I claim no ownership of Sengoku Basara franchise. This work of fiction is created solely to entertain. Original characters are manifestations of my imagination . Please don't sue.
First time writing fanfiction. I appreciate any offers of constructive criticism. I look forward to your assistance.
Thanks!
Story follows plot of Sengoku Basara: Last Party; and events status post Battle at Sekigahara. I believe the term is 'post- canonical'.
What would Hideyoshi-sama do?
Three days of constant battle to quell the uprising of disgruntled factions in Chogoku had left Ishida Mitsunari's cavalry exhausted. The victory he expected did not come as easily or swiftly as he had hoped. Indeed, his enemy had dragged on the scuffle by defending the once prosperous Chogoku city through guerilla warfare. Even when cornered to the last traitor, the enemy would trigger explosives to take his attackers with him down to hell.
Mitsunair grimaces at the number of men lost during so short a campaign and, despite eagerness to return to camp, is not oblivious to the impending burnout harbored in his men's eyes and their horses' stride. He clenches the reins at the probability of his men weathering the ride home, while silently contemplates the teachings of his deceased Lord to remedy the current predicament.
His attention wavers when galloping of a scout reaches his ears.
"General, the village leader agrees to lend their aid."
"How wise of them", the white-haired general reins his steed eastward, "refusal was not an option."
Hideyoshi-sama would do that. I'm sure of it.
The first thing Ran noticed about the Western army general was his pale skin and white hair. Complete in blood-splattered armor, a strange, white overcoat in the backdrop of a cloudy sky, and he seemed every bit the image of a menacing ghost.
She tore her gaze away to treat her current patient, a man with a nasty forearm laceration. Yes, a man. Not a soldier.
The village elders had warned her about treating soldiers; dogs of war who would bite the very hand that fed them. Yet with weaponry laid aside, she couldn't help but see them as injured men bemoaning their aches and pains. Slender fingers deftly tie ends of wrapped bandages as her eyes travel back to the young general who was tying his horse to a post. So maybe by that logic, this wraith-like general was too, just an injured man.
"General Ishida."
It was so soft he'd barely heard it above the village clamor and groveling of his men. He turns to face the owner of the voice only to meet a pair of brown, almond-shaped eyes. There was a softness- a weakness, to her eyes that he finds immediately not to his liking.
"Nani?" he intones, o-dachi in hand.
The female, roughly his age, pauses, as if stunned by the gauntness of his features and austerity of his grey eyes rather than blunt words. Matter did not improve if same said man held a weapon that was without a doubt longer than his arm. But it wouldn't do to embarrass herself and make a mockery of her trade by being a speechless idiot.
"I am the village's doctor, Ran," she introduces with a bow, "There seems to be blood on your armor, perhaps with your permission I could tend to your-"
The clatter of his sword inside the sheath.
"How bold your insinuation, peasant. It is not my blood." He closes the distance between them and glares at her, a feat possible given small disparities in their height.
That irritating smile, he will wipe it off her face.
"It never is."
Her lips thin to a rigid line, but her eyes never break from his sharp glower. Such arrogance eludes her, but the transgression he imposed, she understands, and it would be unwise to overlook it.
"I ask for your forgiveness, general. Word of your military prowess and valor has not yet reached us here. There will be no next time."
Her words were no guarantee. He could still remedy her existence from the earth with a simple hand gesture, never mind his weapon at hand.
Surprisingly, he turns away to tend to his horse. "Be gone."
Ran excuses herself with a small bow, more out of propriety than respect. Fingers fisted into knots.
A man indeed! The most arrogant and rude one she's ever met!
She busies herself with another wounded soldier, half trying to forget her ill-received act of kindness and half hoping the general be kicked by his steed.
By the end of the day, almost all the soldiers had been evaluated and treated for their injuries. Dinner was a gracious serving of rice, replete with fish and pickled radishes against the warm, amber skies. Ran and a few other villagers were handing out blankets to combat the evening cold when the incident occurred. One of the division leaders of Mitsunari's army, grown restless and irritable, had taken upon himself to accuse a female villager of misplacing his weaponry.
"If you can't find it, then you'd better pay for it!" the soldier demanded, kicking away buckets in his path. Watching from the sidelines, Ran's fingers brushes against folds of her yukata where her mother's omamori lies ensconced.
Rank silences the division leader's subordinates. No soldier needs or wants to be told his place, and the consequences are often devastating. Villagers are either behind windows or busying themselves with mindless tasks, but they keep a watchful eye, an open ear and a prayer in their hearts for the antagonism to pass. Such was the fate of the weak in the face of the strong.
"But I've never seen the sword," the young woman cried, pleading on her knees. She'd never be able to pay for a bokken, let alone a steel-forged one.
The soldier stalked over brandishing his fist and Ran could watch no longer.
"Sir, perhaps your sword is on your horse," Ran suggests, stepping in between the two parties, "shall I go see for you?"
"It isn't there. I've checked," he insists otherwise. "Your friend claims she cannot pay. But you are the village doctor…"
He saunters over with eyes that trace her slender figure in a fashion closer than comfort allows. Then it dawns on her, as chills run up her spine, her folly of rebuking the village elders.
"Surely you can pay in her stead." Words that hold a darker implication.
"I'm afraid I cannot", she replies firmly, gaze forward and fixed. The soldier smirks and a small gasp escapes her lips when his hand encloses one of her wrists.
"If you can't pay for my sword, then you can tend to my injuries instead," he mocks, wrenching her towards a doorway.
Her feet grind into the earth and panic seizes her heart. Words of protest dies in her throat before it can reach her lips. She twists against his iron-grip but to no avail.
Her free hand is en route to connect to the scoundrel's face when he is flung into the far ends of the narrow street, crashing on to his back. Peripherally, she barely catches the flash of white and purple, which blurs into the Supreme Commander of the Western army in mid-lunge with the base of his sheathed weapon raised.
Mitsunari stalks by wordlessly towards the fallen man. He had been brooding silently over campaign events when talk of a 'confrontation' between soldier and civilian drifted his way. After three days of fighting explosions and cowardice, one can imagine the young general's ire when he found his first division leader assaulting the same peasant that pestered him earlier in the day.
"This vermin behavior," his voice dripping with dark intent, "the Ishida army does not tolerate."
The disoriented soldier stumbles to his knees, mouth dripping red that stains the earth. "Ishida-sama, I-"
"Your display of gratitude disgusts me!" The grip on the handle of his odachi tightens.
A shuffling of light footsteps, followed by a voice that the general found all too soft for these turbulent times. "General Ishida, if I may, it is battle fatigue that your soldier-"
He casts her a cold glare. "This does not concern you. Know your place," Mitsunari warns her, but even then for the second time today he wonders….
What would Hideyoshi-sama do?
He grimaces inwardly, grip loosening on his weapon.
"This army has no use for the likes of you. You qualify not to fight for our country."
"But General Ishida, I beg of you-"
"Get out of my sight before I relieve you of your sordid existence as well." His voice darker than before. Immediately the ex-soldier struggles to his feet and makes himself scarce, his footsteps becoming a distant echo in cool darkness.
Mitsunari turns to the rest of his men.
"You and I shall fight for unification of this country, and henceforth, straying from this goal is punishable under penalty of death."
Hideyoshi-sama would do that. I'm sure of it.
She saw it now as he paused and confronted his men; the will of iron that had forged the very steely eyes she'd found so intense and sharp.
"We ride at dawn," Mitsunari stated with finality before retreating to the stable's rafters where he sat.
"Ishida-sama," she accosted him, feeling it only proper to express her thanks. But whatever gratitude she felt was abruptly decimated by his words.
"Mind your business. You'd do well to remember that, peasant."
And for the second time that day, Ran hopes his horse kicks him.