A PortalWerks Fanfiction

Samurai 7: Honor's Heir

Chapter 1: Thief!


Five years had passed. The rice stalks were swaying in the wind. An early summer morning in Kanna.

Rikichi and his wife Sanae were in one of the village rice fields, inspecting the heads of the stalks. Rikichi nodded in approval as he straightened up from his scrutiny. "We'll have another fine harvest this year. The seven gods of rice have been kind to us again."

Sanae nodded, but had a slight expression of puzzlement on her face. "The seven... gods of rice?"

Rikichi chuckled. "I guess I never told you about that one, huh? It was a story mentioned by one of our saviors, Heihachi. The first day that we met in Kougakyou, the samurai remarked that there were seven gods of rice. The guardians of the crop." Rikichi turned towards the distant horizon near the mountains which overlooked the village and shook his head sadly. "Poor Heihachi."

It wasn't mentioned out loud, but Sanae knew that Rikichi wasn't just thinking of Heihachi. He was thinking of them all.

The Seven.

A series of muted taps caused the pair to turn their heads as the village elder walked up. Rikichi bowed in greeting. "'Morning, Grandad."

The village elder nodded in greeting as he made his own inspection of the rice with a gnarled hand. The heads were starting to slightly bend towards the earth. "'Morning. Fine rice?"

Rikichi smiled and nodded as he turned his gaze back to the shimmering ricefields that he loved so well. "Yep! Another fine harvest. We'll definitely have our storehouses fit to bursting this year."

The village elder smiled at those words, but then his face fell for a moment. Rikichi noticed the old man's change in mood and felt some anxiety.

"Gramps, is something wrong?"

The old man shook his head sadly and sighed. "...It's just so sad."

"What's so sad?"

The village elder shook his head. "We all owe so much to those splendid seven. Yet, most of us have now almost completely forgotten about them." The old man paused for a moment, lost in thought as he stared up at the mountains, which hid the graves of the four who had died in the defense of a village. "I wonder... is this the price that samurai such as they pay for greatness?"


Komachi hummed a small tune as she headed towards the foothills with a tray of food in hand. It was her time to be with them... to be with the fallen. Every morning, the young girl would carry three bowls of rice each, for Gorobei, Kyuuzo, Heihachi... and an extra large portion for Uncle.

The young water diviner still hadn't completely gotten over Kikuchiyo's death. She still sometimes cried in her sleep. But every day, the wound festered less and less. Happier times and remembrances were slowly replacing the memory of Kikuchiyo's feet, stubbornly embedded in the dirt.

Thoughts of Katsushiro, on the other hand...

Komachi sighed as she thought about her older sister. Kirara still pined for the young samurai... but by now, it seemed rather pointless to entertain any possible hope of his return. Kirara, however, could be as stubborn as stubborn could be. Some women were just hopeless. The girl sighed again.

Kanna, with the hard-won defeat of the raiding Nobuseri, had slowly started to prosper. The village now had another generation of kids laughing, giggling, playing, dancing and singing. Life was slowly returning to the way it should have been. All thanks to them. The Seven.

Coming up over the last rise, Komachi smiled and started to give her daily greeting to the graves of the four. "Good morning everyone-" At that moment, the young girl's eyes widened and she froze where she stood. There was a muted clatter as the tray of rice clattered to the ground.

For a moment, there was complete silence. Komachi suddenly broke it with only one horrified word. "Uncle...!" Where there should have been five swords, there were now only four. Kikuchiyo's sword was gone.


Time hadn't changed Kougakyou a bit. The streets were still crowded and dirty, the noise and heat were still stifling, and the merchants plying their wares continued to line both sides and even the middle of the large thoroughfare.

Time, however, had managed to work its mischief on the erstwhile young. Katsushiro Okamoto would find no flaw in that argument. He was a living example of it.

Hair had lengthened, partly due to time and a slight slacking-off in personal grooming. His face, due to time, wind, and hardship, had become weathered and had lost much of the roundness it had originally possessed. Clothing and color of fabric had shifted to fit a more pragmatic lifestyle. And money…

Katsushiro pulled a small purse out of his pocket and sighed. Enough for only two more guaranteed days of food and shelter. After that, it would be back to odd jobs again. Heihachi would probably have suggested woodcutting. The thought of the eternally cheerful samurai brought a smile to Katsushiro's face. He missed Heihachi. He missed everyone.

Kambei.

Kikuchiyo.

Gorobei.

Heihachi.

Shichiroji.

Even Kyuuzo, in his own way.

Kirara… and the other villagers from Kanna.

Katsushiro sighed again as he stuffed his purse back into his pocket. Maybe if-

"BRING IT ON!"

The yell and the noise of a rapidly gathering crowd at a nearby intersection roused Katsushiro's curiosity. Arching an eyebrow, the samurai strode over.

The crowd had formed into a rough circle around a figure standing in the street. A rambunctious street kid with orange hair was standing in the center of the clearing, a gigantic oblong object wrapped in dirty rags hefted onto one shoulder. Judging by the amount of noise he was making, he was obviously the source of the challenge that Katsushiro had heard earlier. The kid bayed at the sun once more.

"HOI! I'LL TAKE ANYONE ON! ANY OF YOU GUYS THINK THAT YOU'RE A MATCH FOR ME?"

Katsushiro could only shake his head in some disgust, but smiled slightly as well. The kid was just like Kikuchiyo when they first met.

There was a brief rustle in the crowd, and a small gloved hand popped up in its midst. The orange-haired kid grinned as he spotted the hand that had been raised in answer. "Good! A brave opponent!"

The owner of the hand, a small, short swordfighter whose face was hidden under the hood of a cloak, walked up and bowed. A muffled voice issued from the hood's depths. "What is your name?"

The rambunctious kid jabbed a cocked thumb at his chest as he gave an impudent grin. "The name's Kenzoku, legendary samurai from the west! I make armies tremble at my approach!"

The hooded figure merely shook its head in apparent contempt as it motioned to a nearby street vendor selling wooden practice swords. The vendor, grinning with understanding, threw a pair into the clearing. The figure then turned back to the boy. "Kenzoku, was it? Never heard of the name. And I think the only thing that would tremble at your approach would be the public latrine."

Kenzoku was taken aback, but quickly recovered as he set down his burden onto the ground and picked up one of the swords. "Well, it'll become famous enough when I-!"

The muffled voice snorted with contempt. "When you what? Beat me? I'd sure like to see you try it, boy."

There was no further hesitation as the boy sprang forwards, weapon upraised. There was a brief flash of wind and the blur of two colliding bodies…

And just as suddenly as they met, the two parted and turned to face each other in the street. Kenzoku gave his opponent another smartass grin. "Well, looks like it's a tie."

The hooded one merely sighed in disgust and shook its head. "Wrong. You're dead."

The boy's eyes widened in disbelief. "SAY WHAT?"

"A real sword would have killed you," the hooded figure replied casually as it returned the borrowed weapon back to its proprietor.

Kenzoku's face took on a comical aspect of anger as he glowered at the swordfighter. "GRRR… THEN LET'S PROVE IT!" The boy bellowed as he flung his borrowed weapon back to its owner as well. The hooded figure merely shrugged and unsheathed a long blade in one fluid movement.

Without another word, Kenzoku dashed over to the burden he had been carrying and pulled the cover off.

There was a brief flourish of stained cloth. Katsushiro's eyes widened in stunned disbelief.

It certainly looked much the worse for wear, but the red double-handle and massive battered blade was unmistakable. The kid was carrying Kikuchiyo's weapon. What made it even more stupefying was the fact that the kid, who was nothing more than a mere shrimp, was lifting up the massive blade without breaking a sweat.

Members of the crowd also gasped and conversed in excited jabbers as they watched the boy heft the huge blade with ease.

Kenzoku's opponent seemed to pause in apparent surprise and grudging admiration as well. "I'll give you this much, boy. You've got more strength than I expected in those scrawny arms of yours. What kind of freaks are those villages raising these days?"

Kenzoku's face darkened at the stranger's question. Without warning, the boy suddenly sprang forward with the massive sword upraised in both hands. "YAAAAAAH!"

His opponent merely sighed and assumed a ready stance. "Stupid boy."

There was a brief flash, and then a tremor as the huge weapon gouged dirt and concrete out of the spot where the hooded swordfighter had been standing only a moment before. Then there was a brief clash of steel, and the next moment found the kid standing stock-still in the middle of the intersection, the weapon still buried up to the hilt where it had made impact with the pavement.

The hooded one calmly stood behind him as the clatter of a weapon being sheathed echoed through the street. "You've got guts and strength, boy. But you lack brains."

Kenzoku made no reply as he abruptly collapsed wide-eyed into the dust.

There were a few gasps from the crowd and pitying shakes of the head as the boy made no sign that he would be getting up.

After a few moments, the crowd dispersed, with hushed dialogue and a few choice remarks of contempt intermittently dispersed throughout the observers as they returned to their businesses.

As the crowd thinned out, Katsushiro strode forwards as he knelt down next to the body of the youth.

"You know him?" The hooded fighter was vigorously wiping its katana with a clean, oiled cloth as it indicated the boy.

Katsushiro shook his head as he grasped the hilt of Kikuchiyo's battered sword and wrenched it from the earth with a sharp effort. Katsushiro then looked down at the crumpled figure lying at his feet.

"Don't worry, I didn't kill him."

Katsushiro looked up at the hooded stranger and arched an eyebrow in question.

"He's only unconscious. Just gave him a whack on the head with the flat of the blade. The whelp should be back on his feet in a few hours." Kenzoku's erstwhile opponent stuffed the cloth into the depths of the cloak and re-sheathed the weapon. "Would be a shame to have killed him. So much strength in one so young, to be able to wield the blade of a machine-samurai…" The fighter shook its head in wonder, bowed to both the samurai and the crumpled figure of the boy and chuckled as it walked away down the thoroughfare.

Katsushiro could only silently agree as he returned his focus upon the unconscious boy.


There was a brief whirlwind of dirty blankets as Kenzoku suddenly regained consciousness. Katsushiro briefly looked up at the kid as he returned to maintenance on his sword. "I see that we're awake."

"Where… am I?"

"Inside an inn. You took a blow to the head, but you should be fine in a few minutes."

The orange-haired kid briefly scrabbled around for a few dazed moments, then felt around in panic as he realized something was missing, and promptly voiced his anxiety. "Hey! WHERE'S MY SWORD?"

Katsushiro made no reply and continued to polish.

"HOI! I ASKED YOU A QUESTION! WHERE'S MY DAMN SWORD!"

Katsushiro finally did speak after a few more minutes of Kenzoku's ranting, but gave a question in place of a reply. "Are you really a samurai?"

"OF COURSE I AM! WHAT DO YOU-"

In one effortless movement, Katsushiro rose from his spot and gave Kenzoku a vicious backhand. Kenzoku tumbled backwards against a wall.

"What the hell are you-?"

"You are not only a thief, you are a liar, Kenzoku… if that is even your real name!" Katsushiro managed to spit out between clenched teeth.

Kenzoku stared up at Katsushiro, speechless.

The samurai's voice rose as he started to angrily berate the young boy while pointing at Kikuchiyo's sword, lying in a corner.

"You have not only stolen the honor of this weapon by stealing it, you have stolen the honor of its owner as well!"

Kenzoku stared down at the wooden planking of the floor as Katsushiro finally sat down in tired disgust. After a moment's silence, the young boy spoke.

"My name was never a lie…"

"Where did you steal this weapon?"

"I stole it from a gravesite..." Kenzoku winced with shame at having to admit his crime. "It looked the biggest to me. I wanted it, so I took it." Kenzoku raised his head as he hesitantly glanced up at Katsushiro. "I wanted to be a samurai."

Katsushiro snorted in disgust. "You're a peasant, aren't you? Your whole manner reeks of it. Just the fact that you're willing to steal a sword from a dead samurai proves it! Why don't you give up playing these silly boys' games and go back to whatever farm you came from!"

Kenzoku suddenly looked up at Katsushiro. The boy's voice was filled with bitter anger, but there were tears in his eyes. "My farm? I have no farm! I HAVE NO VILLAGE TO RETURN TO! THEY'RE ALL DEAD...!"

Katsushiro's eyes widened. Without warning, Kenzoku sprang up from the futon he was sprawled upon, made a dash past Katsushiro while grabbing up Kikuchiyo's giant blade in the process, and whirled around to face the samurai.

Tears were still streaking the boy's face. "HONOR? WHAT IS HONOR REALLY WORTH? WILL HONOR BRING THE DEAD BACK TO LIFE! WILL IT PUT FOOD IN THE BELLIES OF THE POOR AND THE HUNGRY? WILL IT TAKE AWAY YOUR SINS AND MINE? WILL IT TAKE AWAY THE SINS OF THIS WORLD!"

Katsushiro was silent.

Sobs wracked the boy's body as he continued to spit his invective upon the young samurai. "SCREW YOUR IDEAS OF HONOR! EVEN IF I HAVE TO REMAIN HONORLESS TO MANY FOR MOST OF MY LIFE, I'LL STILL BECOME A DAMN SAMURAI, EVEN IF I HAVE TO TEAR HEAVEN AND EARTH APART TO DO IT...!"

Katsushiro stared up at the young boy, who continued to spit out a barrage of vows and promises upon the massive blade that he clutched to his chest.

"…AND I'LL EVEN RIGHT THE WRONGS OF THIS LAND WE LIVE AND DIE ON! I'LL BECOME THE GREATEST SAMURAI THAT EVER

LIVED…!"

As if he had suddenly lost all power of speech, Kenzoku abruptly fell silent and collapsed to his knees. Sobs intermittently shook his thin frame as he tightly clutched at the double-handle of Kikuchiyo's battered sword.

Katsushiro continued to maintain his silence for a long time, lost in thought. At length, he spoke. "Why do you want to be a samurai so much?" Kenzoku wiped his face with a grimy hand as he glared at the samurai sitting before him. "...It's none of your business."

Katsushiro gave a wry smile, in spite of his apparent contempt, as he appraised the young boy with a piercing look. "You're so much like him."

Despite the anger that was welling inside him, the boy's curiosity got the better of him. "Who...?"

"Kikuchiyo." The samurai glanced down at the gigantic blade as he thought back to his late comrade.

The boy glanced down at the sword he was still holding and frowned. "I don't know the name. Should I?"

Katsushiro frowned back. "You should. That's his sword you're holding." Leaning back against the wall, Katsushiro continued to speak, his eyes filled with past memories and experiences. "Kikuchiyo was just like you in the beginning. Brash, loudmouthed, crude. Before he became a samurai, he was a peasant."

"He was a peasant too?" What remained of the boy's anger vanished completely. "Then how-"

"Kikuchiyo was a machine-samurai. He gave up his niche in life to become something that he would never have become, had he remained human." Katsushiro paused, as he remembered their first encounter. "As I said, he was a lot like you. He was a braggart. Incredibly strong, but never knew how to use a blade like most proper samurai would. A lot of people never took him seriously."

Kenzoku's face fell. "A lot of people don't take me seriously either."

Katsushiro snorted in contempt. "I'm not surprised. In any event, he was nevertheless a comrade of mine. Even though a lot of people looked down on him, that never stopped him from doing what he thought was the right thing to do."

Kenzoku was silent.

"When the village of Kanna sent people out to look for able samurai to help against fighting off a band of pillaging Nobuseri, Kikuchiyo gave his help without any hesitation. And in the end..." The samurai shook his head sadly. "I guess he really proved to all of us that he truly was a samurai."

Kenzoku sat spellbound, completely engrossed in the tale. "What happened to him?"

"He died while defending Kanna. He self-destructed from the effort of trying to single-handedly stop a flying fortress from crashing into the village." Katsushiro sighed as he looked down at the giant blade. "He loved the earth, and he loved peasants. Even with all the great things he did, he never forgot where he came from." The young samurai closed his eyes as if trying to re-bury the old memories that had sprung back to mind.

Kenzoku looked down at the blade, which he still tightly gripped in one hand. "I..."

Katsushiro finally opened his eyes and stood up as he turned to face Kenzoku. "So you want to become a samurai, do you? You wish to right the sins of this world?" He pointed at Kikuchiyo's weapon. "Continue to carry that burden, then. Carry that weapon, and with it, gather up the sins of this world. Carry the burden of those sins as you kill people."

The boy stared up at Katsushiro.

The young samurai glanced down at the boy staring up at him. "The samurai Kikuchiyo always fought to protect the land and the people he loved. That sword was an extension of his will. Become a samurai, then. Carry the burden of his will, and carry the burden of his heart."

Kenzoku stared down at the blade, and then his face tightened with determination. "I will."

Katsushiro nodded, and then rubbed at his eyes. "It is late. We will discuss more of this later."

As Katsushiro turned to leave, Kenzoku abruptly spoke up. "Sir..."

"...Hmm?"

"I did not get a chance to know your name."

The samurai smiled slightly. "Okamoto Katsushiro."

"Master Katsushiro, I will gain back that honor I stole from Kikuchiyo...!"

The samurai had to hold back another smile.

Just like Kikuchiyo…


"Haha… So that was the way it went. Say, this is good rice wine!" The man laughed as he poured himself another serving of sake and related the events that he had seen that day.

"My rice wine is always good," The barkeeper grinned in thanks of the compliment. "Still, is it true of what you said…? Such a fellow being able to use such a gigantic blade is a near-miracle."

"Aye, it would." The man downed the sake in one gulp. "A kid exhibiting that sort of strength… it isn't natural."

The man's words attracted the attention of a nearby customer dressed in the robes of a well-to-do merchant. "You mean… this swordsman was a child?"

The gossip nodded. "Pretty much. He looked to be fourteen or fifteen years of age. Messy orange hair."

The merchant seemed to ponder the man's words. "Is that so…" Without warning, the merchant abruptly got up, bowed to the barkeeper as he tossed a few coins onto the counter, and left.

The barkeeper scratched his head. "I wonder what's with him…?"

The gossip snorted. "Probably couldn't hold his liquor. Anyway, did I mention how good this sake is…?"


Outside the bar, the merchant stopped and looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. After assuring himself that nobody could possibly be around at this time of night, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a small communicator.

There was a brief click as the communicator was flipped on. "Sir… I have news. I believe it may be what you've been looking for."

A muffled voice masked by static and distortion made a reply.

"Enlighten me, Hattori."

"I have overheard a most intriguing conversation just now. A samurai mentioned that he had fought with a small boy."

"That's worthless. I need details, Hattori. DETAILS. How can you-"

The 'merchant' seemed to wryly smile in the darkness. "Ah, but this boy was no ordinary boy, sir. The samurai observed that this boy was wielding a most unusual sword during the fight."

"Oh? What sort of sword?"

"The gigantic blade of a machine-samurai. The boy showed qualities of prodigious strength. The boy also had orange hair. It seems to fit your earlier descriptions, sir. It just may be your wayward HEIKI."

There was a long pause. After a few more moments of silence, the voice dropped down to a whisper. "Hmm… you just may have indeed found what I've been looking for. Excellent work, Hattori. We will continue this conversation later. You are free for now."

"Thank you, milord." There was a brief click, a swirl of cloth, and the merchant melted away into the night.

The wan squeaks of a rat dying from rodent poison set out earlier that morning were the only noises that continued to echo through the alley.


"That was a most interesting report. Is it authentic?"

The two figures stood near the window, gazing out at the bustling cityscape of the capital of Edo below.

"Hattori is one of my best agents. He does not give information casually. He does not bother to contact me by remote unless he is convinced that it is something that is worth transmitting."

"Still… can it really be him, Master? Can it truly be our lost 'HEIKI'? After all these years?"

"If it is, then we must re-capture him at all costs. He is critical to our agenda."

"If we fail…?"

"We MUST not fail! We WILL not fail! Edo and the rest of the continent will become ours! I… WILL BE SHOGUN!"


To Be Continued…