All the usual disclaimers apply. I do not own Samurai Champloo and I'm not making any money off this.

Fuu, Mugen and Jin meet up again and a gang of ronin ruffians don't stand a ghost of a chance. (Potential spoilers for the entire series.)

Requiem For the Ronin
By Saikan Blue

Prologue: Falling Rain

Sometimes, Shiori was afraid to walk the narrow path deep into the woods beyond the village of Torikorosu. Often, she just wanted to stay within the safety of her home, but to wilt like a cut flower was not how her father had raised her and it certainly was not a trait her husband, old fool that he was, would tolerate.

If he could fight the Shinku Kiba, then she could too, in her own way.

Her youth had left her many years ago and wisps of gray were visible in her neatly tended hair, but spryness still possessed her steps as she walked down the nearly overgrown path. It seemed less and less that people traveled it to the shrine.

Though she did not blame them. Few wanted to be caught wandering about alone and chose to stay close to the shrine at the edge of the village to make their prayers and offerings.

Water squished underfoot as she moved quickly. While the sky looked ominous, the rains had abated for the time being and she took the opportunity to do as she had done daily for the better part of a year.

A small smile rose to pale painted lips as she passed beneath the torii that overlooked the path. The gate suffered, much like the path, from abandonment. The orange paint was chipped and faded allowing the rain to soak the wood beneath.

In the fifteen years that she had called Torikorosu home, she had never seen the shrine so unkempt. The villagers had always shown such love and pride toward the sacred place.

Traveling deeper into the surrounding grove, she struggled to not allow her anger to overcome her. Though, the mere thought of those men who called themselves the Shinku Kiba only made her want to scream. They were cruel, hateful men who had imposed their will on the village. These men—ronin—who had banded together had lost all sense of honor and abandoned the code of bushido. Assuming, she thought darkly, they had ever had it to begin with.

Callus men who shown no respect for tradition.

Animals.

Now her village, her home, was held hostage by these thugs who demanded and took whatever they wanted, the mercy of not being on the end of their sword the only payment.

A few drops of rain fell from the sky and splashed into the basin cut from a boulder near the edge of the path that lead to the small shrine. Shiori paused there and picked up the ladle that had fallen to the ground next to the stone. Fingers carefully cleaned the bits of grass stuck to it before dipping it into the water.

Exhaling deeply, she calmed her mind as she performed the cleansing ritual.

The small shrine was merely a roof, sheltering a box that held the rusted, broken remains of a sword at the back and an offering box just inside the shelter. She approached and dug a mon out from the folds of her obi that she had stashed away before leaving home and tossed the coin into the offering box.

Rain fell, dotting her pale blue kimono as she bowed twice, and then clapped her hands before her before offering a final bow and a soft prayer.

"Nobumura, you protected our village against marauders during times of great strife. You gave your life defending the bridge against those who would do harm the villagers. For that sacrifice we have always honored and celebrated your life, but now I fear our village is again in danger. I beg you now for your guidance and help."

And like she did everyday, she waited, hoping for some sign that the noble spirit of Akita Nobumura had heard her.

Her hands sank to her sides as she straightened. Beyond the walls of the shrine, through the grove that surrounded the sacred ground, she could hear the mighty Subayai crashing over the rocks and against the banks as it flowed, maddened by the rain, through the valley.

A gasp escaped her as she turned.

Towering over her stood a man in dark green.

"Hisuiiro," she whispered, retreating to the edge of the shrine.

"It is a foul day for a lady to be taking a walk in the woods," he said coolly.

She brushed her hand along the offering box. "I was praying."

Hisuiiro was not like the other members of the Shinku Kiba. They were little more than animals, but Hisuiiro was handsome and possessed a countenance not found in lower men. He reminded her of the men in her father's service when she was a child. Killers, every last one, but they were not animals.

A part of her wondered how he lost his way, but she knew. She could see it in his eyes that there was nothing but hatred and cruelty and no manner of background and schooling would change that.

"Does Nobumura hear your prayers?" he asked in a tone that betrayed the kind of man he had known himself to be.

Fearfully, Shiori looked to the ground even as hot tears burned in her eyes.

"I didn't think so." Ice filled the air. He held his hand out to her. "Come Shiori. I'm sure your husband worries about you running off to the woods like this."

"He—"

"Oh yes, he's out of town for a few days. It must be nice to be a doctor and feel so needed by so many. Though I am disappointed that Umeko has traveled with him. I enjoy her company."

Shiori narrowed her gaze. "She does not enjoy yours." Her braveness abandoned her under Hisuiiro's icy look. Looking away, she added through clenched teeth, "All she sees in you, is her husband's murderer."

Without a word, he pulled her from the shrine and into the rain where he drew an umbrella and opened it, holding it protectively over her head. As if not hearing her last statement, he said, "I feel it is my duty to look out for you in his absence. These woods are dangerous you know. One cannot guess what dangers lurk in the shadows."

Shiori glanced back at the shrine as she was being led away, her heart aching. Something told her she would not see it again.

Next Chapter – Jin crosses a bridge.