Takehito and Inaki finished working on Itto’s garden. Inaki had hated every second of it, but he liked the feel of having an actual steel sword in his hand for the first time.

Takehito spoke to Itto for a few minutes, while Inaki stood there, appreciating the sword.

“Do you want that one,” Itto said. “It’s a sword only meant for training so it’s a little weak, but I could dock that from Takehito’s pay here.”

“No, no,” Takehito said. “What’s the use of giving him a sword that will break instantly.”

“Come on here,” Itto said. “What’s your name,”

“My name is Yotta-son-Yusuke of the Trina. I am not from this province, and I am just trying to make my way home now,” Inaki said. “Takehito has graciously given me the opportunity to earn money so I can go home, which is why I cannot accept this sword for I need the money.”

“Well,” Itto said, stepping forward. He held Inaki’s chin in his hand, and swatted away his hair.

“These injuries don’t look like they’re from a sword, what duel did you exactly lose?” Itto asked.

“I was attacked by bandits, where Takehito found me and rescued me,” Inaki said.

“Good, good,” Itto said. “If you ever see a bastard with the same height as you, around the same age as you, just looking of noble descent, tell me, I’ll give you a very good sword for free. Wait, you were a wood ranked with a steel blade right,” Itto said. “Then why don’t you show me your certificate.”

“I don’t carry it everywhere,” Inaki said. “If you doubt my abilities, I would take offense to that.”

“No, no, I don’t doubt anything, it's just that the person I am looking for looks oddly similar to you,” Itto said.

“I always get the short end of the stick when it comes to co-incidences, just look at me,” Inaki said.

“Yeah, it does look like that,” Itto said.

“We’ll make our move,” Takehito said, walking away. Inaki gave Itto the sword, and ran to follow Takehito.

“How did you learn to lie so convincingly,” Takehito asked, smiling.

“I learned to lie about my identity when I was pretty young,” Inaki said. “Afterall, they wouldn’t allow me outside the castle until I turned ten, so I had to explain myself to guards who found me when I escaped.”

“Why did you ever want to leave the castle?” Takehito asked.

“The temple where the other Tomoka swordsmen trained is not in the castle for some reason,” Inaki said. “I am a bit hungry, and not really up to monk food, I’m going to go and get something to eat from a nearby inn, just give me whatever I earned in today’s training.”

Takehito dropped a single copper coin into his hand, “Good on you for clearing the place out.”

Inaki hadn’t been able to replicate the shapes even half as well as Takehito with his sword. Since he had spent so much of his time practicing cutting dummies with his sword, he had expected that to be easy, but it hadn’t been.

Even though the coin that Takehito had given him would barely buy him a bowl of soup at a rundown inn, he didn’t complain. After all, he didn’t really want to eat outside.

“Reach back before the Sword is halfway through the sky,” Takehito said. “The monastery doors close at that time.”

Inaki looked at the Sword constellation in the sky, and saw that it was just about visible. So that meant that Inaki had a lot of time.

Takehito left him, and Inaki stepped into a nearby tavern and ordered some water. He sat there sipping at the water, waiting. He would leave whenever the tavern owner asked him to leave, then he would know it would be too late.

He sat there for a little more than an hour and a half, with the tavern owner asking him every few minutes if he wanted anything except water. At the end, Inaki handed the man the one coin that Takehito had given him and walked out.

Inaki regretted not carrying his purse with him to the garden, but ultimately, there was nothing else he could do. He tore off a sign from a wall—a poster advertising a tavern for the rich nearby—and walked towards Itto’s house. Itto’s house was separate from the castle, because otherwise, his living space would not have been as luxurious. His house was big, bigger than nearly every building there, and in there lived only him, his wife and his two infant sons.

Inaki had spent some of his off time between the beating and coming to Yaroka researching about the family. He had been caught off-guard because he wasn’t expecting Takehito to take him to the house of his sworn enemy, but this experience had taught Inaki to expect anything when around him.

There was a large gate, and a few guards there, but there were only guards at the gate, everywhere else, there was nobody defending it. So, Inaki didn’t have to do much. He removed his knife from under his robes and approached the large wall separating Itto’s garden from the rest of the city.

He found a foothold and began climbing, holding the knife in his mouth. He lugged himself upwards, but his hand slipped, and he fell down, hitting the mud, muddying his already muddy clothes.

Inaki was resolute on this plan. Inaki made a small slit in his thumb to leak just the slightest amount of blood, wrote “I am here” on the piece of paper he stole, and this time, successfully scaled up the wall. He then slowly climbed down the wall, falling into the bushes.

Hearing the sounds one of the guards walked over. He was a silver swordsman, and if it came down to it, Inaki could probably take him out with his practice sword and run away.

He did not see Inaki, he walked around the house and back to the gate. Now the only situation in which anyone would see him there, would be if someone came out through the backdoor into the garden. Which is why Inaki would make his work quick. He ran to one of the lamps lighting up the garden, and removed it from the fixture. He looked at the flame and oil inside it. Where the lamp fixture was, he placed the little poster with “I am here” written on it, and threw down the lamp into the grass, igniting the beginnings of a fire.

He ran to the bushes of the garden and began indiscriminately cutting the bushes. When he wasn’t trying to shape the bushes, and using his strength as a swordsman with the knife, he made pretty quick work of the bushes, leaving kindling on the ground.

The wind would make sure that Itto’s house didn’t burn down, but the garden where Shinra was to be buried would be turned into a barren wasteland, that was for sure.

The guards began approaching. Not wanting to be seen while he was in disguise with his hair open and in his tattered robes, he quickly climbed over the wall and left.

He was sure that the guards hadn’t seen him. He ran away, and reached the monastery before the Sword constellation was in the middle of the sky.

He slept well, knowing that his enemies would be distraught over what he had done.

The next morning, after Inaki had finished his practice duel with Takehito, and after Inaki had washed up his wounds, Inaki heard loud screaming in the monastery. At the front door.

He stood in the garden, with his hair loose, and his robes still tattered. He had made sure to tell Gonten about his disguise, his name and all his details, and gave him the advice to make up an identity too.

It was in Inaki’s favor, that Gonten had taken all of the features of their mother, while Inaki of his father, they barely looked like siblings because of that.

Inaki walked out to see what all the commotion was about, and saw that Itto had come, but not just Itto, even Taral was there.

Inaki saw Taral, and his heart froze with fear. He remembered the beating, the helplessness. He remembered fearing that he would be killed. If Taral knew that it was him, then he was definitely a dead man. Not knowing what to do, Inaki ran in front of the mirror and took his knife, he ran it down the front of his face, giving him a wide scar on his cheek. He quickly cleaned the blood out of it, asked a monk to stitch it up, making sure that the scar would make him look at least a little bit unrecognizable.

Inaki had never felt such fear in his life.

He walked out and saw that Taral was now screaming at Takehito.

“You,” Taral said, “You are definitely Inaki aren’t you?”

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“I am not Inaki, lord,” Inaki said. He had wanted to just act as if he was groveling in fear, but he actually was. “I am Yotta-son-Yusuke of Trina, just a down on my luck swordsman who thought I could make a name for myself by challenging Inaki.”

“How old are you,” Taral said.

“I am twenty, I left home as soon as I got my sword,” Inaki said.

“Move your hair,” Taral said.

Inaki swept his hair back, revealing his face. He hoped that the scar on his face would make him look unrecognizable. Taral inspected his face. Taral’s putrid breath hit Inaki, sending him into more fear.

“If you are hiding Inaki from me,” Taral said, walking to Takehito. “I will make sure that you are sent back to your father with your head on a plate.”

“He won’t care,” Takehito said. “But if I knew where Inaki was, why would I not tell you. The Koji and Yaroka families have been allies for generations.”

“What is strong, your personal friendship with Hassai, or your family's allyship with the Yaroka,” Taral said.

“Now that I’ve heard of what Inaki did,” Takehito said, side-eyeing Inaki. “If I see him, I am sure to hand him over without a second thought. Who does that, burning an opponent's burial ground after already having killed him in a duel.”

“Yes,” Taral said. “Who does that?”

Taral’s eyes began going red. Inaki saw a flash of mistiness appear in his eyes, but then he turned back and began walking away, so no one could see his tears.

Inaki did not feel bad about it at all. After all, Taral had done the same thing. He had walked into Tomoka, burned Inaki’s honor, and left. Inaki would just return the favor twice over.

Inaki walked away, into the garden, where Gonten was working, ignoring the commotion.

“Thank god I don’t look like you,” Gonten said, joyfully putting water on the plants.

“I am happy for the same,” Inaki said.

“What happened to your face,” Gonten asked. Gonten stepped forward and touched Inaki’s fresh scar.

“Nothing,” Inaki said. “A branch just gave me a cut while I was working.”

“A cut that deep?” Gonten said.

“Yes,” Inaki said.

Takehito walked out holding his shears in one hand, his fists in tight knuckles and his face twisted in a forced smile.

He walked up to Inaki, looked him in the eye, as if he was trying to hold himself back, then slaped Inaki in the cheek. Inaki screamed in pain as the stitches the monk had given him broke, making the fresh scar bleed again.

Inaki hit the ground, his face a mess of blood.

“My god, I didn’t hit you that hard,” Takehito said, running over to Inaki.

Inaki held in his tears and stopped screaming and sat up.

“What were you thinking,” Takehito said. “The heavens are testing me aren’t they, they’re testing me.” Takehito took a deep breath in. He closed his eyes, and didn’t speak for a few seconds. He breathed in and out, then opened his eyes once again.

“What in the name of Okan’s balls were you thinking,” Takehito said. “What if you had burnt down his house, he has little infant sons.”

“I knew the wind wouldn’t,” Inaki said. “I just wanted Taral to know how it felt like when someone walked into his territory and burned him.”

“Unless you stop acting like a child,” Takehito said. “I won’t train you.”

“You’re one hell of a monk,” Inaki said, holding his face—still red from the slap—in his hands.

“And you're one hell of a brat,” Takehito screamed. He once again closed his eyes, breathing in slowly, and breathing out. “Before I say something I regret, I am going away. I’ll tell a monk to come help you.”

A monk stepped out, the same monk who had given him the stitches when he had made the stitches, just some time ago.

The monk stitched him up again silently then said, “You no longer have a place to stay here.”

“What?” Inaki said.

“You can visit here, but the monastery does not want to get involved in these affairs,” The monk said. “You have one hour to pack up and leave.”

Inaki got up and wanted to scream at the monk, but decided not to.

Inaki touched his practice sword, held the handle. And could only hear Hassai’s voice laughing at him. Inaki packed his bag.

“Wait,” Gonten said. “I’ll argue with the monks, you can stay here, well, where else will you go?”

“I’ll find some inn to live at,” Inaki said. “If he won’t train me, I’ll just train by myself.”

“Don’t go, Inaki,” Gonten said.

“Until I kill Taral,” Inaki said. “Don’t call me by that name. Until then, I am Yotta-son-Yusuke.”

Inaki left the monastery, and found a room in an inn.

----------------------------------------

Taral stepped into the Yaroka castle. He wondered what sin he had committed. His whole life was falling apart.

He looked at all the hopeful eyes around him, who thought that the Yaroka sage was just on pilgrimage. In the castle, Taral walked into the stairwell and then pressed an inconspicuous part of the wall. The door opened, and Taral began climbing down the stairs.

“Hello, son,” Godin said.

“How are you feeling father,” Taral said.

“Happy,” Godin said.

“How?”

“Because I get to meet Shinra again.”

Godin began tearing up. Godin was in his early sixties, and had suddenly fallen ill. No one knew why, but if the sage had fallen ill while there was no one else suitable to ascend to Sage, it would mean the end of the Yaroka.

“I don’t think I have much time,” Godin said. “If there’s anything left for you to ask me, ask me now.”

“What is the difference,” Taral asked, sitting at the foot of his father’s bed. “What is the difference between Sage and Platinum?”

“You’ve asked this a million times, and I only have the same answer for you. If I knew then, I would help every single Yaroka swordsman become a sage,” Godin said. “It is like you cannot explain to a Diamond the difference between you and them.”

Taral collapsed, crying. He didn’t know what to do or what to say. “Please don’t leave me, father. There is so much I have to learn.”

“What do you mean,” Godin said. “You are one level below Sage, there is no more that I can teach you.”

“How?” Taral asked.

“The path from Platinum to Sage is paved only through experience,” Godin said.

“Then how did Hassai become a Sage at thirty-five,” Taral said.

“Some people are meant to be great from birth,” Godin said.

“And others are meant to stagnate near the top,” Taral said.

“Maybe,” Godin said. “Is it fair that you get to be so talented, while others fail at the Iron or even the Wood levels.”

“Father, please don’t leave me, I won’t be able to handle it, who is going to give me advice like this?” Taral said.

Taral felt like a little baby, he loved his father, the greatest man that Taral had ever known. He had treated everyone from servant to Platinum swordsman with the same level of respect. Whether they were Yaroka or not. A man Taral had tried to be like when he forsook killing all those years ago. Without his father to hold him back, he would become a wild animal again, walking into enemy kingdoms and waging war, then beating up children. Why can’t I be better.

Taral held his father in his arms, and cried on his chest, as he went to sleep, in peace.

“Please tell Shinra that I’m okay,” Taral said.

Taral didn’t have all the time in the world to spend with his father’s corpse. He sat there for a few minutes, in an embrace, feeling as the corpse slowly went cold.

He rose, he tried to steady himself, but felt extremely empty. It was just his luck that it was time for him to leave for his son’s funeral. All because Taral had to be a great swordsman, his son ventured out before even getting his sword. All because his son ventured out, he died. All because he died, Taral in foolish rage made a stupid mistake. And finally, that stupid mistake meant that his son couldn’t even get a good burial. Everything always led back to Taral, and his foolish rage.

There was still an hour left until the funeral began, so Taral walked to the only spot he knew where he could clear out his mind, where he could try to not feel his pain for some time. Weaker men drowned themselves in wines and liquors, Taral walked into the training room, and began executing his father’s favorite kata. It was the Firestance kata, such pure aggressiveness. Like a flame, the kata could not be done in a small place because one danced throughout the entire room while doing it.

Taral couldn’t do it. The sword felt too heavy in his hand. It went limp and dropped. In this sanctuary where normally nothing could hurt him, he collapsed and cried.

Soon it was time for him to leave for his son’s funeral. He felt like he hadn’t slept in days. A cart carried a lot of the Yaroka family members to his eldest son’s house.

Taral and the other Yarokas stepped into the house and the funeral service began. Normally a swordsman would be buried with their sword dug in their heart and sticking slightly above the soil, so their rank and dedication to the sword would be seen. His son hadn’t even gotten his steel sword yet.

His son, with so much talent, so much potential, would get an ordinary burial. Taral, Itto, and Taral’s youngest son, the eight year old Godinyan began burying Shinra in the barren, burnt garden.

Taral looked around him, the place was grassless, flowerless, and was just brown soil. This was not a place for a swordsman’s grave. The garden reflected his heart. Empty, and brown.

He didn’t know how he could ascend to Sage. They said that becoming sage was not like the other advancements, usually, once a year the swordsmen assembled under a meeting by the coalition of sages, where if you pass an exam, you get a rank. For Sage, Godin always said that you just knew it when you reached that stage. There wasn’t an exam for it.

Godin had said that you won’t even know how close you were. So, Taral did not even know what to do. How would he keep his clan stable? How would he hold himself back when his rage took over? How could he become a ruler.

My life won’t even allow me to grieve my son and father in peace. Taral said.

“I am so sorry son,” Taral said, as his son’s body descended into the grave, with no sword, no beautiful garden, and no respect.