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Chapter 3: Past and Plunder

1st Day of Tearful Sky, 1554

There were no weak inousa.

Hana was insistent. Stubborn. Whatever the villagers were doing, Hana did the same. She ignored their glares and whispered barbs. As the days passed and everyone assisted with the springtime preparations, Hana would be there. As they shovelled the ice, slush and snow from the man-made stream, she also dug the same from the channel. When they inspected the cleared ground and removed rocks, twigs and filled in the holes, Hana set about hauling the larger rocks that the slighter villagers could not.

There may have been no foes to dispatch but Hana no longer wished to remain idle, nor waste away. A strength that had been instilled in her since she was a young girl.

For there were no weak inousa.

She would prove that again. To herself, at least.

If there was one advantage to her apathy, it was that it made it easier to ignore the villagers disdain. Innocent as she had been before her family had been slaughtered, Hana had been constantly reminded of the 'lesser, savage and fumbling' humans outside of Jinu province. Her small, mountainous homeland far to the west of Samsara felt so vivid in her mind, despite how long it had been since she had even laid eyes on it.

While the villagers gave her a wide berth, they were either secretly welcoming of the help and were standoffish to maintain the status quo or were too afraid to tell her to go away. She had no objections. The years of solitude she had subjected herself to in her pursuit of her family's killers had irrevocably changed her. She had been defeated, yet she still fought.

She had forgotten that for a time, but she would fight again. The work helped a great deal: she had been dormant for too long, hiding and mulling over the last nine years of her life, but getting her hands dirty, and using her muscles was pleasant after the weeks spent inactive.

This was the way she lived her life. The inousan way: the men were the mightiest warriors in the land, but the women were more than a match to any human soldier or samurai, and they refused to rest on their laurels. The inousa clans combined numbered fewer than the army of any provincial army in Samsara, but their ways meant they didn't need to be numerous; each was peerless, and worth a thousand.

Hana no longer had the honour or fury she once held, so she was lesser than her kin back in Jinu, but here, in this quiet land, she would prove her worth however she could. If that was how Hana would spend the rest of her days, dying with gnarled hands, blunted claws and muddy clothes, then so be it!

There were no weak inousa!

Weakness yielded to culling. The dying flower was clipped. Samsara as a nation knew this, but the inousa embodied this mentality.

She was reminded of one of the poems her father wrote:

Clans of great houses,

Bound by the threads of old feuds,

Blades can't set them free.

'Victory is fleeting,' her father once told her, 'there will always be a drought. But warfare will always create another rainstorm. We dance between raindrops, slash at clouds. It may seem endless, but that is the inousan way. Where there's a downpour, the inousa march.'

“Father," Hana whispered. “Mother... my dear sister... forgive me. I could not achieve even one victory for you..."

She stopped working as she bowed her head and held back the sob.

There was a weak inousa...

Hana took out her dagger. The morning glories on the scabbard shone, vibrant as ever, despite the streaks of dirt her hands had just spread across the lacquer.

The morning glories... it would be their season again soon. The time to plant them once the final frosts had abated loomed near. The vines were sturdy and resilient, but the flowers were ephemeral, yet they would always rise again, waning only in the winter. Her earliest memories were witnessing their beauty.

They filled the family gardens... did they yet persist?

Did they really matter?

Did she?

**Eleven Years ago...**

3rd of Sighing Mountain, 1543

“They are the flower of Clan Akikawa, Hana! The vines are strong and resilient, yet the blooms' fleeting beauty is like the lives of friend and foe alike! Live life to the full before the darkness of evening and winter consumes us all."

“I know, Kaori," Hana giggled, “mother is telling us all the time."

The purple flowers dominated the centre, with reds and blues surrounding them. The gardens were always beautiful, but in sunset's amber glow, they struck a special kind of awe.

It made rising early to practice with the sword a pleasure. To commit herself to sparring and perfecting her technique as the blooms opened for the sun, and Hana wouldn't stop until the flowers withered in the evening, as they were now.

Kaori smirked back, emphasised with the horizontal flow of chestnut fur, like a gentle wave, across the encroaching white. Winter was fast approaching.

“So we should say it all the time as well!" Kaori cheered and mock-sheathed her wooden sword in her closed hand. “We shall etch the story of our clan on our hearts so that it's recitation is as easy as breathing! Then we shall spread the word far and wide, beyond any other of the inousa family's of old. Akikawa will be in legends as far as Vliechov and Ardentiphe someday! I'll do it myself, if I have to! I'll cut a bloody swathe across Aangorena!"

Kaori once more drew her sword from her enclosed hand, leaping and stepping in a series of long strides and deft cuts, then targetted a straw dummy with her fury. Blow after blow filled the open garden with a rhythmic crunch of straw, until the padding gave under Kaori's savage assault, and a decisive clack of wood on wood took over.

She finished with father's most famous and storied strike; 'leaping the overgrowth.'

The original blow involved using a rock for the initial hop, and then a riderless horse for the second to vault over a still mounted warrior. An elaborate and situational strike that had nonetheless felled the greatest human warrior of the last decade, one Shinji Kou. One of many famous victories that the Akikawa family earned in the War of the Three Heirs.

Improvising, Kaori leapt up onto a weapon rack, then higher with one of the bamboo fences to keep the momentum, finally into a high arc over the dummy. She flipped, thrusting downward with her wooden sword whilst upside down. The tip of her bokken struck the brow of the dummy, before Kaori landed, rolled, leapt to her feet and gave Hana a smug, toothy grin.

Hana applauded and bounced on the spot. “Amazing!"

Kaori was such a tomboy. The family servants always wondered why she ended up like this, since she was born and grew up while father was away at war. It was as if she filled the void left by the the head of the clan with her spirit and drive to become a true warrior. Hana, meanwhile, learned most of her combat directly from the returning hero, yet was always the ingenue of the family.

The house patriarch himself emerged from the manor. Tatsuo Akikawa. Some called him Tatsuo the Bloodless, as few scars marred his own two-tone brown and white fur and fewer had seen those inflicted, though one long ear fell loose from a deep gouge, giving it a permanent droop.

His demeanour spoke of a man who had seen the endless tides of war for most of his life and had walked away all but unscathed. A man of unmatched spirit that only showed moments of weakness to his closest and dearest. War touched all, but the affectation of his peerless and intrepid manner went far to intimidate any who would dare face him. To seem invulnerable could beget such status.

His piercing steel grey eyes regarded the two young girls and any ferocity faded. Just love, tender and warm, but then the intensity returned as he spun about.

Following him was a friend of the family, and fellow patriarch, Hisao Saekawa. They spoke to each other in hushed tones but the position of their back-swept and tense ears said it all. An argument. His red fur blended with the glowing dusk.

Then Tatsuo barked, “enough! You picked your side, and your gamble lost! I offered you the chance to fight as my ally. As my brother! Yet you refused. And for what? Some pathetic mechanical trinkets from the humans? Look at how easily I bested them!"

Hisao shook his head. “Modernity rises nearer than the sun, old friend. It may appear as a light on the horizon now, but the hour of the old ways draws dark. And besides, whatever honour you acquired won't keep the inousa afloat when the East finally decides it desires more. They always desire more!"

“We won't speak any more of this, Hisao. Not here, and not now. I have other visitors and this is not a discussion to have in front of my daughters."

Hisao glanced over at Hana and Kaori, then took a deep breath. “Fine. Another time then. Be well, Tatsuo."

Hisao left, and once more, Tatsuo softened and his ears perked up.

“Ha-chan, Ka-chan, come," he called and dropped to one knee, his arms wide and welcoming.

The sisters ran to him, though Kaori bumped Hana to the side as the summon became a race.

“Hey, no fair!" Hana whined as Kaori spun mid hop and stuck her tongue out, then finished her rush to fathers embrace.

Tatsuo laughed, but refused to hold Kaori until Hana reached him. Then he held both of them, firm and close. He kissed them on the sides of their heads and lifted the pair. He was as strong as ever. He seemed ageless as much as famously invincible.

He gave them a long, thoughtful gaze and asked, “and how are my two fiercest warriors today?"

“We're fine, father," Kaori replied.

Hana nodded, “we were just sparring."

“Good! We have visitors." He glanced at where Hisao was, and clarified, “more welcome visitors."

Kaori asked, “oh? Who treads on the famed Akikawa grounds this time? Friend or foe!"

Father roared with laughter. “No foes remain worthy of notice that would dare step on our lands! No, my princess, it's the Araki's. They'll be staying for a few days."

Hana gasped. “I- is... Eiji with them?"

Father winked at Hana. “Maybe. Why do you ask?"

“Uh... n-no reason," she said and couldn't meet her father's gaze. Her heart hammered and she knew her ears were burning red.

Kaori gave Hana a confused look, then she snickered “Well, someone has a crush!"

Hana pouted and lied, “I do not!"

She tried to ignore Kaori's goading as father chuckled at the good natured ribbing, and let them back down as he walked them to the meeting hall. There, the main Araki family members and a few of their closest serfs met and greeted with the Akikawa's counterparts.

Then Hana saw Eiji. A strapping young inousa buck, eyes of deep blue like the evening sky and sleek, grey fur covering his wiry but strong body.

Eiji and Hana played and grown up together, and had always been close for as long as she could remember, though recent wars led to longer spans of time apart. And what she remembered was a boy. He was now a man.

Their eyes met. Hana froze and her ears pricked up. He smiled at her. She almost swooned.

“Hana?"

Who was... asking for her?

“Hana?"

*Nine years later*

17th of High-Scatter, 1552

“Hana?"

Sota was crouching nearby as Hana slowly sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“Wake up and get ready. We've reached Port Akutoka."

He handed her some pressed, dried vegetables and a flask of water. He quietly waited for her to gather her bearings before he opened the hatch and climbed out.

It was early morning as Hana finished getting dressed and emerged on deck as well, lazily chewing on the tasteless fodder. She stretched as the boat got into the ocean-side town, even busier than Kataga but less structured and haphazard, with buildings showing age and a lack of obvious finery. A workers town.

The boatman brought them to the shore and the pair disembarked, and passed through the gate without incident. It seemed that news of their bounty hadn't yet reached this place, so they spent no time heading toward the port itself. Few people walked the outer town streets at this early hour, but the sound of shouted orders and hammered wood filled the air, as well as the scent of the sea as the dockside rabble bark and banter grew in volume.

Hana paced back and forth across the road in a jog in order to warm herself up, keeping up with Sota's stroll.

She asked, “what is the plan here, exactly?"

Sota scratched his nose. “You're asking me?"

“Yes. You always seem to have some scheme in mind."

“The Ministry may seem omniscient, but I'm not." Sota rubbed his neck and sucked on his teeth. “We reach the docks and look for a big, foreign ship, I guess. We can work out a plan of action from there."

“I know little of such vessels, nor the specifics of infiltrating them. If there is one place the inousa lack in experience, it's battles at sea."

Sota's sudden smirk put Hana ill at ease. He said, “oh? I'm surprised. I would have thought your kind would be well suited to the water."

Hana's ears drooped as she didn't understand his reasoning, and she said, “Jinu is a landlocked province. While I have ancestors who have fought naval skirmishes, it's not as if we can practice such events beyond swimming in Lake Aoyiga or hopping from fishing boat to boat."

“No, it's just that... you know," Sota tried, but failed, to suppress a childish giggle. “All the utsuro-bune."

Hana's already taciturn mood somehow turned even more grim at the vintage Samsaran pronunciation.

“As in... the hollow ships?" Sota made several rasps and squeaks as he stifled a full laugh. “Utsuro-bune?"

Hana's eye twitched. Violently. “Imbecilic wordplay of that nature doesn't even qualify as a joke," she grumbled.

He finally laughed aloud. “But enough for a response! I'll take it."

They reached the port-side, and between the traditional vessels that dotted the bay, all uniform in shape if not colour, a massive full-rigged sailing ship stood out away off shore, along with two smaller vessels: a swift looking schooner and a sturdy brigantine.

Hana stopped in her tracks and stared at the gigantic ship, awestruck, and Sota couldn't help but admire it as well.

It dwarfed every other vessel, with the four towering masts clad with shimmering sails. The hull was painted a a deep red so dark it was almost black. The sides were covered in metal plates and there were port holes all over the sides, no doubt for some sort of weaponry stowed within, as well as large pipes on top that pointed in all directions.

Flapping in the breeze were two types of flags on each mast; the topmost one bore the unmistakable symbol of Saint Valarie, a ship with a set of scales as its masts and sails, as well as the sea shell in the top left corner, which she had legendarily traded up, over and over for items of greater value, until she owned the deed for an ocean channel. The eastern saint of luck, trade and oceans.

The other was a black and white flag with a picture of two crossed scimitars, though the blades were cat claws. The vessel also bore writing on the prow, written in the curving and complex streaks of the Ardentiphan language, yet also in the blocky, clearer Bralranian script.

Sota whistled. “'The Wailing Maiden,', huh?" He glanced at Hana. “If it gives even you pause for thought, it really must be something."

Hana spoke almost in reverence. “It's like a castle upon the water... how does such a vessel stay afloat?"

“Ardentiphan accents besides, it's a Bralranian vessel at its core," Sota said and thumbed his chin. “Not surprising, considering how famous they are for their naval prowess and engineering. No doubt the Cera'an bought it and had it painted, armed and armoured up back home."

Hana let a further furtive flicker of surprise cross her gaze, as her ears pushed up against her hood and her nose flinched. “Rather esoteric knowledge to possess. And which script were you able to read?"

Sota chuckled and pointed to himself with his thumb. “I'm full of surprises! But yes; as a potential threat to Samsara and the ministry, we were trained in recognising vessel types and were taught a few languages, Bralranian being the most prominent. I left before I could learn Vliechoven, who are considered more likely to invade but less likely to succeed with such a long distance to travel."

Hana's wonderment only deepened by the second before she recovered her sullen, moody natural state.

“I assume we'll either need to swim or charter another boat?"

Sota rubbed the back of his neck. “About that... I take it you're not familiar with Akutokan customs?"

Hana shook her head.

“Take a closer look on the horizon."

Hana squinted into the distance. A vast wall rose from the depths, with intermittent lighthouses. The wall surrounded the Cera'an ships, as well as several Samsaran vessels, but most ocean-bound traffic was outside of this section and they looked like ducks around a dragon by comparison. This wall also sectioned off part of the dock itself.

Sota said, “Akutoka's Golden Port is a fenced off and protected by the Ministry," Sota continued. “It's why they're so open back in Kataga; any vessels already on the water are locals, and any outside ships are subject to deep scrutiny, inspection and taxation. Any ship can dock in Akutoka, but only those with the Ministry's say-so can actually head down river. We'll need to work for our access to our Cera'an prey, because assaulting the area will mean our deaths. Instead, we need to blend in, and our tatty, ragged clothing and unkempt appearances will make us stand out more than even you."

“Beyond even the fact I am inousan? I doubt they will miss that detail."

Sota nodded. “Especially so. Inousa are rare, sure, but they do venture outside Jinu on diplomatic or trading grounds, and such folk always dress well. There may even be a few of your kin within the Ministry's walls right now, but if you and I turn up dressed as bloody paupers, we'll never even step inside. Or just be arrested on sight to be safe."

Hana's eyes narrowed. “Speak plainly, Sota, what do you need?"

Sota's nervous smile made her freeze up as he pointed and said, “your dagger and a gambling den."

“No," Hana snapped, her bucked teeth bared. “If you wish to use something as a wager, I'd sooner give up my sword."

Sota sighed. “That won't work, because if I go in and place Owada's famed nodachi down as for pawn, people might recognise his sword by story, even if they've never seen it before, because immortal steel isn't exactly common this far from Vliechov, not to mention immortal steel is expensive. Your sword probably costs thousands of kinroku_._ Secondly, your dagger is much more likely to appeal to someone for selling on for a quick profit. It has that 'my last possession' sort of appeal that makes us seem more pathetic and pitiable."

“We have no guarantees you will win whatever wager you place anyway," Hana said and folded her arms in defiance. “I may have never indulged in such petty games, but I've read tales of people who know that gambling is a fools game."

“Ha! We live in an age of pessimism, Hana! You exemplify that more than ever. But men like me? We acknowledge the victories first and foremost, both our own and those of our peers! And success breeds success if you remember them."

Sota patted his chest and flashed one of his ofuda from inside his haori before stowing it again.

He continued, “I remember well the importance of your tanto, your last connection to your family, but it's going to be in safe hands and I should be able to score us a few kinroku if I pick my battles. From there we neaten up our appearance, infiltrate the Golden port and work out a way to get on board The Wailing Maiden."

Hana gulped and gingerly looked over her prized dagger, and Sota held his hand out.

“I swear, Hana, if everything goes wrong, I'll break however many bones I need to in order to retrieve your tanto, but we need this."

With a heavy heart and an even heavier sigh, she placed the dagger in Sota's hand.

* * *

“How much will you give me for pawn?"

Sota placed the dagger on the table and folded his arms.

The house banker squinted over his gold framed glasses at Sota, before he picked up the dagger, unsheathed it and looked the blade over.

Sota glanced around the gambling house. It was one of the larger ones he could find that was still tucked away in the seedier alleyways of Akutoka, both lavishly decorated in red and gold, yet with aged stains in the darker corners. This place was guaranteed to have fewer restrictions to maximise Sota's gambling profits, and far less chance of guilt if they had to fight their way out, but popular enough that there were plenty of people around with which to blend in.

Not that it would be ideal to get into a scrap; armed, surly looking and battle-scarred guards wandered the den, and both Hana and Sota's weapons were in lockers by the entrance, even if both knew how to handle themselves in a brawl, and Sota had a concealed knife up his sleeve.

“Hmm... well," the banker said with a sigh, “a recreation of a nicer piece and mass produced."

Sota gulped as he watched Hana squirm out of the corner of his eye as her treasured keepsake was being slandered, then cleared his throat.

He chirped, “a pretty thing like that would look great tucked into a madam's kimono. It'd certainly make a man think twice of forcing themselves upon her, yet also add a dangerous sense of allure."

The banker tilted his head. “I suppose so. It is an impressive imitation. Fine, I'll give you four hundred yon. It's the best I can do."

“I'll take it," Sota said and rubbed his hands together. “And don't go picking your fingernails with it, I'll buy it back later when I'm rich."

The banker smirked and said, “I wish you luck. You have a day to buy it back." He then placed five red and ten blue wooden pegs on the table and secured the dagger inside a lock box.

Sota pocketed the gambling tags then returned to Hana.

“Let's go find us a Seijinejire table, and watch for some lucky individuals winning big."

Hana's ears flopped and pointed as she mulled the word over. “What manner of game is this?"

“You're familiar with the Six Saints out east? A few people in the southern Nabanba province have shrines set up for them and you get the occasional preacher doing the rounds across Samsara, and usually get kicked out for their lacking respect to The Dragon."

“Yes, of course," Hana said and wagged her clawed finger in a rhythm:

“Gareg sleeps and poison seeps,

while Vanterre fights and roars.

As Phoebe sings alluring things,

Valarie sails the shores.

Dastor makes, from nature takes,

and Zoeli sees unseen.

With life and strife,

Of loins and coins,

and protection and

introspection wakes.

But The Dragon stands above all that ends,

At his mercy, one and all,

And until time ends and spirit wends,

That is our time to fall."

Sota chuckled. “Yes, very nice. But since we're a bunch of Saintless sinners around the rest of Samsara, we play games about the Six instead. Seijinejire is basically a guessing game about three dice; you call what you think your three dice will be, the bank gives the odds based on how rare that roll will be. Doubles, triples, higher than eleven or lower than ten, that sort of thing."

“Why the Saints connection and not just numbers?"

“Gambling was once illegal under the Ministry. Rolling dice could be concealed, as shown by using a beggars cup for rolling and covering them if the authorities were looking, but making calls and mentioning numbers was easy to hear for the more pious, so this game was played in the first shrines of the saints, and they would use tales concerning them to make calls. It's no longer illegal, but now it's considered bad luck for the gambler to call straight numbers. You'll catch on quick, I'm sure."

Sota found a busy game, and the pair watched.

A large group surrounded the semi-circular table, and a croupier stood at the flat edge, alongside two armed bodyguards. Men and women clamoured on as someone shook a wooden cup, his hand covering the opening. He slammed the cup down.

“Fifty yon," he said, placing an assortment of pegs on the table. “Poisoned knife."

The croupier nodded. “One and two! Side bets, please!"

The rest of the congregation placed bets, calls for high and low, and placing a small bet on each side of the table, only a single, low value peg from each participant.

Sota whispered to Hana, “so one is Gareg, two is Vanterre, and so forth. That's a ten times stake win for a two-dice call. The big money's in stuff like calling all three dice, which is worth thirty times the stake, like the unseen assassination in the castle; one, five and six, or the pillage and plunder of the forest, two, four and five. There's loads of combinations with fancy names for ultimately simple numbers."

Sota and Hana focused on the table again as the gaggle settled, and the croupier lifted the cup.

“Two, three and five. Ten, low!"

The lead gambler bashed the table with the palm of his hand on the table as the side-betters cheered and groaned in equal measure, and those that called low earned a large portion of the bet made by those calling high.

The croupier then slid both the remainder of the tags into a slot on the table, took the dice and cup, and placed it in front of the next person on the table.

“Make your stake!"

Sota and Hana watched as this repeated; each person in sequence making safe or wild bets. After a few larger wins, Sota stepped up. He took out a strip of paper and mopped his brow. One of his ofuda, which he placed on the table's edge and the sweat made it stick to the smooth wood.

On his turn, and as he shook then slammed the cup onto the table, he called, “a hundred yon! Endless war!"

“Trip twos! Side bets please!"

As the chaos ensued from the call, and buried under the cries of high and low, Sota muttered, “kioku."

The cup was lifted by the croupier, exposing two on each dice.

“Winner! Triple twos!"

A cheer rang out amongst the crowd, even amongst the losers of the side-bet, and the croupier handed over three thousand yon in pegs.

Hana watched as Sota got involved in a few side bets, and then took a few turns where he made smaller wagers, even allowing himself to lose a few so as to not arouse too much suspicion. He also took another ofuda out and placed it over the now drained previous talisman. Then it was his turn again.

“The love of paired souls," Sota said, “full bet." He placed down a thousand yon in pegs.

The croupier's brow furrowed and he glanced to the side, then shrugged. “Twin threes and a six! Side bets please!"

Predictably, as the crowd made their lesser wagers, Sota cast his magic and, at the reveal, made another big win as three kinroku's worth of tags were placed on the table.

“Wait."

A huge man, in height and girth, approached and took over from the croupier. He glowered down at Sota with a grin.

Hana moved beside Sota, who deftly stepped back slightly to let the ofuda drop to the floor, and he changed his stance to stand on them.

The large man bowed. “Impressive call. Care to make another wager? No side bets. Just you against the house."

Everyone stepped back with a combination of fear and respect that made Sota narrow his eyes.

“You the owner?"

The man smirked and nodded. “And you're a total stranger who just steps inside my establishment and proceeds to win big. You're less blatant than most cheaters. So, I ask again, care to make another wager?"

Sota folded his arms. “What're the stakes?"

“Fifty times your bet on three numbers," the man said as he took the cup, put the dice inside, then slammed it down. “Call it."

Hana gritted her teeth and looked between Sota and the owner, but she knew she wasn't her world, and was wildly out of her depth.

With a chuckle, Sota shrugged. “Sure. The endless unknown."

The owner nodded and put his hand on the cup. “Trip sixes. And your wager?"

Sota placed down two kinroku's worth of pegs, and the man's eyebrows shot up.

“Too afraid to try and win big? “ he asked. “A hundred and fifty gold would set you up for a long time, young man."

“Just make like a rotting corpse and show those bones already," Sota said with a glare.

The cup raised.

Six, six, five.

Sota smirked as the owner sniffed, but like a good gambler, he remained impassive.

“I'm not a moron," Sota said. “Cash me out, I'll keep my last kinroku. Oh, and I'll take back the imitation dagger I pawned."

He cast four hundred yon worth of tags onto the table and approached the banker's desk, only for a couple of guards to slink towards it as well, and the other gamblers were suspiciously tucked in the far corners of the hall, dead quiet.

The banker clasped his fingers together and he cleared his throat. “I'm afraid we don't have any pawned items bearing that description, sir. We do have a rather exquisite artisan tanto, crafted by the great inousan smith, Akiya Jin." He glanced at the owner, and smiled. “The going rate is nine thousand yon. A steal at that price."

Hana stormed up to the desk, only for one of the guards to step in the way.

“Stop right there, pufftail," the man growled and raised a metal-shod club onto his shoulder. “Don't even try it. I ain't afraid of no inousa."

“A pox on you and your deceit," Hana hissed. “Give me back what is mine!"

Sota sighed, loudly. “Let's not do this. A bunch of sore losers is what you bastards are. Give us the dagger and we'll be on our way. Otherwise, this gets messy."

The owner laughed. “You'll get your knife, inousa, but you're in no position to argue. You have no weapons. You'll take your thousand yon winnings, your dagger and be thankful I don't just kick you out."

“We'll take what we won, thanks," Sota said and cricked his neck. “See, I'd normally be tempted to take that deal. I don't like getting into fights. The problem, see, is you're making this personal and yet petty. It's disharmonious; you'll make your kinroku back in, what, half an hour? This nonsense is why the Ministry has to keep stepping in. Faithlessness is a sickness, lawlessness a bleeding wound and chaos for the sake of chaos a madness!"

The owner screwed up his face at Sota's grandstanding, but ignored him. “Last chance, lad, take my deal or we'll break every bone in you and the hare's body and dump you in the ocean."

Hana lowered into a fighting stance, and Sota threw up his arms in submission.

“Fine, I guess we're doing this, but you know what? Can we clear out the tables? I don't want ill karma for breaking your things. No doubt you'll rip off some poor carpenter who has to make some new gambling tables. Have your men make space and we'll have ourselves a fight."

The owner then laughed. “You've lost your mind, but moreover, you're out of time."

Sota reached inside his haori for his ofuda, but paused and looked at the ring of onlooking gamblers. This wasn't like the thugs in the alley, where one scumbag would be ignored if he spoke of Sota's magic. There were too many witnesses. Including some... unusual looking hooded folk. Fascinating people, but he couldn't afford to be distracted right now.

“"Back me up and I'll get the owner," Sota whispered. “Where money talks, the richest need to be silenced."

He plucked the knife from his sleeve and, keeping it concealed until the last minute as he charged, only for the guard to catch him off guard with a punch of the club's tip into his gut.

The air escaped his lungs and he spat up a gob-full of bile as he dropped the knife. He staggered to keep his footing but a hot pain seized his strength. This was no untrained mugger. The guard was trained to fight actual fighters angry at losing a few wagers, and Sota was no real warrior.

As he staggered and tried to draw in some air, the guard put Sota into a choke hold with one arm while locking and twisting Sota's wrist with the other. He fought back and struggled, but it was hopeless.

In the scuffle, the knife was kicked towards Hana as she faced down three approaching men,. Her ears pivoted as she heard the clatter of wood and metal, and glanced down and narrowed her eyes at the blade. She dived and rolled to the side, plucking the knife but hesitated as she considered her options.

Sota used the last of his strength to twist and swing his legs to spin the guard. He then planted his feet on a nearby gambling table and kicked. It sent them both into a stagger, and crashing into another table, sending gambling pegs and playing cards all over as Sota and the guard landed on the floor.

He was now being strangled, prone and losing air, and Hana was surrounded with a pitiful knife to defend herself against trained men wielding metal-shod clubs. The owner backed away towards an exit as another guard already plugged the tiny gap Sota had created.

Yet Hana bolted straight, certain and true. She leapt onto the wrestling pair, a stool, then the table as she launched herself high and far toward the owner. Trading forward for upward momentum, and less of a trade of speed to stop and leap.

Hana 'leapt the overgrowth.' Her father's old technique. Death from above. She flew so high her ears brushed the high rafters, and well over the shocked guards. Her aim was flawless.

She landed and stabbed the owner's shoulder as they rolled together on the floor. Hana used the small knife as an anchor, wrapped her legs around his waist, and dragged the blade out, making a wicked gash across his arm. She then pressed the knife against the bridge of his nose and drew it across so the blood blinded him. He began to panic. Finally, she pressed the knife into his neck

Hana roared, “release my companion or he dies!"

The owner babbled, “The Dragon's mercy, please don't kill me! Everyone stop!"

Silence and stillness filled the gambling den, and Sota pulled himself free from his opponent. He coughed, wiped the spittle from his chin, caught his breath and sighed with relief.

“Now," he rasped. “Where were we?"

* * *

“You should have taken more," Hana said, adjusting the position of her sword as they passed through the narrow alleyways.

Sota shook his head. “Nope, that would be improper."

She tilted her head at him. “We had him dead to rights and pleading for his life. We could have asked for a fortune."

“You don't get it," Sota said, then clapped his hands. “Look. You have your honour, or whatever, I have..." He sighed, arms folded, and tapped his fingers on his elbow. “What to call it... it's a Ministry thing. I may not be a part of them any more, but it's a crucial aspect of how things work. Integral to the worship of The Dragon."

Hana's ears went askew. “I understand everyone pays homage to The Dragon, but we were already stealing with your..." She paused and ensured nobody else was around, but still played it safe as she said, “unique methods. I do not understand the distinction."

Sota raised his arms up, hands behind his head as he yawned. “Yes, I was cheating, but only to achieve what we needed. I would have cashed out at three rinkoku. Enough to buy what we needed and some spare just in case. I want my freedom, not fortune, nor fame. Just to exist peacefully and enjoy what life bring. Experience is what makes us richer, nothing else matters beyond what the material affords."

Hana studied Sota for a while as they walked. Her gaze less severe than it had been in some time. A peculiar mix of roguish opportunism and dishonourable practices, yet with reverence and principles. He was intriguing.

Her focus was broken as her ears perked up, twisted about and her eyes widened. Behind them. Several purposeful and rapid footfalls. The pat of a clammy hand, skin on skin contact, as fingers met palm around a corded grip. The hushed rasp of a blade on padded wood. A rapid draw of steel from a sheath.

Hana responded in kind, as her nodachi emerged from its scabbard as she spun. She didn't have time to extract the blade in full before the attacker was upon her.

The swoop of a sword approached, so she swung the part sheathed nodachi behind her and deflected a katana. Several armed and armoured figures loomed near, filling the alley. Men from the gambling den. Instinct took over.

Hana finished her spin and released the scabbard, and it flew from the blade. Hana then took the grip of her weapon in both hands. He was too close to cut. She improvised.

An uppercut with the pommel into the jaw, then forwards with a thrust and a second blow into his eye. He stumbled back and into another man.

Hana stepped in. Her hips twisted for power and arms pivoted the nodachi in her hands for speed, and brought it down in a heavy chop. The dark blade fell upon a desperate attempt to block with his own sword like a lightning strike.

Owada's nodachi cleft the man's steel in two. Then through his skull. His eyes bulged as his brain was split asunder. It split his neck, the torso, hips, and emerged through his groin, before the sword embedded into the ground with a low, desolate hum of as it met the ground and the sword finally stopped.

Behind the bifurcated corpse, the two halves falling apart like a split log, a second man stumbled. He was not split in two except his face. He fell and writhed for a few moments, then grew still.

Neither the pattering shower of gore, nor the squelch of escaping guts, or even the death of two men was the most offensive thing in the alley. The sound of the immortal steel blade vibrating made everyone freeze. Teeth rattled. Heads shook and faces screwed up. Hana's ears folded back and she gritted her teeth. It sounded evil. Like the hells themselves had opened from the gouge in the earth.

Gasps from five more men filled the alleyway and overtook the metallic drone. They backed into each other as they stumbled away from their slaughtered companions and whimpered in justified terror.

Hana tugged her sword free from the perfect groove cut into the ground, and adopted a ready stance. No words were spoken, just intent.

An intent that was heeded as they all fled.

Hana sighed, brought her sword high and flicked it down, shedding the excess blood in a flourish, painting the already splattered walls and ground with another coat of crimson. Again, instinct, as the shock began to sink in, yet she slipped the blunt of the blade against her inner-elbow to clean the blade. Hana then collected and sheathed her sword, and stepped back from what had just happened. She was unsteady on her feet. By the destructive force of her sword or the unnatural drone of her sword, she wasn't sure, but she felt faint.

Sota moved beside Hana and gently supported her with a hand on the shoulder. His mouth was agape as Hana raised her sheathed sword and they both stared at it, then the bodies. Her steely resolve faltered as her mouth, too, dropped open. Neither had seen such violence and devastation from a solitary cut.

“Damned fools," Sota said, mournfully. He then bowed southward and clasped his hands together. “Forgive the blood shed this day, Oh Dragon, but they came at us with vile intent. May you receive them with mercy."

Hana, meanwhile, finally tore her eyes from the nodachi in her hands and noticed a pair of figures standing at one end of the alley. Average height and lithe in build. Feline faces with patterned fur, with the low glow of slitted eyes standing out in the dim, sunless path. They both had pointed ears cresting out of the tops of their heads and tails slowly slinking and swaying behind them.

They looked at the gory scene. It was hard to tell whether they were impressed or afraid, but they glanced and whispered to each other before running off.

“I think things have become more complicated," Hana said as she looped the cord of her nodachi around her body.

Sota finished his prayer and nodded. “They were in the gambling den too."

“Really?"

He nodded. “Come. It changes little. Let's go. We have a date with some catfolk, so let's dress to impress."

* * *

3rd Day of Tearful Sky, 1554

Hana hadn't been covered in mud this thick since she was a child, playing in the rain. Dirt and grime was the cladding of boys in battle, not the neat and proper grace of a warrior woman amongst the inousa, yet she hadn't felt as fulfilled as this in a long time.

She dipped her hands in a trough of murky water and splashed it over her face, removing some of the grime. Or at least thinning it out.

“Thank you, Hana," said a female voice.

Hana squinted through the bleariness of her waterlogged vision, and then bowed.

“It's the least I could do, Natsume. I thank you for letting me assist."

Natsume smiled and offered Hana a cloth, which she gratefully accepted and wiped herself off as a few of the other girls climbed out of the freshly dug rice paddy.

The pair looked at their work. The surface was perfectly flat, free of larger stones and ready for tilling. The walls were packed in and solid, and the small flood gates on each end were moving freely along their grooves to lock in water when the rice seeds were planted. The forest around the village made the usual flood plains for growing rice untenable, so small lots had to be carved out for intensive, controlled and precise farming.

Hana once thought Kyoba village a backwater, but besides the rustic backdrop, the reason the tiny settlement worked was because they adopted the modern methods of the Nabanba province, where classic Samsaran culture had been sculpted by the melding of outside influences, like the temperate nation of Bralran's modern machinery, and the more arid and rugged Casivesha and their time-tested methods of careful upkeep of small farms with limited water.

“Girls, come," the village chief's wife called. “We're done for the day."

One of the remaining girls climbed out of the paddy with help from the chief's wife, and offered Natsume a hand up in turn. Hana got in place to also climb as Natsume went to reach down, only for the other girl to usher Natsume along and out of view. The girl glared down at Hana, then walked away.

Hana sighed. This was the treatment she expected, but she was still grateful for the brief shine of camaraderie from Natsume. She leapt out of the paddy and followed.

Indignation, frustration, loneliness... all these things sparked inside of her, but the kindling of her spirit was sodden. She could draw warmth for her soul from those closest to her, but Chihiro was taxing at times, and let her exuberance go too far, meanwhile Sota...

“Sota..." she whispered and winced.

His defiance and his care clashed with the last vestiges of who she once was. Those precious memories of Hana Akikawa, the daughter of a loving father and gentle mother. The supporter of proud, boisterous sister. Sota challenged everything she strove to be from her youth, supported her in the things she needed to do, but... then he saved her when she didn't wish it.

Life was too complicated. Perhaps it was a lesson meant to have been instilled in Hana by her parents as she grew up, or discussed with Eiji once they were married, or practised with Kaori in the spirit of sisterhood. At least before they were all taken from her, and she was forced down the only road she had ever known for many years. One of violence, murder, steel and bone.

But what flower could bloom from such bloodstained land? Who would put in the work to tend the open grave that was the Akikawa line to make it flourish? A lackadaisical yatagha? A trickster of a human, torn between his faith and experiencing all life had to offer, even if that meant laughing in the face of tradition?

Hana had no answers, but for now, she continued to exist.

And maybe that would be enough.

* * *