War Priest: The Complete Series, page 61
“Remarkable,” Akamatsu told him, his chapped lips lifting into a grin. “I don’t recall a time I’ve seen someone improve as rapidly as you have. What are you doing this for? Why are you training in this way?”
Arik returned the Whispering Sword to its scabbard. “Because it is who I am now.”
Akamatsu slowly nodded, respect in his eyes. “That is good. Take the day off, and I’ll see you tonight. Before you leave, you may want to say something to your visitor.”
“Visitor?” Arik asked.
Akamatsu motioned up to the stands that surrounded the courtyard.
Arik’s eyes fell upon Istvan, who had his hammer sheathed across his back. The Onyxian man offered him a firm nod.
“Leave the test cutting dummies here. We won’t need them tonight. And if you are forced to challenge the man that has been watching you for the last several hours, try to keep the courtyard tidy. At the very least, leave no bodies behind.” Akamatsu turned away from him. “I’ll see you tonight, and as always, good luck.”
****
Once Akamatsu was gone, Istvan hopped to his feet and casually sent his arms over his head. After stretching, he slowly walked down to Arik until he was directly in front of him.
“If he tries anything, we will end it quickly,” Meosa told Arik. “I don’t know what his angle is, but there isn’t much he’s going to be able to do once I attack him.”
“Let’s see what he has to say first.”
“That is some sword you have.” Istvan paused across from Arik, the muscular man now within striking distance of the Whispering Sword. Arik kept his cool, doing his best to not look like he was preparing to go for the grip of his weapon.
“You… you followed me?”
“I did. And as I said, that’s some sword. I’ve never seen a weapon like that before. A whip sword. Huh. Who would have thought? Made of Yokaura, I assume.”
“What do you want?”
“I only want for you to be honest. Have I not been honest with you?” Istvan asked.
“I don’t have anything to tell you.”
“You are a disciple, are you not? Or you were. That is the only way that you were able to do what you did in our fight, through wound transfer. I recognize it.”
“Would it matter if I was?”
“Yes, it would. I don’t know how much you know about what the Crimson Realm has been doing, but I know for a fact that they are stockpiling weapons and gathering soldiers in the Valleys of the Unknowns, not far from here. Several of them have come through town, and I have forcefully gotten the information out of them. I also know what they did to the academies up north. The monsters. I appreciate what I learned, my understanding of Revivaura allowing me to use my weapon, and like you, or I think like you, I find what the Crimsonians have done inexcusable.”
Arik didn’t say anything.
“And judging by how much you have advanced your usage of Revivaura, and the fact that we’re around the same age, makes me think that it likely wasn’t very long ago that you were at one of the academies. Is this the case?”
“I think we can be honest with him,” Meosa told Arik. “Or you can. Don’t alert him to my presence, not yet.”
Arik relaxed his shoulders, and as he did, it felt like everything around him sank a foot into the ground. He only realized then how tense he had been, which wouldn’t have bode well had Istvan actually challenged him.
“Well?”
“You are… correct.” Arik gave him a brief overview of his story, from the attack to his journey down south, to his encounter with Nobunaga and the discovery that his sister, Mori Ehara, was still alive.
He mentioned Hojo, and went ahead and told Istvan that he was to meet the illusionist and his daughter in the coming days, that they were planning to disrupt Nobunaga’s operations. He didn’t tell Istvan about the Mask of the Fallen, nor of his journey to find the Whispering Sword. He also didn’t detail any of his understandings of Chimaura or his illusionist training.
“Then I was right. I knew to trust my instinct! We are more alike than not, brother.” Istvan threw his arms out and approached Arik. He clapped him on the shoulders and laughed. “Isn’t this amazing? How close we came to killing each other, and to find out now that our goals actually align. That is why I’ve been here training as well.”
“It is?” Arik asked, not able to hide the relief in his voice.
“I was in Austere when the first Crimsonian spies came through. I guess I should backtrack a little, to how I got this hammer. It belonged to my dad. He was a merchant. And he wanted me to be a fighter, to join the military up north. But then I got called away because of my capacity to use Revivaura. As you already know, I took care of my family after my father passed, which was why I was in town when these Crimsonians began passing through. I only wish I had done something then.”
A grimace formed on Istvan’s face as he cast his gaze to the ground.
“I’ve had those kinds of wishes before as well.”
“Maybe I could have changed something.”
“Maybe, but likely not.”
Istvan grunted. “Anyway, I’m not going to let that happen this time. I know they’ve been gathering and moving weapons through this region. But I learned of something yesterday that makes me think it is time to move now.”
“What’s that?”
“Nobunaga has arrived.”
The disciple tensed up. “Here?”
“At least that was the rumor, and there were enough guards to make me believe that this was actually the case. I think we should strike Nobunaga here.”
Arik slowly shook his head. “No, we should do it there in the Valleys of the Unknown. The people I’m working with are already there, planning to disrupt the entire supply chain. There are others that need to be dealt with as well,” he said, ominously referring to Kogu the businessman and Sengum Minamoto.
Arik didn’t know if they were at the military installations as well, but if they were…
“Then we should go to your people if that is the case. Nyoko will join us.”
“Nyoko?” Arik asked.
“She has a bone to pick as well, and the way I see it, we are going to need all the help we can get. When should we leave?”
“Maybe…” Arik thought back to the way that Akamatsu had reacted when there had been mention of Nobunaga. Perhaps he would want to join us. It would be incredibly useful to have someone like him on our side…
“Hojo isn’t going to like it if you just show up with a bunch of random fighters, disciple.”
Arik ignored Meosa as he responded to Istvan. “I need to train later tonight.” He blinked a few times, remembering again that it was morning. “Tonight. I promised Akamatsu that I would be here. He has already expressed his distaste for Nobunaga, so maybe he will join us.”
Istvan shrugged. “The more the merrier, if you ask me.”
“Agreed.”
“Aside from the illustrious kami that has joined you, how are you going to explain Basha to the fire hammer boy? Hmmm?” Meosa asked, Arik continuing to ignore him.
Istvan punched his fist into his open palm. “Then we can leave in the morning, in front of the hotel. That will give me time to wrap up a few things and meet with Nyoko. Exciting, isn’t it? Nobunaga won’t know what hit him.”
.Chapter Four.
“Fare thee well to the man whom the fates doom at dawn.”
–A quote often attributed to Combat Master Baldree Yamanouchi, Year 1086.
Arik Dacre had a hard time resting on the day that followed, the disciple feeling now as if he had said too much to Istvan, wishing that he had kept to himself in the first place. He imagined Hojo wouldn’t be happy to see him show up with a handful of companions, not to mention Tayaura, who didn’t seem all that trusting to begin with.
There was also the potential complication that Akamatsu wouldn’t want to join them, that he would be against any action taken against Nobunaga. In this case, maybe it would be best for Arik not to say anything, and leave Iga unannounced, cutting his lessons short.
He could offer Akamatsu more money for wasting the older man’s time, yet Arik couldn’t shake this feeling that the retired Crimsonian blade deserved an explanation, that he deserved to know who Arik was. He also recognized that this was a fatal flaw in his own character, this desire to do right by others, to be as clear as possible.
It was a core part of his personality.
No matter how much he trained, no matter how much he learned about Chimaura, Yokaura, or Thunderaura, he would still be a disciple, born and raised, someone who would come up through the Academy of Healing Arts, a person who often confused empathy with situational awareness.
There really was no other way around it, and he respected and appreciated Akamatsu enough to at least give him some version of the truth. But he couldn’t tell him everything. Arik decided to leave out his past as a disciple for now, as well as knowledge of the people he was teaming up with to address Nobunaga head-on.
Arik would merely mention what he needed to do next, and let Akamatsu take it from there.
Later that night, he joined the older man at the foot of the stairs. All of Arik’s things were packed in the room above and ready to go once the disciple returned in the morning.
Akamatsu looked perfectly refreshed, the top of his head shiny, his trademark beard stubble gone. Even his robes seemed pressed. “We will continue to work on the One-Count Strike tonight, followed by the same practices we were doing last night, alternating between using your weapon in a more traditional way and as a whip sword. I’m sure that another swordsman would say differently, but the strength of that weapon lies as much in its range and rapid slicing ability as it does sheer surprise. There are some times that you should use it as it is intended to be used, and other times you should summon its alternate power as if it were a secret weapon. I tell you, young man, it’s going to turn some heads once you pull it out on the battlefield, heads that will subsequently wish they hadn’t turned in your direction. Heh.”
As they had before, the hours that followed passed by rapidly, Akamatsu always giving pointers or making suggestions where Arik could improve. They used wooden weapons to practice the One-Count Strike, the disciple heeding what the older warrior had told him by focusing the chi he could conjure into the center mass of his weapon, rather than its tip.
And Arik was getting the hang of it.
He recognized this at one point when Akamatsu shot backward, forced to take a knee, surprise tracing across his face. The grizzled veteran looked up at him with a cracked grin. “You continue to impress.”
They came to the portion of their training in which they used real weapons, Akamatsu always seeming to be two steps ahead of Arik, similar to Hojo. He brought the disciple down several times, and even encouraged Arik to try to attack him with the Whispering Sword, which Arik did, Akamatsu miraculously able to block all the incoming strikes.
Thunderaura… Arik thought as he noticed the crackle of energy in the air around him, the hairs on the back of his arm standing up. As he had before with Chimaura, Arik wished that he had a lifetime to study these various aspects of chi, to truly master them, less for the strength it would give him and more for his sheer interest in understanding the powers.
Yet again, this made him feel for the plight of humankind and how they always found a way to be at each other’s throats. If the three realms of Taomoni could only cooperate, if only they could come up with a symposium, some way to share such a unique knowledge of the various aspects of chi cultivation.
But he knew this would never be the case.
With those thoughts now clear from his mind, Arik continued his training into the morning, only breaking once when Akamatsu decided to take a pause for a quick meal of bread and water.
They ended their practice with Arik doing the same test he had done when they first started it, the disciple and the combat veteran setting up the four straw targets, Arik slicing them to shreds with the Whispering Sword, his strikes all connecting.
“Yet again, your trajectory surprises me. Tomorrow night…” Akamatsu paused, interpreting something from Arik. “Yes? Is something the matter?”
Arik slowly returned his sword to his scabbard. “Sadly, I won’t be able to join you tomorrow night or going forward, not for now.”
“Is that so? In that case…” Akamatsu bowed to Arik. “It has been a pleasure, young man. Training with you has brought me joy.”
“I didn’t mean that…” Arik disregarded Meosa as the kami chided him for making this awkward. “I didn’t mean I wouldn’t see you again. It’s just that something has come up. You asked about me, why I am doing this, and I’m prepared to tell you.”
Akamatsu gestured toward him. “Oh? Are you sure?”
Arik decided to go with a shortened version of what he was planning and why: “My family and my peers were slaughtered by false shinobi, who were operating under Nobunaga’s orders. There are rumors going around that he is coming to Iga, and from there to the Valleys of the Unknown, where they are preparing weapons to invade the Onyx Realm. I am from the Onyx Realm. And I intend to stop him.”
Akamatsu grimaced, and yet again, Arik felt a tinge of something electric to the air.
He couldn’t tell if these were his nerves, or something that Akamatsu was doing. Arik continued, trying not to feel like the oxygen around him was slowly depleting: “I wanted to ask you if you would be interested in joining me and others in stopping Nobunaga. I don’t know if…”
“You have said enough.” Akamatsu placed his hand on the grip of his weapon. “I am far from a fan of Nobunaga, but you must understand, young man, I will always put my country before another realm, before money, and even before the respect that I may have for another person. It is unfortunate that I’m going to have to do this. Draw your weapon. Face me.”
“No, that’s not…”
An intensity traced across Akamatsu’s eyes. “I will only tell you one more time. As a Crimsonian blade, I cannot allow you to kill Nobunaga.”
****
Arik knew better than to hesitate.
He had been training with Akamatsu for several days now, and he had experienced the older man’s strength and his powerful command over Thunderaura. If Akamatsu struck first, Arik was as good as dead. He had to act fast, and what he did next was something Arik would never quite forgive himself for.
He drew the Whispering Sword, activating it immediately, the blades twisting forward, faster than ever as they cut Akamatsu down.
They drew multiple lacerations, even as the older warrior tried to go for his weapon. Arik’s sword was just too quick, and his instinct, one that he had developed since the incident at the Academy, matched the speed of his enchanted weapon.
In the end, Akamatsu was left a bloodied mess, the older man gasping, his hand on the front of his chest as blood spread across the front of his robes.
To go from fatally injuring an opponent to wanting to heal them was also an instinctual thing for the disciple, Arik at Akamatsu’s side in a matter of seconds, prepared to right his wrongs.
He kicked the man’s sword away, not that he needed to. “Hold still, I can…”
Akamatsu was now missing fingers. Multiple wounds climbed his arms, his face a mask of blood, his pupils twitching as he looked up at Arik and offered him a crimson grin. “That… that is how… how you use that weapon…”
“I… I can heal you,” Arik said, coming right out with it. “I told you I am from the north, but what I didn’t tell you is that I’m a disciple. I can fix this. I will fix this.”
He dropped in front of the older man and prepared to absorb his wounds. Arik was surprised when Akamatsu lunged forward with his good hand and grabbed him by the throat, his grip tightening even if there wasn’t much fight left in the retired blade.
“No…” Akamatsu said, blood dripping down his chin as spoke: “Don’t you… don’t you dare try.”
He let go of his throat and pressed away from Arik, Akamatsu now on his elbows, the disciple seeing more of the damage that his sword caused. The viscera was thick and black, the white glint of bone visible as Akamatsu sucked in faint breaths.
Arik was glad to hear Meosa’s voice. “Bring him his weapon, disciple. Crimsonians believe that if they die with the weapon they will have a better chance in the afterlife. Honor him.”
“Please, let me…”
Akamatsu spoke through clenched teeth. “You have done well, disciple. It all… it all makes sense now. What a pleasure to… to train you. What a pleasure to… spend the last moments of my life in combat. It all makes sense to me now.”
Arik dropped the Whispering Sword and went for Akamatsu’s weapon. He brought it to the dying man, who now lay completely on his back, staring up at the morning twilight. “You don’t deserve…”
“No, I do. Believe me, I do…” Akamatsu said as he placed his hand over his blade, which Arik had set on his chest. “Thank you for… thank you for bringing me my weapon. The demons won’t be able to stop… me.”
“Please, let me heal you! I can leave, you can continue on here as if nothing happened. I’m sorry, I…” Arik didn’t know what else to say, a matter made only worse knowing that he could actually do something, that he could actually heal Akamatsu if the man would just let him.
