A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

"We have confirmed that the Uesugi army are not moving, my Lord," one of the scouts told Gengyo as he knelt on one knee in front of him.

"Good," Gengyo replied with a nod. The dark had reigned for a few hours yet and the men had begun to wake from their sleep and they gathered rowdily around fires to share a meal together before stealing a few more hours of rest.

The Uesugi men had been so exhausted and demoralised from their fruitless searching, they had set up camp right where they were, in the heart of the wide road and out into the sprawling fields. Their sleep would be fitful, not doubt, fearing what lay out there, lurking behind the long grass.

It was modest celebrations that were in order for Gengyo and his men. Just enough drink to reward themselves with, but not enough that it would limit their ability in the intended battle in the morning.

Morohira’s screams pierced through the air as the medic pulled the arrow shaft clean from his chest. The medic had gone white as Morohira squeezed his shoulder. It seemed it would not take much more to completely crush it.

"I... I need to put some snitches in now," he managed to say. He was a young man, but competent enough.

"Do it," Morohira spat, a whole bottle of sake in his hand, using his liquor to dull the pain.

The medic drew out a large needle with a length of thread attached. He pierced into the skin like it was a layer of cloth and slowly brought it in closer together.

"Guh..." Rin complained turning away.

"No stomach for it?" Gengyo asked. Both Rin and Akiko were unable to look at it. In fact, they were doing everything they could to block it from their senses, holding their sleeves up to cover the corner of their eyes.

"It’s disgusting," Akiko asserted, unwilling to even be goaded into looking. For such fearsome fighters that caused such brutality, Gengyo found it amusing that they would still be squeamish about something like this.

"It’s not that bad," Gengyo said. "It’s just like leather, isn’t it? Only it’s a stretchy layer of human skin. Pretty disgusting, now that I put it like that."

"Stop... I can imagine it. You’re too cruel, Nii-san. You used to get squeamish just cleaning a fish, so you can’t make fun of us," Rin replied, looking like she might vomit. She had a bowl of rice in her hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other. The chopsticks had not moved in minutes and she was eyeing the rice with distaste, looking like she might throw it over her head at any moment.

And Morohira’s screams continued. He gritted his teeth, but they still ran out through his teeth. The men that he led had gathered round him, holding him back, secure and firm so that the medic could do his job without fear of being decapitated.

There were two men on each limb, but when he grunted and his muscles tensed, they had to lock their feet firmly into the floor, otherwise he would drag them forward, seeming like he really might break free.

"I would like to cleanse it with fire," the medic said timidly. "It’s the only way to be sure it stays clean."

"To hell with it! Set me on fire, you bastard," Morohira replied, sake dripping down his chin. He was thoroughly drunk by now.

The medic had left a knife in the coals of the fire and when he withdrew it, the metal was glowing red and throbbing. As he approached Morohira with the knife, he struggled all the more, moving his mouth in something that might have approached fear.

When the knife made contact with the flesh, it let out a sickening sizzle and was punctuated by the most anguished scream imaginable. Akiko and Rin covered each other’s ears wordlessly, unable to stomach the sound much less look at it.

"It’s done," the medic said finally, taking his knife away from the flesh and taking a few measured paces away from Morohira, and suddenly it was his turn to grow afraid. The eyes of the devil were on him and they were filled with anger. "You can release him now," the medic said in something that was close to a whisper as he turned around and put one leg in front of the other, preparing to run.

The men released him at once and Morohira threw himself from them. "F.u.c.k that hurt you bastard," he grumbled, locking gazes with the medic, filled with an aggressive adrenaline. It was the only thing keeping the pain at bay, but it demanded some sort of retribution for the damage that had been caused to his body.

The medic began to run and Morohira ran after him. It was like watching a sheep try to run away from a tiger. With a few quick bounds Morohira had closed the gap and had lowered his shoulder about to tackle him.

"Careful! You’ll undo your stitches!" The medic shouted desperately, right before he hit. And then they collided and he was sent flying with the force of a bull, Morohira on top of him. Gruff yet nervous laughter broke out from the men. It was certainly amusing seeing their young medic tossed around like a ragdoll, but there was something unnerving about the ease with which Morohira did it.

Morohira brought back his fist, for another instance of revenge, but from the tackle alone the young medic had been knocked out cold. "Pah," Morohira complained, shaking his head, getting up from his prey. Rokkaku was at his side. "It hurts like a bitch, Rokkaku."

"Pretty funny, though," his friend replied with a merciless grin.

"You bastard." Suddenly, Morohira had a new target for his rage and the two of them fell to the floor in a wrestling match, covering their clothes in dust, absolutely no regard for the stitches that had just been put into Morohira’s chest.

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