A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

He grit his teeth as another ox ran past, uncomfortably close. Nearer and near they kept coming. There was too much noise as well. Far too much to be heard. None of his subordinates were on hand to assist him in his bestowment of order, and it seemed likely that none of them would arrive.

Going by his earlier conclusion that this was some sort of natural disaster, he felt, that perhaps it would be cleaner to weather the storm. To flee somewhere – anywhere outside the perimeter of camp – and regroup and calculate the damage in the morning, just as a village must when a tsunami came hurtling towards them. It was not an easy choice to make, and it was certainly one that caused a deal of bitterness, and yet it was the only one available to him. It would be too much to bear to die n.a.k.e.d at the hands – or hooves – of oxen.

And then came the second wave of calamity. Over the miserable screams of dying men, and the painful pangs of flaming oxen, there was forecast a sound that was notably human.

They swept through the camp like a hot knife through butter. Their elite offence was finally given a chance to show its superiority, and it was against a foe that was virtually defenceless. They held their rifles and released volley after volley. Each time they pulled their triggers, another man fell. Most did not even take the time to reload, and simply cast their rifles aside, before springing in with their swords, slashing at the men attempting to flee, cutting them down without a single shred of mercy.

There were a few soldiers that had managed to arm themselves, despite the chaos going on around them, and they formed up, attempting to stop this one-sided charge. They too fell. Even more easily than the rest. The only limiting factor of the Matsudairan demise, was the speed at which the Red Feather blades could reach their flesh. It no longer mattered how many of them stood together.

It was such a cruelly one-sided affair. The oxen had fought the battle, and the men only came along to severe as the executioners.

One set of soldiers made their way outside their tent, having narrowly escaped being flattened by oxen. They breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to be in their armour and with their swords. With haste they began to make their way towards the camps perimeter, where it seemed Matsudaira was attempting to reform his men.

The five of them together were sure they could break through – as long as they stayed close. They crept behind the tents at a jog, taking care to look this way and that before moving out.

"Oy." A voice came from behind them. At first, they flinched, thinking that they had been caught, but much to their relief it was but a single man. It seemed all that blood that covered his armour had rendered him drunk. They wasted no time in responding, and instead moved forward to silence him quickly, before he brought the others down upon them.

The most unfortunate part of it all, was not that they had encountered Morohira, and made the mistake that of underestimating him. It was that they dared to count themselves lucky.

The first man thrust out with his spear, only to have his neck severed a split second later, spitting blood all over his clean armour.

"BASTARD!" His friend roared, not wasting the opportunity to take revenge. He was killed even more easily. A single slash across the chest. Unable to even see the hands that killed him.

It was only then that the remaining three realized this was not a man they could take lightly. This was likely not a man they could even fight at all. They made their decision, and they ran, hoping that they might encounter some allies along the way.

"Guh!" A man turned to the left only to see a sword blade sticking out of his friend.

"Argh!" And through the neck of the man to his right.

He collapsed, terrified, unable to fathom such ability, and so his life was ended, with him whimpering face down on the grass.

"Heh." Was his only acknowledgement. He felt with each strike that he had grown stronger – even stronger than before. In the past he had needed to push himself into a state of pure aggression, and yet now, even without care, he could take a man’s life with ease. Such was the results of vigorous training.

Gengyo lead a charge entirely of his own, leaving waves of corpses behind him. He moved swiftly and slashed cleanly. So easy was his slaughter that he even had time to reflect on how unfortunate it was. How cruel indeed. The majority did not even get to die with a sword in their hand. But such was the nature of war, and he did not pause to regret his decision.

Somewhere off to his right, he could hear flesh being sliced at a rapid pace, as a swordswoman duo jumped from one target to the next. He smiled briefly, admiring their ferocity, before once more concentrating on his own task.

His men were sweeping through, leaving a trail of bodies in their path. The Matsudaira army was shrinking by the second. Yet the battle was not yet won, and he did not delude himself with the thought that it was. Instead, he continued to observe. The men fled in a rather consistent direction, and he made a swift judgement as to why that might be.

He did not need to give an order as he changed his direction and ran towards it. The others had likely established the same thoughts. Instead he sprinted, as fast as he was able, cutting down the chain of men linking him to that destination. They turned, hearing him, and fearing his approach, but the ends for all them were just the same.

The number of tents began to die down, as did the number of oxen. They were nearing a rendezvous point. Gengyo flittered across the grass at a speed that few humans could reach, as graceful as a cheetah. He hit a hill, and with three gentle bounds, he mounted it, revealing what lay at the top.

A hundred men had gathered. More than half of them armed. Matsudaira stood unmistakeably, having been given armour and a sword to wear by one of his soldiers, who now stood n.a.k.e.d in his stead.

"Matsudaira Motoyasu." He intoned calmly, standing alone to face them without a shred of fear.

"Miura Tadakata... I should have realized it was you behind that stampede." The man responded disbelievingly. Rin and Akiko joined Gengyo on the hill a moment later, looking fierce in their black armour, with their flashing naginatas.

"Surrender. I do not wish to waste your life."

"There are things that a man can never do. Surrender is not an option." His voice was tainted with a dejected bitterness, having realized that this battle was his loss. He fought to overcome that unpleasant feeling, seeing it to be a weakness. "You have bested me entirely, you have my respect."

"As you have mine. I do not wish to shed yet more of blood of your men, Matsudaira. It is not dishonourable to sheath your weapon once you have lost. If anything, it’s wise."

"DO NOT ALTER YOUR MIND FOR OUR SAKES, LORD. WE WILL FIGHT TILL THE VERY END!" One of his men shouted loudly, not allowing the fear to taint his voice.

"Indeed, it is as my man says. This battle is not yet over. You have put yourself in a questionable position in this final stretch. Victory is still within reach." Matsudaira decided, drawing his sword.

"As you wish." Gengyo shot forward, felling three men before anyone had a chance to react. Rin and Akiko went to work either side of him, twirling their polearms with ease, not allowing a single blade to get close.

They hacked and cut, and yet more of their own men appeared over the hill. With ten men down, Rokkaku and Jikouji came to join the fray.

The quality of their swordsmanship overpowered the ill-equip men, despite the heart with which they fought. It was a different level all together. By the dozens, Matsudaira’s men fell, until he was left alone with his five body guards.

"Surrender." Gengyo repeated.

"I cannot." Matsudaira stated solemnly, not allowing the slaughter to sway him.

Gengyo stepped forward, completing the last part of this battle alone. He parried a downward swing from one of the body guards, before cutting his hands from their wrists. Another strike came in towards his side, so he leapt, and broke the man’s jaw with his boot. In a flurry of blades, the final three fell, leaving Matsudaira to face off with Gengyo alone.

It was obvious how hopelessly outmatched he was, and yet, there he stood, blade poised, ready to charge in. And charge in he did. With foolish courage that even his ancestors could be proud of. Gengyo allowed him to get close, and begin his slash downwards, before with the hilt of his sword, he struck his skull, and knocked him unconscious.

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