Ichi
The Serious Swordsman
Disclaimer: I don't own CCS characters;
just the plot of this story.
"Oi! Inn girl! Another bottle of sake!"
"And don't forget my grilled fish!"
"More rice for this table - hurry it up!"
"Hai!"
Kinomoto Sakura hurried through the bustling common room of the Akatsuki Inn, her arms laden with cups and bowls. The inn, situated at the crossroads of two major trade routes, was always lively, filled with travelers, merchants, and wandering samurai. Owned by the Miharu family, it had been her workplace - and second home - for the past year. Sakura did not mind how hectic it got; in fact, she thrived in it. There was something comforting about the hum of conversation, the clinking of cups, and the stories shared around the hearth.
"Kinomoto-san, focus! Stop chatting with the guests and get those orders out!" came the sharp voice of Miharu Ishida, the innkeeper.
"Hai, Miharu-san! I'm sorry!" she replied, smiling apologetically as she scurried past him towards the kitchen.
"You're too soft with her, Otou-san," teased Chiharu, Ishida's daughter, as she deftly balanced a tray of steaming bowls of soup.
"Miharu-san always says he will fire her, but she gets away with it because she's so personable," added another server, Yanagisawa Naoko, giggling as she passed by with a fresh pitcher of water.
Sakura grinned guiltily. It was true - she had a habit of lingering at tables to chat with travelers. There was something fascinating about meeting people from distant provinces, hearing their tales of adventure, hardship, and joy. Even so, she rushed to the kitchen to fetch the next round of orders.
The inn's common room was alive with noise and movement. As she worked, her ears caught snippets of conversation from a group of samurai near the fireplace.
"-sliced clean through, from the skull to his fucking cock," one of them said in a hushed tone. "He killed all nine of them himself, I heard. Every last one."
"That assassin…" another murmured. "A fitting name they call him... Kami Kira - killer of gods. A demon in human form. I've heard he leaves no magician alive, good or bad."
"It wasn't even a battle," said the first man. "I heard that in the time it took them to summon their magic, he had already killed three." His voice faltered. "I've seen enough death to last a lifetime. But that... that was something else."
"The emperor's appointed him and his kind to deal with the magician scum, but he should watch his own neck," said yet another. "You can't tether a monster."
"Exactly. Kami Kira is as savage as they come. I'd rather face a hundred soldiers, than cross paths with that one. I only need to see his face once. I'll avoid him for the rest of my life."
The third samurai at the table sighed.
"When I was a child, manslayers were the horror stories. Now it's a demon hunter killing demons. What kind of world is this, where even the devils fear something worse than themselves?"
Sakura's hands trembled as she picked up a tea kettle, trying to block out their words. She was not sure what made her heart ache more - being called a demon and scum, or overhearing tales of the Kami Kira, the infamous assassin known for mercilessly hunting down magicians. At first, only the individuals bold enough to identify as Mahotsukai, openly defying the emperor's authority, became his targets. However, if the stories were true, his brutality spared no magician, no matter how innocent.
A chill ran down her spine.
Carrying the kettle, she climbed the stairs to the private dining quarters reserved for wealthier or honoured guests. It was quieter here, with only a few patrons enjoying their meals. One man, seated by the window, caught her eye. His short, neat, brown hair framed a well-balanced but serious face that seemed carved from stone. A wakizashi sword leaned against the wall beside him, its lacquered sheath catching the soft lantern light.
Sakura hesitated. The plainness of his attire suggested he was not affluent, yet he did not resemble the typical boisterous ronin swordsmen who frequented the inn, nor the self-important samurai, though he wore an hakama. She supposed any man who was permitted to carry a sword, usually did, especially in these tumultuous times. Sakura knew she ought to inform him that his seating was restricted to another area, but there was something about him... a quiet but imposing aura that halted her in her tracks. She told herself she would not trouble him; rather, she would be his server after fulfilling her current order. However, when she returned, he was gone.
She sighed. He had seemed interesting - serious, yes, but intriguing in a way. Shaking her head, she returned to work, resolving to keep her thoughts on the guests still waiting for their meals.
The following evening, to her surprise, the same man appeared again, sitting at the same window seat. He had no food or drink in front of him, only the wakizashi by his side. This time, she approached him with a bright smile and bowed.
"Good evening, sir. May I take your order?" she asked.
The man did not look up.
"Ano… we have several house specialties. Grilled fish, rice bowls, hot soups. Honestly, the food could be better but it's always fresh and hot! Though I guess it depends on your taste. If you're not hungry, perhaps sake?"
Still no response. She kept on smiling, though she was beginning to feel a little embarrassed.
"When the cook is in a good mood, he takes special requests. If you want something that's not on the menu, I can-"
"Sake."
Sakura blinked at his brusque tone, but she nodded.
"Coming right up!"
She glanced back as she went, as though she expected him to disappear again.
When she returned with the sake, he was still gazing out the window, his focus somewhere beyond the teeming town. She looked around. Ishida was nowhere on the floor. She slid to the cushion opposite the swordsman. No matter how shy or sad someone was, she could always pluck a word or two out of them.
Challenge accepted, serious swordsman.
"Hello," she greeted with a smile. "My name is Kinomoto Sakura. Are you new in town? It's only the second time I've seen you here. I've come to realise that sooner or later, all travellers find their way to Akatsuki."
The swordsman took a slow sip of sake, setting the cup back on the table. Sakura followed his eyes.
"I like people-watching too," she mused. "I wonder where they're going and what they're thinking. What kind of lives they've lived. If they're happy… because, isn't that the most important thing?"
No response. She giggled nervously, feeling the silence stretch longer than she intended.
"Well… if you want something to eat later, just let me know. I'll leave you to enjoy your sake. I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I just thought… you looked like you could use a kind word."
She bowed and moved on to finish her rounds. When she returned later, he was gone, and the right number of coins were on the table next to his empty cup. She did not recall telling him the price of it, but she supposed many inns charged similar fees. Sakura felt a sudden twinge of anticipation. There was an allure to him that went beyond his handsome features, though he certainly had those in abundance. There was an air of mystery that drew her in.
As the days passed, the swordsman continued to visit the inn though he never slept there. Funny enough, none of the other servers reprimanded him for being in the wrong area of the common room when he was having meals - good looks came with privilege, it seemed. But who was he? Where did he go after leaving the restaurant? Where did he come from?
One evening, while taking his order, she attempted to start a conversation again.
"Are you from China?" she inquired.
Internally, she winced at the question. Despite his Japanese attire, his features were unmistakably Chinese. More and more Chinese people had been arriving in Japan lately; her father had explained once, the growing trade and commerce with China.
"Have you ever had Chinese stuffed dumplings?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation going. "A Chinese girl made them for me once. I think she called it Dim Sum. It was delicious! She doesn't work here anymore, though. We don't serve them either… but if you want, I can ask the cook to make some. He doesn't always like being told what to cook though. But I'm sure you'd prefer something you're used to?" She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe I can convince him. If not, maybe I can..."
She straightened, her eyes widening. For the first time in three nights and two lunchtime visits, the serious swordsman's eyes finally met hers. They were deep brown, but streaked with lighter shades, almost golden, like there was a fire smoldering beneath the surface. Framed by thick, arched eyebrows, his gaze was sharp and piercing, but not unpleasant - confused, perhaps. She felt like he was noticing everything about her, from the lint on her cuff to the mole on the side of her neck.
She hesitated, diminishing a little where she stood. He was seated at the low table, and although she loomed over him, she somehow felt at a disadvantage.
"Or maybe… you'll just have the sake?" she offered, her voice tentative.
He nodded. By the time she turned to head to the staircase, he was already looking out the window, his gaze fixed on the moon hidden beneath ominous dark clouds. When he left that evening, she whispered a small prayer to keep him safe.
The serious swordsman became a regular presence at the inn, always choosing the same seat, always ordering the same drink. And despite her efforts to remain professional, Sakura found herself increasingly drawn to the enigmatic patron, with the unreadable gaze.
Sakura bustled to the kitchen, her heart racing. Even though she was not waiting on him that evening, she delivered the swordsman's order to Chiharu who was pouring sake.
"I already took his order. You've been so interested in him lately. Maybe I should step back and let you serve him every time?" Chiharu smirked.
"Hoe-eee! Don't be ridiculous," Sakura replied, flushing furiously. "It's just that he's... mysterious. Aren't you curious about him?"
"I'm curious about why you're curious, Sakura-chan," Chiharu quipped, skipping away before Sakura could form a retort.
"He is rather mysterious," said Naoko, squinting at her, with a thoughtful look. "He doesn't seem to have friends either."
Sakura gave a silent gasp, taking a moment to consider Naoko's words. She had never really thought about it before, but now that Naoko had pointed it out, it was hard to ignore.
"Yeah..." she said softly, almost to herself.
The swordsman was always alone, no matter the time of day. When he entered the inn, his gaze would sweep over the room briefly, but he never lingered, never made conversation with anyone. He was always seated at the same corner, as if the world around him did not matter. When he did speak, it was direct, concise, and never out of place.
"I would like to know what his story is," Sakura murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "He's a difficult one. He never seems to relax long enough to open up."
Naoko rubbed at her eyes which had been giving her trouble more and more lately. Then, she gave Sakura a knowing look.
"You know, Sakura-chan, most men like that keep their secrets for a reason. They aren't interested in sharing. I wouldn't pry if I were you."
Perhaps Naoko was right. Some secrets were better left undisturbed. But as Sakura returned to the common room to finish her work, her thoughts drifted again to the swordsman. The memory of his stare - so intense it felt as if he could see straight through her - made her cheeks warm. She had never met anyone like him. What was it that made him so different from the other men at the inn? Why did he seem so untouchable? She needed to know. Even now, she found herself stealing glances at his table, though she pretended it was only to ensure everything was in order.
By the time she collected her final tray of the night, the swordsman was gone. His payment, as always, was exact, and his seat by the window was empty. It was as if he had never been there at all.
Several days passed without him, and Sakura wondered if the swordsman had given up on Akatsuki. She could not help but feel disappointed, as she thought they had made some progress in their exchanges. Perhaps he was just a wanderer, already in another village or town, leaving admiring server girls in his wake. She giggled to herself, setting down a bowl of rice and vegetables for a guest.
When she turned around, her eyes lit up. There he was - standing at the front door, inconspicuously slipping inside with his head slightly bowed. None of the other girls had noticed him yet. Sakura walked towards his usual table, eager to take his order. Just as she approached, a hand grabbed her around the waist, pulling her into someone's lap. The men at the table leered at her.
"Hey, pretty girl. You got a man?" one of them asked, his breath thick with drink.
"Excuse me, sir!" Sakura said, smacking away the man's hand.
She tried to stand, but he yanked her back down.
"Why so quick to run away, huh?" his companion said with a sneer. "We haven't seen a nice girl like you in weeks. You should be nice to us!"
The man reached out, his fingers brushing her knee. Sakura's heart hammered in her chest as she struggled against them, her mind willing her to keep her composure.
"Please, let me take your orders," she said, forcing a smile despite the tightening sensation in her chest.
The men laughed, ignoring her plea.
"Kinomoto-san!" Ishida's voice rang out. "Your customers are waiting for their meal!"
Sakura's relief was immediate as Ishida hurried over, quickly pulling her from the man's lap.
"And someone get a bottle of our finest sake for this table! On the house."
The men, who had begun to grumble, cheered at the promise of free sake. But Sakura knew it would not be the finest sake. Ishida could tell men who were used to fine things, and he had taught his server girls. Those men would get cheap, stale sake that could no longer be sold. Sakura gave a small bow to Ishida, murmuring her thanks before quickly stepping away.
The men's raucous laughter echoed in her ears as she scurried to the back of the inn to collect her wits. Men like that was the reason her brother did not like her working at the Akatsuki. Thank goodness he was not there that night. Though she knew better than to let the altercation affect her, she could not help but feel shaken. No one had ever grabbed her like that before.
Suddenly, she gasped. The swordsman! She hurried back inside but Chiharu was already taking his order. Sakura smiled in dismay. At least it was her friend. She shook her head. What was she thinking? She must be losing her mind with this one-sided relationship.
Later that night, as she was clearing a spill from a tabletop, a hand clamped down on her left butt cheek with a sharp smack. She squeaked and flew upwards.
"See ya later, sweet cheeks!"
It was the grabber from earlier. He and his comrades laughed on the way out the door. One even sent her a sly wink. Sakura hung her head down and waited for them to leave.
"Are you alright?" asked Naoko, as she walked past.
"Hai!" said Sakura, nodding vigorously.
She finished wiping the table dry, tipped her head up and sighed. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and a blush blazed across her cheekbones.
The swordsman was staring right at her. Her heart skipped a beat. Did he want something? She could not quite place it, but as she ascended the staircase, every step felt heavier, awkward. It was as if the intensity of his gaze had somehow made her painfully aware of every movement, every slight shift of her body. For a moment, she thought he might have been concerned, but the fact was, he had not rushed to her aid, nor did he speak up about the men's behaviour.
He sat with his arms folded on the tabletop, ever the image of composure that only seemed to underscore her own discomfort.
"Did you need anything else?" she asked, standing before him.
She tried to sound casual, but her voice betrayed her, a slight tremor she could not disguise. The uncertainty of his gaze lingered in the air, leaving her feeling more exposed than she cared to admit.
"Rice bowl," he replied, his voice low and steady.
It was a simple request, ordinary even. Yet it felt like an unspoken dismissal.
She nodded, forcing a smile, but it did not quite reach her eyes. She could feel the sting of something like disappointment.
"Good choice," she said, the words falling from her lips before she knew it.
The swordsman made no reply. No words, no acknowledgment, just the same silent observation. She turned quickly and headed for the kitchen, hoping he would not notice the falter in her smile, hoping the knot in her chest would not show.
What did it matter? He was just another man - distant, cold, as many others were. Yet the longer she thought about it, the more she realized: it was not his silence or inaction that stung. It was the way he saw her. Not as a person with feelings, not someone worth intervening for. Just a servant. Just another piece of scenery to be ignored in his otherwise indifferent world.
The evening breeze cut through Syaoran with a chill. As he strolled along the dimly lit street, his stomach still content with the warmth of soup he had earlier, he could not help but think that the server girl had been right from the start. The food at Akatsuki might not have been exceptional, but it was always fresh and hot. As he passed a potter's shop, the sound of a familiar, brash voice caught his attention.
"Let's head over to the other side of town," the man was saying. "Fuck some women. I'm tired of staring at you ugly bitches."
The men around him cackled.
"I've been told by many women I'm the looker of this group," said the youngest one with a smug grin.
"Many women? Your mother ain't count," another bantered, raising an eyebrow.
"His mother's old but I'll fuck even her at this point," said the first man, making the youngest shove him. "Under the cherry blossoms, of course. I'm a man of class."
"Cherry blossoms, huh? So romantic," the second man said, rolling his eyes. "Maybe you could light a lantern, too, and make it a real event."
"Only if she brings the sake," the first man retorted. "I might even leave a coin with her if she gets the job done right."
The third man snorted.
"You'd be lucky if she doesn't ask for your payment instead. I've seen you piss. You shouldn't be bragging."
The first man grinned, unbothered as the others laughed louder at his expense.
"Hey, I've got charm, alright? That's the real currency."
Syaoran slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing on their figures. It was the same group of degenerates who had harassed the server girl weeks ago, the ones who had grabbed her, as though they owned her. The memory of that moment still lingered in his mind - the way her smile faltered, the subtle fear that had flashed in her eyes. Even though she smiled afterwards, he could see that the altercation had affected her cheery disposition. And for reasons unknown, that had bothered him.
Sure, she was a bit too talkative, but she had a voice full of emotion, and she seemed to enjoy her job. He had never seen her upset… until that evening. A quiet anger had flared up inside him, sharp and unfamiliar. He had not even understood why, not fully; their words, their crude demands... he was not one to get upset by the antics of fools.
A well-known tension began to build upon Syaoran's shoulders as he walked. The men were nothing but pests, too weak to pose any real threat, but that did not make their behaviour any less intolerable. But still, the confusion only deepened. What was this feeling? Why did he care what happened to her? Why did it feel like something had snapped inside him, something that had not been there before? This sense of wanting to make them pay for their insolence, to have her witness it - that was unlike anything he had felt before. At that time, he had managed to push the odd thought from his mind. It would not have done him any favours to unleash his terror at the inn.
Now, without thinking, his hand reached for the wakizashi at his side, his fingers brushing the hilt. He barely noticed the motion - it was instinctive, a reaction to something he could not quite name.
Killing a man for such a thing as being moronic was extreme. Ridiculous. There was no reason to act on this. The girl was nothing to him. Yet, her unease gnawed at him in ways he could not explain. He had witnessed far greater disrespect, far more serious insults, barbarity, and he had walked away without a second thought. Yet…this strange, deep pull he felt - was nothing he could easily ignore. And here these vermin were, walking away, completely unaware of the danger at their backs, and of the hurt they had caused.
It was late. The streets were quieter now, the last remnants of the evening's bustle fading into the shadows. He could follow them, wait until the right opportunity presented itself.
It would be easy.
The path was clear, their movements predictable. He knew how this would end. He could make it quick, clean, precise. The itch in his hands grew sharper; that familiar, burning urge to draw his wakizashi , to feel the steel cut through the tension in the air, the weight of a life slipping from someone's body who deserved it. But this - this was not about the men. It was not even about the mission. It was something else. Something... personal.
He took a deep breath, willing the urge to pass.
I'm not a murderer, he reminded himself.
With a quiet exhale, Syaoran stopped walking. They were not his responsibility. The world was full of filth, and his role was cleansing the magical kind. That was what he was trained for, what he had dedicated his life to. To protect the innocent, yes - but to do so without letting emotions cloud his judgment. There would be no merit in taking their pathetic lives.
Yet, even as his mind churned with logic, his thumb flicked against the sword's hilt, revealing the sharp, silver edge.
Just a few hands then…
"Li-san!" a voice called sharply.
Syaoran clenched his teeth as the men fell into the shadow of an alleyway. He recognized the voice that had interrupted him. He turned to find the Vice-Commander of the Second Squad of the Akita Army, Kageyama Tatsuya, approaching.
"Akita-sama wants a word."
With a brief nod, Syaoran followed Tatsuya toward two waiting horses. They rode in silence, the rhythmic trots of the horses marking the passage of time as they made their way to the residence of Akita Noritaka. As they left the town behind, his thoughts drifted back to the server girl whose name, for the past weeks, he pretended he did not know: Kinomoto Sakura.
The first time she served him, she had been nothing short of an annoyance. He had taken a spot by the inn window, keeping a watchful eye on a potential target, but she had insisted on striking up a conversation. He had brushed her off, accustomed to the solitude and distance that his line of work demanded. At first, that seemed effective. Yet, she refused to be so easily dismissed, her persistence a quiet challenge to his attempts at isolation. Then one evening, she had suggested he have Chinese dumplings.
Her words, though simple, struck him with an unexpected force. Chinese dumplings? Dim sum?
He had not expected it. No one in Japan had ever suggested such a thing. In all his years of traveling, all the meals he had consumed, no one had ever offered him something from his own culture. It was a small thing, a simple gesture, but it left an impression on him, lingering in his mind long after the conversation had passed. Her words stirred something in him, something he had not expected to feel.
Was it nostalgia? Nostalgia for a time before his life had become full of duty and blood? A time when he had been someone else? He could not be sure. Or was it something else entirely - a sense of connection, a recognition of something he had long since abandoned?
She left to bring him sake, and he had found himself watching her from the corner of his eye. She moved through the crowded inn with an ease that suggested she was at home there; and there was an undeniable energetic and natural grace to her every step. She had short hair, the colour of chestnuts in the sunlight, and eyes that were a striking shade of green, like the forest after rain. She spoke with strangers as if they were old friends, her laughter genuine and light, her smile bright, as though the weight of the world never touched her. He did not understand it. He did not understand how someone like her could exist so freely in a world that had long since taught him to be cautious, vicious, to never let his guard down.
He expected her to be like every other server at every other inn - nothing more than a passing face. However, each time he closed his eyes, her image danced behind his eyelids - the way she laughed, her voice full of life, echoing in his mind like a tune he could not forget. She spoke with a kind of warmth, the kind that made mundane things feel important. The weather, the people strolling past the window, the latest happenings from the neighbourhood - all these little things that, to him, had seemed insignificant before, took on a different light in her company.
The strangest part was how effortless it seemed for her. She did not try to make him feel included, did not seem to notice his distance. And for reasons he could not understand, it felt as though he had been a part of every conversation. Though he never truly responded, her words made him feel... present, as if for the first time in a long while, he was not merely an observer, but someone included in the rhythm of life, as if the space between them had somehow shrunk, even if just for a moment.
He had not even realized at first, but somehow, day after day, he found himself back at the same inn. And every time he left, he knew he would be back again. He told himself his reasons were practical - checking for new information, watching his target, ensuring the mission was proceeding as planned, or simply being hungry. But every time, he found his eyes wandering toward her, his focus slipping, his sense of his duty fading into the background. He told himself it was temporary, that it was nothing, just a passing distraction; he could refocus, resume his duties, as soon as he left the inn.
When that failed, he had tried to stop visiting.
For weeks, he had managed to stay away, convinced that his mind could forget her, that the pull of her presence would fade like any other momentary intrusion. But, without warning, a fleeting thought of her smile would surface, uninvited, like a whisper in the back of his mind. Before he could suppress it, he would find himself lost in the memory. He did not understand why he could not shake the pull of her company, even from a distance. It was as if she had left a mark on him, one he could not scrub away. Before long, he had found himself back at the inn. He was supposed to be someone who left no trail, someone forgettable. Yet here he was, helplessly drawn into the web of a girl who always seemed to remember him; no - who looked forward to his arrival.
He was shocked to find that, despite his efforts to distance himself, he liked that she seemed excited to see him, and more worrying, he found himself wanting it. Each time he returned, she greeted him quickly, always with kindness, as though he mattered. He was even dismayed when other servers approached him first - an unfamiliar feeling that unsettled him. Sakura's tenderness and friendly nature was something he had not experienced in years. He had become used to blending into the background and being ostracized due to his status as a foreigner. And yet, there she was, seeing him, not as an outsider, not as a stranger, but as someone deserving of a thought beyond mere pleasantries.
Clenching his jaw, he pushed the thoughts away, forcing his mind back to the present, focusing on the path ahead. There were bigger threats, greater dangers to think about - missions to complete, targets to watch, and enemies to eliminate. His time in Tomoeda had come to an end, he told himself. He did not have to deal with her puzzling presence anymore.
I'll leave, he thought, the words detached and final in his mind. I'll leave, and I won't look back.
But still, two questions tugged relentlessly at him.
Why had that incident with her and those men aggravated me so much? Why did I want to kill them?
Upon his arrival at Noritaka's residence three days later, Syaoran was treated to a hot bath and a nourishing meal before being summoned to meet with the daimyo. The moment he stepped into the familiar, meticulously kept home, he felt the weight of his travels begin to lift. Noritaka had always been a steady presence in his life - a man whose quiet strength commanded respect without the need for words. Despite knowing him since childhood, Syaoran could never shake the sense of awe and comfort the older man inspired.
When Syaoran entered Noritaka's study, he found the daimyo standing at his desk, posture straight as though he had just risen from a moment of deep thought. In his mid-forties, Noritaka's sharp, angular features marked his noble lineage. The once jet-black hair at his temples was now streaked with silver, adding a distinguished air to his already commanding presence. His eyes, dark and steady, sparkled with intelligence and a hint of mischief.
His attire, as always, was impeccable. His fine silk kimono, embroidered with subtle patterns of cranes in flight, symbolized both nobility and perseverance. The deep, rich hues of his clothing stood in striking contrast to the simplicity of the study, giving him the appearance of a man not only entrenched in the world of power but at ease with his place in it.
"Come to the gardens with me," Noritaka said, his voice calm yet carrying an undeniable authority.
Syaoran nodded, following him outside. Noritaka had long served as a mentor, shaping Syaoran's understanding of duty and honour since the days he had first become his ward upon arriving in Japan.
As they stepped into the garden, the sweet scent of blooming chrysanthemums filled the air. A soft breeze stirred the leaves of the trees overhead, making the chimes tied to their branches sing a gentle, melodic tune. Crossing the arched wooden bridge, the two paused to watch koi darting gracefully through the clear water of the pond below.
"How have you been?" Noritaka asked, his voice filled with genuine interest.
"I am well, Akita-sama."
"Good to hear. There's been a noticeable decrease in crime over the past few months. Regular crime has plummeted, and magician-related incidents have almost vanished. Even the samurai - proud as they are - cannot deny that much of this order is due to your efforts."
"And to the Tenno no migite across the country," Syaoran replied.
"Yes, but the Tenno no migite are feared because of you," Noritaka said with a nod. "Your name has become synonymous with peace, power, authority... and death. The soldiers across the land now look to you as the one who can bring order to this world."
Syaoran's gaze tightened slightly, but he did not allow his thoughts to show.
"Order is a fleeting thing, Akita-sama. Peace built on the surface can only last so long."
Noritaka tilted his head, a knowing look in his eyes.
"Ah yes. What is that term you use?"
"Total Sterilization."
"That's not the emperor's goal. That's yours."
"It is. I have longed for the death of all magicians long before the emperor knew they existed."
"He believes some can be useful."
"That is a dangerous idea." Syaoran's voice grew sharp, as if each word was an accusation, a venomous spit on the very notion. "There is no room for mercy in this. Every magician, no matter how small the threat, is a wound in the world - a wound that festers and poisons everything it touches."
Noritaka's eyes flicked over to the garden, as if searching for a peaceful thought to anchor himself in the face of such conviction.
"You've been speaking of this cause of yours since you were eleven years old," he said, studying the younger man with a mixture of curiosity and caution. "But tell me, what does it truly mean to you?"
Syaoran's gaze darkened, a hint of something primal deep in his eyes, as though the very mention of magic was an insult to his soul.
"It's not just about eliminating the immediate threats - the rogue magicians, the outlaws, the chaos of the moment. Total Sterilization means eradicating the root cause - magic itself. It's not a mere weapon to be wielded. It's an infection that needs to be burned out entirely. There is no room for half-measures. No quarter. Only when magic is utterly eradicated will peace be possible - true peace."
His words hung in the air, thick with the kind of intensity that could scorch the earth beneath him. Noritaka's eyes softened slightly, but he was still watching Syaoran, as if measuring something hidden beneath the surface.
"Has your resolve never wavered?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost gentle, as if testing the limits of the younger man's conviction. "Not a moment of reprieve for them?"
"None." The word was an icy hammer. Syaoran's gaze was unyielding his body as still as stone, but there was an unmistakable fire in his eyes - one that sought to consume, not just the magicians he despised, but the very idea of magic itself. "They are all guilty. Every last one of them. Magic increases all corruption, all suffering. It twists everything it touches; corrupts everything it comes near. There can be no peace, no future, until it is gone. And I will see it gone - by any means necessary."
Noritaka studied him for a moment, his sharp mind assessing the strength of Syaoran's words, the depth of his hate.
"Hmm. You understand that such an objective spans more than one lifetime."
"If the emperor allowed bloodlines to be cut out, it would be faster. But what I will accomplish in this life will leave no foothold for them to rebuild. I will train others like me with the same purpose until my last breath."
The silence between them stretched, thick with the weight of his resolve. Noritaka folded his arms, his smile slightly predatory, as though pleased by what he saw. "You must temper your blade, "Kami Kira,"" he chided softly, but with a hint of something more - an understanding of the beast that lurked beneath Syaoran's cool façade. "Some of them - those with knowledge or influence in the Mahotsukai - must be captured."
"It is a risk to let them live," he said, voice tight with a barely restrained loathing.
"It is a command." Noritaka's tone was final. "The emperor wants prisoners to parade in court. Capture a few - the ones the palace guards can handle. Let him have a moment to boast to the shogunate. For now."
Syaoran's jaw tightened, a visible muscle twitching beneath his skin. He remained silent for a long moment, weighing the orders in his mind, as though each word were an insult to his cause. But then, slowly, he inclined his head.
"As you wish."
Noritaka folded his arms into his kimono sleeves, the movement deliberate and slow, as if he were making a statement of his own. His gaze shifted, calculating, as a moment of silence passed between them. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, but there was a sharpness to it that made the words feel like a blade poised just out of sight.
"You have been in Tomoeda for some time now. Your reports have also been infrequent."
Syaoran's brow furrowed at the subtle reproach. He was accustomed to Noritaka's careful assessments, but something about the way the older man phrased his words made the air feel heavier.
"It was your directive to eliminate the magician activity there. As for my reports, I did not realise they had slowed."
Noritaka's eyes narrowed slightly, the intensity of his scrutiny deepening. He took a step forward, the silence stretching taut between them, before he responded.
"You tend to move on swiftly. You expose the threat, eliminate the most dangerous magicians and then the other assassins and samurai handle the remaining ones. Maybe this village has seized more of your attention than the mission requires."
Syaoran stiffened, his mind briefly flashing to an image of Sakura - her smile, her laughter echoing in his ears as she chatted with the other servers at the inn. It would not be farfetched if Noritaka had him followed but he had given the man no reason to do so. Also, he was certain he would notice spies tracking his movements.
He met Noritaka's gaze directly, his face betraying no emotion.
"I believe there's a Mahotsukai unit based in Tomoeda or a nearby vicinity. It's a quiet community, growing in importance. People from many directions pass through. It would be a strategic location for them."
Noritaka's silence stretched on, and Syaoran felt a slight twinge of unease. He said nothing, letting the tension hang in the air. Finally, Noritaka spoke.
"From tomorrow, I want you in Kyoto."
Syaoran's heart skipped a beat, but he masked his reaction, nodding sharply.
"As you wish."
Noritaka continued to study Syaoran with a piercing gaze, as if reading something beneath the surface. Then, to Syaoran's surprise, Noritaka suddenly shook his head, as if deciding against whatever thought had crossed his mind.
"No," he said, his tone shifting. "Never mind. Tomoeda might be a quiet village, but it could still be hiding something we don't fully understand. If you feel that your presence there is necessary, then perhaps it's worth examining more closely."
"Thank you," Syaoran said.
Noritaka's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before he gave a subtle nod.
"We'll see what you find. Proceed with caution. However, I expect a report soon."
Syaoran bowed his head.
"Understood. I apologise for my... inconsistency."
Noritaka started walking again, and Syaoran fell into step beside him, the weight of their conversation settling between them.
"We have a short trip to make tomorrow," said Noritaka. "But this evening, I'm going out on the town. Come with me. I'll even sponsor your fun."
"You know I have no interest in such things," Syaoran replied stiffly.
Noritaka raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.
"Every man has interest in such things."
Syaoran adjusted the wakizashi at his side, his discomfort palpable.
"I don't think it's healthy to lie with women who lie with many men. For the body or spirit."
At that, Noritaka threw his head back and laughed.
"My most fearsome assassin afraid of experienced women? Though I'll admit, the inexperienced ones can be invigorating."
"I'm not afraid of women..." Syaoran muttered, his cheeks faintly tinged with red. "What's the point of these transient interactions and moments of pleasure? They mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. They last only so long, and, in the end, they don't change anything."
Noritaka sighed heavily.
"You're quite dismissive of the things that keep other men sane."
"I'm not like other men."
Noritaka eyed him sceptically, before leaning in.
"I believe in working hard," said Noritaka. "However, balance is necessary. You've given everything to the mission, and I respect that. But sometimes, a brief respite can sharpen your focus. It might even clear your mind."
Syaoran wrinkled his nose in quiet disapproval.
"Distractions are unnecessary," he declared.
Noritaka chuckled.
"Your skills and loyalty are invaluable, but a night of relaxation might even bridge the gap with the samurai. They find you… peculiar. Difficult to connect with."
"Their perception won't change," Syaoran countered, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "I'll always be the outsider, the Chinese swordsman who easily surpasses them at their own craft. Besides, I don't need their approval."
Noritaka smirked, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"Careful, Syaoran-san. Their positions hold more significance than yours. Your talent is undeniable, but you cannot ascend their ranks. Therefore, their influence, their alliances, could be the key to success. Even the greatest warriors cannot fight alone. Power isn't just in the blade - it's in the bonds you forge. The samurai have their own reasons for fighting, and they'll follow a leader they respect. You may be the better swordsman, but without them, your mission will fall apart. So, what do you say? Join us tonight? Members of the shogunate will be present. It might just be the first step in gaining their trust."
Syaoran hesitated, his brow furrowed in contemplation. Noritaka's expression remained open and inviting, as if extending a genuine offer of camaraderie rather than demanding it.
Finally, he sighed, a touch of exasperation colouring his voice.
"I can get you a woman who's untouched. Or close to it."
Syaoran huffed in annoyance.
"If that's an order..."
"And they say I'm the picky one," grumbled Noritaka.
"Maybe I'm just disciplined," Syaoran muttered under his breath.
Noritaka's smile faded, replaced by a more serious look.
"You are disciplined, but you're also far removed from the samurai. They don't know what to make of you."
"I exist for one purpose: to eliminate the magicians. Nothing else matters. I refuse to play political games."
"I didn't ask you to play politics, but you'll need to if you want to keep what we've built. You think I'm daimyo now because the emperor likes me? No. I'm here because we've made ourselves invaluable to the empire, but it won't last unless I can hold the samurai's loyalty - and that means I need them to trust me. And trust doesn't come from fear, Syaoran-san. It comes from understanding. From connection." He exhaled sharply. "You might not care about the samurai, but even your own squad is scared of you. They don't see a comrade, they see a weapon. And that's not something anyone can comfortably stand beside."
Syaoran's jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed with a mixture of frustration and disbelief.
"You want me to make nice with people who've tormented and shunned me since childhood?"
Noritaka's gaze softened, but there was a quiet, insistent strength in his words.
"Not make nice - just show them there's more to you than the blade. You don't have to be their friend, but if you can show them, you're not some distant, unapproachable force… it'll help. It'll help me, and it'll help us both. We don't need to win every battle with strength - we need to win trust, too. I suggest you start with your squad at least."
"I don't have to join you tonight then?" Syaoran asked, his voice tinged with relief.
Noritaka chuckled, the sound light but amused.
"Oh, you'll come as my bodyguard, so you can avoid all the frivolous things," Noritaka said, with a smirk. "No need to mingle, no need to have lovely ladies pamper you, or fawn over you like you're some rare gem; or let you play with their bodies like the shamisen you enjoy. I'll make sure the only thing you'll be holding tonight is that sword of yours. Keep your focus on that and leave the distractions to me."
Syaoran scowled, clearly displeased by the jab.
"You certainly are a waste of a good face," Noritaka continued. "Tell me... if you're not indulging in pleasures like most men, what exactly do you do to relax?"
"There is no need to relax," Syaoran said. "There is only Total Sterilization."
Noritaka pursed his lips at Syaoran's conviction.
"You never let up, do you? Not even a moment for yourself?"
"Relaxation dulls the blade. A warrior who seeks comfort forgets the weight of his sword."
Noritaka chuckled, though there was a glint of something sharper in his gaze now.
"You've always been a fascinating one. When you came to me you were a boy knowing only comfort. A skilled swordsman even at a young age. Now, you're a man of twenty-six who lives entirely for the cause, leaving no room for anything else. Admirable, I suppose. But..." He paused, letting the word hang in the air, before his grin returned. "Even the sharpest sword needs care. A worn blade breaks."
Syaoran's hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his wakizashi, his knuckles tightening around it.
"I will not break."
Noritaka smiled faintly, but his eyes betrayed a deeper thought.
"We'll see, won't we?"
A/N
Hey Tomodachi!
First off, thank you so much patmacy.27 for being the very first reviewer for this story. Yay!
Also thank you to xtna ag, Hopee sg, Flor de cerezonNFTLC, and Kama-Karmo for reading and reviewing! Your feedback means a lot. As a little thank you for your support, I'd like to give you the chance to help shape a future character of this story!
Since you all took the time to leave a review, feel free to suggest a character name, physical ppearance, and even some personality traits for me to include in an upcoming chapter. Want a character to make an appearance? Let me know their backstory or any fun quirks you'd love to see! I'll try to incorporate as many details as possible into the story's chapters when possible.
I can't wait to see what ideas you come up with! Just remember, this story is set in ancient Japan. I'm thinking the characters might be part of the Mahotsukai or Syaoran's squad but that remains to be seen.
Thanks again for being so awesome and stay tuned for more! ❤️
Quick Trivia: Last post we had readers from the United States, Spain, Canada, Peru, Australia, Italy, Europe and Indonesia. Welcome all!
Until Next Time,
Ja ne! ^_^