It was purely by accident that he destroyed the Stranger's headpiece. They were fighting and the adrenaline of the battle got out of hand, he's willing to admit. Even though it was a life or death duel.
Well… Death being an operative word.
He watches the Stranger as the man fluently dances around the dojo, slicing at the air with his paired Katana and Wakizashi. Admiring the flow and grace in the movements, the ripple of sinew under the Stranger's skin. When the Stranger first woke up in his house, he hissed and winced at every movement his body made, the muscles stiff and sore. The Edge suggested stretching them out with sword practice, and with enough coaxing, the man eventually took him up on the offer.
There's no stuttering or fumbling with his blades even though they're not his favored saber. A true warrior, a master of many weapons.
The Edge thinks back to what brought this situation about. It was near to what he felt to have been the end of their fight, one of them was going to cut the other down. And he was ready to die with honor. The Stranger is an incredible swordsman, with an elegant precision on the battlefield that he envies since he first saw the man. He was proud to fight him and learn from the warrior whatever he could before the end.
He was exhausted but they shot off towards each other. The Stranger got a grand strike in, plunging his saber right into The Edge's gut. He must have aimed to slice straight through The Edge, cutting him in half, but the samurai slammed the broad side of his oar onto the man's head, stunning him. With barely enough time, The Edge leapt back and brought his oar around, gaining momentum for another heavy attack. It connected but didn't bring The Stranger down.
Instead, the black headpiece crushed beneath the assault and splintered the oar. And the Stranger screamed. It made his blood curl up in his veins. He watched in horror as his opponent staggered in place, whipping his head side to side like a blinded man.
The Stranger spoke, panicking but The Edge couldn't understand him. Most of it was gibberish that he can only now assume was the language of his homeworld. Odd enough the Stranger also said something Earth's languages; Spanish, Dutch, French, German, Japanese, so on and so forth. Before this horrendous sound of rusted clamps grinding together shrilled out and the Stranger slammed to the ground, unconscious and barely breathing.
He couldn't leave a worthy adversary suffering in front of him. He had the thought to finish off the Stranger quickly and painlessly, but with what he witnessed he couldn't bring himself to. So, instead, he patched himself up to nurse the Stranger back to health.
Though the Edge still doesn't understand why he decided to try everything he can to "fix" the Stranger after seeing him so weak and lost upon waking up.
"Maybe it was the absolute fear in his eyes," He says to himself.
He hears footsteps coming towards him and looks up to see the Stranger sheathing the paired swords before handing them back to him. The Edge graciously accepts them back with a bow of his head.
"Do you feel better now?" He asks, "May I request for you to sit beside me? I will not harm you but I do have questions."
The Stranger takes a minute to ponder but eventually goes to sit next to him.
Seeing the Stranger's body quivering from stress in certain spots, he massages his hands into the man's shoulders and back, noting the power and muscles of a soldier.
The Stranger tenses but relaxes as The Edge soothes his worry.
"Thank you," The Stranger speaks plainly, "What do you want to ask me?"
The Stranger's dialect is very strange. The Edge can't understand how, but the man's accent will constantly morph into various types, even in the middles of his sentences. Some he recognizes and others he doubts is of Earth origin. He surmises that it must have to do with the fragments of the headpiece, lying on his kotatsu.
"My first question is rather simple," he stops his massaging and looks the Stranger in the eyes, "What is your name?"
The Stranger's surprised and The Edge waits patiently for an answer.
"My name is Rider." He says softly.
"A pleasure to meet you Rider," The Edge holds out his hand to him, "My name is Miura Anjin."
Rider looks at his hand, confused and grievous for a brief second. He stands and The Edge can't tell what his intentions are.
For a moment, he believes that Rider's going to try to grab his saber lying against the wall. The samurai moves to grab his own weapons but instead, Rider pools himself into his lap, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and burrows into his neck.
"You're warm." He mutters out, his lips teasing his skin.
The Edge hopes he is because Rider is ice cold. He even hisses a bit at the skin contact.
"Glad to be of service." He pats the head of white hair floating in his face.
He smiles, thankful there's no need to defend himself. Rider's gentleness does not surprise him, for he saw something that day Rider crashed into his world that makes The Edge dream of being like him.
The Stranger wasn't the one who fired the first shot. All he did was walk, and the world turned to war against him. But even then, Rider knows when to put his sword away.