Chapter 3
The tip of a blade ripped through the guts of a falling warrior with ease. His brown kimono stained by the crimson of his own blood. He died a good death. He died serving his liege lord. His last words uttered to the better samurai was, "Your fate is sealed." A small smile crept on his lips as he faded away. His breathless body fell with a thud on the floor beside a gasping blue-haired samurai.
"Athrun! Behind you!" yelled a light green-haired samurai with brown eyes.
The said blue-haired samurai spun 180 degrees in a flash showing off his impressive skills even as a youth and laid waste to another opposing samurai. The relentless waves of brown kimono samurai soon subsided into a small trickle of what it once was. The momentary pause in action did not last long.
"Arigatou Nicol," Athrun smiled gratefully.
Nicol smiled back, glad to have helped out his close friend. Nicol was part of the elite noble guard and had been befriended by Athrun. He would follow Athrun to the death if he had wished to do so. To him, Athrun was his daimyo. Nicol was an excellent samurai who excelled in espionage as he was one of the chosen few who were partly trained by ninja. Nicol was an honourable young man as he never liked or admired killing and fighting unlike most samurai. Often times in his missions had he avoided direct conflict by exercising through a longer route to success rather than head on combat that would lead to more deaths. There was an air of sentimental nature and sympathy that arose from the young samurai, though in battle he would loyally give out his cause and carry it out flawlessly. This was no regular spy mission though, this was a battle for their lives.
It was not long until a group of eyes peeked outside from the assailed castle and much to their horror, they spotted a much larger force of samurai approaching from beyond the outer walls--easily exceeding over a quarter of a hundred thousand. A creepy silence ensued while a light trembling of the floor left little to the imagination of the source of the sound. Everyone inside the donjon were in an uncontrollable panic mode whilst being confused at what to do next.
"Dammit!" screamed an angered Lord Zala. Needless to say, the great daimyo was irate at the current events. "How the hell could this happen?" he asked no one in particular.
He imagined himself just a few minutes ago. Eating tender fruits and rice with delicate fish in an extravagant bowl. The taste of the exquisite shrimp sushi still lingering in his mouth. A mix of seaweed and imported mango juice stewing in his ripened belly. Before his sword drew out to slash an encroaching samurai, he had come under the impression that the whole raucous was imagined by his mind. A deceitful trick that he would have scoffed at, if not for the fact that his life was in real danger.
He would often reminisce about the Zala family and Clyne family enjoying a nice time together. He was oblivious to the tension throughout the dinner. They were all slightly recovering from what had happened earlier. The solemn dismissal of the servant boy that had worked around their house for years still laid heavy in a small part of their concealed hearts. However, the topic on each family member's mind was not discussed at all. Even though it predominated one blue-haired samurai's mind, there was nothing he said nor nothing that could be said.
The roar of a horn struck all with a blow of hysteria. Most had thought it was a false alarm for never such a sound was heard in decades. Plant Lands especially Junius Five was notorious for having been peaceful for their leader was peaceful. The ominous sound was followed by the beat of large drums that caused actual panic to consume the town and the castle. A flood of brown kimono samurai immediately rushed inside catching the noble family off guard. Their valiant defenders trained extremely well defended them successfully to this point onwards.
Scores of brown coloured samurai were falling victim to the elite noble guard. Sometime during the battle and before the alarming vision of the invading army, Lord Zala had breathed mistakenly placed confidence amongst themselves.
"Their numbers don't mean anything!" Lord Zala declared arrogantly while turning to face his old comrade, "Your Silver Wind Samurai army should be here any moment now, isn't that right?"
A grave look etched in the other daimyo's face that deflated Lord Zala's confidence. Lord Clyne stuttered out, "They . . . They were sent to Boaz this morning . . ."
The faces of all who had forgotten this startling piece of news fell to the floor as if gravity increased twofold. A small smirk crept onto the lips of one who had not forgotten such vital information while a dreadful silence ensued. A sullenness fell upon the lavish room that was soon disrupted by the slaying of another brown samurai. A few more seconds passed until one prominent voice spoke up.
"We must leave," Lady Clyne said calmly, the most composed of all amidst the confusion.
The rest of the two noble families and around a score of elite samurai guards nodded in comprehension. They all began to head towards the secret back gate that was only used for emergencies. Only a handful of people knew about its existence. They fought their way through waves and waves of encroaching samurai until they got to the noble stables. Every horse in the stable was imported from the Dutch during that time, a sign of a wealthy daimyo that was Lord Clyne. Athrun offered his hand to Lady Lacus politely in which she graciously took. He helped settle her over to saddle a white horse, a rare Nambu breed, while the other guards aided the rest of the noble family.
Once settled, the noble group treaded quickly heading towards the secret Ha-no-mon Gate located at the back of the mountaintop castle. What awaited them there, filled them all with an inconcealable terror.
They had all thought to swiftly travel to Boaz, the main city of Zaft, believing that it would be their only safe haven against such an invading army. They did not expect to see there hopes squashed in an untimely manner. With the secret gate in view, they saw a score of samurai blocking the entrance clad in full warring gear. This was most unexpected. The exaggerated masks causing a stir amongst all opposing samurai. Most were equipped with spears and katanas. The prominent feature that lowered the morale of the elite guard was the kikou protectively encasing the samurai that would prove difficult to fight against in casual attire. They were caught at the worst possible time.
The noble family and the elite guards noted a leader figure who was wearing a different coloured armor. His medium length silver hair flowed freely from the lack of a kabuto that the other samurai wearing the full battle armour had worn. He was undoubtedly the leader seeing as he was in the forefront of the small battalion and amongst the few who were on horseback. An aura of arrogance and cockiness radiated from his figure. A small smirk was planted on his lips that could have been seen from a mile away.
Slowly, the armoured group menacingly approached the frightened and unmoving nobles. Their feet were planted on the ground as their minds quickly tried to analyze their odds against this group of men who were in a more favorable situation. A few of the elite guards had even wished for their armour to magically appear on their shoulders. Hysteria would have befallen any normal soldier, but they were samurai.
A closer look of the approaching armoured group revealed even more terror in the eyes of the daimyos. Three crests were embedded visually on the shoulder padding of the armour that the samurai not on horseback wore. They could be distinguished by the normality of their armour compared to the other samurai. A part of their brown-coloured kimono appearing in the line of sight by a slab of sunlight. The middle aged men thought gravely while trying to assess what was to come. Athrun looked at their faces as his face contorted into a questioning look of its own.
"The Duel Samurai . . ." the aged men replied with a barely decipherable croak after having seen the look on Athrun's face.
Their dreading looks had conveyed to him a warning not to underestimate their power. A quarter of the elite guards turned to their respective daimyo and nodded with a grunt. The moment Lord Clyne noticed and silently allowed for the brave guards to do as they wish, the half a dozen elites recklessly charged into battle against the opposing squadron yelling out the honour of their liege lord. Afterwards, Lord Clyne yelled out for the noble families and the remaining guard to follow afterwards and make a break for the gate. Before the beseeched group could have reacted, cries of death emitted viciously from the small group of samurai that charged into battle. All six of them were slaughtered as quickly as they decided to sacrifice their lives. Their casual kimono gear proved no match for the kikou. Spears stabbed them before they even reached the Duel Samurai, while searing blades struck them down.
Instinctively, the noble families began withdrawing back towards the castle. Even some of the samurai were at a frantic mindset fearing for the lives of their daimyos. They needed a miracle. But samurai do not believe in miracles. Closing into the castle, a horrible realization swamped their minds. Much to their dismay, a portion of the castle had gone up in flames. They were trapped. The Duel samurai resumed their notorious stalking motion with added brisk. Eagerly smelling the odor of victory. With only one option left, each of the noble families and their guards nodded in unison signaling their silent agreement to make a last stand. They charged against the attackers bravely surprising the the other samurai for awhile until they recovered and began to charge as well. The men roared a battle cry of "Clyneeee!" as they neared the other group, each samurai not fearing death. Their honour was on the line in this battle. Once in range, swords and spears clashed together in a thunderous moment. The ensuing violence caused an involuntary shudder to all those not experienced with the grimness of battle.
The counterattack fared much better than opposed to the six samurai who died in vain. Athrun, Nicol and a certain brown haired personal bodyguard of the Clynes were much to be accredited for their success. The leader along with the three other samurai observed from afar. Three pairs of eyes were itching for some action but were held back by their leader.
Athrun scored several blows and received some minor damage. His blood-stained katana, called Aegis for his desire to protect his lands was finely crafted from the best of blacksmiths, emerged from a hole in one of the armoured samurai. Athrun used a flurry of blows and counterblows amidst the battling group, his movement impressing the silver-haired samurai. His sword whirled high above his head for a deathblow that struck down another member of the brown kimono samurai. A clean slice decapitated his head. A small thud emitted from the fall of the carcass as the displaced kabuto rolled around the dust of the ground a little ways over stopping at the foot of another samurai. His victory came at a price though, as another samurai's spear skewered a little ways through his left shoulder. Athrun smarted in pain that his years of training quickly dulled out for a retaliation. Pulling out his wakizashi from the sash of his kimono, the obi wobbled ever so slightly as his experience reduced the friction from his actions. Athrun used the momentum from unsheathing the small blade and charged at the spearman. With one swing of the dagger, he fiercely ripped through the offending samurai's armour. The partly embedded spear lost its will to pierce and clattered to the floor along with the dead body. Blood stained his navy blue hair and his vision wavered a little from the loss of his own vital fluid.
Nicol on the other hand was fortunate enough to have escaped harms way. His skills with the sword were very fluent even for his young age. He was a master at evasion amongst the other arts that he practiced. His sword shrieked against the blade of another samurai. With his quickness and fluidity, he managed to cut through the man's armour with a horizontal slash of his finely crafted katana, called Blitz for the blazing speed he exhibited with the blade. In anticipation, he dodged to his left from an incoming blow thrown by another samurai who made a straightforward overhead slash. His counter was an effective twirl of his sword straight through the back of the committed warrior. Death approached the body as quickly as his dash was thrown. Nicol silently prayed for their honourable deaths while keeping on guard of his own plight.
Meanwhile, the brown-haired bodyguard swung his blade of death without any difference. His calloused hands and years of training showed off at that very moment where his strength was needed to serve his lord. The middle aged man disposed an armoured samurai with a fierce angular arched swing of experience. His blade, called Lagowe, cut through the softer portion of the armour around the neck area while he sensed the incoming strike of another warrior. "Waltfeld-san, look out!" Athrun warned. Almost instantly, the said man's free hand flew to his wakizashi and in a crouching motion he ducked from a procumbent slash and countered with a swift leveled slice of his own with the small dagger. His swirling katana lacerated both hands that laced around the samurai's sword rendering him defenseless.
Regardless of their individual victories, the group was effectively being cut down. The three better soldiers looked around at the battlefield after dispersing their combatants. Disheartenment soon followed after as they realized their numbers now stood at five to ten. Amongst the standing noble guard was a young man with blonde hair and cobalt blue eyes. He was an experienced noble guard and trusted by Lord Clyne. The remaining noble guards were reduced to writhing bodies drenched in blood, mangled bodies, and detached ligaments. A small cloud of dust arose from the battlefield, and once it settled, the fight in the men's bodies dwindled quickly.
Sensing their naturally lowering morale, Lord Clyne had stepped into the fray soon followed by Lord Zala. The noble women watched in anticipation and worry for their lords lives. The battle resumed its frantic pace. Experience shown in the battlefield as the daimyos held their own against armoured men. For a moments pass, the remaining noble guards watched in awe as their lords flew into action. The young eyes hadn't had a privilege of seeing them battle. Their sword skills were of the old tradition and the youths were eager to pick up a pointer or two. Reality caught up to them as Waltfeld-san parried a spear headed towards a distracted Athrun. The skirmish continued its hectic fashion.
Lord Clyne poised his blade overhead in symmetry parallel towards the ground. His two hands clutched the tsuka of the katana in a fearsome grip daring one of the opposing samurai to attack. Foolishly, the samurai baited into the maneuver and fell swiftly to Lord Clyne's classical Momoyama Era katana with one swift cut. The silver haired samurai was clearly impressed as he two wanted to witness such a style that he had heard about only by word of mouth alone. The Shinkage-ryu sword style was quite impressive. Lord Zala was lesser of a fighter than his comrade daimyo, but nevertheless he was quite a tactician in the fields of battle. His sword style was a simple assortment of energy conserving side slashes that he used in succession. The opposing samurai had no trouble in fighting the middle aged man as his armour helped fend off most of the feeble side slashes. A single counterattack caught Lord Zala offguard and had ripped off a significant portion of his expensive kimono. Athrun saw his father in danger and proceeded to quickly finish off his combatant. The pain in his shoulder was abated by the adrenaline coursing through his veins by his need to protect. An angered Lord Zala quickly threw an energy spending angular slash that decimated the offending samurai.
Lord Zala's exertions would soon prove costly. The ripped portion of his kimono along with the asymmetric slash he used indeliberately hurled a small sheathed dagger towards the ground nearby the noble lady litter. It seemed the whole battlefield stopped in anticipation. Almost all of the opposing samurai fighting had contented to stop seeing as how their opponents were distracted. After all, they were all samurai. Almost immediately, they had all sensed an ominous feeling. Athrun was the most flabbergasted of the group as he quickly realized what that blade was or more importantly, who it belonged to. His enlarged eyes looked to and fro. First at the dagger. Then at his father. Then repeated the short cycle. Lord Zala had the look of a man who was suppressing the natural reaction of giving away his gambling position in a simple Japanese board game of Sugoroku.
The noble families all looked at Lord Zala incredulously as if they were trying to decipher what was going on in his mind. Meanwhile, the three observing 'samurai' eager for a fight and angered by the sudden change of events jumped off their horses effortlessly. They scolded the idle men for their stupidity. Having regained the direct attention of the nobles, hideous smiles arose from them as they stalked their angered but tiring prey. Though disrespectful were the three men, the remaining brown coloured kimono samurai reluctantly backed off from the scene knowing their superiority. The enraged noble families and elite guard had dropped their focus on the dagger immediately after having been insulted. They looked at the appearance of the three culprits and in closer view, they noticed that the men were not samurai.
The first in front stood out the most as more experienced and of a natural seniority amongst the group. His half smirk, half deranged smile seemingly portrayed him as both sane and psychotic at the same time. He donned a darkened teal armour that sparkled as if it was made minutes before the battle while an unidentified weapon was slung over his back. It seemed to be a unique foreign weapon that was generally dubbed by the Japanese as 'barbarous' guns. Anything foreign to Japanese customs were often regarded as 'barbarian'. A closer look at the man's face revealed that he was not of Japanese ethnicity. His dark eyes and yellowish green hair made him stick out like a samurai from eta. A standard katana was worn on the right side of his obi--violating normal rules of samurai while not having a smaller dagger. He was indeed not a samurai.
On the left of the presumed leader was a completely crazed looking man who's hair matched that of Nicol's. His armour was of a dull olive green colour that also seemed fresh with its clean stitches. He had two long sleek tube-like shafts slung over both of his shoulders while an evil smirk lined his lips. The two daimyos quickly noted what the barbarous weapons he had with him. They were arquebuses--firearms filled with gunpowder that shot out bullets that could pierce through any normal samurai armour easily. A katana was draped poorly over on the left side of his obi. This man was also not a samurai.
The third man equally stuck out from the crowd. The vision of his reddish pink hair made him not samurai and culturally associated with the Portuguese. Common amongst the Portuguese barbarians were the two pistols over his deplorably worn sash. His armour was a dark shade of black with bright red outlines that also appeared freshly made. For a time, it seemed the three barbarian men had donned the samurai armour as a mere joke. Inciting more silent rage towards their foreign bodies. After having drawn out their barbarous weapons, the two daimyos immediately lowered their katana in an act of surrender. Meanwhile, Athrun and rest of the guard were baffled by their lords cowardly act.
That is until, the green haired man drew out one of his arquebuses and blew the head right off one of his own samurai's shoulders--the defenseless one with the lacerated hands. The noble families and elite guards grimaced at the vile act while their minds screamed avengeance. They knew that they were outmanned and outgunned at the moment though so reckless retaliation would be in vain. Intelligently they complied with their lords silent request as they dropped their weapons.
After the prompt surrender, the hideous smirks seemed to grow beyond the limits of the barbarian faces. At the same time, the silver haired samurai unsaddled his horse and calmly strided over to the defenseless daimyos.
"Lord Clyne and Lord Zala I presume?" he asked in a militaristic manner already knowing the answer.
"Hai," the said lords replied in unison.
A smirk embedded the victorious silver haired samurai as he ordered the remaining men, now at five armoured men, to bond the lords along with their families and the remaining guard. Athrun, Nicol, and Waltfeld-san reluctantly submitted to the primal bondage by ropes as they watched disdainfully at the noble ladies being secured as well. After the dust settled, the noble families found themselves completely disarmed with their chosen weapons on a neat pile about ten paces in front of them. They were still near the burning castle while the remaining Duel samurai hawked over them in anticipation of orders.
The trigger-happy green-haired man once again reached for his rifle and in a crazed manner swung it dangerously about. The tip of the nuzzle threatening the lives of all who were in the vicinity. Athrun and the rest of the bonded people did not even waver for a minute. Their plight was simple to comprehend and each cunning mind deliberated on a way out.
"Shani stop that you moron," said the leader of the trio to the green-haired barbarian haphazardly. His language was definitely of European descent as it was only recognized by one of the noble family members who had some experience with their native tongue. The red-haired man smirked maniacally matching the evil intentions of his crazed comrade.
"Shut up Orga," the green-haired man spat back defiantly, "Fuck off Clotho."
The silver-haired samurai stepped in after the quick quarrel and spoke in a language that all could comprehend. "The daimyos here are the only ones our lord said to bring back," concludingly he figured the last part to be true, "the rest do not matter."
The mischievous smirks grew even wider on the faces of the barbarians. A murderous glint glistened in the eyes of the green-haired man known as Shani. "Hmmm . . ." he pondered aloud wickedly, "I love the smell of a woman's blood," he stamped menacingly towards the binded noble ladies. His hand cupping the chin of Lady Clyne while the look in his eyes shoved involuntary shivers of fright down her spine. He placed her head down after he was satisfied with seeing the terror inside of the Lady though it did not materialize on the outside. He walked over to Lady Zala and the same happened. Finally, he stalked over to a certain pink-haired noble woman that had caught the eyes of all the opposing samurai on the battlefield unwillingly. The battle had drowned out the focus on the gorgeous girl and was replaced instead by male egotism for their efforts. Unlike the others, the woman amazed the crazed man. Not a single trickle of fear flashed in her beryl blue eyes. After recovering from the initial shock, it seemed the barbarian found his victim.
The silver-haired samurai scoffed at the notion. Barbarian cowards he thought. There was no honour in bringing down a defenseless and surrendering enemy. No less a woman of high fortitude. Meanwhile, the binded samurai watched in horror at what they saw as a universal sign of evil. Shani, the trigger-happy barbarian drew out his katana and licked the serrated edge of the blade. His tongue bled naturally from the incisions though his face contorted into a pleased look. Lord Zala analyzed the weapon as a new sword type, commonly referred to as 'shinto' or 'new swords'. Elsewhere, spite grew openly in the eyes of the bonded men as they suppressed the fear they had for the lives of the Songstress of Sakura.
Almost immediately after Shani raised his blade towards the darkening sky, Lord Clyne staggered onto his feet and pleaded the man to stop with a coarse primal yell that emanated from the depths of his stomach. Shani stopped instinctively as the rest of the men threw a baffled look towards the angered daimyo. Lord Clyne appealed to the silver-haired samurai who seemed to have authority over the crazed trio.
"I'll do anything," he said worriedly--uncharacteristic of a samurai, "just don't hurt my daughter."
The silver-haired samurai's emotionless facade almost broke for a fleeting second but then returned to normal afterwards. The young man turned around in a motion that showed he could not do a thing about the situation. A menacing smirk grew on the lips of the green-haired barbarian as he resumed his position once again. Before he could swing the deathblow, he was stopped by the yell of a blue-haired samurai.
His emotions got the better of him as he spat vehemently towards the silver-haired samurai. "You are all cowards!"
At the insult, the silver-haired samurai instantly drew out his sword and was a hair away from the exposed neck of Athrun. An angered look was plastered on his face with his teeth bearing out. After a while, he placed his sword down and just as quick as his motions were, raised the sword back up again. The simple show clearly portrayed who was in the superior position at the moment. Athrun reluctantly backed down and tossed his head away, not wanting to watch his wife-to-be's head chopped off.
Impatient as he was, Shani resumed with his poised executioner stance. Eager to smell the pungent flow of blood. His smile twisted into a menacing grimace as his eyes glazed with the thrill of a kill. Orga and Clotho looked on with eager anticipation at the coming display of blood works. Every samurai save for Athrun looked on with a particular remorse suppressed in their emotionless exterior. They had all given up to the karma of the woman to be this defining moment. Though a part of them wanted to stop the murder, no one was in the position to do so. Lord Clyne asked Athrun to look into the eyes of the woman and what he saw astonished him. Upon closer inspection, the beryl eyes constantly laced with altruistic kindness and compassion flared with an indomitable will. It was the will of a samurai.
After all, women were samurai as well.
The samurai who had taken notice were equally honoured and astonished to have seen eyes filled with pure courage in the face of death. That nagging part of them protested more forcefully into taking actions of their own. They did not want to see such a noble woman slain by a vile barbarian. In the end, they were unable to do anything.
The whirl of the blade upwards threw the air into a small vortex. The overhead stance poised to bring a swift death. The blade shimmered in the sunlight. A red tinge mirrored that of the flames of the castle. A silent hush smothered the moment in equal anticipation. Even the emotionless face of the silver-haired samurai shifted into that of expectancy. The fresh blood from the tongue of the barbarian still lingered on the blade. The eager edges craving for more. Pure blood was a delicacy. With a cry that mimicked that of a kitsune berating its opponent during mating season, Shani threw all of his barbarian might into the sword swing.
The blade swooped down with a frightening whirl.
A flash of an abnormal lightning bolt caused time to stand still.
The blade never reached its target.
With one swift slash that hurled the winds at speeds greater than taí funs, the death blade was shattered into pieces. Every armed samurai including the silver-haired leader were struck down with a tremendous power. The barbarians shared a similar plight. An overcast of dusty fog trailed the movement of lightning. Every samurai left conscious gasped a puff of eye-popping breath. The noble families were utterly awe-struck as if the lightning bolt zapped their bodies with a divine force sent from the Heavens personally.
In front of them . . . stood a warrior.