CHAPTER XIII—HANS BELLEFEUILLE’S PLAN
This part of Chōdaira was certainly different.
Seedier.
Less safe.
Or was it that the organization, the careful planning and execution of watchful eyes on all, was not or could not, be as effective, resulting a more outwardly dangerous part of the city?
Despite these differences, Tsurugo was also very festive. Food stalls lined the streets. Children played, and lanterns of white and gold had been arrayed in every possible part of the town.
At several points, Hans had heard fireworks popping and crackling throughout the city. But these instances were merely the first breeze of the storm of fireworks that would be shot off tonight.
Assuming it did not reign.
The wind was picking up and the storm clouds were dark and heavy on the horizon. For two days they had continued to approach. Now they were nearly upon Chōdaira.
Street sellers walked about, hawking festival wares and clothes and small treats. Hans waved them away as they came into a large square that was now a maze of festival stalls.
In the center a large area had been left undisturbed, probably left clear for some performances that would occur later in the day or in the evening. Preparation and anticipation for the event was in the air, and a subdued joy lit the faces of the residents in the streets, both local Chōdairen people and foreigners.
In any event, they were where they needed to be.
Wearing her hood over her horns, Rōkura’s appearance was awkward and ungainly as her voluminous cloak hung at her sides like extra folds of skin, her hands completely invisible in the billowing sleeves.
But on their way, they had stopped at a clothier and had fashioned an elastic face mask with a black-leather shield to keep her nose and mouth shielded from any potential blood spray.
It won’t do to accidentally go into her oni state—even though that’s not a half bad idea, it’s too reckless and unplanned. Of course, Rōkura had agreed, hence the face shield.
The wind had picked up, and even Hans’ golden bangs swayed in the breeze. “Well,” he said, spreading his hands. “We’re here.”
“Tsurugo,” said Rōkura as she looked around. She still couldn’t believe she was supposed to destroy this place, to cause a ruckus worthy of Shōzu’s needs. But it was the only way to save the hostages.
At least, before yesterday. Hans and Rōkura now had a plan, a plan of her supporter’s devising.
“All right,” Hans said, as if he had heard her thoughts. “Shall we go over the plan one more time before you let havoc rain down upon our ears?”
She nodded. “Mm.”
“All right,” he said. “The shōgun is due to arrive any time. That is when Shōzu wants you to make a disturbance in Tsurugo. I believe he wants this to make Daimyo Wenhui look incompetent.”
“Is that all?”
Hans shrugged. “The shōgun is, after the emperor, the most influential man in the land. Shōzu is probably after something. A favor, a title, something else we are unaware of—and clearly his choice rests between the two daimyos of this city.”
With a heavy sigh, Rōkura wondered if that was why Banjo had been killed. For some political gain? “So…” she said. “I make a ruckus in Tsurugo.”
She probably won’t be willing to kill anyone. “Indeed—but it has to be good,” Hans warned.
She nodded. “I can make it good.” But I won’t kill anyone.
“Very well. I’m trusting it up to you, for I will be indisposed at the jail house freeing our prisoners. I have already paid the carriage drivers to arrive at a cross street where I will be taking our friends.
He used the term “friends” lightly, though Rōkura probably felt differently than he did concerning the matter.
“And then I meet you outside of the city.”
“Indeed,” said Hans.
“Why don’t we just go to the jail now and break them out?”
Hans chortled as he pushed up his glasses further on the bridge of his nose. Oh, Rōkura. “Because, we want as much confusion as possible. If the shōgun is in the city, Shōzu will have his hands full blaming Daimyo Wenhui.” He raised a finger. “That, and his forces will be indisposed. The rabble and confusion will aid us in our escape, Rōkura.”
“I see. But what about Shōzu?”
The golden-haired man couldn’t suppress a grin. “You really do want to kill him?”
“He killed Banjo in front of us—for no reason.” She nodded. “Hai! I want him dead, Hans.”
“Then dead we shall make him.”
“Do you have a plan for that?”
“We make camp between Chōdaira and the Capital, come back, slip into the castle during the dead of night and kill Shōzu.”
“I like it.”
“Of course you do,” he said. “There is no bone of strategy in you. You prefer to go into a place face-first, goring about with your little oni horns.” He had refrained from telling her about his little adventure of monster hands with Minowa and her friend Asuhime.
She twisted her lips with amusement. “He won’t have anything to stop me this time.”
“Indeed.”
“The only think I’m worried about are those members of Taisho Six.”
She nodded. “Mm.”
“If we are lucky”—he pushed up his glasses—“and I use the term lightly, then they may not even make an appearance.”
“Are you worried about my Persistent—
“Shh! No! Don’t say it or you’ll put a spell over us.”
With wide eyes, Rōkura looked on at Hans, and she could see that he was completely serious about what he had just said. You might not be a black cat, but you are superstitious, Hans Bellefeuille.
She lifted her face guard. “My mouth is sealed.”
“Literally and figuratively, I see,” said Hans. He sighed, a noise that indicated a general readying of his wits. “Now. Are we prepared for this? Are you prepared for this?”
Rōkura nodded. “I can do it.”
“Then you should get started, Rōkura-san. I’m going to mosey on over to the jail. Stay in Daimyo Wenhui’s district. When I feel the time is right, I will break into the jail and get the others out, just like we planned.”
She nodded. “Just like we planned.”
He pointed a finger at her. “Stick to the plan.”
“I can do it, Hans.”
“I know.”
“Are you worried?”
“What—no. Or course not. Why would I be worried, Oni-san?”
Rōkura shrugged, and though she said no more, she knew he was worried. He couldn’t hide it. But why?
She let it go.
He turned, then over his shoulder he waved. “See you soon.”
Rōkura nodded.
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With Daimyo Wenhui’s castle at the top of the cascading fountain gardens, Rōkura had decided not to start anything right here where a heavy defensive force might readily be available to defend the place.
Instead, she wandered about, looking at the buildings and such, deciding where would be best to attack, but nothing seemed to suit her needs. There was a market, but the people there were too decent, too normal for her to simply start attacking.
She came to a series of low-standing machiya houses. There was a shabbiness to them, and if this was a bad part of town, that might serve, so she stayed in this area, looking for a way to start a fight.
Swallowing, she lifted her hands and found them shaking. “I’ve killed people… and my hands are shaking?”
Rōkura had never started a fight before.
Now she would.
How does one go about doing that?
Lifting her gaze, she saw a large structure with painted pillars and unkempt paint in front of her. Someone passed her on the street and looked at her curiously.
There were people all over, going about their activities, talking, laughing in groups. There were fewer children here, and in front of Rōkura a large group of men walked and stumbled along the road.
Some people quickly got out of their way.
The sign on the large multi-storied building read Tsurugo no Koneko. Rōkura thought that might be an excellent place to begin her rampage.
Easy.
The men stumbled about arrogantly as Rōkura walked toward them, unshaking in her choice of path that would take her directly through the middle of their group.
Lifting her hands, she pulled on her cloak’s hood and allowed her horns to poke through. This way, the hood wouldn’t fall of her head. While she wore her black face mask, she must have looked like a gang member.
The men stumbled toward her, smiling like fools.
One of them shouted for her to be off as they walked into her. The man at the front pushed her, and she took several steps back.
“Part, or I will destroy you.”
“Eh?” the man who had pushed her asked. He pointed a stupid dirty-nailed finger. “You?!
He stepped forward and put his palms out to shove her aside, but Rōkura was ready, and far quicker than he. She slapped his arms aside by flanking her hands outward, then she kicked him in the chest with her bare foot.
A heavy grunt issued out of his mouth and he fell back in the street and retched up whatever he had eaten previously. That, and all the wine.
“Nani shiteru?!” one asked.
Moving to attack her, she grabbed him by the back of the neck and threw him forward. He stumbled, kicking his legs to keep from falling on his face.
He wasn’t fast enough.
The drunken sot fell to the pavement and grunted loudly as he rolled from the impact of her push.
The men bristled, yelling and screaming with indignation as the all stepped and lurched to attack her.
Rōkura was a flurry of limbs, her fists and feet smacking and cracking against them where they shook and fell one by one. With her final move, she lashed out with her foot and took two of them with a single kick, the top of her foot taking them both in the chins.
They fell back and a sprawl of limbs.
That was really easy. An her heart, it was beating fast, but no longer with anticipation and dread. Rōkura was having fun, and she wondered why.
Glancing behind herself at the street, she saw the townspeople taking cover, running and screaming warnings to their friends to get away.
Rōkura parted her cloak and unbuckled her sword belt, then brought it around her cloak and refastened it on the outside, leaving her katana where she could easily reach it if the need arose.
Her feet thumped over the hardwood decking as she pushed open the door black doors covered in plaques with brush script advertising different girls. There were even little charcoal sketching.
Not knowing why, Rōkura felt… powerful.
And yet, these worms were barely worth her notice. So why was she enjoying this? Was it some kind of perverse payback against Chōdaira for what Daimyo Shōzu had done to Banjo?
Daimyo Wenhui had nothing to do with it!
Narrowing her gaze, she stepped further into the whorehouse where she came into an anteroom. There were painted girls wearing vanishingly thin attire and silky gossamer gowns.
They stared at her, curious why a woman would be entering their establishment. Several of the girls thought she might have been a new hire, or perhaps the young gaijin wife of one of their patrons, her shame too great to allow her face to be revealed.
Their eyes clung to her katana, their brows etched with worry.
One of the girls promptly picked up her skirts and went for the guards.
Rōkura was… youthfully unaware of the thoughts going through their minds as she stepped past the anteroom toward the large bar area where several female servers and a man behind the desk, presided.
“Give me something to drink,” she said.
The man behind the bar looked at her, dragging his gaze to her cleavage, then down toward her sword. “Got coin?”
She fished into her pockets and dropped a couple silvers that clinked with ominous force over the table. The other patrons looked at her and one got up, sidling away quickly.
One of the coins rolled across the desk and fell to the floor at the server’s feet. He didn’t bent to pick it up.
Staring at her for a long minute, Rōkura felt the fear she brought into the room. These people were ready, or rather expecting, angry individuals to arrive in their establishment.
And with those thoughts, the oni head the footsteps of the guard approaching, could feel their weak and pathetic auras. The server seemed to realize they were a little late, and to waste time, or stall for it rather, he picked up a black bottle with script that read: Rice Wine and served her a small cut.
Rōkura picked up the ceramic glass and pulled down her mask. Gulping it down, the sudden burn and need to cough made her eyes go wide. She bowled over and coughed hoarsely and everyone laughed.
Oh gods—that was really bad.
What had that been.
Clearing her throat, she pulled up her mask.
“You don’t belong her,” the server said, his confidence fully returned. Rōkura thought the reason being was that the guards had now arrived but it wasn’t that at all. It was her calm and dangerous exterior, utterly shattered by her little blunder with the alcohol.
“Be easy with her,” the man behind the counter said. “She’s just a dumb kid who’s been jilted.”
“Mmm,” one of the women from off at the side said, her tone juicy and full of added innuendo, though Rōkura wasn’t certain what kind of innuendo could be in a noise like that.
“All right,” the guard on her left said. He stepped up as Rōkura turned around. “Come with us. We’re taking you back outside.”
“Try,” she said plainly, and leaned against the desk.
The guard was not amused. Rolling his eyes, he reached over and took her by her upper arm, and so did the other. Together the two club-wielding brawlers physically removed Rōkura from the floor boards and began carrying her out.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Not what I thought would happen!
Laughs abounded.
“Fine!” she hissed, and kicked her feet back, then lashed them forward, taking both guards in the back of their legs.
They let go of her arms and fell heavily to the floor with grunts. Before they could get up, Rōkura reached down, grabbed him by the scuff of his neck, lifted as he screamed, kicking to escape, and tossed him behind the counter where the alcohol was kept.
Several bottles fell, crashing to the floor. Several of the women shouted with surprised and mounded out of the drinking area.
The other guard managed to get to his feet as he wondered how she had just done that. He groaned. “Hey!” I’m level 12—there’s no way!
Rōkura turned and spread her arms.
He lunged in with his club and she caught it easily, as if a toddler had tried to strike her with a blade of wheat grass. With recognition dawning on his stupid face, the guard tried to pull away, but Rōkura kicked him in the waist, sending him rolling into the anteroom.
“Out! she screamed. “All of you. Out!”
She wandered deeper into the establishment and found herself in a massive lounge with colorful decorations, silk curtains and fan blades painted with pink and white and blue flowers.
The tatami mats were covered with plush pillows and comfortable mats, and everywhere women lounged about in their jewels and painted faced. The women who lay in wait for the benefit of the establishment’s guests looked up curiously at the sounds of the ruckus—the same place Rōkura had come from.
“Kami-sama!” one gasped. “Swords aren’t allowed in here!”
Some of the girls got up and scampered away. In the center of the room a large piece of furniture, round in design and covered with soft upholstery separated Rōkura from the pack of guards rushing into the large chamber.
With them was a tall woman in her middle years, her face unpainted, but on her fingers rings sparkled and her pearls clacked loudly at her neck.
“Do not worry, Madamu,” one of the guards said. He was wearing silken green robes and sandals. He was tall and strong. Probably a samurai. No, he was probably just a rōnin come to do work for the madamu of the establishment. “We will take care of this interloper.”
Rōkura smiled.
“Wait!” the woman called, pushing her hand in front of her warrior. “You. Girl.”
The oni let the madamu’s address hang in the air for a moment. The girls in the room stood and glanced between her and their mistress with her large pack of elite guards. These were no front anteroom clubbers. “Yes?” Rōkura asked.
Lady Haruna, Madamu of the Tsurugo no Koneko, narrowed her eyes. She is powerful. Perhaps too powerful for my Chimon. “Who are you? What do you want? Do you know that half the samurai in the city come to this establishment?”
Rōkura shrugged. “What is that to me?”
That rankled Haruna. “Tch! Fool girl! Do you want to feel the bite of their blades on your pink ass?!”
With a grin, Chimon regarded the interloper. She was a beautiful girl, clearly. That much he could tell, even though the mask covered most of her face, her thighs were still exposed as she lifted the hem of her ridiculously large cloak, lean and yet not overly muscles.
And her breasts.
The girl’s cleavage was visible through the parting of her hooded kimono cloak. She’s all bravado, “Let me fight her, Madamu Haruna. By forcing this upon you, she incurs your debt.” His smile deepened. “I have no doubt the daimyo will award you a large sum of debt that will take a period of her life to repay.”
“Hmm,” Haruna mused, her ume-bud lips twisting with wry interest as she regarded the intruder. “You might have an idea there.”
Rōkura shrunk back. “Tch!”
“Oh!” Haruna gasped. “She’s vicious. Better be careful, Chimon.”
“Do not worry about me, Haruna-sama.”
“Well then, do try not to destroy everything while you’re fighting.”
“I’ll be upstairs. Call me when it’s over, Chimon.”
“I will,” he said, and grinned without taking his eyes off of Rōkura. He drew his sword and stood in a defensive stance. “Now that we’re alone, I would like to politely request that you surrender so I’m not forced to hurt you.”
The other guards started encircling. Rōkura watched them with her eyes. “Are you going to put them on me?” she asked.
“I can’t understand you behind that stupid mask.”
Feeling embarrassed, she growled.
“Leave her to me,” said Chimon. “Now girl… come at me.”
She smiled, but Chimon couldn’t see her reaction. That took something away from her, Rōkura realized as she drew her sword. I’m not going to kill him, but that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt him.
“You cannot defeat me. I am a swordsman of the Seventh Circle of Masters.”
Feeling self-assured, Rōkura wanted to say something, but the mask. On impulse—and she knew it was stupid—she tore the garment off and tossed it aside.
“So, you have chosen to reveal to me your face,” Chimon said. “You’re a pretty little thing.”
“And you talk too much.”
“You are quite arrogant.”
“It’s not arrogance when my victory is assured.”
Chimon laughed aloud, his deep masculine voice carrying as the other guards watched from the sides of the room.
The ladies had already left them alone.
“I predict three moves until your defeat.”
“Are you certain you are a swords master,” Chimon asked. “Or are you a comedian?”
“Ready yourself.”
“I am more ready than you will ever know.”
She lurched toward his right said, made to strike out at him and Blinked passed him on his left, then Rōkura Blinked behind him and brought her katana down over his back. Before he even fell, she jumped back and whirled, swinging the flat of her katana against the guard’s face on the edge of the room.
“Hnnngh!” Chimon groaned as he fell to one knee, his surprise so completely, he could hardly think.
The girl shouted and moved with her magic, sword skirling and flashing as she danced with the other guards But if she can do this to me so easily… He groaned again and pushed the tip of his sword into the tatami mat for balance.
It wasn’t but a few seconds when the oni girl walked in front of him. Chimon glanced about the room, the moaning and groaning of the eight guards she had dispatched without a drop of blood on the tatami mats completely out of the fight.
He growled in frustration and rage.
But mostly he was embarrassed. Chimon glanced up at her past his hanging bangs. “How… are you this powerful?”
“I’m going to let you live,” she said.
Breathing heavily and fast from the pain in his back, Chimon winced. “But why?”
“Because I want you to get everyone out of the building for me.”
The rōnin groaned. How would he look Lady Haruna in the face again after this?
“Did you hear me?”
“Hai…” he muttered. “I’m going upstairs to force your lady and her women down.” A pause ensued. “And then I’m burning this building down.”
“Why are you doing this? Surely we haven’t wronged you that thoroughly?”
“You haven’t done anything.”
“Then… then why?!”
“Because, Daimyo Shōzu told me too.”
His eyes widened in recognition of that and his face bent into a snarl. “That dog! I knew he would do something like this one day.”
Rōkura nodded. “Sayonara, Chimon-san.”
With a groan, she passed him by and went up the stairs. The wood banister was a lovely well carved piece that clearly had been preserved through the years. Rōkura lunged up the stairs, her bare feet smacking the rugs as she hiked up her kimono cloak.
When she reached the top, she lunged at the guard in the hall standing watch at a door. He swung at her, but Rōkura stepped aside, grabbed his wrist and threw him down the stairs.
He screamed and fell heavily over the carpeted steps.
The second guard cut at her with his short wakizashi blade with a clipped “Huueh!” Then he sliced at her two more times. “Hueh! Haiyah!”
Side stepping each of his blows, Rōkura got behind him and kicked the man in the back. He fell, kicking his legs for balance, but he two went down the stairs in a heavy grunt, just as the first guard had gotten up, they landed together in a heap.
With that done, Rōkura turned to the door and kicked it in with a heavy crash of splintered wood.
Madamu Haruna turned, her billowing dress, a luxury to be sure, making her look far larger than she actually was. Though though the woman was indeed tall, at about the height of Rōkura’s horns.
Her eyes narrowed as she approached Rōkura with her ladies, who cried and gasped. Some of them ran away. “What have you done?!” she snapped. “Did you kill Chimon?”
Rōkura shook her head. I’m not going to kill anyone. “I just want you to leave.”
Lady Haruna bared her teeth. Being told to leave in my own home. Who does this little pink cow think she is?! “Then you can throw me from the windows.”
Rōkura nodded. “I can arrange it.” She moved forward and Haruna’s bulged. She attempted to slap Rōkura’s hand away, but she was far too strong for this woman, who wasn’t fighter in the least.
Rōkura hit her in the chest with her left palm, her sword held out and away from Haruna to the side. The woman sprawled toward the wall with a loud feminine grunt that sounded more like a cry of outrage than a declaration of pain as she slammed into the table.
The vases wobbled and one of them fell over, cracking and shattering into the thousand pieces. Haruna’s gaze flicked past the priceless item and then up to Rōkura’s glowing eyes, and it was then that she realized she was filled with fear.
Her handmaidens cried, lifting their skirts and slipping out behind Rōkura though the door.
“Come back here!” Haruna shrieked. “You cowards!” The oni sheathed her sword and the madamu wondered what she was doing as she moved past her toward the window. Realization coming, her eyes widened and her heart nearly stopped. “What are you doing?!” Haruna cried.
Rōkura looked at her. “I’m throwing you…”—she grabbed the madamu by the fabric of her dress and hauled forward—“out the window!”
The cry that came out of Lady Haruna’s mouth was was loud and desperate and filled with horror and rage. Rōkura had no trouble turning her around as Haruna gasped and cried in protest of her harsh handling.
Then, taking the madamu by the back of the neck, Rōkura pulled her back, then pushed forward with a snarl as the madamu screamed, the force of the push behind her neck sending her onto her stomach within the window frame.
The madamu’s cried were no longer outraged, but desperate shrieks of terror as she was pushed out the window. She flailed and screamed as she fell onto the tile roof bellow.
Rōkura bent out of the window to look at her, scrabbling and screaming, her cried broken and pained. “I’m coming down,” she called.
Lady Haruna glanced up toward the window she had been thrown from and howled for help. She was still two stories from the ground, from Chimon.
As Rōkura ducked back in, she glanced about for a source of fire. They were everywhere. Candles, lamps, and flints for starting fires in the many stoves and braziers throughout the establishment.
It was perfect.
Rōkura went to the wall and pulled the oil lamp out of its sconce. Then she cracked it into the wall where it exploded into a smear of oil and trailing blue flames with licking yellow tendrils.
The walls were made of wood and paper and bamboo. It wouldn’t be long before the entire structure was totally engulfed in flames. But since she had started the fire up hear, no one would day.
It will travel down, giving them enough time to escape.
She turned her head as the smell of burning wallpaper filled her nose. The window. She stalked to it and glanced down where Lady Haruna was crawling and screaming.
Rōkura stepped back, then she ran and jumped through feet first, using her hand to force the angle of her fall so that she landed on the tile roof below. Several of the grey-blue ceramic pieces shattered under her feet.
Lady Haruna turned over on her back and her eyes widened. From her nose a trail of blood had dribbled down her face. The smell was… difficult to ignore.
Rōkura stepped toward the madamu and she screamed as the oni lifted her up into her arms. With her strength and power, the madamu barely forced her to use her muscles.
She stepped near the edge and Lady Haruna whaled, kicking futile as Rōkura jumped, landing in the street with a bending of her knees to soften the blow. As she landed, she let the madamu roll out of her arms and onto the cobblestones.
The establishments girls screamed and took cover as they rushed out of the door. Many of the other establishment’s workers and patrons came out as well, stepping clear of Rōkura as she got away from the building. They turned to glance up at the flames and smoke engulfing the top floor.
“What have you done?” Lady Haruna moaned. “You will pay for this.”
And as she said the words, a large body of samurai appeared on the other end of the square, their swords bared and their eyes angry. There were maybe twenty or thirty of them, the sound of their collective sprinting like thunder travelling upon the ground.
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Shinjiro’s mount was tired and several times he had ridden her until she had begun to froth at the mouth. Now, he promised her a nice long rest and plenty to hear now that they had arrived in Chōdaira.
Because this city was not a port town, the best place he could go was the administrative buildings or an inn. The inn was more important, since he needed a place to stay.
Coming into town, the summer harvest festival and all the good cheer and excitement that went with it were evident in the faces of the townspeople. Shinjiro didn’t share their feelings.
Not now at least. I need to find Rōkura.
Glancing up at the castle atop the mountain and its great steps, he took his horse toward where he knew a nice little out of the way inn to be. To the west smoke rose into the sky above the city.
A lot of smoke.
The burning must have been massive, because it left a sheet of grey haze in the air in that part of the city. Far in the distance, Shinjiro thought he heard warning bells as the chōnin townsfolk on the streets spoke in hushed tones and glanced in that direction despite going about their festival activities.
On the other side of the street a large procession of monks in colorful robes walked in Shinjiro’s direction in a double file. Between them was a litter with an enclosed box of black lacquered wood containing the prayers to the kami—thanks for the harvest season.
Glancing toward that smoke, Shinjiro quickened his pace. If there were any good places in a city to get information about what was going on, it would be the innkeepers. Somehow the samurai thought that Rōkura and Hans Bellefeuille must be involved somehow. What are you doing now?
Meanwhile, the shōgun and his bakufu, or his “administrations,” rather, were entering the city. Ahead of his column were a hundred of his best samurai atop their mounts.
Daichi Ashikaga, the shōgun himself, rode into the city inside of his carriage. With him was his top aide, Hikaru. He was a stern man, like Daichi, but his eyebrows did him now favors in displaying such a personality.
Glancing out of the sliding window, Daichi realized the smoke in the air immediately. He just so happened to be free during the Natsu no Shūkaku. Daichi enjoyed the summer harvest, but leisure times and pleasure were not the reasons why he was here.
Daichi was here to choose a new ruling administrator for the city. It would either be Daimyo Shōzu, or Daimyo Wenhui. Both were excellent administrators. Both had shown various displays of loyalty and overall effectiveness at supporting the shōgun during times of military need.
Now, he was here with his retinue and administration to visit both prospective daimyos and to choose the great among them to be the next ruler of Chōdaira.
A sort of competitiveness between the two would be expected. Daichi would expect to see their districts in immaculate condition where administrative duties were taken seriously and where they were carried out with great care and obvious effectiveness.
Leaning forward to get a look out of the window, Hikaru pulled his robes about him in evident displeasure and made a sound indicating his skepticism between a sniff of disdain and a growl.
“So far…” mused Daichi slowly, “Daimyo Shōzu seems to be winning.”
Hikaru raised an eyebrow.
Also in the travelling train of the shōgun’s company were other warriors and adventurers, some mages, many of the best samurai throughout all the lands that he had chosen himself to serve as his black-clad honor guard, bureaucrats and military officers, as well as camp followers.
The shōgun travelled in such a manner as to be prepared to conduct a war from wherever he went. This, the emperor, approved of greatly.
He did things this way, because this was how he did them—not because doing them this way afforded him favors with the emperor.
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The alarm bells rung from the western and eastern sides of the district, and an altogether different bell was tolled as well.
Rōkura thought that to be the fire alarm bell.
“After her!” cried the samurai as Rōkura ran through the streets avoiding them. She jumped high enough to crab the ledge of a house and haul herself up.
Some of the samurai were powerful enough in level to do the same, and they pursued her, but when they caught her, Rōkura turned, lashed out with her foot and knocked one in the head, sending him sprawling across the roof tiles.
The other coughed hoarsely, and even Rōkura’s throat itched and burned from the smoke. Even so, she had led the samurai on a chase through the district, and all the while she jumped atop walls, striding along them, lifting herself up onto the roofs and balconies of various buildings, and setting them ablaze from their top floors.
Now, the square burned in full, and she considered jumping away, evading this samurai so that she could now fine something else to burn.
“You can run,” the samurai spat, “but eventually we will catch you, and you will die, gaijin scum.”
Shat annoyed her, but he was in his rights to feel the way he did. The samurai screamed a battle cry and rushed Rōkura.
The oni Blinked behind him and kicked him in the back. He flailed, losing balance and screaming as he fell of the edge of the roof.
Because of his powerful level, he was in very little danger of dying from the fall, otherwise, Rōkura would not have kicked him off the roof in the first place.
A grunt sounded behind her as the other samurai tried to rite himself. She ran to him and put her fist in the side of his face, carefully aiming not to hit any of them men she fought in the mouths or noses.
Blood was too much of a temptation for Rōkura.
Despite her confidence and easy demeanor, a part of her was terrified that her Persistent Bad Luck would strike at any moment. I shouldn’t have torn off my mask. If I ingest any blood, I’m going to kill a lot of people.
…
Like last time.
In the haze of smoke, Rōkura was able to hide herself and evade the samurai as she went to the other side of the house. None of them men were in the alley here.
She jumped down, using the narrow alley as a means to problem herself to and fro in a zigzagging motion that slowed her decent. But surely she could drop and not be injured either.
Seeing the street fighters do a similar tactic, she wanted to try it out right now, and it did work. She wondered how it would work going up?
One of the samurai came into the ally.
“She is here! Come quickly!”
His voice was like the buzzing of an insect. He wore grey robes, which actually made him blend with the smoke quite well.
Rōkura coughed into her hand.
The samurai wore white tabi socks and sandals, and his eyes were red-rimmed from the smoke. It stung Rōkura’s eyes as well.
The samurai screamed and rushed her.
She jumped, twisted her hips and put out her legs, allowing her feet to touch the walls on both side to slow her fall as the samurai ran past her. When she fell behind him he turned with a swift and deadly swing of his katana, but she managed to catch his wrists.
Struggling, he attempted to wrest his blade form her, but Rōkura was able to lift his arm and squeeze, causing him to grit his teeth.
She is so powerful!
Rōkura forced him to drop the sword where it clattered to the cobblestones, then she shunted him back with a grunt. He fell, and moved like he might try to get up, but instead, he scrambled back as she walked past him, glancing down into his afraid eyes.
When she came out into the square, it was hard to see anything.
She coughed into her hand again as dozens of people formed a line and where hauling water buckets. Some of these men shouted orders, and they wore a uniform robe with a yellow stripe down the center.
They were the fire dousers, able to manipulate water.
Though Rōkura didn’t know this, they were barely considered mages, their power specifically designed to manipulate water, they served cities in the empire as the official fire dousers.
With her sword still in its scabbard, she stalked through the square, coughing into her hand occasionally as she picked up her speed.
This is terrible. I need something to drink.
Glancing back at the fires, she realized she had caused far more devastation than they needed, surely?
More soldiers poured into the square. Rōkura ducked behind a food stall as they rushed past in a tight marching formation, their spears and pikes bobbing up and down in the air as they ran.
“Spread out!” their captain shouted.
Rōkura slipped out of the square easily. In the smoke, hardly anyone could be blamed if they missed a hot-pink-skinned oni I billowing robes run past them.
[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/318072068883349504/960360053796384808/Horns_2_copy.png]
The fires had burned for hours, and now evening was beginning to descend upon them all, making the bright yellow-orange glow of the fires even more evident. The small golden-haired man pushed his glasses up further onto the bridge of his nose, his eyes completely obscured in the reflection of the conflagration reflecting on the rims of his glasses.
He smiled like a self-satisfied cat and glanced toward the front gate of the jail. “I suppose it is time to make my move.” He let the words hang in the air. Rōkura, you better be out of the city by now.
Stalking toward the gate, the two guards put out their pikes and told him to halt. “Nani shiteru no desuka? Nani shiteru no desuka?!”
“Ah, yes,” said Hans. “I don’t speak your language.”
Then she sent the flat of his hand into the guards neck. He grunted wetly and grasped at his throat, coughing and choking.
The other guard tried to scream, but Hans lurched across the space and hissed “First of the Gods!”
The punch he landed in the guard’s stomach nearly broke him in half as his eyes bulged and spittle flew out of his mouth.
Before the guard even fell onto the ground, Hans grabbed the collar of his tabard and yanked him out of the road and under the wall where he wouldn’t be seen by any of the guards manning the towers.
Taking one last glance at the guard in the tower in the front grounds, he saw that the guard was far too busy watching the glow of fires in the Tsurugo district.
Hans Bellefeuille smiled and glanced down at the choking guard who, by now had just begun to recover. “Sorry about this.”
He looked up in horror as Hans slapped him across the forehead with two fingers. The blow was more powerful than it otherwise looked, and sent the man into unconsciousness.
“Hmmm,” he mused. “Too easy. But then… that’s what a well-laid plan does, isn’t that right?”
Of course, there was no one to answer him.
He so did love the sound of his own voice from time to time, though.
As Hans unlocked the front gate with the keys picked off the unconscious guards, Rōkura knew that she should follow the plan—get out of the city and meet Hans down the road where they would meet up.
Instead, she couldn’t help herself.
She had gone back to Shōzu’s district. I can handle the daimyo on my own.
Rōkura could practically hear him now, but she pushed those thoughts aside. Hans would do well in the jail. He would get the others out and to safety. He would be cross with her, but she would would return victorious in the end.
At least, so she thought.
Instead, she met Shinjiro on the road.
Footsteps sounded on the road behind her. “Rōkura?”
She turned as thunder overhead rumbled. The wind blew the loose strands of the samurai’s hair about, making his shadow this looming, powerful swordsman with a wild main.
He had left her.
He’s not supposed to be here.
“Shinjiro?!”