I Am Samurai
The Tale Of The Hitokiri Who Would Not Kill And The Samurai Who Wished To Die
The Meiji government had killed the samurai. They were no longer allowed to exist, and anyone caught wearing a sword in public or calling themselves samurai would be arrested. Bit by bit they were crushing out the last vestiges of the once revered samurai way. The Way of the Warrior. Bushido.
During the war there were four renowned assassins, the Hitokiri. None could match their skill, and they could kill anyone at all. These four men killed more men then some armies had and had done so without remorse. They were heartless killers of awe-inspiring skill.
Bushido teaches us about death, it teaches us about death and about life. For the samurai, Bushido is in itself, life. Long had the people of Japan been taught the old legends. That Izanagi and Izanami had forged the isles of Japan as they pulled their blade free from the waters, allowing only four drops of water to fall back in.
These Hitokiri made themselves above Bushido. They ignored its code and killed those who needed killing and cared not for honorable combat. They became worse even then the ninjas, who also killed in shadow. Where ninjas killed for money, the Hitokiri killed in shadow because they were told to, and they did so mercilessly, killing even the innocent who got in the way.
If a peasant takes up a blade and attacks me, do I kill him? Bushido teaches us that this peasant, who is not samurai, wishes a death as honorable as the death of any samurai, and so I should grant him that death. Bushido is honor, and in many cases death itself is an honor.
Four hitokiri, and amongst them one was worse then the others. A man whose name no-one knew, a man who was the perfect killer. His blade struck all opponents down in the first stroke. He never failed. Upon his blade many hundreds if not thousands of men, women, and children met their fate. He became known as the Hitokiri Battousai, the most legendary of the four manslayers.
Bushido had taught me well, and in all my life it had never failed me. Even when my honor was stripped from me, my sword taken, my topknot removed, my title as samurai and all my family's lands.even then it did not fail me. I did not falter off the path of Bushido. The law told me that the sword was not mine to take up. Bushido told me otherwise.
My blade, the blade of a samurai, has taken the lives of many. Taken them in the name of honor, in the name of all samurai. We had become a dying race and I had chosen to spill the blood of every imperialist I could before my life was taken. If I fell in battle, it would be with honor, it would be as a samurai should.
Almost ten years had passed since the war had ended. Almost ten years since the end of all samurai began. Over nearly ten years I had made life as difficult as I could for the Imperialists, but they hardly felt it. I wasn't even a thorn in their side.
During those years I learned an interesting philosophy from a very strange man. He had eyes that burned with a great inner fire, and a body that was covered in bandages. He should have been dead; there was no way he could live on as he was. Yet still he walked and fought with a drive that I could never match.
I asked that man, Mokoto Shishio, exactly how he continued living. He told me that it was because he was strong that he was able to continue living. 'If you're strong you live, if you're weak you die.' This was that man's philosophy.
I studied this philosophy from every angle I could over the next few years after that meeting. I soon came to a conclusion of my own, and developed an adaptation of that philosophy, because I had learned that even the strongest of men die, for not matter how skilled you are, no-one can escape death.
'We live so that we may one day die. Live life for death's sake, so that when the death comes to claim us we may embrace it with honor, knowing that we had fulfilled the desires that the intertwining forces of life and death had set for us.'
I would die one day, that I knew. However my unwavering belief in my philosophy would be shaken by another strange man who had a philosophy of his own. I never believed for an instant that a hitokiri could have honor, that a hitokiri could see life as sacred. These thoughts were ludicrous, for how could any man who sees life as sacred have claimed the lives of so many?
I leave now, before my death comes to claim me, an account of my meeting with the Hitokiri Battousai, a man of legend. From this meeting I would find a new way of life, and to honor him I will leave this account so that others may one day know that every man that has shed blood, even the hitokiri, is more then a murderer.
Honor. Life. Death. Bushido. Hitokiri. Are these merely words, or do they truly have meaning? We all must determine our own philosophy. So read on, and find yours within its words. Find your path as I have. Find the truth.
Meaning is what we make of it. Life is what we make of it. A man who has killed more people then any other has more knowledge of life then any man I have ever met.
This tale begins as spring begins, just as the first sakura blossoms begin to bloom. It was from within this veil of pink blossoms that I first caught a glimpse of the man with the red hair and the cross-shaped scar. The man who is a legend.
Author's Notes: This is just the prologue. It was previously posted on my original name, but here it is. I'm removing it from that one and I intend to work on it again now that I've finally read all the Rurouni Kenshin manga. Unlike before I have no need of original characters. I've decided this will be utterly mine, and will be a pratice in the way of writing swordplay. An entirely different style of story than what I've written before. I hope you all enjoy it.