Yashima Chronicles 9. Interlude: Evaluation (Patreon)

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Shibadai Katsuie trailed behind his lord as they left the great hall, the site of his defeat. The rest of the court were occupied with drink and gossip, toasting the miraculous new addition to their army. Katsuie would have preferred to slip away and contemplate what he had learned from his loss, but duty came first.

Lord Ota led him into his private study, dismissing the guards standing watch before closing and locking the door himself. He pulled a small drinking set from a cubby hole and set it on the ground, taking a seat behind it before pouring a pair of drinks. Katsuie followed the implicit command, taking a seat across from his lord.

He accepted the saucer of sake with gratitude. Both of them knocked back the first drink together, setting their saucers down with a simultaneous click.

"So," Lord Ota said. "What do you think?"

Katsuie had known he was going to ask about the girl, but it was hard to pick just one thing to talk about. He'd heard men speak of cutting bullets out of the air in their tales, he could even accept that it was possible that somebody might have done so out of blind luck, but he had still frozen in shock when he saw it done right in front of him with such confidence.

He had no insight to offer on that matter. He shook his head. He wouldn't waste his lord's time with speculations. He could at least offer a new perspective with his personal thoughts on their fight. Though calling it a fight was probably flattering himself.

"I have not been so overmatched since my first sparring session against my father," Katsuie admitted.

When he was just a boy, his father had been known as the greatest sword saint in the land. He had been unbearably excited at the chance to spar against his father, the great man. He still remembered that day with great clarity, how his father had seemed to know his every move before he made it. The entire fight had played out according to his father's will.

That first spar had been decades ago, and Katsuie had spent every day since honing his skill with the sword. He had gradually approached, then surpassed his own father's abilities. Setting aside the daimyo and their tightly hoarded secret techniques, he had thought he had taken his father's place as Yashima's strongest sword saint. Until now.

"I figured as much," Lord Ota said. "You're not one to go easy on somebody because of how they look."

Katsuie shook his head. In truth, he had felt a moment of hesitation, striking out at such an innocent-looking young girl, but that had only slowed him during his first attack. Once she had demonstrated that her ability to avoid a sword was an equal to her ability to stop a bullet, he had brought his whole speed, skill, and strength to bear. To no avail.

No, the girl's skill was not in doubt. He would hate to face her as an enemy on the battlefield. That didn't mean that he was comfortable marching to war by her side.

"Looks are deceiving," Katsuie said. "When she attacked, I could feel a palpable thirst for blood. She speaks of wanting to protect this land, but I fear she merely seeks an excuse for slaughter."

"It's a good thing we've so many enemies for her to kill, then," Lord Ota replied.

Katsuie grimaced, but held his tongue. Lord Ota had more than proved himself on the battlefield. His pragmatic streak was one reason for his success. Unleashing a demon on their enemies could turn the tide in their pursuit of hegemony over Yashima. It might haunt them in the long run, but it was the daimyo's prerogative to weigh those risks and make those decisions. 

"Will this," Katsuie said, catching himself before he outright called the girl a demon. "Will this ‘Hana’ march alongside the rest of our sword saints?" 

"Hana? A curious flower, that flourishes on the battlefield," Lord Ota asked. "Yes, have her fight alongside her peers. Perhaps she'll inspire them."

Katsuie had wondered at the meaning behind her name. Was the girl a spirit, attempting to allay their fears by calling herself an innocuous flower? It was hard to reconcile that image with the palpable thirst for blood lurking beneath that innocent façade.

For now, at least, he did not believe it would prove too onerous to ensure that Hana was provided a battlefield and kept well watered in blood. In the meantime, he would have to renew his own training regimen and improve himself against the day when they ran out of enemies to slake her thirst.

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