Candlelight bounced off the shine of steel. The fire was deeply ruminating in the Huntsman's eyes.

I had come to talk. He had been distant and brooding since the yokai got away. I was unhappy with losing the demon, but failing the mission is what it took to survive. He would have to understand that.

I didn't bother with pleasantries, I just said what needed to be said. "You're acting like a child. If you want to brood in your quarters, then so be it. But don't hinder the rest of us from doing our jobs."

He hissed a reply, frustrated. Angry at me for what happened earlier. "You wouldn't understand! I have but one purpose, a mission. If I can't complete that mission, then my life is meaningless!" His words were familiar. It was something similar to what I once felt.

I couldn't say it got better, nor could I tell him he could fix it. The only hope he had was in luck, the hope that the yokai randomly decides to show its gnarled face again and give him a chance of redemption. "I understand. I understand that you are only beginning your life. You can't hope to find that creature again, redemption is out of sight. You have to live with it."

The Huntsman rejected my words. He leaned on hope. "No. I'll hunt it once more. I'll lead the men to victory. I'll erase my mistake." Mistakes aren't erased, fool. You will learn in due time that there was nothing to do.

I was tired of arguing with the Huntsman. He misproportioned the world and would eventually realize that there was no going back. Leave him alone. "I'm done trying to speak sense to you. Just do your part and obsess on your own time."

The Huntsman stared blankly at the wall, then to the sword he was sharpening. He heard me, no bother in going on.

I left the canvas tent, and into the bustling yard. My ears were bombarded with shouts and bustle from the working men. The campsite needed to be set as soon as possible so the injured could have a safe place to recover.

Without even looking, I was approached by who seemed to be in charge of the operation.

Some unknown face that was most likely filling in for the Huntsman spoke. "Have you found the Huntsman?"

It took me a moment to come up with a reply. I decided to go with one of the least expletive descriptions of his situation. "The Huntsman is too busy sulking in his own pity to join us. Best to set camp without him."

He was unhappy with those words. Stroking a sad excuse for a beard, he thought. Then replied. "Fine. We go without him. Move to the far side of camp and set up the barracks."

I nodded and left the man to his own. I didn't care to learn about him or take note of his appearance. Too many damn men I didn't care about on this expedition, all one and the same.

Far side of camp... There. Mahiro, Sora, and a few others were waiting for an extra pair of hands to set up the large tent.

I rushed over to them, barely keeping traction in the shiny and wet mud. It seemed the entire world reflected in a dark and grimy parallel. Or, darker and grimier.

Eventually, I reached the group of impatient soldiers. Sora spoke, not needing to explain what was happening. "Rope over there." He pointed to a loose rope. Everything had been set up, all that was left was to pull it into place.

As always. Pull. Plant the stakes. Walk away.

I didn't want to speak to people. Chit chat was a waste of time.

There wasn't even time to speak before I had left the scene. Where would I go? I didn't know yet.

The valley next to the city was still barren. Most of the camp was taken with the later caravan. Soon enough we would have work to do. But for now, we wait.

I was hard to speak to the Huntsman. Not because I couldn't empathize with him, but the opposite. It was too familiar, making a wrong decision and your life was forfeit. Honestly, chit chat wasn't a waste of time, chit chat with me was a waste. I rejected the thought of myself. I knew I was a purposeless degenerate, I knew that the Huntsman was probably right to seek honor and meaning even in defeat.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

But my life had seemingly passed that opportunity.

In some strange way, I liked the prison. Being around people I knew were worse than me made me forget how wrong I was. But here, there were people with potential. It made me feel sick at myself, letting them close to me, unaware.

But here, people have potential and honor. Two things I hadn't had in a long while. People could redeem themselves even after mistakes were made. But not me, not with my failings...

A hand grasped my shoulder. After nearly jumping out of my skin, I turned.

Mahiro stood blankly at me, actually, not as blankly as usual. Something was wrong. He spoke without hesitation. "I want to speak with you." Want to speak with me? His interactions got stranger and stranger.

We walked a small distance out of the soon-to-be camp, and into the woods. I inspected Mahiro's face closer. He was hiding his true self, like most days, but unlike most, some of it showed. He was angry, his lips curled into a forced neutral, his hands struggling to stay unclenched.

After we had gotten as far away as I was comfortable, I spoke. "What is it, Mahiro?"

He paced around for a moment, letting out energy. Finally, he let out what he had been brewing. "You saved Lee."

I didn't take to extrapolate. I just questioned. "What?"

Mahiro replied quickly. "You were aware there was danger before we fell into the pitfall trap. But you decided to save Lee, without even attempting to warn me?"

Oh. I... "Mahiro. It was a split second. I barely had enough time to put my hand over Lee."

Another quick reply. "I was right beside you. You could have put your hand over me."

Mahiro, was this the time? I spoke through my frustration. "Then I would have fallen in. Mahiro, there was nothing-"

"Why save Lee over me? You've been letting me suffer and rot every chance you got!"

What? I didn't know what Mahiro was talking about. I've barely ever talked to Mahiro. "What are you talking about!?"

Mahiro paced around, keeping his anger in check. A slight bit calmer than before, he replied. Abandoning his previous thought and going for the throat. "I know what kind of person you are, Kenshi. You let people trust you, but you know you shouldn't be trusted. When the time comes for people to rely on you, you always take the safest chance for yourself. Your own survival always comes first. Honor last."

Instinctually I bit back. "That isn't..." I got caught on my words. Was that not me?

He replied before I could decide. "I remember you from the prison... We met Cho at the same time. I kept my honor and didn't let down. He threw me into a hole to starve while you got to be one of his friends. Even after you were safe. You were too scared to try and look for me, who you knew was being starved, or the countless other people in worse situations."

I remembered a man being drug away at that... Orientation... I didn't think about how Mahiro got here. But now I suppose he was another transfer like me. "Mahiro, I-"

Mahiro interrupted me. "You didn't care. But now you do because you don't have to worry about yourself, right? When push comes to shove, you only care for yourself."

I couldn't argue. Apparently, Mahiro read me better than I could myself. I had no meaning like the Huntsman. I wasn't loyal and honor-seeking like Hayato, I was an animal. I couldn't deny it. Survival was my only goal. I had never given a moment's thought to the others in the prison. I had not even committed their faces to memory. Only now was it real. "You're... You're right, Mahiro. I'm sorry." It hurt to say sorry. To meet his eyes and see the man behind them. Suddenly all the long years spent surviving were a bitter taste in my mouth. Like ash.

Without responding, Mahiro turned and left, leaving me alone.

I walked backward for a bit, finally finding a tree and sitting down. How did this happen? It was yesterday when I was full of life and honor. Now I'm here. But there wasn't anything to do about it, I supposed.

A deep sigh escaped me.

I would talk to Mahiro. Our group still needed him.

No, quit being aimed for only yourself. I wanted to make things right with him.

It was much more effort to stand than it was to sit, like all things in life.

I walked faster, trying to catch up with Mahiro. Every step I took, I was embraced with a cold gust of wind. Winter was quickly arriving.

Mahiro was lost in the newly formed group of tents. He always disappeared at the wrong times. There was no following his footprints, they'd already been lost. I stood in the cold for a moment, listening. Grunts and thuds ruminated from the forest.

Mahiro?

The caravan of injured could be heard riding down the path. If I wanted to fix this, I would have to be quick. I sprinted towards the noise, then slowed as I saw him.

Mahiro stood facing a rough and barky tree. His face burned with rage. His hand were torn and bleeding from the knuckles. The tree, coated in his blood.

I spoke without introducing myself, he knew who it was. "What are you doing?"

He took a moment to breathe, then spoke. "An old practice meant to harden your hands for combat. I adopted it to control myself. Unkempt rage got me thrown into that foul camp, and I refuse to go back. I want to change."

Is that why he always seemed emotionless? It was his only way to cope. "Uh... That's good." I slid my foot across the ground, making a line in the mud. "I... Um. Sorry. Again. I want to make things right. I want to change, Mahiro."

Mahiro took a piece of cloth from his dirty kimono and held it against his knuckles, drying the blood. "You don't change. I see it in you."

"Maybe I can't change. But I can try. And at least say I made an effort."

He shook his head. "I haven't witnessed you make an effort to do anything since I first saw you."

There was nothing I wanted to say to persuade him. While I could have tried to build some case, arguing for scraps, I had no will to. I only wanted to show him. Then maybe I would show myself.

I only nodded.

In the silence, I could hear the caravan of injured arrive. I left without saying a word, Mahiro went back to hitting his tree.

Back to the task at hand, with dark thoughts swirling.