Prologue

It was late at night, a wretched time when no decent soul was to be found out on the streets. Good souls, along with rotten ones, were gathering in late night bars, drawn to drinks like moths to flames. Either to drown their sorrows or complain about their lives, men drank and wailed, and then drank some more.

Now, this was the time when most of the drunks, even those who could hold their liquor, were out cold, sprawled across the tables and floors in a drunken daze.

But not such men as Matsudaira Katakuriko.

"Another shot!" he commanded.

Men such as Matsudaira Katakuriko could drink till the morning without suffering the effects of drunken haze. For men such as Matsudaira Katakuriko the night wasn't ending – a new day was merely starting. Men such as Matsudaira Katakuriko never complained – they only held serious discussions.

"And so I ask you, friend, when does a war end?" he talked to the bartender. "A samurai would say: when the enemy is defeated in a crucial battle. Well my wife won in every fight we had, yet am I defeated? I am not! A tactician would say: when both sides have reached an impasse. Now, that is true in some ways. When my wife caught me with another woman, it may have seemed at first that there wasn't a way out of the mess. But! a few moments later I managed to talk my way out. I am still undefeated and my wife still wages war against me," he knocked the glass on the counter. "Another shot, if you please, fill it up!"

"A politician would say," he continued, "that a war ends when a peace treaty is signed. Well, I signed my divorce papers; is the war over now? Is it truly over? After courts and endless wrangles, she left the place, left me a daughter and travelled away to begin her life anew. Is it over now? I thought it was. Humiliation, heartbreak, judgment; I've been through it all. It was a high price for a bit of quietness at home. Was I happy? I wasn't. But was I defeated? Maybe I got a little taste of it. But I never gave up. I simply waited, waited for a chance to woo her again, because I still love that woman more than any other in the universe, and I've known her long enough to know she feels the same," he added in one breath.

"And I was enjoying the circumstances as much as possible. Another shot!" he demanded again. "Besides, what else is a man to do? So, I bowed to the circumstances and I gathered my strength, ever preparing myself to strike if the chance should arise. Tell me then, did the war ever end?"

The bartender shook his head in disapproval.

"Why cheat yer wife in the first place, if ya love her so much? You betrayed her, it's only right she leaves ya."

"Bodily pleasures! I did as the superior nature commanded, I had no choice! What does it mean to get one's hands dirty if his heart remains true? What's flesh to a heart?" Matsudaira waved it off. "I never cheated on her in my heart. I suffered as much as she did."

"I seriously doubt that."

"And you know what?" he continued, ignoring the comment. "She did come back. Perhaps only to rile me up. She always knew how to put up a good fight, I liked that about her. And the war still went on, even after I had tried so hard to end it. Another shot! And then we remarried! I told you, we're simply meant for each other. And the fights continue. Tell me then, when do the wars end? Another shot!"

When he drank it up, his demeanour changed. A frown appeared on his face and his expression was of careful contemplation.

"This matter I'm talking about is, in fact, quite serious."

Having said that, Matsudaira grabbed money from his pocket and, without bothering to count, left a generous amount on the counter, leaving the bar soon after.

The night was warm and humid, the kind of weather that made you doubt whether there was enough air to breathe. Yet Matsudaira inhaled the air with relish and started walking as if he had never tasted alcohol in his life. He lit a cigarette as he always did when he needed to contemplate.

Wars and wives. Matsudaira chuckled remembering the analogy. After all, how different were they? Humiliation, heartbreak, judgment; he had been through it all, all for this country.

He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke disperse into the darkness.

News of most alarming nature had reached him not long ago. There had been a breakout from prison holding Jouishishi in Hagi. The breakout by itself was not a surprise; Matsudaira had expected the patriotic fools to dig their way out of prisons sooner or later. Besides, this had not been the first breakout after the war. The Runaway Kotarou had escaped from the prison several weeks before, leading a faithful group of Joui Patriots in Edo. Lock that guy up as much as you like, he will get out sooner than the first meal is served. At least he made a good sport for those country boys Matsudaira had picked up.

However, the prison in Hagi held a certain group of rebels for which Matsudaira had urged to be confined in Edo. It had been lord Mori who had insisted for them to be imprisoned in Choshu domain, arguing that Edo and Kyoto were already swarming with locked up criminals.

Matsudaira scowled. Lord Mori was not one to insist often and he was not agog over Bakufu either. Although this outbreak did not necessarily prove lord Mori's involvement in Joui activities, Matsudaira had a hunch he might just sympathise with them a little. Should such sympathies turn into something more, Matsudaira would have an enemy far more dangerous than some men wielding swords.

The breakout from the prison had gone without a drop of blood being spilled. There had been no records from men in charge of the prison, no witnesses of the breakout itself. It all led to one conclusion; those prisoners had not broken out – they had been let out.

The only solid lead the police had were a few accounts from the locals that a young girl had been tied to a cross for carrying weapons, and that two men came to her rescue. Both had been imprisoned and both had escaped on the same day. One of them was of an unknown identity and the other...

A chill ran down Matsudaira's spine.

Takasugi Shinsuke. The infamous Leader of Kiheitai. His sword skills were said to be unmatched during the war, but it was his commanding abilities that truly worried Matsudaira. In the war he had turned a laughable group of voluntary warriors into vicious demons, extraordinarily organised and unforgivably ruthless towards their enemies. He had a way of swaying men to his cause and inspiring them to fight with him until the very end.

And in the end he had led his Kiheitai into a massacre. He had left only a handful behind to tend to the wounded, a handful that had been imprisoned shortly after the battle. It was supposed to be over then – the notorious Kiheitai had been disbanded that day.

How convenient it must have been then, for all of them to be reunited in the prison in Hagi after lord Mori had insisted they be transferred there. To simply walk out of prison and raid the city. To rebuild that army of demons. Perhaps there were not many men left, but they were definitely a starter pack Takasugi Shinsuke could do very well with – those were the men of utmost devotion to his cause.

What cause was it, Matsudaira wondered. Was it to wage war on the Amantos? Or maybe the Bakufu? What madness drove them?

After endless bloody battles, after too cruel tactical manoeuvres and after the last damned signed peace treaty, those fools raged on, continuing the war that should by all means have ended a long time ago.

Truly, when do wars end?