Author's Note: Phew...now that was a LONG break :P My lack of inspiration was rectified by the release of Tenjou Tenge 134.7 Great many thanks to csad21 for her great editing skill and xxsindixx for bataing this chapter. I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 3
Masataka dipped his head again at the departing elders who would not stop bowing to him before turning the corner of the street. He breathed a sigh of relief; the white mist loomed and dissipated just as quickly into the thin morning air. After he'd relieved Mr. and Mrs. Shinobu's aching discomfort as recompense for his stay, word had gotten around quickly. Before long, the neighbors had all come to seek for the "Devine Hand" that was rumored to purge all pains. Masataka allowed himself a small chuckle. It was nothing, really. Anyone with a rudimentary understanding of ki could have achieved the same feat. But from what he had learned, the elderly were all who were left. His gaze followed a flock of birds toward the range of mountains guarding the lone path out of this small hamlet.
Just like in the kingdom, the young traveled great distances for better opportunities in order to support their kin. But that was where the similarity ended. This world, this era he grew up in, everything seemed so distant and unreal to him. These people didn't have to worry about where their next meal would come from. The constant dangers of fiends that lurked beneath the shadows of the wild only existed in fairytales. And the thought of annihilation never crossed anyone's mind. The amenities that this world provided—clean running water, hot water bath, warm and comfortable shelter, exquisite and tasty foods—were things that even the richest nobles could only dreamt of. An ordinary, simple looking noodle soup that Mrs. Shinobu prepared surpassed even the best course that his head chef could muster. The immense disparity between the two worlds, he noted with a sinking realization, was the heart of his discontent.
Masataka wanted to believe that he was sent back here for a purpose. Every morning he asked the boy in the spotless mirror that was now himself, and the same set of weary, haunted eyes stared back at him without answer; not that he didn't deserve it. The forty plus winters that he had spent in the kingdom, all the battles that he had fought safeguarding its people, the frameworks that he'd assisted to better the way of life, and the alliance that he'd helped forge, all these were themselves a testament of his achievements. But what about his most trusted comrades? All those men and women who sweat and bled alongside him, many had sacrificed their lives for what he'd believed to be the best—
He bit down hard on the inside of his cheeks, enough to draw blood. The pain halted a particular train of thought that he had no desire to revisit. After all, whatever he had done, had not done, or what he wished he could have done had afflicted his every dream. He had no wish to be agonized by the ghosts of his past even in the waking hours.
Masataka's breath shuddered. War Wounds, or the Scars of War; that was what they called it. He had witnessed thousands who bore them. He knew that he had them, ever since the battle of the White Pass, where he'd withstood endless hoards of horrifying Lycans. It was also that field where he'd been baptized by the cruelty and the atrociousness of the kingdom. His eyes trailed down to his fisted left hand; the very one that he had lost, bitten off by the Lycan Queen just as his own sword pierced through her heart. White mist spewed like smolder. Like the rest of his scarless flesh, the pain was the only reminder of his past. No, Masataka corrected himself, fingering over the pucker at the base of his neck. All except this—
"—san? Fakuna-san?"
Masataka blinked. Mrs. Shinobu appeared genuinely worried, standing before him.
"Yes?" He forced a smile on his lips.
"Are you feeling well? Would you like to take a break? I could certainly tell—"
"No, it's all right." Masataka didn't want to deal with any more self-reproach right now. "Just admiring the view, that is all."
The wrinkles on her forehead eased a bit, but she still sounded hesitant. "We don't want to strain you any more than necessary."
"Not at all." He wasn't lying. Ever since his "rebirth"—at least that was what Masataka thought it was—he had found these scrawny, gangly limps held more strength than it appeared. They weld just as much strength as when he was at his prime, if not more. And because of their new form, they became incredibly nimble—many of Shinobu's wreck fixtures were the casualties of this newfound discovery. It had taken the better part of month to get used to the cramps and proper maneuvering. And not to mention his ki, which was nothing less than awe-inspiring. On one of his solo outings into the forest, he'd conjured up more than three dozen ki spheres in one setting—far more than he could ever have managed at any giving time before.
Perhaps that was the only bright side to all these, Masataka thought bitterly. Comrades. Friends. People that he'd considered to be part of his family. Gone forever. Even his friends in his era—although his memories of them were hazy—would all be in their sixties and seventies. Who would believe him even if he tried? For all he knew, this could very well be his incarceration: to be doused in grief, consumed by guilt and tormented with nightmares, for the tens of thousands of lives that he'd taken, all in the name of vengeance—
"Fakuna-san?"
Mrs. Shinobu's voice brought him out of his reveries again. Embarrassed, Masataka quickly replied, "Mrs. Sakurada was the last one, right? I will retire for the day right after, I promise." He attempted a full grin, but failed.
She nodded, only half-heartedly, worry written all over her features, and led him back into the house.
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.
Masataka's hands hovered over the lower back of the old woman, who was having a delightful conversation with Mrs. Shinobu. He infused tiny portion of ki over the afflicted area with a steady, measured pace.
"Mmmm..." Mrs. Sakurada hummed in gratification, "that was...wonderful, it was...I am at a lost for word."
"Isn't it? When the first time Fakuna-san tried it on me..."
Masataka grounded his teeth, trying very hard to suppress a snort that he knew would only cause embarrassment for Mrs. Shinobu. No one could seem to pronounce his name correctly, Mr. and Mrs. Shinobu included. And up to this day he still couldn't fathom his reservation for not telling them his true name. When Mr. Shinobu had asked for his name, without a second thought, he had uttered:
Falkner von Reinhart
The name that Lord Vayne had given him as a commemoration after the Battle of the Falconeer Ridge. He had carried it ever since. Only a very small group of friends knew differently.
"—name is so unique. It sounded so just like the name on that weird commercial," he heard Mrs. Sakurada say.
"Weird? Really? What was that commercial about?" Mrs. Shinobu wondered.
"Oh, you didn't see it? It was all over the news. NHK even had a special investigation about it. It has been broadcasting worldwide every day for almost two months. And you know what is really interesting? It was spoken in some sort of old Germanic language and a picture of a flag that they can't find anywhere in the world."
"How very peculiar indeed. You said that it sounded very much like Fakuna-san's—"
"Yeah, Fakuna von Raienhado."
Masataka stilled his hand movement. Although he didn't pay much mind to the entire conversation, he didn't remember his full name being ever mentioned by—
"Fakuna-san!" Mrs. Shinobu exclaimed excitedly. "It could be your family looking for you."
Masataka's brows furrowed. Since he didn't know how to explain where he had come from, he'd told the Shinobus that he had no recollection of his past. There shouldn't—wouldn't—be anyone looking for him. By now Mrs. Sakurada had gotten up, and Mrs. Shinobu was filling her in excitingly.
"Kyoko, what is this commotion about?" Mr. Shinobu walked in through the front door, smiling. "I can hear you from all the way out there..." The old man's smile faded after a brief explanation by the now two enthralled women. "But we don't have a television."
"We can go to—" Mrs. Shinobu started.
"It's on radio, too." Mrs. Sakurada's eyes lit up. "I've told you, it's all over the place!"
"Come on, dear, let's go turn the radio on," Mrs. Shinobu urged.
Masataka watched the trio in silence. His mind raced feverishly through all the possibilities that he could think of, but nothing rang true. When Mr. Shinobu's perplexed eyes met his, he simply nodded his assent and followed them into the next room.
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.
.
His heart leapt when the message finally started. It took Mr. Shinobu ten minutes of fumbling before they caught it. And it was unmistakably the Tongue.
"Falkner von Reinhart, if you hear this message, go to the nearest telephone and dial this number: zero-one-one, eight-one, three-four-five-seven-eight-nine-two-four-eight. Repeat, dial this number at your nearest telephone, zero-one-one—"
Masataka asked for the telephone, and as if on cue, Mr. Shinobu picked up a small bundle and waited. It took Masataka a few moments to realize that he himself didn't know how to do it, and recited the numbers with flushed cheeks.
Mr. Shinobu listened to the phone after he dialed in the digits. His eyes widened after a few tense moments, and he handed it to Masataka in a flurry.
"Yes?" A female answered with testiness.
"Who is this?" Masataka asked cautiously, not knowing what to expect.
The handset went quiet for a moment. "What is the capital of Aurelia?" the same voice asked, although her pronunciations were off and stiff.
"Meridian," he replied without thinking, realizing that he should not have done it so quickly. But the question continued.
"Which imperial general caused you great harm at the temple of Dark Resurrection?"
The mention of that event caused him to wince involuntarily, but he steeled his nerve. "General Sasobaski of the Imperial 5th Legion." That name would be etched in his memory until his death.
"Wait," she said.
"How did you—" Masataka couldn't hold it anymore. Just when he was about to demand an answer from whoever it was, he heard a click, and a weird buzzing sound came from the other side of the handset.
After another click, a deep, male voice came on. "Who is this?"
"Who is THIS?" Masataka asked in return, not answering the question. The manner in which the man spoke was fluent, and it held an imperial accent.
The handset went quiet for a moment. "Lord Falkner von Reinhart, I presume?" the voice leered.
"Who the fuck is this?" Masataka was really irritated by now; he did not, and would not play games with the Imperials.
"Patience, my young lord," the voice said deliberately. "No amount of explanation will convince you over this contraption. May I suggest that we convene in person for my vindication? Here is the place..."
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Masataka stood before the giant archway of what appeared to be a shrine of some sort.
Meiji Jingu.
That was what the taxi driver had said when the man read the address that Mr. Shinobu had handed over.
He looked down at the delicate pocket watch that Mr. Shinobu had given him. Masataka couldn't help but sigh. The tear-jerking farewell from the villagers had been especially awkward for him. For the short period of time that he'd dwelled, the elders were already treating him as one of their own. They'd pooled a large sum of currency for him after learning his determination to make the rendezvous.
His thumb gently stroked over the intricate impression on the silver object, recalling Mr. Shinobu's words to him.
"Take this, son." Mr. Shinobu folded the silver object into his hand. "Your being here is the greatest gift that we could have asked for." He gaze at Masataka with affection through his oily spectacles. "You have alleviated much of the discomfort that plagued us throughout the years. All that we ask...all that I ask, is that you come back to see us from time to time. I dare not ask what your purpose is; one does not question a gift from God. But wherever your destination may be, please remember us in a corner of your heart, as we will remember you—"
Masataka gritted his teeth and suppressed the next sigh that was about to come. He had to meet this person from his own time, reminiscences could wait. But his steps faltered slightly and he snorted. This was supposed to be his own time. He pressed onward, forcing those distracting thoughts away.
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The middle age man regarded him with keen eyes, and Masataka was doing the same. The man looked to be no more than fifty, sixty years old even with that sparse and receding hairline. With unremarkable size and build, the man did not have any notable features that would provoke a recollection from his past, but then it quickly dawned on him that if this man had gone through a "rebirth" like himself, his appearance wouldn't mean much of anything. Only one way to find out—
"You are just a pup," the man murmured, in Tongue, with an unmistakable imperial accent. He sounded both incredulous and amazed at the same time.
Masataka bit back whatever he was about to say. His mind whirled. Not only did this man know him, they'd probably also met in person back then. And judging from his reaction, he was definitely not part of the alliance. That only left a few possibilities, and none of them were welcome.
"How long have you been in the kingdom?" The curiosity was genuine.
"More than forty winters," Masataka replied. Although he had a thousand questions that he wanted to throw at the man, something made him hold his tongue.
"And how long ago since your incursion into the Dark Temple?"
Masataka took half a step toward the mystery man, his eyes narrowed. "Are you one of Sasobaski's?" There were only a handful of people that had taken part in that endeavor, and even fewer had lived to tell the tale, thanks in no small part to the insidious Imperials. The fought out party had been ambushed, and had lost more than half of their numbers. But before they could be finished off, the Imperials had retreated. Many years later, even after he'd exacted his vengeance, Masataka had wondered why that was.
Without answering the question, the man sneered at Masataka, "Do you mean to tell me that you were the very same Falkner that united the ragtag mobs of Aurelia? The callous young lord that singlehandedly marshaled the alliance along the Fringe? The hero at the Battle of the Balboa Gate that turned folklore into legend?" He snorted, and then his eyes tore into Masataka's. "If only I had half of your...no, a quarter of your fighting prowess, I would have transformed the kingdom into..." He suddenly stopped, and his eyes appeared infinitely weary. "I am Kaiser—"
"...von Tresckow," Masataka seethed, finishing what the man could not. He must have anticipated Masataka's outburst, for the man raised his ki barrier, though it was far too feeble and sluggish. In less than a split second he had pinned the imperial emperor down on the ground with a death claw at his throat, and the tip of the Ki Blade searing through his flesh.
Stunned and dazed, however, the emperor was not a bit fazed by his impending doom. Instead, ignoring the obvious pain, a taunting smirk began to form on the corner of his lips. "If you must kill me, Falkner, " von Tresckow wheezed, "just know that the future of Aurelia lies in your hands."
The man bore no resemblance at all as the tyrant of the imperium that he'd met only once in the past. But Masataka believed who he claimed to be, not because of his command of the Tongue, or the knowledge of his past, nor even the threat against Aurelia, but because of his eyes. The intense, piercing stares that only belonged to those of the kingdom—
Von Tresckow grunted in pain as Masataka's fist came crashing down hard on the side of the man's face. It split open a deep gash on his cheek, and the blood splattered most of the face. The man struggled in vain to break free from him, but that only furthered Masataka's grip on the throat.
Masataka could feel the man's life been drain beneath his fingers; the hands that were beating frantically grew sluggish, the laboring gasps he was trying to gain, the reddening flush of his visage, and lastly, the tumbling white of his eyes. In just a few more moments he would be able to avenge for the many innocent that this man had helped slaughter...
Von Tresckow started coughing and gulping for air at the same time. Masataka stepped back and watched on, not with satisfaction, but an overwhelming sense of remorse for not killing him when he should.
Y-You…you fucking lunatic!" von Tresckow cried, as loud as he could with his raw, fragmented voice, but quickly doubled over and start coughing violently. "Ca…can you not use your fu…fucking head for a second?" von Tresckow snapped at him in between breaths. The blood staining face did make him look rather ungraceful.
"You are still breathing, are you not?" Masataka tilted his head to one side, mock-innocently.
Von Tresckow swallowed painfully and was still cursing at him. "If I wanted to get myself killed, do you think that I would have spent all that effort just so I could find you and beg to have my fucking neck broken off?" Von Tresckow winced when his hand came up to the now purple bruises around his neck. "I should have heeded Waechter's forewarning about you—"
"Which Waechter?" Masataka's eyes narrowed.
"Who else? The one and only—"
"What did you do to him!" Masataka advanced until he was towering over the man, causing von Tresckow to stumble away in fright.
"Nothing! I didn't do anything to him! He was the one who pointed me to find yo—"
Masataka grabbed him by his lapels and hauled him off the ground in a swift motion, his face inches away from his intended prey. "There is nothing to stop me from shacking you like a small animal and fracture every bone in your body," Masataka snarled. Von Tresckow flinched at his words. "Why would he even help you?" The joints in his hands cracked under the tremendous force.
"Because we were on the same archeology project!"
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Masataka trudged deliberately on the stone slab, his footing perched on each and every flagstone that shaped the path. His thumb ran over the knuckles of his newly regained hand as he tried desperately to sort through the torrent of emotions and newfound knowledge.
Kobayashi Tanabe, a former student of the Tokyo Imperial University who was assigned to an ultra secret project toward the end of the last great war, in hopes of overturning the tide that was about to befall this nation, had gone through the ancient portal in search of great power. But instead, it had brought great calamity to the ones that ventured forth. Just like what had happened to Aya—
Masataka steeled his nerves. The thought alone still brought chill to his spine to this day, and he abandoned that particular thought right away...
Half of Kobayashi's party had become soulless vessels—mindless bodies that hold no intellect, possessing only the basic instinct of wild beasts. More than half of their numbers had been decimated within the first few weeks by the brutality that was the kingdom. The best account that Kobayashi could offer for the mindlessness was that without the Sacred Stone—a gem that held enormous Ki and Mana properties—ones soul would simply be separated from the body without the Sacred Stone as a medium through the portal. Some were lucky, but others...
Masataka sighed heavily and glanced over at the man who was now tending bitterly at his broken lips and flesh. The same man who used to command legions upon legions of imperial troops, now deposed, overthrown by the very domain that he'd helped foster. Betrayed by the people that he had the most faith in upholding his legacy, people that he would call family.
What Kobayashi had said was the truth. He had no reason to come this far just so he could lie to him. By now the man must know how easily Masataka could beat him to a pulp without much of an effort, and yet he'd risked his very life, knowing the numbers of vicious, bloody trails that they'd left when they'd crossed paths before.
Masataka hated to admit it, but he now had the utmost respect for the man. He'd only spent forty-some winters in the kingdom and he was already exhausted, consumed to the core. This old man before him had endured hundreds—if the numbers he claimed was believable; and Masataka had no other means to contradict him. Seven hundred plus winters of brutalities from the kingdom! Starting over from scratched each time they returne.
It might even be remotely possible that this man, along with Masataka's savior and mentor, the great wizard Waechter, now to be known as Fujimura Sato, had helped shape the kingdom into what it was when Masataka had first emerged from the portal when becoming the Gate Keeper. Like the story of two quarreling deities, each endeavored toward what they believed to be more fitting for the people they gathered. Kobayashi believed in structure, whereas Fujimura had his faith in free will.
Although their methods were polar opposites, their goals were one and the same.
"To be honest, Falkner," Kobayashi said, wincing painfully through bloody teeth, "I really don't give a shit about what happened to Aurelia. All I care about...all I need your help on, is restoring the peace and safeguarding my charge—that is, my people, the citizens of the empire."
And Weachter, no, Masataka corrected himself, Fujimura, would have told him the very same if he were present.
And that begged only one question.
"Kobayashi." Masataka purposely avoid addressing him with his imperial lineage. "Tell me again why we couldn't leave for the kingdom now?"
One side of his face was swollen so badly that whatever he said came out like mumbles and disjointed. Realizing this, Kobayashi stopped the futile effort and was visibly fuming.
Masataka sighed again, for the countless time today, walked in front of the man and slapped him across where it hurt the most.
"Fuck!" Kobayashi screamed in anger. "If you touch me one more time with your hands you might as well—" His outburst died mid-sentence, and his hand came up to feel the cut and bruises that were no longer there. "Oh."
Masataka exhaled slowly and waited until the man recovered enough sense to realize that an answer needed to be given.
"Every time the portal was traversed," Kobayashi was still fondling and prodding his cheek, "there was a limited time of no more than two hours from which to make any subsequence pass. And after that a cycle of at least seventy-four days must be attained before the next passage. We are—"
"When?" Masataka growled impatiently.
"Four nights. Four nights from tonight."
"Where?"
"There." Kobayashi pointed to the building behind them, his eyes sparkled. "There is a portal that we could use in the Treasure Museum."
"And how do I know this is not some sort of elaborate scheme to finally get rid of me by trapping my soul in the portal?" Masataka couldn't help but ask.
Kobayashi blinked and started laughing almost hysterically. "You do not," Kobayashi answered, still laughing, "but, my young lord, the choice to enter the portal is entirely yours. Plus," he produced an item in his hand, "you must know what this is?"
Masataka nodded, his eyes locked on the Sacred Stone. The pulsating waves of ki and mana emanating from the black orb prompted the return of dark memories.
"Keep it."
Kobayashi's eyebrow arched, but he obliged without further words. "Until then, Lord Falkner."
Masataka watched his former nemesis disappear into the growing shadows of dusk and whispered, "Old geezer," his eyes turned toward the setting sun, wishing fervently that his most trusted confidant, his old mentor, would be here to answer his question. "Why didn't you tell me this before? What the hell am I supposed to do now?"
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To Be Continued...