A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

He only managed to suffer through a single hours worth of sleep, but the previous day he had already given the order for the villagers to be assembled.

He stood there, on a wooden platform, with Jikouji at his side as they watched the villagers gather. The first drops of rain splattered down, lightly coating their hair in a series of wet droplets.

It seemed word had spread, and the villagers had an inkling of why they were here. The gazes they shot his way were not friendly. But he barely registered that, and struggled to keep his eyes open and his gaze focused.

They seemed to be taking forever to gather, and his gaze became distracted, as he observed how the mud gradually moistened and became stickier and wetter with each person that stepped upon it. He took notice of the rising intensity with which their disgusted expressions were manifest in response to the filth that clung to their feet.

’We are rather predictable, are we not?’

He thought to himself, as he watched their behaviour. Soon they had all gathered, but he was still focused on that single patch of soil, that was now sticky with mud, and held a mould of the previous person’s footprints.

"Ahem..."

Jikouji tapped on his back, and he turned around with a questioning look. The old man motioned outwards, directing his gaze toward the crowd.

’Ah. They have gathered.’

He said, finally realizing. They all looked at him so expectingly, as though they were part of a system that only he had control of.

"Welcome, people of Toyone and Tobishima."

He began, startling himself in the process. He spoke the words, and that was most certainly his voice. But it felt as though he was not speaking, as he was able to observe what he was saying as if he was standing behind himself.

It was a most peculiar sensation, but he continued on, appearing undisturbed.

"I am afraid the reason I have gathered you today is not a pleasant one."

’Ha, not a pleasant one? Do put it more mildly.’

He thought, criticising his own words as he spoke them.

"Those comrades that left with us have been unable to return. They have begun a journey of their own, in through the gates of Takamagahara."

He studied the sadness that was reflected within their expressions, and the cries of anguish that rang out at the understanding of his words.

Had they not expected this, when only a few men had returned? Surely they knew? Or perhaps they knew, but did not wish to know, and harboured a hope that only resulted in hurting themselves further.

’Strange how we do that, isn’t it?’

As the crowd grew restless, he realized that he had paused for far too long, and began to speak once more, after clearing his throat.

"They died honourably, but before their time. The man who lead us on this campaign – Imagawa – did not hold our lives in high regard."

This was a new development for all. It seemed Rokkaku and the like had been unable to share it with their families, and they listened in close, the raging bull of anger waiting to be let loose so that it could trample sadness underfoot.

"The Oda matchlock unit, numbering into the thousands – they were near. And who does he send to halt their charge?"

He questioned, setting the scene.

’Must you be so dramatic?’

He criticised once more.

"The Niwa army. By then we numbered a mere 130, and he named us cowards, before ordering our charge to our deaths."

"BASTARD!"

An angry mother cried out.

"Indeed."

He nodded in response to her outburst, remaining composed.

"And so, what were we to do, when we have an enemy at both our front and backs? Do we flee off to the sides, and cower? The men of the Niwa army did not. They served their lord to the end, and charged in, under the barrage of enemy fire."

"And that was our end..."

’You despicable man, speaking so playfully about the deaths of their husbands.’

He was thoroughly disgusted with the words that he himself spoke. He had intentionally lead on the crowd, so that when he told them of their glorious triumph, it would be all the more dramatic.

"Or it would be, had our hearts been weak! The Niwa army did not stop there! Even as they were riddled in bullets, our brave men charged forth."

"And onto the enemy forces that numbered far above ours – we unleashed hell. The bravest men this land of ours ever had the glory of seeing. They fought to their very last breaths, and we defeated that force, sending them fleeing with their tail between their legs."

They hung on to his every world, thoroughly enthralled by his storytelling, and as he told of their valiant victory, there were gasps of surprise, and many tears shed in their honour.

"Many brave men have died serving that detestable Daimyo of ours, and among them include our great master, Niwa Nakatane – may he enjoy eternal life in Takamagahara."

’...Will you stoop any lower? You use the name of your friend merely to insight the hearts of the people. Does your indecency know no bounds?’

He knew what he was doing, and hated himself for it. But no one else seemed to realize. Even the men that served under him, even Jikouji. They thought he spoke eloquently, and appropriately. But he did not meet his own standards.

"BUT THAT SERVICE IS OVER! WE HAVE PUT TOO MUCH INTO THOSE UNGRATEFUL HANDS!"

He raised his voice, speaking passionately, driving at the emotion that he had stirred up, and using it to its full effectiveness.

"THAT’S RIGHT!"

The villagers voiced their agreement.

"THAT SC.U.M DOESN’T DESERVE OUR LOYALTY!"

They cried – mainly women, for that was all who they had left.

"IT IS TIME THAT WE – THE PEOPLE – TAKE CONTROL OF OUR OWN FATE, OUR OWNS LIVES. WE WILL DECIDE WHEN WE LIVE, AND WHEN WE DIE!"

"YEAH!"

Voices of agreement resounded out

’...You are the embodiment of hypocrisy. You label you and them as the same, merely so you can state that you are not. You do all this so you can announce that you are the new master of these lands.’

"I VOW TO TAKE REVENGE! JOIN ME, PEOPLE OF NIWA, AND LET US BE REBORN. LET US ASSUME THE NAME OF MEN AND WOMEN OF THE RED FEATHER. WE WILL DON OUR ARMOUR, AND WE WILL RAISE OUR BLADES, TO ENSURE JUSTICE IS CARRIED OUT FOR THE PEOPLE!"

"MIURA!!"

They rallied at his words, not even realizing that they had accepted him as their new master.

’...And there it is. How can they be so blind? How can I be the only one to see? These are the people I must be care for... The people I must guide so that revenge can be carried out... But how can they be so sheep-like?’

They clapped their hands and cheered at his words. Women shed tears, and let loose mournful cries, cursing Imagawa’s name, and demanding the return of their husbands. They were being plunged into a bloody battle, and yet they did not realize it.

He turned to Jikouji. His job was done. And the old man nodded in approval, his eyes full of respect.

’...Even you are unable to see what we have done to them?’

’This... This shouldn’t be their war. They should merely sit by as observers, and take refuge away from all the chaos. They should have time to heal their hearts. And yet they are so eager to walk down a new path. To experience a new pain.’

He stepped down from the platform, and walked through the crowd. They reached out to him, calling his name, offering him praise, as they touched his clothes, and grasped onto his shoulder. He felt wholly uncomfortable – but they loved it, and he could not understand why.

’Is it... Is it from sleeping so little? Is that why I can not relate to them?’

He wondered why he felt so distanced from them, yet they were right next to each other.

He did his best to smile at them as he left, and as Jikouji struggled to follow behind him. But they were maniacal. They were as fired up as he had first been, and from this distance, he almost could not understand why.

’Perhaps it is because I am a peasant?’

He pondered. He had climbed from where he was, to the master of the village. Perhaps that was why they saw him as one of their own. But that was merely a title. It was not a written agreement that forced him to act decently toward them, so why did they trust him so?

He quickly concluded that he could not understand, and likely would never be able to. But just as quickly, trying to understand at all seemed pointless, and he questioned why he had bothered in the first place.

People could get on with one another perfectly well without being entirely intune with how the other operated. And still, why should he care about how easily they were swayed, and how prone they were to be taken advantage of? They were his people now. And it was up to him to behave decently toward them. The fact that they were vulnerable mattered not, he merely had to not exploit them.

He barely managed to free himself from them, and set off down them road, not looking back, even as some ran behind him and called his name. He was tired of wearing that face. He sought somewhere where he might think a little more clearly.

"Where are you heading off to, lad?"

Jikouji pulled back on his arm, seeking answers.

"I will not be gone long, old man, but there is thinking to be done."

He informed him, doing his best to keep his true emotion from his face. Apparently, he had done so well enough, as Jikouji merely nodded, and let him go as he pleased.

He walked until the mud and gravel road become cobble, enjoying the sensation of the hardstone beneath his feet for a brief moment, before he grew tired and began to walk on the grass.

The grass ran out, and he was forced to make do with trees. The amount of debris in the forest made it difficult to walk without something getting in your way, or under your feet, and after the third instance of having to walk around a low hanging branch, he felt personally insulted.

He looked at the rotten piece of wood with disgust.

’Why do you exist simply to make this path harder to traverse?’

He lashed out with his fist, expecting it to fall easily. But it appeared it was not so rotten on the inside, and only a small cracking sound could be heard, but the branch remained stable.

The pain it caused to his knuckles was severe, but it proved stimulating, and he decided that he quite liked the motion, and swung his fist out once more.

With the second punch, the skin tore from his knuckles, and blood began to be drawn. But there was a crack too, so he was not left completely unmotivated.

"Come on you bastard..."

He taunted the lifeless branch, readying his fists, ignoring the pain, as he punched out once more, and sent it splintered from the tree.

"Hmph."

He looked at the fallen branch with distaste as he walked over it, suddenly realizing that he had acted in foolishness.

’It was just a branch...’

He found that he was shocked at his own behaviour. Such a trifle would have never bothered him before, and yet here he was, issuing a challenge to something that could barely be classed as alive, as though it was the most despicable being in the world, and only existed for him to crush it. Or perhaps, for it to crush him.

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