s mind.  “You work for Saitou.”

            “Very good,” replied Akemi, “Now, let’s go.”

            Behind the ninja, Akemi had only half drawn the Wakizashi she had hidden up her sleeve.  First, provided that the man cooperated, Akemi could put it away before he knew where it was hidden, keeping him from disarming her in a pinch.  Also, keeping it only partially drawn enabled her to keep it out of sight, behind Shiro’s back so that no one else in the restaurant to could see the weapon and raise a fuss.

 

            Okon was working the tables close to the kitchen.  She had noticed only a few moments ago that Shiro was standing unusually still by the same table in the corner for some time now.  From the position of his arm, she guessed that it might be restrained behind his back.  That was unusual.  Normally, Shiro could break such a hold with ease.  Two thoughts occurred in Okan’s mind, either he didn’t want to, or breaking that hold would cause more problems than it solved.  Then she saw that his left hand was frantically signaling her in the hand code used by the Oniwaban Group.  Police!

            Okon’s mind raced as exited the dining room via the kitchen.  A hundred possibilities occurred in her mind, all of them leading to the same conclusion.  The police were after Soujiro.  Okon knew she didn’t have time to go to Okina for a decision.  She had to get the boy out before he couldn’t be taken out at all.

            She headed straight for Soujiro’s room.

 

            The surviving personnel had finally managed to get the fires extinguished by the time Saitou arrived.  As he stepped out of the carriage, the manslayer stifled the urge to utter every curse he knew.  The headquarters was on the verge of collapsing after everything was said and burned.  Giant chunks were gouged out of the structure and what was left was badly blackened by the fires.  The prison didn’t fare much better.

            The constable saluted as Saitou came up.  “Mr. Fujita,” he said, “I’m sorry to report that we have no knowledge of the culprit.”

            “Never mind that,” snapped Saitou, “What of Seta?”

            The man looked down.  “He’s…dead, sir.”

            Saitou sighed.  He had been afraid of that.  This attack was most likely connected to the fact that Matahachi had been delivered to the prison in Osaka.  If that was the case, then there was something larger at worker.

            “I see that we are of like mind, Mr. Fujita,” said a cold voice from behind.  Saitou slowly turned to look at Aoshi.

            “You have a lot of nerve to come here,” he said softly, but not bothering to disguise the threatening rumble in his voice.

            “That is beside the point,” replied Aoshi.  He stepped past Saitou and made his way towards the prison, brushing past the bemused constable in the process.  Aoshi turned to look back at Saitou.  “Are you coming?”

            The confused constable shouted at Aoshi’s back.  “You can’t go in there without official permission!”

            “He has it,” growled Saitou, walking past the man and following Aoshi.

            The inside of the prison looked as bad as the outside.  Interestingly enough, one of the few parts that hadn’t been touched by the flames was the cell that Matahachi had been staying in.  The prisoner’s body was plainly visible.  Saitou grimaced at the sight.  The man had been cut in two lengthwise.

            “He’s been cut in…style,” Aoshi observed.

            “That seems impossible,” remarked Saitou, “In order to complete such a cut the killer would have to cut through the skull and then the spine, all the way down, not to mention the ribs and pelvis.  It would take a swordsman of immense strength to make such a wound with a single cut.”

            Looking around to at his surroundings, Saitou spotted something that was quite amiss.  Hanging on one of the shattered remnants of the prison bars was a piece of shredded cloth.  Saitou carefully removed it and examined it.  It appeared to be a strip of white linen, the kind a doctor would use to bandage an injury of some sort.  Curious, Saitou brought it to his nose and sniffed.  Long ago, he had learned to rely on senses besides sight and hearing.  His smell was especially acute, one of the reasons his title, the Wolf of Mibu was well deserved.  Upon inhaling, Saitou almost immediately recoiled.

            “What is it?” asked Aoshi.  Saitou held the piece of cloth up to him.  Aoshi took it in his hand and looked at it before smelling it as well.  When he did, he nearly dropped the cloth.  “That’s…impossible.”

            The two of them looked at one another.  It was perhaps the first time they both displayed strong emotions simultaneously on their faces for all the world to see.  But the evidence was undeniable.  The bandage unmistakably smelled of burnt flesh.

 

Author’s Notes: I basically took Matahachi’s fighting style from just about every swashbuckling, sword fighting movie I’ve ever seen.  I basically wanted to convey the idea that the guy was fairly good, certainly no match for our heroes (excuse me, and heroine), just so he was a few steps short of a total pushover.  I’m not exactly sure that I succeeded, but I’ll let the literate masses be the judge of that.

            I had a lot of fun putting together the sequence of the fight between Saitou and Soujiro.  Of course, there wasn’t much actual fighting in it, compared to the dialogue.  But in the series, that’s one thing that always interested me in how Saitou fights.  I picked up that particular idea while I was watching episode 49, the duel between Saitou and Usui.

            Finally, about the ending.  I’ve revealed the key clue as to the identity of our mysterious evil mastermind.  And I’m willing to bet that most, if not all of you have figured out the answer by now.