He was down to his last cup of tea, which was most unfortunate. That meant he would have to sip much slower in order for it to remain dramatically appropriate, which meant it would be cold by the end. Cold tea was still good tea, of course, but the best tea was hot. Still, it was yet another sacrifice he would have to make.
Next to him, V3 knelt, appropriately demure by his side. Further away, V2 played the Biwa at a steady pace. She was not quite as good at it as V3, but it was something she was half-competent in and enthusiastic for. Hanako had been spending much of her free time teaching her. Before him, kneeling in the center of the room and clad in modified Arasaka heavy flak, V1 remained ready to stand and fight at a moment's notice.
The stage was set, and he had already ordered each camera in the room to be adjusted to specifically gain the clearest angles. That would make the recreations simpler to manage, and increase their overall quality. In all things, excellence, including death.
He almost wished to have a pipe right now, that would've added a good flair to his motions. Ah well, ideals only existed in the heavens.
He rested upon a modern throne. Not a Chrysanthemum Throne, for he was not the Emperor, just a throne that was much, much more comfortable. It was very good for his old bones, and from this seat he could observe most of Night City. A place of filth and vice, a place of vulgarity and crude lusts, a place that had only ever caused him frustration.
Needless to say, this floor was mostly unused. It was used for when Arasaka had to perform particular ceremonies in the region, and that was about it. He hadn't sat in this chair since the Unification War a scant few years ago. Maybe… six, seven years? Barely yesterday it felt like.
It was set up, ready for the ceremonies he was going to host for Yojimbo, but now it would serve as an appropriate set for this upcoming tragedy. Well, tragedy if John Silverhand didn't prove to be a disappointment after all. If he managed to waste such an ideal opportunity as this, even after defeating two of his DaiOni?
Granted, he had assistance from Cunningham, who was currently still besieging the Tower in spirit, but the point remained. If three assassin-class gynoids manage to kill him at this point, then Saburo will once again be reminded that the heavens love to pull pranks.
The door to the chamber was kicked open, a bloodied and damaged metal foot hung in the air for a moment, before lowering and revealing the villain of this act in full. His clothing was tattered, burned, and torn. His mask was cracked and scratched. His entire frame was painted in blood and viscera. A battered sword clutched in one hand, an oversized revolver clutched in the other. Music of violence and destruction pulsed from his neck, struggling with the Biwa for dominance of the scene.
In short, almost perfect. He would be more than enough. Utterly poised, Saburo gently set his cup down and turned his head to face the intruder.
John Silverhand stared back, scanning the room for a moment, before turning to lock eyes with him. The will of two entirely opposite forces clashed in their gazes.
"...Silverhand, the rockerboy, revived and seeking my head…" He slowly spoke in Japanese, each word pronounced and intentional.
"What? Too good to speak American while you're here?" The crude and violent tones of Silverhand rang out from an utterly still cybernetic body. It was called English, gaijin, it wasn't that difficult. Regardless, he had an auto-translation function somewhere in that frame, good, that would make the taunting much more efficient.
"A samurai does not lower himself to speak a peasant's tongue." He replied, gaze locked with the bloody oni mask.
"You're talking to a Samurai. Might want to reconsider your last words."
"I'm talking to a Ronin. A dog that has slipped its leash. One that shall be put down." Saburo had made sure to check Silverhand's discography beforehand, to make sure that the insults were appropriate. Black Dog was one of his more popular songs after it was rediscovered some time after his death.
"And I'm talking to a corpse. You should've died a hundred years ago, parasite." Silverhand snarled out. Saburo raised one hand and snapped his fingers, V1 rose, grabbing her blade as she did so and getting into the proper stance.
"Tsumugi." Saburo spoke. "No restrictions. Bring me his head."
The two disappeared from his sight, clashing in the center of the room with a furious screech of steel colliding with steel.
A dozen blows occurring within the second instant, a noticeable wave of wind rushed from them and stirred his robes. A crack-boom of the handgun firing.
To either side of him, the two halves of the bullet smashed into the windows and cracked them thoroughly. He raised his cup to sip his tea without reaction.
The floor shattered as both of them moved. Then the wall, then the ceiling, then the floor, and then the wall again. The unseeable world of the gods, the lighting-speed combat of those who have surpassed humanity, the realm of those who were beyond men.
The realm that Yojimbo had long conquered. There was no warrior upon this world mightier than he, Saburo had ensured that.
Another crack-boom of the Malorian Arms firing, this time to his immediate right. Just as before, Tsumugi was more than proficient enough to defend her lord before the bullet reached him. Each time she did so, she would take damage from his following strike. She was not strong enough to win this battle and defend him simultaneously, the best she could do was stall the enemy.
That was no great loss, all three of the Jorogumo series were now disposable. V3 had already been trained and her blackbox copied, mass production was possible, and as such the test-types were now just superfluous war material. They could be disposed of at this time, and this was a grand exit for them.
Occasionally, the two fighters would blink back into the mundane world, unable to maintain their lightning-speed for longer than brief bursts. Yojimbo could do so longer, and at equal acceleration, but no frame was constructed that could yet withstand an endless usage of the technology. That was something to prioritize in the future, he made a mental note of it.
He sipped his tea again, slightly frowning at how cool it was getting already.
He raised a hand and snapped his fingers. "Jorogumo, aid Tsumugi." He commanded. At once V2 and V3 rose and exploded into a hurricane of blades and raced forwards. He repressed a frown behind his cup. He had only meant for V3 to deploy. V2 was important to ensure that the music of the Ronin was clashed with, and now that she had ceased only his song filled the battle. This was unfortunate, but to clarify his order would demonstrate imperfect control over his subordinates, which would be even worse.
Not ideal, but nothing below heaven was.
V2 and V3 did not have the lightning-speed of the other two warriors, as it was not required for their mission profiles. What they could do is help cut off certain routes and regions to the Ronin, allowing Tsumugi to better defend him and last longer overall. Their whirlwind of blades was not something that he could hope to approach without risking significant damage.
It would not be enough, assuming he had at least four more bullets left in that gun of his, he could kill both V2 and V3 without much issue. They could only survive a single shot from such a gun.
The floor cracked, the wall shattered, the pillars arranged around the room were sliced a thousand times as the two Jorogumo passed over them in chasing the Ronin. A crack-boom of his Malorian sent V2 stumbling as much as a maelstrom of swords could.
It was somewhat frustrating that he couldn't check the slowed down battle yet, needing to retain his poise until the end for a perfect performance. All he could do is maintain the infallible image of Arasaka.
Another crack-boom of the Malorian turned into two chunks again as Tsumugi interposed herself between the bullet and him. Two more cracks filled the windows behind him. So was Ronin still going for him? Either he had too few bullets, or too many bullets.
A hiss-whine began. He didn't have time to consider it.
The sound of the world breaking filled the chamber. The winds rushed past him like a typhoon, and nearly knocked the cup from his hand. The windows to either side of him exploded with a deafening series of cracks. The room was now utterly exposed to the air around. He glanced to the right, noting the small shrine with Yojimbo's reward safely mounted still.
Before him, feet dragging grooves in the sturdy stone flooring, Tsumugi had what remained of her monosword raised. It was snapped in half along the blade, and one of her arms had been entirely destroyed. Red lubricant fluid poured from the stump as a river. The rest of her body was covered in dozens of minute cuts and false-bruises.
The Ronin was on the other side of the room, left hand raised. His right hand carried the ruined hilt of his monosword, and his armor was thoroughly battered.
A left hand that had been replaced with what could only be a gun, but not one Saburo had ever seen before. Before he could observe it in detail, Silverhand's thigh opened up and a blocky-thing unfolded from the arm, quickly stored back into the thigh-holster.
His scientists would analyze it in full later. There was no time for his curiosities here.
Saburo sipped his tea again.
The Ronin disappeared from sight, several crack-booms of the Malorian rang out, and the bullets were cut in twain each half long before they reached him.
The Ronin reappeared next to the shrine, gun still firing, forcing Tsumugi to stay still to defend him. V2 and V3 rushed towards him as twin storms.
…No
The Ronin dropped the hilt of his sword. He fired another shot to pin Tsumugi again.
No.
The Ronin used his gaijin hands to grab the hilt of the Muramasa. He then disappeared as V2 and V3 crashed into the position.
No!
"That sword does not belong to you, gaijin!" He declared, furiously imperious. It belonged to Yojimbo. "Unhand it at once!"
"Oh, so it is a sword then? Thought it looked important." The impudent little bastard spoke irreverently on the other side of the room. "So how do I…?" He glanced down at the hilt he was currently holding.
"Jorogumo!" He almost snarled out. They did not need to be told twice, lest his fury continued to build.
The combatants disappeared again. The floor crumbled. The walls cracked. The ceiling shattered. Twin kamikazes raged within, devouring all things within his presence. Two warriors far beyond the scope of humanity stepped on bolts of lightning as they clashed. One with a broken blade, one with a stolen blade.
He was impressed by the Ronin. Saburo did not think he could make him genuinely mad.
It was his own fault in the end. He had expected basic courtesy among warriors to not be robbed in the midst of a battle. Next time he'll know better than to extend even a shred of honor to the perfidious, thieving gaijin.
The fury was good, it made his blood hot, it made him feel quite alive.
The Muramasa was meant for no one's hands but Yojimbo's. It being defiled like this was quite the deep insult. It was perhaps the greatest blade ever constructed. Originally designed by the grand sword-smith Shirow Masamune, then refined by the coerced Technomancers who he caught trying to steal Arasaka secrets.
And now… It was in the hands of a Ronin…
…A Ronin that Yojimbo was going to slay, and thus take the sword from afterwards…
Ho-hum…
…That was not a terrible outcome…
A great enemy stealing a powerful sword to do evil, then struck down by a hero and the sword reclaimed… That was still a potent story, perhaps even more potent than what he was planning initially.
The heavens liked to play pranks indeed.
A furious hum filled the room, like a hundred-thousand swords scraping against each other. His gaze locked in front of him, tracking the battle with his peripheral vision.
All across the room, an inky-black shadow was dragged.
It swung.
V2 crashed to the floor, her blades falling limp, her body split down the center.
The after-image shadow swung again.
V3 crashed to the floor, her blades scattered and ruined, her head cleaved from its shoulders.
The shadow swung twice more with lightning-force.
Tsumugi was cut down, her body turning into scrap and artificial fluids that rained about the chamber.
The Ronin reemerged from the domain of warrior gods.
He stared, mask now shattered and having been discarded some time ago. His clothes were ruined and similarly thrown to the winds. All that remained was the tattered scraps of a jacket, now acting as an improvised cloak over a heavily damaged body.
The Malorian was clutched in one hand.
The Muramasa was clutched in the other, now activated and purring with murderous delight. Thinner than a sheet of paper, jet-black, and followed by a vague, shadowy afterimage.
An intimidating figure, the narrative would be strong.
The Ronin stepped forwards, taking his time in approaching Saburo.
Saburo sipped his tea.
The Ronin stopped, and tilted his head to one side. "What? Not going to bargain for your life?"
Saburo set his cup down, now empty of anything but tea leaves.
"What do you think a man is, Rockerboy?" He asked, idly, casually. "Do you think he is his word? His actions? His beliefs? What do you think a man is? I'm curious to know."
The Ronin stared for a moment before answering. "...His Will."
Saburo nodded, it was a fine enough answer for a young man, still filled with the fury and passion of youth. "I believe a man is his Legacy." There was no room for doubt on this subject. He had seen more than enough of the world to know that this was true.
"A man is what he leaves behind. A man is what impact he had on the world after his death." Saburo nodded his head once in confirmation, enunciating clearly and sharply. He raised a hand and gestured to the open air to their left. To the world outside of the Tower.
"When you look at the world, what do you see, Ronin? You see people buying Arasaka cybernetics, as Arasaka is the single largest producer of such and highest quality producers of such in the world. You see people employing Arasaka security agents, as Arasaka is the most highly demanded security personnel and urban combat experts in the world. You see business utilizing Arasaka's banking systems, as Arasaka is the single largest privately owned banking system in the world."
"When you look at the media, you see that the most popular programs are sponsored by Arasaka. When you look at the manufacturing industries, you see that Arasaka has holdings in all major areas. When you look at scientific advancements, you see that Arasaka has made the majority of them in the last few decades. When you look at aerospace endeavors, even there, on the furthest frontier of civilization, you will find Arasaka."
He turned back towards the Ronin, gaze firm and straight. "A man is his Legacy. I am Arasaka. My legacy is the roots of the world. It matters not if my body dies here, Johnny Silverhand. My legacy will live on for as long as humanity persists after me."
"You cannot kill me in any way that matters. Why would I bargain for something you cannot take?"
Johnny Silverhand stared at Saburo Arasaka for a long moment.
"Kill." Said Muramasa.
His arm thrust forwards.
Saburo Arasaka fell forwards on the sword.