This One

by the Dah

When an epidemic orphans a young boy, a collaboration of ill luck and a chance meeting with a notorious swordsman pushes him onto a new path – becoming the Meiji Revolution's most feared killer. But just like with every legend, there were things we were never told… A canon compliant character study of Kenshin's early years.

36. The Expendables

AN: Sorry for the delay between updates. There were couple of other projects that took my time during the summer. However, as an apology, this chapter is extra long - so enjoy. :)

Warnings: Violence, bad language and description of warfare

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Chapter 35. The Expendables

The less said about the episode with the Mimawarigumi the better, but afterward, even Kenshin had to admit that there was a sliver of truth to the claim that Himura Battousai dropped his pants for Ito-san. The men joked about it relentlessly in the following weeks, but thankfully the talk didn't spread further. In a way, it was their unit's personal gag, and no one else's. Besides, even if no one said anything, everyone knew that the daring return through the town's mid-morning rush had saved the old man's life.

Not his career, though.

Takahashi's kicks had broken a few of Ito-san's ribs, cracked more, and riddled his whole torso with bruises. Worse, Kenshin's fears were true and the old man had bled internally. The doctor had been of the opinion that Ito-san had only survived through sheer luck and any further excitement or physical exertion would threaten his life. So no one was surprised when Katsura-san dismissed Ito-san back to Choshuu, to handle clan matters back in the province.

However, Kenshin couldn't help but feel guilty about it. Not just because of his friendship with Ito-san, but also because everybody had genuinely liked the old man. Ito-san was the sort of superior who not only got results, but to whom people could talk freely.

The episode plagued Kenshin's thoughts for weeks and made Ito-san's constant lectures about his wastefulness with ki finally sink in. If he hadn't been so proud, so committed to his morals, he would have listened to Ito-san's advice. He would have been more careful, more efficient, and they wouldn't have been captured in the first place.

Yes, it was all his fault. Because he'd screwed up… they had almost died.

When it came to his own health, well, his broken rib was wrapped tight and healing well enough. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said of his left hand. The broken skin from the rope burns was still raw, easily irritated, and an infection risk. His attempt at popping his thumb joint back into its socket had been passably good, but the doctor had still wanted to redo it, just to make sure it healed right. Apparently, his stunt could have easily ruined his hand; if it wasn't allowed to heal right, the joint could either heal too loose or knot too tight. Because of this, Kenshin was firmly forbidden from gripping anything with his left hand, practicing swordsmanship, or doing anything that might hamper his healing.

In a couple days, his headaches and the burning feel in his muscles had faded away on their own. Those had come from ki overuse – pure and simple. Even Kenshin had realized that without asking the doctor. Besides, what could a mere doctor do about it? Nothing. While ki was known among swordsmen, no one else used it internally like Kenshin and as such, there was nothing the doctor could do to help him with it. No, the best he could do was to avoid using ki while he was recovering, unless it was absolutely necessary.

Kenshin had finally begun to understand that he had become overly dependent on using the internal ki-enhancement trick. He could fight perfectly well without it, better than most. True, he wasn't the fastest or strongest. He was small, his short arms limited his range, and his natural speed wasn't up to the abilities of prodigies like Okita Souji, but he was still agile and his style was solid, unique. Honestly, he was good enough to handle most fights without needing to use ki at all. So, if he was on the verge of using too much ki, he could easily manage without.

It was a valuable lesson – one that he had needed, if he was perfectly honest with himself.

Unfortunately, the increased tension with the Bakufu and the hurried preparations for the coming war made it impossible for him to take sick leave. So, after only two days of leave, he was back on bodyguard duty, sitting in on meetings as a fancy threatening tool for Katsura-san. As long as he kept his injured hand out of sight, covered by his gauntlet, no one was the wiser and Hitokiri Battousai's reputation as an invincible warrior wasn't tarnished. It wasn't exactly comfortable to sit there with his muscles aching from ki overuse, his broken rib smarting from the slightest movement, the raw wounds and contusions chafing against subtly wrapped bandages, but he tried not to let his discomfort show by distancing himself with his thoughts. He was getting quite good at it, too.

Besides, it was far better to guard meetings than to sit uselessly at the inn. It was better this way, truly. After all, everyone was struggling to prepare for war and he had gone and made himself next to useless with his failures.

---

Then, at the beginning of the fifth month, Bakufu finally started their march on Choshuu.

It was time.

Kenshin and Katsura rode to Osaka and from there, sailed to Hagi. They had done all they could in the Capital, and now Katsura-san was needed to help with defense preparations and making sure everything went as planned.

And when it came to Kenshin, well…

"Kenshin, the Bakufu's warships are the key. If we can take them, the Bakufu will lose their courage. Will you lend your strength against them?"

It wasn't a question, not really. Katsura-san knew his resolve, knew how much he was willing to sacrifice. They both knew all too well how much was riding on this battle.

So he nodded, and that was it – no further discussion necessary.

For Kenshin, sailing was a new experience. He had never been on the sea before and even though it was only for a couple days, he found the trip far more pleasant than riding, if for no other reason than that it didn't jostle his injuries as badly. Honestly, he had come to the conclusion that if he had to choose, he would take a broken rib over a busted hand any day. Bones were easy enough to bind and keep still, but hands… who knew that trying to live with only one hand was so damn annoying? Since he got the injury, even the most ordinary routines in his life had become troublesome – from dressing, eating, and bathing, not to mention riding one-handed. And still, despite his best efforts to allow it to heal, his thumb joint smarted at the slightest provocation. Annoying, indeed.

Kenshin was pleasantly surprised to find out he wasn't the seasick sort. It was a huge relief. Especially after he had been forced to watch as a few of the other Choshuu men travelling with them puked over the railing every now and then, or moaned pitifully through the night. What was so off-setting about the swaying of the ship? Why did it affect them so badly? It wasn't that bad. Kenshin had even been doing kata on the deck a few times a day, trying to get used to the feel of a moving surface beneath his feet. He had even come to enjoy the challenge it set for him. Though, admittedly, he could have done without the audience. Just what was so interesting about seeing someone do basic sword drills? It wasn't like swords were rare. Every samurai had them and at least rudimentary training to use them.

Or were they staring at him, again?

Kenshin frowned in annoyance and adjusted her shawl a bit higher up around his face, to cover his scar more thoroughly. It the only thing he had taken with him on this journey and he kept it with him at all times. He'd heard some men comment about the color and the beautiful, flowery embroidery, saying that wearing such an item made him look girlish, but what did it matter? It had been one of her most treasured possessions and it was meant to be used. It was comforting. And if Choshuu lost this war and he died – a real possibility, for the enemy force was overwhelming and there were so many things that could go wrong with their plans – he wanted to have her shawl with him when the time came.

She had died wearing it.

She had bled on it, and even now, seeing the stains reminded him of his failures.

Yes, to die wearing this shawl… it was only fitting.

Not that Kenshin exactly planned on dying – it just didn't hurt to be prepared, that was all. Besides, samurai went into battle knowing they were already dead, or so he had heard. Bushido didn't really make much sense to him. He wasn't a samurai, had never been one. But he knew most of their philosophy, etiquette, and mannerisms by heart these days. How could he not? He had been playing the role and living with the warrior caste almost exclusively for years, meeting people and listening to their conversations. Truly, these three years with the Choshuu rebels had changed him.

He would be turning seventeen this summer.

An odd thought.

In a way, he was returning to the only home he had ever known, going back to Hagi with Katsura-san.

Choshuu was where he and his master had spent their winters in his youth. It was the only stable place he'd had, ever since sickness had taken his family and he had been sold to the procurer. What was Master doing now? Writing poetry? Drinking sake? Keeping true to the principles of Hiten Mitsurugi?

Leaning his arms against the ship's railing, Kenshin frowned in thought. Truthfully speaking, it was only partially true to say he was from Choshuu.

Even now he didn't have the faintest idea of where he had been born. As a child, names hadn't made any sense to him. From what little he remembered about his family and the little village by the mountain side, it could have been just about anywhere in Japan. Well, at least anywhere in the southwest. The procurer's caravan couldn't have travelled that far during the autumn and he knew they must have been heading for the major entertainment districts, which meant Kyoto, Osaka or Edo. Maybe he should take some time to seek answers when all this was over? That is, if he survived to see the revolution come true. It would be nice to pray for his family and ancestors during Obon Matsuri at least once.

Yes, I should do that, Kenshin decided, and tilted his face to meet the refreshing breeze blowing in from the ocean. The sea was vast, unknown, and almost terrifying, but there was something beautiful and mysterious about is as well.

He smiled.

It was nice to be alive.

---

They arrived at the harbor at Hagi the next day, where Takasugi-san and his second-in-command, Yamagata-san, were waiting with four horses. Takasugi-san was looking remarkably pale and thin, almost sickly.

Seeing his friend, Katsura-san frowned.

So did Kenshin.

However, the man in question was jovial and just as energetic as always when addressing them. "Kido-san, glad you are finally here." He grinned and turned to Kenshin. "And Himura-san, long time no see! I almost didn't recognize you, boy! You have grown!"

Kenshin couldn't help but blink at him in puzzlement. Grown? Who? He was as short as ever, wasn't he? But then again, it had been three years since he had last seen Takasugi-san, enough time for him to change even if he hadn't noticed any particular difference himself… Thankfully, no one had waited for an answer and his awkward silence wasn't commented on. Instead, Takasugi-san and Katsura-san had started a lively conversation as they mounted their horses.

They were going to spend the night at Takasugi-san's estate, one of the larger houses in the residential area at the edge of town. However, riding through the streets, Kenshin couldn't help but wonder at how small Hagi had become. He remembered it as a bustling city, full of people and exciting sights. But now, somehow, it seemed old-fashioned, almost frozen in time, and – well, like a tightly packed, poor, backwoods town.

Kenshin couldn't help but scoff at the sheer ridiculousness of his thoughts.

He had been born in a small hut on a packed mud floor. His family hadn't had money to buy even the simplest of toys for him or his brothers, not to mention anything finer. And now, he had the gall to criticize Choshuu's capital? Hah! Truly, living on a stipend and working closely with Katsura-san had made him blind to wealth.

Even now, he was dressed in simplified finery: an expensive, high-quality silk kimono, hakama, and haori in a formal but discreet style. He was dressed far better than the majority of people around him, as was expected of the honorable Kido Takayoshi's bodyguard. He got to eat good food, carry the best armor and weaponry, have the best medical care… meet influential and powerful people, listen to their conversations and observe them. True, he didn't care for material wealth – he never had – but realizing how well things really were for him made him feel somewhat ashamed, and well, humbled.

After a multiple course dinner, they set to discuss the coming war with Takasugi-san and Yamagata-san. At first, Kenshin was surprised to see that Takasugi-san's second-in-command was included in the private meeting. He had thought Yamagata-san too direct, too much a soldier to be interested in Katsura-san's politics. However, Kenshin was beginning to suspect that Takasugi-san was dying and grooming Yamagata-san as his successor, not only in the Kiheitai, but also in his work with the Ishin Shishi.

Even odder was Katsura-san's insistence that Kenshin partake in this meeting as well. They were among friends tonight; Katsura-san had no need for a bodyguard. So why would his presence be necessary? Surely no one expected him to comment on the defense plans? He didn't know anything about war! His understanding was rudimentary at best, born out of a few discussions with his Master as a child and having fought the Bakufu's squads in Kyoto – nothing that qualified him to discuss the movements of thousands of men!

Yet, despite his quiet protests, here he was, sitting with Katsura-san, Takasugi-san, and Yamagata-san, avoiding the fine sake they had cracked open, trying not to let his awkwardness show.

"The alliance with Satsuma is all but sealed. If we can hold our own, Saigo and Okubo will push the domain officials to agree to a formal alliance with Choshuu," Katsura-san was saying. "We have negotiated fairly good terms for us, and they have agreed not to join the conflict, on either side. Because of this, the only battle-hardened troops the Bakufu has in the campaign are from Aizu. I managed to encourage the last few straggling domains to stay back, too. So now, the total tally coming against us is about one hundred thousand samurai and their new warships."

"How many ships are there? How many men can they carry?" asked Yamagata-san, his eyes narrowed intently, "And what about their weaponry?"

"The fleet's flagship is Kanrin Maru. It carries about sixty men and has twelve cannons on the side." Katsura-san peered down at his sake saucer thoughtfully, swirling the translucent drink idly. "They have five ships of that caliber."

"What about the rest of the fleet?" Takasugi-san asked.

"None of this is for certain, but the intel I have suggests they will try to take the islands first."

Takasugi-san grimaced and spat in a bowl kept by his side.

The slime was tinted red, Kenshin noticed with increasing worry. So the illness was affecting his lungs… damn. Most likely it was the quiet death. Tuberculosis.

"Well, this will be an interesting war," Takasugi-san said finally. "That army is so large that their options for attack are limited. Either they will launch an attack on several fronts, or try to take us by force." He scoffed dryly. "For the first time, I'm glad that Choshuu is such a remote and mountainous piece of shitty land. It's kept us poor and out of the way for centuries, but it will serve us well in this conflict. Where do you think they will attack?"

"They want to crush us, but I sincerely doubt that even the most foolhardy commander will try to attack Hagi straight on." Katsura-san murmured thoughtfully. "No… they will seek to isolate us, bleed us dry, and make an example of us."

"So, Suo coastal line it is," Yamagata-san said decisively. "The main force will attack the Oshima area and march from there. Given how many men they have, they'll benefit from blocking us from outside support by taking the smaller islands in the area as well."

"Yes, most likely." Katsura inclined his head. "You have a solid sense of strategy, Yamagata-san."

"If that's going to be their plan… they will seek to soften our resistance with bombardment from their new naval arsenal and give their army a chance to regroup after the march." Takasugi-san nodded, "Yes, it's only logical. They will seek to demoralize us by showing off the might of the legendary black ships. A weak bastard like Iemochi would love the irony."

"If they get us running it will save them the confrontation. In fact, I bet they are relying on that – trying to threaten us with numbers and odds, make us desperate." Katsura-san observed coolly. "But the fact of the matter is that most of their army doesn't want to fight. They are here out of obligation and duty, not because of sincere conviction. They are armed with old-fashioned weaponry, bows and arrows, spears and swords. More damningly, most of them have never seen war. Samurai these days are mostly bureaucrats, cushioned by hereditary right. When they are asked to fight alongside their rivals, can they put aside their differences? I think not. No, our men have seen conflict, they know how much is at stake – it's a critical difference."

Takasugi-san scoffed in amusement, his eyes glinting darkly, "Oh boy, will they be surprised. My Kiheitai will crush them." Then he hummed and continued more somberly. "The main force at the beach, the warships and their attack on the islands, the Kiheitai could face any one of those – but not all at once. It's a dilemma. Our supplementary samurai and ronin troops aren't as well trained. Should we split our forces and reduce their effectiveness? Or should we make a gamble? And even then, those damn warships are going to be a problem. Going against them will be difficult. We would need to lure them close to the shoreline to sink them with our field cannons, or send men to board them with smaller vessels. However, their cannons are better than ours and those steam engines make them dangerously fast and maneuverable."

A thoughtful silence landed on them as they took in the dilemma.

Then, Katsura-san glanced at Kenshin and remarked to Takasugi-san, "I was thinking of sending Himura against them."

Takasugi-san raised an eyebrow.

But before he could say anything, Yamagata-san burst out, "One man? Are you insane?"

Katsura-san gave Yamagata-san a pointed look which stifled his protests and said, "No. I was thinking… attacking those ships with a large force is too noticeable; they would sink our ships before our men could get close enough to board them. However, a small team could attempt to take them one by one under the cover of night."

Takasugi-san rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then looked aside and poured himself more sake.

However, Yamagata-san was staring at Katsura-san and Kenshin in disbelief, taken aback by the suggestion.

Even Kenshin could admit that Katsura-san's idea was reckless. By any sane calculation, it wouldn't have even the slightest chance of working: five warships, each with twelve cannons and sixty men, against a single team? However, the enemy would be distracted by the battle on the shoreline, and if they could sneak in, it wouldn't be about numbers anymore. He had fought against horrible odds before, killing whole Bakufu squads alone, and in this case, most of the targets wouldn't be battle-hardened Shinsengumi or Mimawarigumi, but ordinary sailors.

Finally, Takasugi-san broke the silence, asking simply, "Is Himura that good?"

"Yes," Katsura-san answered confidently.

Honestly, it felt good to be trusted by his leader, but Kenshin felt the need to mention a slight problem, "The numbers aren't that much of an issue, that they aren't. This unworthy one has handled such odd before. However, the same can't be said for the length of the fight or getting to the ships unnoticed."

Takasugi-san turned to look at him, seeking his eyes. Then, he nodded, as if he had seen something – determination, perhaps? "Very well," he said. "'I'll detach a squad of my best men with you. The Bakufu's main force will attack in the early morning, so the warships should take advantage of dusk to cover their approach. If possible, you'll use it as well, to take them one by one through stealth. I don't expect miracles, but every ship you manage to overtake will be a victory for us."

Then he turned to look at his second-in-command. "Yamagata-san, you will lead half of the Kiheitai and the supplementary troops against the main force – your priority is to block the passes and flank them at the shoreline. Keep your artillery on the hills overlooking the shore. If Himura's attack fails, you will need to deal with the ships that get too close."

"Yes, sir," Yamagata-san nodded gravely, "but what about you?"

Takasugi-san spat to his side and wiped his bloodstained lips with his sleeve. "I'll take the rest of the troops and ships and stop their attack on the islands."

"But…" Yamagata-san protested.

"It's not ideal." Takasugi-san grimaced. "It never is – all our plans depend on their actions. But, this way, we stand a chance."

---

The following days were a rush of arranging defenses and gathering troops. The Kiheitai had been mobilized to Suo early on, to set up artillery along the coast and blockades on the roads and mountain passes. The rest of the three thousand Choshuu samurai were organized and ready to march at the end of the fifth month. The Bakufu's troops were moving at a pace that met their expectations; the attack would come during the first week of the sixth month.

It was fascinating to see how the conversation between friends, shared over sake and a good meal, was the deciding factor behind Choshuu's movements. Katsura-san was widely respected, but he had no grand title, acting more like a spider pulling at strings within the web, influencing other players to dance to his tune.

Kenshin's days were spent escorting Katsura-san, sitting in on his meetings, and trying to look like he actually had some reason to be there. Well, other than being the fearsome "Hitokiri Battosai." Oh yes, the Battousai's legend had reached the province, at least judging by the number of stares and whispered comments behind his back. He tried to ignore them the best he could, but honestly, it wasn't easy. In a way, he had gotten used to the attention his looks and questionable reputation had attracted in Kyoto because it was fleeting; there was always something more interesting to stare at, such as Westerners, loud and colorful entertainers, or even religious revelers. However, here in the countryside? He stuck out like a sore thumb.

It didn't help that he couldn't retreat to secluded spots or try wearing a disguise of some sort. No, Katsura-san needed to use his fearsome reputation to bolster morale, just like before.

It was tiring.

How nice would it be to just be one among many? Just a normal man instead of this celebrity, place on a pedestal for the cause?

Truly, Kenshin missed his anonymity.

However, it had been his decision to let his description become known. If he had just hidden his face, used a hat or a scarf or something, he could still be useful to the cause and get a breather from the fame whenever he wanted. But no, he just had to be a stubborn idiot back then. Not that he exactly regretted his decision, but still…

Then, finally, they got the confirmation from their spies about the Bakufu's movements: the attack was going to come just as predicted. The main force would gather on the Suo-Oshima coast and was expected to attack on the morning of the seventh day of the sixth month.

Suddenly, everything started moving and Kenshin was placed under Yamagata-san's command, told to get ready to assault the warships.

They rode to the coast together. The Kiheitai commander was in a dark, pensive mood and every now and then, he glanced at Kenshin out of the corner of his eye. Kenshin tried not to let those evaluating looks get to him. Once upon a time, this man had been a friend of sorts, the only man in the Kiheitai who believed in him.

Now… it didn't seem to be so.

Was it because he had become the Hitokiri Battousai? Kenshin frowned, tilting his head in consideration as he took in Yamagata-san. No, it couldn't be that. They both understood hard choices, believed in the same cause.

Perhaps, it was because Yamagata-san didn't believe that Katsura's mad gambit against the warships could succeed?

...Maybe it couldn't, but it was the best chance they had.

Katsura-san had given him this task, believed in him, so Kenshin would give it his all. He knew exactly how important winning this war was for Choshuu, for the Ishin Shishi, even for his dream of the new era. Those warships were an important, game-changing piece in this delicate game – they had the power to wreck all their plans if they weren't stopped. So many things could go wrong tomorrow, but the key to victory had been thrust on the shoulders of a small group of Kiheitai soldiers... and himself.

Suddenly, Kenshin had no trouble understanding Yamagata-san's dark mood.

He swallowed slowly.

Yeah… No pressure.

If you fail, not only will you die – but so will hundreds of men, and there is no telling whether Choshuu can stop the Bakufu after that.

It was well after midnight when they finally reached the coastal hills where the Kiheitai were camping, and even at first sight, he couldn't help but think that the Kiheitai had come a long way since he had been a recruit. Back then, they hadn't been much more than Takasugi-san's vision of a unified paramilitary troop tailored after Western concepts. Now, the Kiheitai was a heavily armed, diligent, and experienced troop, hardened for war in the Battle of Shimonoseki Strait. The boast that they were the best fighting force in the country wasn't just empty talk, but rang true even to his inexperienced eye.

Yamagata-san led him past the tents, down to the beach where a small squadron of men was waiting by two row boats. Fifteen men, all armed with their new Western rifles, wearing Kiheitai uniforms and white headbands.

As they dismounted, the men stood at attention out of respect for Yamagata-san, though quite a few of them shot Kenshin questioning glances. Well, undoubtedly he was an odd sight: small, young, dressed in traditional kimono and hakama, wearing a pale shawl around his neck. Thankfully, it was dark enough that none of them could see the red in his hair.

Yamagata-san nodded at the men promptly and raised his voice, "You might be wondering why you have been taken out of your normal units. Never fear – it doesn't mean that we don't have an enemy for you to fight."

The joke raised tense chuckles.

Everybody knew the odds they were facing. Even the most foolhardy of men would be unsure when facing the terrifying numbers Bakufu had gathered. A hundred thousand men – that was thirty times more than their forces.

Kenshin stood a few steps behind Yamagata-san, obscured by darkness. Watching, but not really participating. He was a bit hesitant as well. He wasn't good with people; he didn't have the faintest idea about how to break the ice and introduce himself to these men. Usually, he didn't have to. Everybody knew him or about him, at least enough to stay out of his way…

Unfortunately, that wasn't an option this time. He knew his limits and no matter how efficient he tried to be, facing hundreds of opponents in subsequent fights all on his own was sheer madness. No, somehow, these Kiheitai men would have to buy him time to recover and figure out how to pace himself in the fight. In essence, for the first time, he couldn't fight alone – he had to rely on a team.

"You have already proven your capabilities to us, each and every one of you," Yamagata-san was saying. "So naturally, we have set out for you the best reward such honorable service merits: a more difficult task. Out there, the Bakufu has brought along their deadliest arsenal: five modern warships, each with a crew of sixty men and twelve cannons along their sides."

A stunned silence landed on the group, but then one of them snorted loudly, "Twenty Bakufu dogs for each of us? My, my – Commander Yamagata, you are in a generous mood!"

"You're welcome, Yasu-san." Yamagata-san inclined his head as if he was a gracious host giving a gift.

The men burst into laughter, breaking the tense mood that had overtaken them.

It was admirable, in a way, to use humor to fend off their fear.

Yamagata-san continued, "You will use darkness as a cover and row to the warships when they slow down or anchor in preparation to bombard the shoreline and soften our forces, much like the legendary Black Ships. Your task will be to prevent that at any cost. Take those ships one by one, kill the defenders, and make sure they cannot fire on us. I don't care how, simply make it happen. However, if possible, we would like to capture some of those ships. They are valuable tools of war we could use later on."

"So… an easy task: kill the men, stop the bombardment, but don't sink the goods?" One of the men laughed mockingly, the very same one who had questioned Yamagata-san earlier – Yasu-san? Then, the man grew quiet, shooting an outright glower at Yamagata-san. "It's a suicide mission."

"Just about so," Yamagata-san admitted. "However, you are not going alone. In fact, your job will not be so much about killing the enemy, but rather, creating cover and supporting the real deal. We've brought one of our own back from Kyoto for this. You might have heard of him." Yamagata-san turned to him, motioning with his hand. "Come closer, Himura. Don't skulk on the sidelines."

Kenshin sighed but stepped closer anyway.

"This young man here is Himura-san," Yamagata-san started with a flourish, "but most people know him as Hitokiri Battousai."

---

The whispered comments and disbelieving stares directed at him started right after Yamagata-san left. It was to be expected. He was used to such a reaction, Kenshin tried to tell himself. However, there was a certain skeptical feel to their gossip that annoyed him, especially when they saw his tightly-wrapped left hand. True, his left thumb hurt whenever he moved it too much and the joint felt looser than it should be, so he had decided to go for the safest option and had wrapped his hand once more as they waited for the go signal. But why did people feel the need to comment on it? It wasn't like he was an invalid or even injured anymore. His thumb was as well as it could be, considering everything.

Then, all of a sudden, the whispers stilled as a large man, the very same one who had talked back to Yamagata-san, approached him with a dark glower on his face. Kenshin tensed, eyeing the marks of an officer on the man's uniform and resolved to keep calm. He needed these men's help and support, and if that meant he needed to prove himself to them, he would. He had done so before. Not in a long while, but it was hardly a new experience for him.

Yasu-san – what an odd name, Kenshin noted – looked like a true soldier. His face was weather-beaten and hardened in a manner that made it hard to pinpoint his age: more than twenty, less than fifty. His hair was cropped short, his face was wide, his nose crooked – most likely it had been broken several times, but he also had deep laugh lines etched in his cheeks and around his eyes. There was a certain feel of maturity to his gaze, not in a refined sense, but like he had seen much and was still laughing despite it. His ki was uncontrolled, moving like a vortex beneath a still surface. Ah! A thinker with an agitated temper.

Interesting.

Yet, for all that… it was obvious that he wasn't a swordsman.

Kenshin's eyes widened slightly as he took in the details and the picture they formed: this man was not a samurai.

The Kiheitai had recruited peasants, hadn't it? And given Yasu-san's brutish manners, his rough speech, the name that everyone called him by even though it couldn't be a clan name… everything about him screamed "unrefined". It was an odd thing to notice. Kenshin had fought solely among the samurai caste for so long that he never thought about people's origins anymore, but this man was a little bit like himself, wasn't he? Yasu-san, too, must have chosen to fight for his beliefs and done well, despite his origins.

With that in mind, Kenshin exhaled slowly and evenly met Yasu-san's gaze, trying to bury his hesitations and seem a bit more welcoming.

"So, Himura…" Yasu-san started, forgoing all politeness and addressing him directly without any suffixes, like a close friend or particularly straightforward superior would have dared. "Yamagata said our first priority is to support you while you do the killing. So, what will it be? What do you need from us?"

Kenshin blinked, somewhat taken aback by his brusque manner. "Er… this unworthy one hasn't really fought together with others before, that he hasn't. Um, that is to say, mostly he covers others' retreats, or goes first. However, for this mission, this unworthy one cannot kill so many by himself without respite, that he can't."

"Huh." Yasu-san's brows climbed up near his hairline. "Well, that's fair enough," he agreed non-committedly, but then, his voice gained a slightly mocking quality, "So we will take over whenever you get tired, is that right? Do you have a signal for us, or whatever those fancy words meant?"

"O… er…" Fancy words? I didn't use any fancy words! Kenshin thought in growing befuddlement. "Ah, perhaps, this unworthy one will go first and when he slows down, your men will take over?"

"Slows down?"

"Er, that's how this one fights – fast, that's so," Kenshin hedged. "Um, unfortunately, it's difficult to keep it up for long, so that is why this unworthy one needs to take breaks, that he does."

"What the hell are you telling me, son?" Yasu-san accused, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Kenshin tried not to let the aggressive glower get to him. Most people had never heard of ki. There was a good reason why he never spoke about his difficulties with other men. Even if they tried, they just wouldn't understand. So he looked down at his hands and fiddled with the bandages. "It's not important, that it isn't." He swallowed dryly. "When it happens – you will see the difference, that you will. The number of enemies is not an issue for this unworthy one; he can handle the odds, that he can. The problem is the length of the fight, so it is."

"…Alright. I guess we will see your worth out there," Yasu said, a clear challenge in his tone. His wide brows furrowed in thought and he glanced at Kenshin's left hand. "What's wrong with your hand, boy?"

"This unworthy one had to dislocate his thumb some weeks ago. It's not an issue, that it isn't."

"Not an issue? The hell!" Yasu-san scoffed. "Can you even use a blade with that hand?"

Kenshin wasn't sure why, but something in Yasu-san's abrasive manner dug under his skin like burdock burrs, so he bit back, somewhat defensively, "It's fine, that it is. If need be, this unworthy one can handle a blade with it. Would be better if not, but it's not a problem, that it isn't."

"And what's with the "this unworthy one" and "that it is" crap? You trying to make yourself out to be one of those old-fashioned, rich clan brats, boy?"

"N-no…" Kenshin stammered, confused enough by the accusation that his eyes widened in shock and he leaned back instinctively.

"Well, son – I don't know what those rich lords in the Capital think, but let me tell you one thing. Me and my men will go on this suicide mission and cover your back, but don't think for a second that your fine name, fame, or fancy sword style is going to merit you any ass-kissing out here. We in the Kiheitai are soldiers. The caste you were born in, your wealth, fame, none of those things are important to us. Only actions matter. So, pretty boy – you will not get my men killed out there, is that clear?" Yasu-san spat the whole speech out angrily and turned to leave, only to shoot one more pointed glare over his shoulder.

On the sidelines, some men nearby snickered at Kenshin's flummoxed expression. "Yasu's going at it again… Oh man, look! Even the famous Battousai…"

Kenshin blinked slowly. What had that been about? Obviously, he had managed to anger Yasu-san, but… he hadn't even done anything! Quite the opposite, actually! He had done his best to be polite and accepting! And yeah, he could understand the older man doubting his skills, but Yasu-san had all but accused him of expecting to have things handed to him like some rich clan brat. And what was the problem with how he spoke? His phrasings were a perfectly acceptable way of addressing oneself!

Before he could think things through, a Kiheitai messenger raced down the slope, waving his hands towards the bay like a madman. Whispers and mumbled shouts rose from the group on the beach as a black ship slid into view, slipping past the island overlooking the bay.

….They are here.

Kenshin's heart skipped a beat, terror flooding his veins.

Everyone in Japan had heard of the black ships. In his childhood, wandering in the countryside with Master, people had talked about them with fear-stained hatred, talking of them as if they were demons out of fairytales. They were impossible to defend against, capable of raining fire, iron, and destruction at the wave of a sneering foreigner's hand.

Objectively, Kenshin knew they were just tools of war, but somehow, at that moment, he understood far more than he had ever wanted why ordinary folk saw them as monsters. It was that bulky, powerful foreign shape, how fast and steadily they moved, uncaring of the currents or wind. It was almost magical. Eerie. Unnatural to the core. A mechanical marvel moving by the power of steam-powered engines, Katsura-san had explained to him once. Though what steam had to do with that eerie movement, he could not say.

More ships followed the first. How could something so large move so fast?

Even at a distance, Kenshin could tell that each of them was at least twice the size of the vessel that he and Katsura-san had sailed on from Osaka to Hagi. In all honesty, he had never seen anything so frightening. He swallowed dryly, trying to calm his racing heart.

…We need to go against those?

The thought made him feel light-headed, like he was in a waking nightmare.

No!

Stop it!

Take a deep breath and focus! he told himself firmly. It's not about the ships, but the men controlling them. And men… you know men. You know exactly how fragile they are, how little it takes to kill them.

That helped, somewhat. At least, enough so that he could hear Yasu-san shouting, "Alright boys! Let's get ready for this!" A mocking tone entered his voice, as he continued, "And remember, if they notice us coming – they'll fire at us. So let's make this nice and quiet, like ninja out of legend!"

The men clambered to their feet and shouldered their rifles.

Kenshin checked he had everything he needed: both of his swords, gauntlets, her shawl, and yes, his left hand was wrapped properly.

And then, people were getting on the boats. There were two rowboats prepared for them, which meant eight men per boat. Kenshin was hedging which one he should take as neither of the crews looked particularly inviting and the crafts themselves less so: the boats were small and rickety. Just a medium-sized wave and they would fall right over and this early in the summer, the sea water would be still cold.

Urgh… Kenshin wrinkled his nose in distaste. Thankfully, he knew how to swim.

However, before he could decide, Yasu-san was there, looming beside him, "One last thing, boys – don't shoot until shit pours our way! We need to give our bright star here a chance to shine, don't we?"

The comment raised guffaws from the men.

Kenshin would have stepped back just to avoid the spotlight he had been inevitably thrust into, but he was too busy gaping, his eyes wandering to Yasu's arms, thick as tree trunks. Gods, the man could lift him with one hand and chuck him wherever he wanted!

"And you, son," Yasu bared his teeth, "you're coming with me."

And that was that, no matter how much Kenshin wanted to shy away with an 'eep.'

---

It surprised Kenshin how smoothly Katsura's madcap plan worked; they took over the first two ships with minimal trouble. Obviously the Bakufu hadn't expected the rebels would launch such a fast counter attack. Or, more accurately, they hadn't thought anyone crazy enough to row next to them in darkness, climb on board and storm the deck, cutting the unsuspecting crew down before they could even raise an alarm.

Admittedly, no fight was exactly quiet – but when they made it on board, the first warships had already opened fire on the shore, making enough noise to drown out a little scuffle behind them.

With ki to speed him, Kenshin hadn't had any trouble bringing the armed guards down in record time. He had kept Ito-san's advice in mind and concentrated on efficiency, taking as many as three or four men with a single, lightning fast slash. It was far from his usual style, but served to emphasize Master's claim that Hiten Mitsurugi was the absolute power in the land, created to pit one against many. Even fighting whole squads in Kyoto hadn't been like this. In Kyoto's narrow streets, he'd always had the option of running, forcing his targets to chase after him, then going at them one by one. Here, the enemy surrounded him and came from all directions, not waiting their turn, simply seeing an opportunity and taking it.

Battoujutsu wasn't a good move for this sort of fighting, so he only used it when there was a sign of hesitation among his targets, a slightest of break that allowed him to flick away the excess blood from his blade and re-sheathe.

After he had dealt with the guards on the deck, he immediately let go of his internal ki-enhancement and let the Kiheitai men take care of the rest of the crew: the sailors, engineers, and gunners below deck.

Frankly, he was glad that he didn't have to participate in the slaughter of the defenseless.

After only two fights, a familiar throbbing was forming between his eyes. Yes, a breather seemed reasonable at this point. He stood there, close to the railing, trying to keep breathing, in and out, deep but steady motions to slow his racing heart. Close to the shore, a third ship was sliding forward, about to join the first two bombarding the shoreline.

Two down, three to go.

In one word: ouch.

Kenshin rubbed his brow idly, hoping to chase away the flickers of pain.

"I see now what you meant by speed," a low, rumbling voice commented behind his back.

Huh? Kenshin froze, and turned to look over his shoulder. Ah, Yasu-san. But of course. None of the other Kiheitai men seemed willing to converse with him. He shook off his dazed thoughts, focusing on the present. "Are the gunners and sailors taken care of?"

He had hoped to have a bit more time, just to minimize his trouble with ki… but there really wasn't any. Soon, the remaining ships would start to wonder why the two they had already taken care of weren't joining in the bombardment, and worse, with every moment they spent here, people were getting hurt on the shore.

"Just about done, I wager. We should be ready to head to the third ship soon," Yasu-san rumbled, before pausing to look at him, a strange expression taking over his weather-beaten, wrinkled face. "Say, son… how can you kill like that? That speed of yours, it's almost godlike. When you go out there and kill, it's not a fight – you squash them. I mean, I'm a soldier. I have seen killing, damn ugly killing at that, but what you do…" He shook his head numbly.

Kenshin looked aside. It was true, what Yasu-san was saying, and he hated it. He had always hated it. It made him feel filthy, like he was stained with blood. No, worse than that, he was drenched in blood and guts throughout. He gritted his teeth – now was not the time for guilt and regrets.

He turned to Yasu-san. "This unworthy one-"

However, before he could say more, an explosion shook the ship, the unholy racket coming from somewhere below deck. Kenshin grabbed the railing to keep his balance. Shit! Shit, fucking shit! There was no chance in the eight great hells that the explosion had gone unnoticed by the Bakufu ships! And then the Kiheitai men stumbled on deck, scrambling like rats pouring from a tunnel, shouting over each other:

"Gunpowder!"

"The ship is sinking!"

"Fire!"

"Yasu, we need to go!"

Yasu-san stepped past him, tall and unmoving as a massive tree in the middle of a field. "What the hell happened?" he shouted. Beneath their feet the ship shook, the broken support beams groaning, and Yasu-san gritted his teeth. "No matter, we need to go! Let's go! Let's go, men! Three more ships to go!"

There was no time to argue. They all knew that the element of surprise was lost, and all they had left was speed. They were climbing down to the row boats when the first cannon fired on them.

It missed them by a few feet, hitting the sinking warship's side, peppering them with shrapnel and splashing water. Oh, god – they were like sitting ducks out here! Shouts and screams echoed around him. But there was no other choice but to go forward. If they slowed down, they would only give the Bakufu's warships a better chance to get their aim right. The men he was with were rowing for their lives, panting desperately, their eyes wild with panic.

The cannons kept firing on them.

One after another.

Whenever high-pitched whistling pierced the air, the only thing they could do was pray it wouldn't hit them.

And the worst, the absolutely worst part was that there was nothing Kenshin could do to help. There was no room on the rower's bench, no additional oar for him to use. He was the passenger. The one these men were tasked with helping. He could only watch and wait through the nerve-wracking heartbeats, wishing, hoping their luck would continue to hold.

Of course, it wasn't meant to be.

The next boom echoed out from a distance, the cannonball's howl piercing the air, and he could see it coming. The world stopped; the mess of noises, shouts, and blood rushing in his veins deafened him, the flickers of ki around him blending into a mess of fear and panic, and Kenshin realized there was no avoiding death.

The cannonball struck, crushing through the rickety rowboat to the left of them, the iron ball bursting through flesh and wood with unstoppable force. People, pieces of them, blood, splinters of wood, and foamy water splashed, knocked back from the force of the explosion and forming a wave that nearly tipped over Kenshin's boat as well.

Oh, gods…

Eight Kiheitai men, half their group – their comrades, they were dead, just like that?

"Keep rowing, you sons of bitches!" Yasu howled. "Keep rowing, goddammit!"

They just… they are dead. Just like that. Kenshin gaped, unable to do anything but stare at the foamy spot, marked by pieces of wood in the water. A single shot, and they, they… Oh, gods.

"Himura! Wake up, son! You need to clear the way! Go, go!"

Kenshin blinked dazedly, turning to look upwards, only to see Yasu looming over him, holding him by the shoulders and shaking him. The soldier's face was red with anger and he was yelling, his spit spewing everywhere. Yet Kenshin couldn't feel anything, couldn't make out the words – couldn't focus enough.

Then, all of a sudden pain bloomed in his left cheek, echoing down to his jaw, and Kenshin gasped, the world aligning again. Fucking hell, the bastard had slapped him! He jumped to his feet, snarling, "You fucker!"

"Can it, son, and move!" Yasu growled, grabbing him by the neck of his kimono and hauling him forward, pointing him towards the deck. "They are on to us!"

The warship was just in front of them and the Kihetai men were slinging ropes to board the ship. The Bakufu's men were on the railing, shooting at them or cutting through their ropes.

They were fucked if they didn't move now!

Another rope was thrown and Kenshin focused his ki, felt the coldness spread through him, and dashed forward, running on the rope and then climbing on it like a squirrel. The Bakufu samurai nearest him didn't manage to cut it, not before he was dead, his head separated from his body with one clean quick draw. Another man charged. Too slow, he too fell from a single strike and then Kenshin was on them, slashing his way through, clearing the way and defending the railing. The throbbing behind his eyes was growing, becoming deeper, more urgent with each passing second. His muscles were starting to burn, his breath came faster, but it didn't matter. Kenshin gritted his teeth and killed.

Clean strikes, one, two, and three; feel your opponent's moment of hesitation – use it to shake off the blood and re-sheathe.

Quick draw, and again.

He was a whirlwind of death and destruction, cutting through anyone who came at him, killing and killing. He couldn't even tell how many lay dead at his feet; body parts, blood, and entrails covered the deck and made it slippery, but then there was no one else coming at him. The throbbing behind his eyes had turned into a terrible ache and finally, he let go of his ki. His knees wobbled under him, his stomach lurching with nausea, but he stayed on his feet through sheer force of will.

Behind him, the six remaining Kiheitai men and Yasu were shouting something, holding out their rifles – no, shooting over the railing?

But why would they…

Oh.

The fourth ship was gliding towards them.

…But this ship wasn't taken yet! There were still men below deck, and the cannons weren't disarmed, and–

"Himura! Move it!" Yasu shouted. "We will take over the helm, but you need to take care of the men below deck!"

Kenshin swallowed dryly, trying to force down his panic – then, he ran.

It was dark below deck, the oil lamp light a stark change from the darkness of dusk. He felt like he was submerged in another world, the chaos above deck morphing into something unrecognizable, the odd, almost suffocating smell of smoke, fire, gunpowder, and sweat taking over his senses. The humid warmth around him swallowed him, disgusting and overpowering.

A scream rang out close by and then, he was not alone on the staircase.

A sailor charged at him, trying to drive a knife into his gut. He saw it coming. He did. But his headache was spiking, nausea brought on by pain, exhaustion, and the horrible smells was making him feel wobbly… Gods, how was he supposed to use ki like this?

Simple: he couldn't. There was no way.

At the last possible moment, Kenshin grunted and twisted sideways, dodging the strike by the skin of his teeth, and stepped behind the sailor, slashing his throat open from behind. The man fell to his knees, trying to cradle his gaping throat in vain, blood gushing out in torrents, painting his chest red.

Kenshin stepped past him, flicked the excess blood from his sword, and sheathed it.

A group of presences was nearing him, a blurred mess that amounted to three or four men, he wagered. The corridor was narrow, and worse, the ceiling was so low that he didn't have any room to jump or maneuver in the air. His katana would be next to useless in conditions like these. He dashed forward past the hallway into the wider space where gunners and sailors had been preparing their defense, drew out his wakizashi and attacked.

There was no time to think, no time for regrets or guilt. He danced on instinct and carefully honed reflexes, letting his training and experience take over. He was slower, weaker than he was used to. But these men, they weren't any better than him; they were specialists, sailors and gunmen, cooks and galley boys, men and youths who knew little of swordfights. Once upon a time he would have abhorred the thought of killing them, but in this one endless moment, there was nothing but us versus them – the knowledge that if he showed mercy, he would die. So he used his agility to his advantage in the limited space, reading their projected attacks and dancing around them, jumping, rolling, twisting, and somersaulting away from their daggers and blades of variant lengths and even a few bullets fired from handguns.

One by one, the flickers around him died out, the wall of enemies dwindling down to few terrified men standing on a floor riddled with corpses.

Kenshin was sweating like a pig, desperately panting for breath, trying to gauge which of his targets would attack next… when a terrible crash hit the ship, swaying the hull worse than any earthquake. As luck would have it, he was close enough to a wall to lean against it, and he stayed on his feet through the tremors. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the remainder of his targets, and when the worst was over, he was on them, ending their struggle with a cruel efficiency: a single stab to the heart or throat.

He wasn't exactly sure what had struck them, but he had a good guess. And if he was right, the Kiheitai men couldn't handle them on their own...

He exhaled softly, focusing on the swarm of ki presences flooding the deck.

…For fuck's sake.

He ran.

The fresh sea air burned in his lungs, but he gulped it regardless, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of a couple dozen guardsmen attacking the Kiheitai men, surrounding them with six to one odds. Yasu and his men had no chance, not without him. Kenshin didn't even hesitate before digging deep into the flow of ki inside him, gathering and pushing it down his limbs. The pain flared, just like a warning sign from hell. He didn't care. This wasn't going to kill him. It was just pain and he knew pain, he thought with reckless abandon, chanting in his head: you can do this – if you focus enough, you can ignore anything, pain, nausea, the color show in your eyes, can't you?

And then the world slowed to a halt and he was dancing among the enemy.

Strike, dodge, look for the path, get between them, and cut through all three!

Good!

Feel the flicker behind you, turn around and parry, slice his belly open. Ignore the slippery mess. Let his friends be enraged by his pain and attack you at once, then you can get them at the same time!

Don't think! Flick your wrist, sheathe your blade, and draw again!

Yes, just like that – let your strikes flow.

One, two, three, and four.

Don't mind the pain, it's your friend. It shows that you are alive and as long as you live, you can fight.

Notice how he charges at you, yes – good, just like that. Slide under his attack, grab your wakizashi with your left hand and stab him through the underside of his jaw.

Don't mind how your hands shake, how your muscles burn. It just shows that you are alive.

Just keep breathing…

And kill.

Then there was no one bearing Bakufu colors left. He let go of his ki, feeling nothing but the painstaking numbness of hanging on by a thread, fighting for survival. His legs felt like they were made out of sticky rice and he wobbled forward, not sure why staying upright seemed so very difficult. Yet, he couldn't stop now. There were still remaining enemies on the fourth ship's deck, the one that had collided with them, and even if the Bakufu men were hurrying to retreat, they were still a threat. If they got some distance, how easy would it be for them to open fire and sink the ship Kenshin and Yasu's team had struggled to overtake?

No, for them to survive, the remaining ships had to be taken care of. The guys on the shore, fighting against the Bakufu's main force, depended on the success of this mission.

Kenshin ran.

A bunch of boarding hooks and ropes that the Bakufu had slung to board them were still tying the two ships together. One of them in particular grabbed his attention: a rope, hanging from the fourth ship's mast, the free end hanging loosely between the ships. He didn't think twice before jumping towards it, his sword at the ready – but when he grabbed the rope with his left hand, he realized his mistake a second too late.

Momentum and gravity worked in his favor as he swung forward, but the rope kept slipping through his grip, tearing at the skin of his palm, his weight too much for his injured hand to hold. By some miracle, he managed to cross the gap, but the enemy was there, firing on him and the enticing target he provided. The shots echoed all around him and suddenly, it felt like someone kicked him in the stomach, pushing out all the air from his lungs.

He gasped breathlessly, gripping the rope even harder by instinct, trying to land in a good spot – but it was too much; his thumb popped out of its joint. For fuck's sake! His fall was anything but smooth, but he was right where he intended to be and that was all that mattered. Drawing on his ki, he fought past the terrible burning pain that flared in every inch of his body, narrowed his eyes to look past double vision mirages, and climbed to his feet. He felt the flickers of ki around him, saw the blurry figures and knew he had to kill them. There was no other way.

He charged towards them, slashing through them like a drunken rice farmer swinging a scythe. There was no time for elaborate kata, for fancy acrobatics – no, all he had was the speed and strength that ki-enhancement brought him and his pig-headed stubbornness not to give up.

Then there was only one last man standing, cradling his rifle in his arms like a talisman to ward off evil. "Demon," he gasped, staring in utter horror at Kenshin's mid-drift. "You're a demon. No man could…"

Kenshin grimaced, a sick parody of a grin. What else could he do? It was what he was, and he had no choice but to kill them all. He cut the man in half, rifle and all, before throwing his head back and laughing breathlessly. Oh gods, the pain! The burn! Was this what the fires of the eight great hells felt like?

...But what was the wetness running down his thighs and stomach? Surely there was no water in hell?

His irreverent thoughts were interrupted by a feeling like nothing else, a deep, piercing stab radiating everywhere from a tiny spot on the left side of his stomach. He pressed his right hand there in dazed wonder, feeling it become slick with blood… and then, his legs gave out under him and he saw nothing but darkness.

---

He woke to a terrible ache, feeling like he had died and been slung out of hell after the demons had chewed on him for a while. Gods, he hurt. There were two ki presences near him, engaged in a low-voiced conversation. They didn't feel exactly familiar, but neither did they feel threatening – and case in point, he was still alive.

Or, at least, he thought this was still the living world.

"They are backed into a corner now," the first voice remarked. Pleasant tone, if quite unremarkable, could belong to any guy in his twenties. "Problem is; they have barricaded themselves down there. They have enough gunpowder to blow up half the ship if they get desperate, but they want that outcome as little as we do, so I'd wager we can keep them busy for hours."

"And by then, we can get reinforcements," a low, rumbling voice finished for him. "Well done, Yu."

"Eh, don't thank me. It can still go badly – not to mention, I don't like how the battle is turning out on the beach," the younger man, Yu, remarked, before continuing in a quieter tone. "I feel bad about the boy, though. Hard to believe he became the Battousai. You know, last I saw him, he was a real cute kid."

"…What are you talking about?"

"It was before your time, all the way back when Takasugi was just founding the troop. About three years ago? I was recruited then, but that boy was there, too, and he was already brilliant with a blade," the younger voice explained. "So, how is he, really? Do you think he'll make it?"

There was a low groan, heavy footsteps creaking on the deck, and then someone slapped him on the cheek. Kenshin whimpered but managed to open his eyes in slits, just enough that the large shape before him cleared into the unrepentant form of Yasu.

"Ha! Well, this is a surprise – the boy's still alive." Yasu let out a breathy chuckle, glancing over his shoulder to his companion. "Can't say for how long that's gonna be, though. That's a bleeder right there in his gut. I packed it good and wrapped it, but it needs stitches desperately. Thank god he had that silly scarf with him." Yasu snorted. "I swear, at first I mistook him for a shy girl hiding her face behind it, but it sure worked as an emergency bandage."

Kenshin took in a deep, ragged breath, trying to get the world back in order. The conversation above him didn't matter; he just needed to fight past the burning pain, the disorientating headache, the color show in his vision.

"I see," the younger man said. "How's your leg?"

Yasu guffawed. "Oh, it's just peachy. Ain't good for much, but it won't kill me either. Say, Yu… are my eyes deceiving me, or is that last black ship moving?"

"Hmm, I think so," Yu murmured. "I'd say it's heading for the first ship we dealt with."

"Fuck." Yasu summed up all their thoughts. "If they can rearm those cannons, they'll have two fully operational warships right there. Yamagata's reinforcements haven't boarded it yet; no doubt they are all tied up defending the shore. That whole beach is in chaos, there's no telling if we are winning or losing… but I'd hate for the Bakufu to turn the tables now with another set of cannons."

Yu hummed softly. "I wouldn't worry about them getting the first ship back in working order any time soon. Me and my boys spread their gunpowder all over the lower deck, smashed any delicate parts we could find, and I took personal responsibility for wrecking their steering."

"Yu…" Yasu said slowly. "Have I ever told you I love you and your dastardly ways? A former monk or not, you have an evil streak a mile wide."

"I do, eh?" the younger man huffed. "I might have heard that once or twice."

Kenshin coughed and pressed his hand against his bandaged mid-drift, and hoping that pressure would ease the pain, he struggled to sit up. "The last ship?" he rasped, looking up at Yasu and his companion.

Yasu laid a massive hand on his shoulder, looking at him with the strangest expression. "It's a lost cause, son," he said gently. "We did good, but we can't finish the job."

The words stung.

They had come this far, and yet they could still fail? The last ship was still fully operational, it could just as easily come for them directly and take over this ship, and then what? They would just roll over and die? No, there had to be something they could still do. Something. Anything. Kenshin took a deep breath and grunted, sitting up, leaning his back against the railing and ever so slowly, gathered his legs underneath him. He felt weak as a newborn, but somehow, he managed to stand and turn against the railing, to see for himself.

The last warship was gliding slowly towards the one they had stopped near the island, overlooking Oshima bay.

A threat.

With the last ship still in the game, Yamagata couldn't send reinforcement to take over the ships they had worked so hard to neutralize. Worse, that warship was still fully operational, capable of causing terrifying damage to the ground forces on the beach. Their cannons were far superior to the field guns the Kiheitai had set on the hills…

Kenshin gripped the railing, racking his mind frantically. There had to be something they could do, but what?

How could they disable the last warship's cannons? Even if he could magically transport himself to the ship, he had no chance of killing the crew, not like this... but wait, what had that Yu said about steering? Kenshin frowned, thinking; a ship was still a vehicle, obviously it had to be controlled from somewhere.

"Yasu-san," he began, "is it necessary to overtake the last ship? Could we direct it to hills, to our field guns?"

The older man's eyes narrowed. "Son… what are you talking about?"

Kenshin leaned his weight against the railing and turned to look at the two soldiers. "Finishing the job," he said simply, his determination shining through. Katsura-san had given him this one task, trusted it to him. He couldn't fail, not when so much relied on them neutralizing the Bakufu's new warships. No, for him – failure wasn't an option.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, clenching his hands tightly. His useless left hand flared with pain, his loosely lurching, swollen left thumb throbbing miserably.

Even if he knew how, rowing like this would be impossible. Could he jump into the water and swim there? He snorted bitterly, trailing his left hand back to his bandaged stomach. Even if his wound was packed and wrapped tightly to stifle the bleeding, he remembered the last time he had taken a swim while injured. He had nearly bled to death before he'd noticed anything was wrong.

Yet, what did it matter?

His pain, his guilt and shame at being useless, even the impossible odds they had been handed, what did those matter? Not a damn thing, because… "Choshuu is fighting against impossible odds. Not just us, but everyone we know. We were given this one task, a key to victory," he hissed, low and angry. "We can't give up now."

If they didn't get this done, Choshuu's chances to defend against the Bakufu's main force would be even worse. No, as long as there was still breath left in him, he couldn't give up. This war was where his dreams for the new era would soar, or be crushed. If they won here, the revolution could happen. All the lives he had taken wouldn't be for nothing…

I have already failed so many times. I can't fail again. I can't.

A low, hacking – disbelieving? – laugh tore him from his thoughts. "Son, you really think you can do it? If you get there, can you do it?" Yasu asked.

Kenshin met those dark, skeptical, and angry eyes that had seen so much and still had the capability to mock anyone, no matter their fame or status, and inclined his head.

"Yu, can you hold the enemy pinned down below and keep this ship under your control?"

"Yes," the younger soldier nodded.

Then Yasu turned to Kenshin and his mouth widened into a smile, not a nice one – a chilling, eerie smile that promised pain and death. "Son, I may not be of much use like this." He motioned to his injured leg. "Hell, I think you are a crazy piece of shit for even wanting to try. It's suicide, plain and simple, and practical men like me know there is nothing heroic in death. But you are right – that damn ship is a threat. So the least I can do is row you there."

A million things racing through his mind, Kenshin stared, but in the end, there was only one answer to an offer like that – he nodded, sealing their agreement.

They didn't have time to waste; dawn was coming fast and with the rising sun, their chances of getting to the last ship would plummet to hell. The warship had anchored near the first ship they had taken, far out of the reach of Choshuu's field cannons. They seemed to be busy, boats going between the ships, both decks bustling with crewmembers scurrying back and forth. Given their inattention, there was a good chance they wouldn't notice anyone approaching them from the open sea.

With his busted leg, Yasu had trouble climbing down to the rowboat they had left tied to the fourth warship's side.

Not that Kenshin had it much easier – his left hand was next to useless, and each and every movement send a wave of throbbing pain from his abdomen. He was acutely aware how her pale blue scarf was getting more and more soaked with his blood.

The first thing he did as he got to the boat was to sit down and try moving his swollen thumb. It kept aching in the most annoying manner. Ah, of course – the joint was badly aligned. He held his breath and pulled. The joint lurched, dropping back into the socket. Yes, that was better. Strange, how easy such a thing was to do now. It didn't even hurt that badly, not compared to the rest of his pains.

Judging by the look Yasu gave him, the older man thought he was out of his mind.

Maybe he was.

It would certainly explain some things. Kenshin sighed softly and leaned backwards, taking advantage of the moment of peace to redo the wrappings around his left hand. He had a bad feeling that his thumb would never heal quite right, but at this point, he just needed to do his best to get the joint up to handling some stress. At least enough to handle climbing…

Yasu rowed forward at a steady pace, his massive arms bulging with each pull on the oars. There was no hesitation, no fumbling in his movements. Right here and now, he looked like the lord of his domain, calmly going on a stroll.

It was remarkable.

How could a mere farmer be so at peace with himself, with his decisions? Was there no fear in the man?

The warship loomed ahead of them like a quiet mountain. Quiet and insignificant as a pair of mice, they approached it from behind. Kenshin tried his best to feel out the presences on the deck, but his ki was acting strange, edgy. It was difficult to sort out the mess of untrained flickers, especially when they felt so hurried and stressed. Adding to the general air of confusion was the fact that the ship hadn't anchored yet, but the engines weren't on either.

Kenshin signaled Yasu to pull up near the back, close to the engine ports.

The older man cocked his brow, but didn't comment – he merely threw the rope over the railing. It landed with a loud enough clatter that Kenshin swore his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. He held up his finger to his lips, struggling to mask his ki as well as he could into something that resembled the blurry presences of the crew, but no one came to check the noise.

Alright. He exhaled slowly and began to climb. It was hard work, made much more difficult by his injuries and general exhaustion. Worse, he couldn't afford to make noise – surprise was the only advantage he had at this point. If he lost it, he would be dead, and so would the man who had helped him get here. So he kept pausing, gritting his teeth and hissing whenever his wounds smarted.

Finally, he was over the railing, near the massive exhaust ports for the steam engines. Just across him, men were gathered to watch the battle onshore – their attention riveted by the spectacle and the cannon roars echoing on the horizon. Kenshin withdrew from sight, noting their agitated pacing and their hushed, low-key arguments.

If there was one mixed blessing, it was that they didn't seem to know how the battle was going any better than he did. So, Choshuu was holding its own – at least enough to keep the Bakufu guessing, too.

Kenshin swallowed, then sneaked forward, sticking to the shadows.

Every now and then he paused, waiting for the crewmembers or guards to pass him by, but as he was trying to sort out the situation, his attention kept being drawn to a cluster of presences, flickering temperamentally – inside the cabins? Could that be where this beast of a ship was steered from? Following the suspicion, Kenshin noted the people nearby and when they weren't looking his way, slipped around the corner and into the hallway. The nook was out of the direct line of sight from the deck, giving him cover as he stopped to listen by the door.

"We must continue to bombard the shore! Our artillery can still bolster our armies in the battle!"

"Are you insane, General? The rebel dogs have already attacked four of our ships! We must immediately set out to assist them!"

"You are both right – but for now, our priority is to rearm Kanrin Maru's cannons. With two ships, one can act as a sentry against rebel ambushes, while the other attacks."

"But Katsu-san… the damage the rebels did to the Kanrin Maru, can we even repair it on such short notice?" the second voice questioned, disgruntled.

It seemed that Kenshin had found exactly what he was looking for, but he couldn't help but feel slightly taken aback. What did it mean, if even the commanders of this weapon of war were confused by the situation?

No, don't stop to think about useless things, he told himself firmly, and took a deep breath, reaching for his ki – only to pause midway. Being this close to his limit, could he risk it? The answer was obvious. For now, it was better to save the internal enhancement trick for when he had no other choice left. Besides, there were only three men inside. He could handle three. Or so he hoped. Steeling his nerve, he took hold of the strange knob on the door and slowly tested its range of motion: pulling didn't budge it, but twisting did – so strange, these Western inventions. The door opened and he ghosted inside, trailing his good hand on his sword, readying himself to draw. The commanders were in such a deep argument that they hadn't noticed him yet.

Three men, each of them wearing uniforms with varying amounts of fancy decorations that no doubt held some meaning to them. A tall youth stood right across him, facing away from him. A sour looking older man was on his left – the same one who had argued about continuing the bombardment? And on the right, a short man who both of the others seemed defer to regardless of his modest, efficient garb.

For this ploy to work, Kenshin only needed one man with authority. The other two would be an unnecessary complication.

Given the narrow space, his katana would be too cumbersome a choice – so he took hold of his wakizashi, soundlessly slid it out of its sheath, and quick as lightning stabbed the tall youth in the back. The other two shouted in alarm, but Kenshin was already on the move, pulling his blade free and stepping around the dying man to attack the older general. The man tried to punch him, a feeble, desperate strike that was easy enough to predict and Kenshin sidestepped it, cutting the man's throat with single, efficient slash.

And then, there was only one.

The short man, the one the other two had deferred to.

Kenshin stalked closer, pointing his blade at the man, and said softly, "This unworthy one doesn't wish to kill you – but he will, if you don't give in."

"So I see," The man said softly, meeting his eyes fearlessly. He held out his hands in surrender, but his gaze was remarkably shrewd, even calculating. "What is it that you want from me, then?"

"To direct this ship towards the shore."

In silence, they stared at each other: a commander of one of the Bakufu's brand new Western warships and a beaten and exhausted rebel assassin. Kenshin couldn't tell how long the tense moment lasted, seconds or minutes. He couldn't even tell if the captain realized how desperate a gamble this truly was for him, but then – the man dipped his chin and said, "I will do as you say, but only if my men can leave the ship."

"When we get moving, your men can leave whenever they want; to retreat or to join the main army if they so wish," Kenshin countered easily, a tight knot at the pit of his stomach uncoiling in private relief.

However, before he could continue, an uncontrolled and agitated presence neared them, a remarkably familiar presence at that. Kenshin paused in disbelief, unable to believe his senses, but then the door burst open and Yasu stumbled in, limping heavily as he dragged along a Bakufu man in a chokehold. His massive arms bulged, his captive ceasing his struggling as his face turned red from lack of air. With an ugly grunt, Yasu dropped the man to the floor like a rag doll and stepped over his prone body.

"What the hell are you waiting for, Himura?" he growled. "I'll hold them off, just get us moving!"

Kenshin couldn't do anything but gape at him for a moment, completely speechless. The last thing he had expected was for Yasu to follow him! But somehow, he didn't know how, he managed to shake off his surprise and direct his attention back to his captive.

The Bakufu commander sighed. "Don't you have any idea what it takes to get a warship of this size moving? No, of course not, that would be too much to ask, wouldn't it?" he grumbled. "You know, I can't do what you ask by just pushing a button or twisting a knob. At the very least, I need to give commands to the engine room."

"Then why aren't you doing so already?" Yasu bit off.

But Kenshin held up his arm at Yasu, looking pointedly at the captain. "Is this ship worth your life? Worth your men's lives?" he asked, his voice soft as a whisper and twice as cutting for it. "If I have to, I'll kill every single one of you to neutralize the threat this ship poses for us."

The captain paused, his eyes widening slightly. "You really would, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," Kenshin said, dead serious.

His hands shaking slightly, the captain took hold of an odd device, a metallic cone, and shot off a row of commands in an incomprehensible language into it. Kenshin had no idea what was said, but there was something in the Bakufu captain's manner that told him the man was worth his word, at least to a point.

The ship started moving and if he wasn't entirely mistaken, the direction was about right.

He nodded at the captain, motioning with his sword for the man to step aside. Yasu limped to the control table and using his rifle butt, started to wreck havoc on the delicate instruments on it. With each strike, each clang and spark, the Bakufu captain flinched, as if it physically pained him to see a lumbering giant violate his fancy ship, yet he didn't otherwise protest or even let his face betray him, even if his ki was flaring in helpless fury.

It was almost admirable, yet Kenshin couldn't afford to pity the man.

He was starting to feel increasingly light-headed, slight tremors running through his body. The loud noises of Yasu's wanton destruction were making his headache worse. Quite honestly, he couldn't say if he had ever felt quite as sick as at this moment. Something wet was trailing down his stomach, towards his inner thigh. He was quite sure it was blood. Had the scarf binding the bullet wound in his stomach loosened, or had it just soaked through? At this point, the only thing keeping him standing was the knowledge that this ploy would only work as long as he could look threatening.

With all the control table's instruments destroyed, they had no way of telling where they were going. Had the captain pulled one final heist, ordering them to head for the sea instead of the shore?

The silence was nerve-wracking.

At a distance, the crew members' ki presences were becoming more and more stressed, almost panicked… and then, someone was beating on the cabin door, howling, "Commander! Generals! What is happening in there? Where are we going? What is our task?"

The Bakufu captain glanced at Kenshin expectantly, but Kenshin shook his head and made a cutting motion to his throat. The message was clear: shout and die.

The captain paled.

"Commander!" The man at the door shouted again, even more distressed. "Answer us!"

But then another voice cursed, "Shit! Is that blood?"

"Oh fuck, it is!"

"Help! Someone has taken over the commander's cabin!" they screamed, and began to slam the door with all their strength, trying to push it open.

Yasu rushed to hold them off, leaning all his bodyweight against it to keep it from coming off its hinges. The cannon fire from the beach was becoming louder, more pronounced, but even that was a vain comfort against the growing feeling of entrapment. Yasu grunted desperately, snarling at him, "Fuck it all to hell! You've killed us both with this stunt, son!"

A terrible crash echoed around them, the ship shaking miserably as it took a direct hit – enough to shake off Yasu's bodily barricade, causing him to stumble and fall. Faster than Kenshin could register what had happened, all hell broke loose as the door burst open and Bakufu soldiers stormed inside. There was no thought involved, merely desperation and instinct as Kenshin dipped into his waning ki and attacked, slashing into the wall of bodies pushing inside. Blood splayed, howls filled the air, and there was nothing but chaos, far too many things going on at the same time for him to see or understand them.

The only thing in his mind was the need to cut through the enemy, carve a pathway out of the hellhole that the captain's cabin had turned into. In this narrow space, in the bloodiest battlefield he had ever been, even his wakizashi felt too long, too awkward to handle, and by god, never before had he felt so grateful to be small and agile.

The ship shook and groaned, the wood and metal singing a song of destruction around them as the hits kept coming, one cannon blast after another. Somehow, he didn't know how, Kenshin managed to make it outside, onto the deck that had descended into pure, unrivaled chaos: left and right, men were scurrying in panic, screaming and jumping over the railing and into the sea.

Leaning against the corridor wall, Kenshin couldn't do anything but gulp for air. His ki fiddled, the pain between his eyes spiked – and his knees buckled out from under him. He knew he should hurry. If he could just climb back to his feet and jump over the railing, he had a chance of escaping. The shore was near enough that even in this state; he should be able to swim to shore…

But his feet refused to obey him.

So this was his limit?

This is how it ends?

He huffed softly, a wheezy, breathless laughter.

The shore neared at rapid speed; the field cannons in the hills shot at a rapid pace, one after another… and then, there was a terrible crash, the world tilted sideways, and he saw nothing more.

---

AN: But sadly, there's a cliffhanger. Because I'm evil like that. ^^*

Betaed by Animaniacal in 03.09.2016.