A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

Under boiled leather and black silk, beads of sweat swept down Gengyo’s chest as the ninja pressed the attack. The song of clashing steel rang out, punctuated by the screams of dying men. Gengyo was forced back up the steps, defending himself as best he could as against the strikes that reigned down at an inhuman speed.

When the ninja raised his sword, Gengyo ducked underneath it and tried a sweeping blow at his leg, but it was steel that his blade found and not bone, as the ninja recovered and blocked once more. When Gengyo tried a downcut, the ninja answered with an underhand and went searching for his head. Gengyo only just managed to duck, though he was forced down hard on his bottom as a result.

His comrades watched Gengyo being overrun with shock. They had never seen him fight as fiercely as he had – the speed he moved at defied reasoning - and yet his opponent stilled seemed to have the upper hand.

Gengyo caught sight of their distraught glances as he fought, knowing that they were hard-pressed to survive. Akiko did the best to keep her enemies at a distance with her naginata with a thrust here and a side slash there, but even as the bodies piled up, there were always more men to take their place.

Morohira sent an armoured fist towards the face of one of the braver soldiers, cracking his teeth with the impact, and sending him hurtling back down the stairs, a few broken bones heavier than he had been before.

Dancing in the shadows, there was Nobunaga, giggling as he waited for his men to distract the enemy, so that he could lunge in with an annoying stinging thrust and litter their body with a dozen shallow wounds. It was Togashi that had earned his wrath first, and blood already ran out from his armour, under the armpits and by the helm.

Gengyo barely recovered back to his feet and even then the ninja did not allow him to do so free of charge. A deep cut had landed on his thigh in the gap between greeves and chestplate and it slowed him. He switched his stance around to put that weakened leg behind him to remove it as a target, but the wound still proved troublesome.

The night’s sky burst into sudden light as flaming arrows shot through the air and buried themselves within the dry wood of the temple frame. The fire spread rapidly and greedily gobbled up more and more wood, creating a second wall behind Gengyo and his small troop, as they were gradually pressed in on both sides.

"We can’t hold much longer, Miura!" Jikouji warned him through ragged breath. A soldier charged at him, sword held high above his head, roaring in brave stupidity, only for the old man to run him through with his blade and lift him from the ground, so that he might cast the heavy corpse aside and move onto the next man.

Gengyo did not even have the time to respond. His teeth were gritted and he could think of no weakness to target. Even in employing all that had learned at Menryo-ji, he still fell short. Every strike of his own felt inconsequential when compared to that of the ninja. He was slowly being worn down, and he was very much aware of that fact. He could feel his strength sapping with each drop of blood that he lost and with each heavy strike that he defended.

The ninja regarded him coldly. He held no pleasure for the killing. No real emotion at all. His blade was as empty as the void, and formless in that sense, as though it was the grim reaper himself that wielded it. That emptiness was strong and all-consuming and Gengyo knew not how to encounter it. The weight of nothing was heavy indeed.

"You wish to hold onto everything," the ninja said in a flat voice, pairing his odd words with a contemptuous kick to the midsection.

"Guh..." Gengyo caught the wooden sole of the ninja’s foot with his chest. It was all he could do try and stop the heavy sword strike that lay in wait behind it. There was such fluidity in the ninja’s movements. Every attack that he stopped was but a precursor to the next attack, everything flowed with an unstoppable momentum. "No..." Gengyo said in the time it took to try a strike of his own, "only that which matters."

Their blades clashed and sparks flew once more. Their swords tangled together, and they pressed against each other with all their strength. The ninja was the taller man and he leaned his weight into the strike, knowing that Gengyo’s wounded leg would soon buckle. Gengyo was forced to spin off to the side, losing the space that he had just gained as a consequence. The ninja sniffed weakness and sent a side slash towards his head.

Gengyo released a hand from the grip of his sword. When that strike came looking for him, he had not raised his blade in protection. The ninja felt the executioners tremor as he knew another great life to have been claimed by him. His opponent had lost the will to fight. He had seen it many times before.

What rose to stop the ninjato was not a blade, but the thinly armoured leather of Gengyo’s hand. He blocked like a boxer, as though it was not steel but flesh that he was to meet, and he pressed an attack of his own, thrusting his sword through the soft flesh of the ninja’s undefended chest.

Blood welled from the ninja’s heart and Gengyo’s severed hand fell sullenly to the floor. The bone had slowed the strike just enough so that it would not be fatal, though there was still a shallow gash on Gengyo’s neck.

They locked gazes. "No... only that which matters," the ninja said, chuckling blood, as he fell dead to the floor.

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