Since breaking ties with family and Empire, Hideo spent many a night dreaming about how he would confront his Mentor.

This was to be his crowning moment, a glorious instant in which he refuted everything Mitsue Juichi stood for and demonstrated the errors of his ways. The old fool would be struck speechless by Hideo’s eloquent exposition of all his sins, demoralized by the truth unveiled before his eyes, and shamed before all his countrymen and peers. Once he found his bearings, Juichi would react with predictable fury and indignation, cutting ties with Hideo for daring to speak the truth and dismissing sound logic for lies and slander. While few would care to admit it, everyone would know him for the buffoon he was. For the sake of face, nothing would change and they would still be at odds, but Hideo will have won the moral victory, having revealed his father’s hidden status and Juichi’s inexcusable and unreasonable behaviour for all to see, not to mention greatly wounding the pride of the once great Mitsue Juichi.

Reality was not so kind.

Grief and anguish. That was what Hideo found in Juichi’s worn, tired gaze, and it broke his heart. There were new wrinkles visible, ones that weren’t there when last they met, hidden beneath layers of makeup but evident to anyone with eyes. Mentor had lost weight too, and though one would still be hard pressed to call him thin, to Hideo, the change was startling to behold. The result of stress and worry no doubt, but from what? Losing Hideo and his father? Why would this affect Juichi so? Why did he offer to forgive Hideo? How could he do that? It wasn’t right, Hideo had called him a fool and Juichi just stood there and nodded along, slapped himself and all but begged Hideo to forgive him. Why did he put aside his pride, his face, his dignity, and do that just for someone he so often disregarded?

Because he loves you dearly, and now he has lost you twice.

The realization was almost too much to bear as Hideo watched Juichi quietly sob from across the battlefield, a dejected old man being led away while others averted their eyes from his shame. All Hideo wanted to do was to run across the field and comfort him, to apologize to the man who used to bounce him on his knee and tell him how big and strong he would grow to be. This grief-stricken man was not the Mitsue Juichi Hideo knew and remembered, not the stern, confident Mentor who rarely offered praise or guidance. No, this was the man only his closest family ever saw, the kind, considerate, and doting elder who put family above all else, one whose heart had been broken here today. For all his flaws, one could not fault him for not loving his family, but rather the opposite, and until now, Hideo always thought he and his father were the black sheep of the bunch in Juichi’s eyes. They were what he wanted his sons and grandsons to be, overshadowing the children he loved most, a grave sin for which they were unjustly punished.

Yet now, Hideo was not so sure.

Father’s position as the Family Patriarch had been appointed by Juichi himself, and it was a point of contention within the family. For years, Hideo thought father was only given the job because every single one of Juichi’s sons had either already refused the job for themselves or failed so miserably even their doting Father couldn’t do anything about it. Thus, this thankless position fell upon father, who took it up without argument, though a younger Hideo had wondered why he would accept such a stressful job. Always busy with one task or another, Father was rarely ever at home, and when he was, Hideo’s worthless, silk-pants uncles would inevitably come calling in search of a handout. Heavens forbid Hiroshi reject the request, for a visit from Juichi would always invariably follow, one in which he would scold the supposed family patriarch for being too stingy with the purse strings.

Father’s job was to handle all the work with none of the rewards, Hideo’s uncles, aunts, and cousins would whisper, for Juichi would never mistreat his own children by allowing a mere nephew to inherit his legacy. As for Father himself, he always waved such rumours off, though he also never bothered hiding his disdain for Juichi’s sons, though he was always careful not to let Hideo see them argue. Things got better after Juichi accepted Hideo as his Disciple, though why he could not say. Perhaps father had made some sort of arrangement, or perhaps Juichi had finally seen the writing on the wall and knew the family was doomed without Hiroshi’s support. Either way, Juichi and the rest of the family treated Hideo differently after he became Juichi’s Disciple, and though the old fool was quick to brag about ‘his talented Disciple’ to anyone who cared to listen, Hideo himself had personally lost all his grand-uncle’s affections.

Untrue. Juichi simply finally learned from his mistakes, and didn’t want to ruin your future as well, because he, much like your father, loves you more than words can ever explain.

Try as he might, Hideo could not forget the look of pain and dejection on his Grand-Uncle’s face when he all but confessed his sins, a sight which hurt him more than he cared to admit. He’d lost something today, something he’d been too stupid to cherish and would never have again, the love and affection of one Mitsue Juichi. He knew now, he knew, as Hideo had all but confessed. Grand-Uncle absolutely adored Eri-Hime, whose family came over to visit every year during new years celebrations. The year before last, he even quietly encouraged her to keep pursuing Hideo and teased him by saying he would count himself lucky to still have her affections in a few years time, a remark everyone else had laughed at. Back then, he’d taken it for good-natured teasing, but looking back on it now, it seemed like Juichi was taking it seriously and genuinely wanted Hideo and Eri-Hime to wed when she came of age.

Which would never happen, not even if a thousand years were to pass, because Hideo killed and ate her so many months ago.

Screaming in abject denial, the memories of that fateful day flooded through his mind once more, and try as he might, he could not get it to stop. There she was, slipping over the wall with a mischievous smile stretched across her rosy red cheeks. The sight of her incited both dread and desire, for he’d been confined to this courtyard for so many weeks without anyone to talk to, but it was not talk which sprang to mind. He resisted, oh how he resisted, because annoying as it was to fend off the clumsy, amorous advances of a fifteen year old child, he still loved her like the younger sister he’d never had. Why did he hold his tongue? There were guards watching the doors, guards she no doubt charmed with her sweet doe eyes and winning smile, guards who would’ve come rushing in if he called out about an intruder as he should have, but didn’t. What could go wrong? He loved Eri-Hime and would ever hurt the sweet and lovable girl...

Those were thoughts flowing through his mind as he raced across the courtyard and lifted her into his arms. Oh how beautiful she looked in the light of the moon, with her hair done in loose buns and her dress dishevelled from climbing over the courtyard wall. The way her eyes lit up upon meeting his ignited his passions, her joy tinged by just the right amount of fear and anxiety. As he held her close and pressed his face into her chest, he drank in the scent of her body and savoured the sound of her laughter, laughter which went unheard by the guards outside thanks to the Sound Barrier he’d erected.

And so too did her screams escape their notice as his teeth drove deep into her shoulder, only to come away with a mouthful of flesh.

Alone and isolated in their own little world, Hideo and Eri-Hime spent a lifetime together in that courtyard, a lifetime which lasted only a single, fleeting night, a night he relived time and time again since. The sweet taste of her flesh, the vivid hue of her blood, the palpable terror showing in her tear-stained eyes. Even now, he was unsure if the memory horrified or tantalized, and that first bite had only been the beginning, the beginning of Hideo’s march into damnation. No, more like a headlong sprint, for he enjoyed every moment of it, and even made sure Eri-Hime survived most of the night. Had Father come to visit only an hour earlier, he might have still saved her, but Hideo knew their time was coming to an end and finished up in time. Only her pretty little head remained to greet Hiroshi’s arrival, siting neatly in Hideo’s lap as the sun cast away the shadows and revealed her expression twisted in terror.

He was a monster, scum of the lowest order, a damned soul who deserved worse than death.

“Balance!” The Sending snapped him out of his thoughts and he found himself back upon the battlefield, the skies darkening overhead as dragons and titans traded blows. Standing firm before Hideo like an immovable bulwark, Monk Eyebrows fended off Colonel General Shuai Jiao with only one hand, yet still had attention to spare for Hideo. “The Razor’s Edge, Junior Brother. The Razor’s Edge. Your pain and suffering, misery and despair, embrace it without giving in, lest you lose yourself to it.”

Easier said than done, for there was just so much to endure. Eri-Hime was the most heinous of his crimes, and there were plenty more to pay for, such as how he led Father to his death. The look in his eyes had been so eerily similar to the one Hideo just saw reflected in Juichi’s, denial, then anguish, then utter misery, all because Hideo had let him down. Then there were the guards who’d been on duty the night Eri-Hime died, who Father killed to protect him, proving he was every bit as flawed as his hero and uncle. One mustn’t forget all of Hideo’s nameless victims since then, his hands and soul stained with the blood of countless innocents who died exactly as Eri-Hime died. Night after night, he sought to recreate the sordid delights of that horrible, wonderful night. It was never the same, never as satisfying, never as horrific, never as enjoyable despite all his efforts to make it so, and he knew it never would be, for Eri-Hime was already dead, and there would never be a second for him to kill.

Or save. Even he wasn’t certain which he was trying to do, sobbing alongside his victims as he carved the flesh from their bones...

How many weeks had he been living a lie, pretending to reflect upon his memories when in fact he was reliving them in the flesh? This was in addition to his other carnal pursuits, indulging in death and suffering for the sake of experiencing all humanity had to offer. The memories dredged up long suppressed self-loathing and desire, Hideo both disgusted and captivated by his past actions wherein he inflicted all manner of anguish and suffering upon Defiled and Imperial alike. He disdained the Chosen and tribal outlanders alike for indulging in depravity, but he indulged all the same, only differing in his ability to stubbornly deny the truth.

No wonder Monk Eyebrows said Hideo wasn’t ready, because he refused to accept the truth of his actions and adjust to the Right View.

The Monk lies too. He oversaw your descent into madness and did nothing to enlighten you, because the Razor’s Edge is not True Balance, but controlled insanity. You may be a monster, but by his own admission, your sins pale in comparison to his own.

No. No, no, no, this wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Monk Eyebrows was his teacher, his supporter, his Mentor in all but name. They were friends and comrades, fellow devotees of the Penitent Brotherhood, and in the future, they would be brothers and kin. There was no way Monk Eyebrows would lie to him, because that was not his way. He was here to help Hideo find the truth, so everything he said and did had to have been done with good reason. To help him find the Right View, to teach him the error of his ways, yes that was it. What did he tell Hideo? How can one let go of that which they have never held? How can one know the true burden of sacrifice without ever knowing what they have given up? Only then will your suffering have meaning, and drive you along the Path to Divinity.

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Yes. Monk Eyebrows was helping Hideo find the Path to Divinity, so he only had to trust the good monk’s teachings. It was proven fact that his own thoughts could not be trusted, so better to place his faith in the Brotherhood than go off on his own way only to stumble and falter again. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he suppressed his doubts and tossed all reservations aside, for he walked the Noble-Eightfold Path, the true Path to Divinity. Eri-Hime, his father, and now Juichi, all mere stumbling blocks on his Path, the trials and tribulations laid out before him by the Heavens above, but he would surpass them. He would rise above.

And in time, he might even forget that look in their eyes which haunted him so, so full of fear, sadness, and regret...

Banishing all thoughts and emotions to the void, Hideo desperately sought to centre his thoughts. This was not proper Balance, for the lack of emotion could be as dangerous as too many, but this was advice given to him by an old fool who wholeheartedly believed in Imperial lies. The Razor’s Edge, so long as he kept to it, then there was nothing to fear. Emptiness within matched by emptiness without, he cast aside all emotion to become a hollow vessel devoid of weakness and uncertainty. Balance came slowly and struggled against his grasp, but he held firm to nothingness and was soon rewarded as the Energy of the Heavens flowed through him, filling him with solace and purpose both.

Hiding from the truth doesn’t make it go away. It will always be there, just waiting for you to remember.

There is no time to indulge in weakness, for there are secrets of the Martial Path before you to unravel.

Blinking to clear his head, Hideo Scryed and investigated his surroundings. The entire battlefield was in turmoil, with Imperial cavalry hammering away at the flanks while the Bekhai and commoners unleashed death from afar. Fresh Imperial troops moved in to replace the tired front line fighters, and the pressure mounted as eager soldiers did battle with tired Chosen. Fresh Experts and Demon Slayers engaged the multitudes of Demons, and slowly but surely the highest powers of the Chosen were being ground beneath Imperial boots. Despite all this, Hideo felt that the battle’s true outcome would be decided here, in this grand struggle taking place before him.

Ryo Dae Jung was the youngest Colonel General in the history of the Empire, but it was easy to see why he deserved so lofty a rank. The Sword King lived up to his name, a regal figure who stood out upon the field of battle, wielding his weapon with extraordinary grace and finesse. It wasn’t just his speed or precision which amazed and astounded, but the sheer artistry in his every movement as he danced among the corpses of his fallen foes. There was no distinction between man and sword, merely a single combined entity moving with sublime grace and majesty. Du Min Gyu’s sabre attacks were powerful and decisive, Situ Jia Yang’s whirling defence all but impenetrable, and Ishin Ken Shibu’s sword dance hypnotic and deadly, but Ryo Dae Jung was superior in any and all respects.

A languid turn of the wrist brought his sword about in a deadly arc, parrying and killing in one blow. A domineering swing hurtled towards a Demon’s raised block, only to never connect and turn into a killing thrust instead. A dizzying flourish hid a dozen deadly attacks, so speedy and seamless Hideo couldn’t even follow the blade’s path, only see the destruction it wrought on the Sword King’s enemies, his strength so sublime it transcended human comprehension. Try as he might, Hideo could see no reason why he himself couldn’t replicate those same movements, but every time he imagined himself using them in battle, even the most generic of foes would remain untouched. Why?

Because it is not the movements themselves that make them sublime, but rather their flawless timing and execution. Your father understood this concept well and used it to great effect, because he was the Sword King’s peer early on in life, men of similar age, though they never personally clashed.

Balance. The Razor’s Edge. Emotion fed to the void. Wrenching his gaze away from the Sword King, Hideo studied the verdant green plants growing before his eyes, the work of none other than Grasping Vine Shuai Jiao himself. Impressive as the Ryo Dae Jung might be, Hideo couldn’t help but wonder if he would be as impressive without his fellow Colonel General supporting him. The titular grasping vines sprouted out from the earth and fastened themselves to Chosen and Demon alike, and while it seemed simple enough for most to break free of the clutching weeds, even a minor distraction was enough for the Sword King to exploit. Add to this how Shuai Jiao’s efforts were far from minor, breaking knees and ankles with almost laughable ease while locked in combat with Monk Eyebrows.

Who himself was a hidden Dragon. Feet planted and head bowed, the Monk fought without vigour or passion, while Shuai Jiao fought in a similar manner, neither one resorting to a Spiritual Weapon and using their bare hands to test one the other’s strength. That was one idiosyncrasy of the impoverished Colonel General, his stubborn refusal to bind a Spiritual Weapon no matter how many were gifted to him. Every time someone tried, he would smile and accept the precious gift alongside the obligations it entailed, but he always gifted it to a soldier under his command. Why, no one could say for certain, since a Martial Warrior with a Spiritual Weapon was like a tiger given wings, but when asked, Shuai Jiao always responded in the same manner.

“The Heavens have blessed me with all I require to tread the Martial Path.”

A foolish sentiment, but accurate considering the heights he’d risen to without a Spiritual Weapon. Many tried to emulate his success, but few could resist the temptation, as most Warriors worth their salt would be offered a Spiritual Weapon, either by speculative factions looking to make an investment or the Imperial Army themselves. Monk Eyebrows had forsaken the use of a Spiritual Weapon, perhaps on account of his outlander heritage, since Defiled Weapons were entirely different from the Spiritual Weapons of the Empire. How they differed, Hideo wasn’t sure, but Gen once mentioned something about the fallacy of Spiritual Weapons, and how it was disingenuous to expect Martial Warriors to become One with the Weapon when the Spiritual Heart had been plundered from a Spiritual Beast or stolen from nature. He then went on to advocate Martial Warrior’s forge their bodies into weapons, and after witnessing Monk Eyebrows and Shuai Jiao display their strength, Hideo suspected there was more than a kernel of truth to Gen’s words.

Standing at arm’s length from one another, the monk and Colonel General didn’t trade blows in the traditional sense, but rather pushed and pulled at one another with little to no effect. Their arms almost never separated, and when they did, it was only for the briefest of moments as they tugged and grappled in a dizzying back and forth flow. Only after careful inspection and review did Hideo notice all the subtle intricacies of their exchange, a game of centimetres in deadly execution. Catching the monk’s sleeve with a single finger, Shuai Jiao pulled hard to break his balance, but Monk Eyebrow angled his elbow up to counter his opponent’s newfound leverage. At the same time, he rotated his wrist to try and grab hold of Shuai Jiao’s forearm, but the sombre Colonel General twisted his torso and wrenched his arm away, only to come at Monk Eyebrows from a different angle.

But only with one hand. Why? To match the monk? No, not quite. Monk Eyebrows had his free hand held up in silent prayer, but Shuai Jiao’s was pointed downwards, his thumb and forefinger forming a circle and the other three fingers curled into a fist. A mudra, a hand-sign of the Brotherhood, one Hideo understood as ‘intent to argue with possible conflict’. Dull and dreary as his unremarkable appearance, the bald Colonel General intoned, “What business does a man of the cloth have with an army of the damned? Such ignorance, such sin.”

“Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo.” Shaking his head while still trading blows, Monk Eyebrows replied, “Ironic, to hear the oblivious preach of ignorance. The damned, you say? Are the Defiled not human in your eyes? Are they not worthy of redemption? There is no sinner too far gone to be saved, no criminal who cannot be reformed, only those who lack proper guidance or intention.”

“Any who seek redemption are deserving of such, and though this one is merely a humble initiate, he knows enough to see the foul company you keep has no such desire to atone for their sins.” Meeting Hideo’s eyes in mid-battle, Shuai Jiao pursed his lips and added, “Or perhaps this one spoke too quickly. What say you, Mitsue Hideo? Do you repent and seek redemption? Your life is forfeit, but your soul need not follow.”

Hideo didn’t know how to respond, but Monk Eyebrows answered for him. “Redemption? What for? Being human with human failings? Your argument falters at the first step, initiate, in that you lack the Right View. We are as the Heavens made us, yet you would have Hideo killed for succumbing to base desire. Blinded by lies and guided by fools, how was he to know better? You would damn the wolf for hunting the lamb, a preposterous notion by any measure.”

“Is he a wolf then?” Shuai Jiao asked, cocking his head with a smug smile. “Or is he human? If the former, then should he not be put down, lest he devour the humble farmer’s entire flock? If he is human, should he not repent for his crimes? Crimes so grave even he does not dare to speak them out loud?”

Which was he then? Human or wolf? Chosen or Defiled? Desperate for an answer, Hideo watched and waited with bated breath, but Monk Eyebrows had no response, ceding the verbal spar in favour of Shuai Jiao. Grabbing a hold of the monk lapel, the Colonel General stepped in to throw his foe, but was driven back through sheer muscle, the gangly monk far stronger than it would seem. Seeing blood dribble down Shuai Jiao’s chin as he stumbled back, Hideo reviewed what he saw and couldn’t identify Monk Eyebrow’s attack.

The shove was no shove, but a strike, one which travelled only a single centimetre at most, yet still carried enough force to kill a lesser man.

Might makes right. This was the strength of the Brotherhood, the strength which comes from following the Noble Eight-Fold Path.

Wrong. The Noble Eight-Fold Path is not about strength, but purpose and intent. What is your purpose? What is your intent? To seek strength? Why? Why do you seek strength?

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up! Roaring at the voices in his head, Hideo shut his eyes and tried his best to quiet them, but the echoes remained, and he could do naught but question his purpose. Why did he kill Eri-Hime? Why did he lead his father to death? Why did he hate Grand-Uncle Juichi so? Father was the family Patriarch, and everyone said it was a toothless title, placing weak Mitsue Hiroshi into the public eye so that the family’s enemies would have a target to focus on, but Hideo knew better, didn’t he? His father was a Peak Expert, and a powerful one at that, easily the match of many storied heroes fighting on this very field of battle. Only a dozen or so were definitively stronger, and perhaps another thirty who might match him, but the rest were obviously weaker. So what did this mean? It meant Hiroshi’s hidden strength was meant to bait out hidden enemies, and that if Juichi were to suddenly pass, friends and foes would reveal their true selves. It was a trap, and a devious one at that, for father was certainly strong enough to keep the Mitsue Family together, even if they had to sacrifice material gains to preserve it.

It meant Juichi had picked Hiroshi as his true heir and successor, the man who would carry on the Mitsue family legacy. Remember what Watanabe said? “Father treated you like his own son, taught you everything you know and put you in charge of the family, and this is how you repay him?” Hiroshi was ‘only’ his nephew, but Juichi loved all his family. Especially you, the second coming of the Obsidian Shadow, his own kin who followed in his footsteps. You know how that would have appealed to his ego, but he warned you against following in his footsteps because he could not find the way forward, and wanted you free to find your own path.

Why do you desire strength, Mitsue Hideo? Better to seek forgiveness. Open your eyes and see the truth you’ve worked so hard to deny.

Peering out from between his fingers, Hideo forced himself to look out into the world, but his gaze did not turn towards the Imperial lines. Instead, he cast it over his allies, the Chosen of Heaven and the Defiled tribesmen at his back, and what he saw set him to screaming in abject denial. The skies were thick with ghastly apparitions, ones which grew more substantial with each passing second. Their shadowy forms took shape before Hideo’s eyes, all ugly and misshapen in their fiendish glory, yet still vaguely recognizable despite their diabolic features. It was their expressions which he found most chilling of all, so shockingly human despite their inhuman features, all full of rage, hatred, craving, and desire. Here they gathered, these hellish phantoms of nightmare, whispering sweet lies into the ears of any and all who cared to listen, urging their unwitting victims to commit violence and bloodshed and feeding on the misery and suffering which emerged soon after. The source mattered not to these foul Spectres, for they fed on victim and accomplice alike, rending off metaphysical pieces from both and becoming all the stronger for it.

These were the Father’s minions most foul, here to devour all that the Mother hath wrought. If they should succeed, then all of Creation would be torn asunder and reduced to nothingness. Once their goal was accomplished, there was no doubt in Hideo’s mind that these Spectres would then turn upon themselves, for there was no sating their endless hunger. Then, and only then, would the Father’s victory be complete, for death and anguish were merely tools used in pursuit of his ultimate goal, that of complete and utter nihility.

A peal of thunder drowned out his screams as the dark skies unleashed their fury overhead, and the Spectres fled before its coming. Alas, even the cool, cleansing rain falling down from above could not wash away Hideo’s heinous sins, a burden he would carry forevermore. Shuai Jiao was right; Monk Eyebrows kept company with the damned, and Hideo belonged right there with them. This was too much. He couldn’t keep going on, but the Heavens were not so kind as to allow him to die or surrender. Carried away in Monk Eyebrows arms, he didn’t understand why they were fleeing from battle, nor did he have it in him to care, for all he could think about was how he’d just lost his only chance to reconcile with his family and would never know their love again.

A raindrop trickled down his cheek, and Hideo heard a voice whisper of courage and redemption, but he did not care to listen. His will collapsing upon itself, he closed his eyes and wept, yearning to go running into his grand-uncle’s arms, but too afraid to dare risk it.

Chapter Meme