The old pond
A frog leaps in.
Sound of the water.
Recommended Listening: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBgrnc--T-k
Sunlight streamed through the trees, enveloping a clearing in warm, golden rays. The clearing tapered into a tranquil pond, where a number of dragonflies zipped about, their iridescent wings shimmering like liquid sapphires. They occasionally paused in mid-air, adding to the natural symphony of the pond's serenity. Uesugi Kin'ike sat peacefully by the water's edge, his patterned kimono blending harmoniously with the colors of nature. In front of him, meticulously arranged on a cloth, rested his twin swords—the masterworks Yanagi no Eda and Aoyagi.
Yanagi no Eda, his longsword, lay farther away from him, while the shortsword Aoyagi remained close to his kneeling legs. These blades had been gifted to him by his master just before he began serving Lord Kaeru.
Willow Branch and Young Willow. Truly, a samurai must bend like the willow. The mantra echoed in the chambers of Kin'ike's soul. His eyes were half-lidded, and his breathing was calm and steady as he meditated, seeking tranquility amidst the turbulence of his and his son's journey. To the untrained eye, his deep state of contemplation might have been mistaken for slumber, but in reality, it was his way to connect not only with the essence of life, but the universe itself.
As the dragonfly darted closer, drawn by the stillness of the warrior's meditation, it momentarily paused in front of Kin'ike's serene countenance. In that suspended moment, the dragonfly became a part of the ronin's contemplative world. Every beat of its wings was an eternity, the gaze of its compound eye an invisible force.
Unexpectedly, his son Haru, who had been playfully watching the insect by his father's side, couldn't resist the urge to have a snack. With a swift flick of his long frog's tongue, the boy snatched the dragonfly from the air, swallowing it in a single gulp. Kin'ike's countenance remained undisturbed for a moment, but a subtle glimmer of amusement shone in his eyes as he opened them. His mind drifted to the past, shortly after the hatching of his son.
Kenranmachi Bridge was one of the last crossings before the border of the Land Of Dew. Spanning a narrower stretch of the Kumoishi River, its cypress planks bore the weight of all manner of travelers during the day. That night under a crescent moon, only two trod its path. The wheels of Kin'ike's handcart rumbled gently as they trundled across the bridge, bearing everything the vagabond had been able to salvage from his home. Nestled safely towards the top was a small glass bowl, in which a tadpole swam cheerfully.
The samurai had pushed the cart past fields, ponds, forests, and countless agents of Lord Kitsune, yet as he got about halfway down the bridge, the croak of a frog, long and low in the night air, caught his ear. Something wasn't right.
A familiar voice cut through the night. "The last time we spoke..."
Kin'ike's blood ran colder than usual. He set down his cart–and his son, stepping in front of it to meet his adversary.
"...You said you would rather die than live without honor."
The figure stepped in front of Kin'ike's path, moonlight revealing the orange haori billowing in the breeze. The emblems of Lord Kitsune, stark reminders of allegiance printed onto both sides of the garment, briefly glinted as the figure cast away the conical farmer's hat he wore, slicing it in twain with his blade. It drifted aimlessly in the wind, landing far below in the river. That face, Kin'ike could recognize anywhere.
With a flick of his thumb, Kin'ike's longsword peeked from its sheath with a soft click. His voice remained steady, but beneath the surface, a tempest of emotions churned. Well-trained restraint barely kept his indignation in check. "I have nothing more to say to you, Jūbei."
The moon's light shimmered upon the waters underneath the bridge as the two samurai stared one another down. Jūbei's haori flapped gently, his eyes locked on the wandering samurai he'd been sent here to dispose of. The river gurgled on, indifferent to the looming confrontation.
"I'll make good on your words, old friend." Without warning, Jūbei dashed forward with a sudden burst of speed, vanishing from sight and reappearing before Kin'ike in the blink of an eye, his blade raised high and gleaming in the moonlight.
Kin'ike's response was immediate, his own movements fluid yet precise as he drew his blade and blocked the overhead strike in a single crescent motion. Their swords clashed with a furious intensity, the sound echoing through the stillness of the night. As Jūbei brought his sword back to a centered guard, Kin'ike completed the crescent motion, slashing horizontally across his body. Jūbei hopped back, narrowly avoiding Yanagi no Eda's edge.
With practiced grace, Kin'ike raised his blade to the side of his head, sliding his free hand to the pommel of his sword. Like water, his slash flowed into a quick counter thrust to keep Jūbei on the defensive. The thrust was beaten to the side with a flick of the blade. Now, it was Jūbei’s turn to go on the offensive. Pressing forward, he couched the flat of his blade in the crook of his arm, a favorite stance of the Kitsune clan. Feinting a thrust that caused Kin'ike to retreat, he lunged forward with a low slash aimed at amputating the vagabond's leg. Kin'ike slid his foot back, bringing his sword upward.
Blocking the strike, the samurai roared, launching a flurry of slashes. With equal speed, Kin'ike met them, and in an instant the two had exchanged dozens of blows. In the exchange, the distance between the former comrades became clear. Jūbei had clearly been training among Lord Kitsune's retainers, and his strength reflected the powerful strikes of their Sun style. Yet the vestiges of his home remained extant, with each move blending into the next, a hallmark of the Water style. The pair stepped back, and once again Jūbei pressed the attack. A sweeping slash passed mere inches away from Kin'ike's face as he stepped around it.
Undeterred, Kin'ike adopted a powerful stance with his sword held diagonally, countering immediately with a downwards cut. Jūbei, relying on his strength, blocked the attack with a forceful low block, aiming to disarm his former friend.
The bridge became a stage for their dueling dance—a symphony of clattering steel and rapid footwork, set against the backdrop of moonlit water and the whispering wind.
"Within the Land Of Dew, my son, lies a great power known as 'Shizen Ryū,' the 'Natural Flow,'" Kin'ike began, his voice resonating with reverence for the wisdom once passed down to him. "Here in this foreign land, they call it 'Mana,' but its essence remains unchanged. In our homeland, we believe it to be the energy of the soul entwining with nature."
The duel between former comrades reached a momentary lull, each man catching their breath. Their blades, gleaming like silver, hovered in the air as the two samurai locked eyes, each seeking an opening in the other's defense.
They circled one another, every footstep deliberate. Kin'ike took a step back, feinting a strike to Jūbei's head, but the latter effortlessly parried with a swift motion, countering with a low thrust towards Kin'ike's torso. The vagabond sidestepped with ease, his brow furrowing in concentration. Countless sparring sessions between the two and the experience of battle gave Kin'ike intimate knowledge of Jūbei's next move, and vice versa. For a moment, neither combatant made a move towards the other.
The two warriors' blades began to glisten with an otherworldly aura, resembling the graceful ripples caused by a stone thrown into water. Their breathing synchronized as the intensity of the aura heightened. It evolved from mere ripples to the powerful lapping of waves tossed by the wind. To an outside observer, the aura would seem like a woodblock print brought to life, with bold, flat lines defining its pulsating shape. This was the Sentōryū-an ancient art created by the sages and taught to the samurai of the Land of Dew.
Simultaneously, the two rushed towards one another. The flow of their souls lingered in the air, and as their swords met so too did their energies, crashing together like a great wave in a storm. Magical droplets hung in the air, appearing almost two-dimensional. Stepping back, Kin'ike performed two quick slashes, both of which were parried by his foe. In response, Jūbei once again assumed that favored stance of the Kitsune clan. This time, he swung his sword downwards, bringing it up in a circular motion that left a liquid afterimage of a wheel. Performing the flashy move had made him oblivious to Kin'ike's own downward cut, the samurai having slipped around the technique.
Jūbei barely managed to evade the full force of the strike, but the magic-infused blade still brushed against his off-hand, leaving a shallow but stinging cut. Even such a minor contact with the enhanced edge was enough to draw blood, and a rivulet of red blackened by darkness began to flow from his hand.
As the boy looked up with curiosity, Kin'ike's eyes softened with affection, and he continued, "You see, young willow, just as the dragonfly's life becomes a part of you, 'Shizen Ryū' is a part of every living creature. It is a connection that binds us to the very heart of life."
As the duel continued, Kin'ike's fancy footwork had managed to push his adversary further away from the cart. As they paused to concentrate their energy, Jūbei's voice rang out in the night air. "Kin'ike...It's been a long time. Do you remember the days we trained together under our master's watchful eye? The vows we made to protect each other, no matter the odds?"
Kin'ike's expression remained stoic, his eyes fixed on Jūbei with a mix of nostalgia and determination. He refused to engage in a battle of words with the man who abandoned his lord on the battlefield. The two exchanged tentative blows.
Jūbei smirked, his voice dripping with a hint of mockery. "Ah, I miss those times, my friend. But I made my choice, as have you. I've found a new purpose, a better future with Lord Kitsune." With greater intensity, they resumed their combat, the otherworldly water lending extra force to their strikes.
The grip on Kin'ike's sword tightened, his knuckles turning a lighter shade of green. Every fiber of his body clawed at him to speak, to scream at Jūbei that he had no right to speak that foul name in his presence.
Jūbei continued, each word carefully placed to worm through the ronin's mental armor. They locked swords. "You, on the other hand, are still bound by your old loyalties. Tell me, how did that loyalty serve you when Lord Kaeru fell? You and the others fought bravely, but in the end, what did it get you?"
Much more than you could ever imagine, coward. The samurai strained against one another in a pure contest of strength not decided by skill with the blade. Eventually, both combatants were pushed backwards.
"My apologies, Kin'ike. That was...impolite of me." He quickly changed the subject, simultaneously feinting a cut. "You know, I was impressed with your deeds at the castle, carrying the others on your back in boiling water. It's the stuff of a riveting legend, even my lord said so afterwards. Serve him, and you'll have power, forgiveness... and the future you deserve."
Kin'ike's eyes briefly flickered to the cart behind him, where his son Haru swam in the bowl, still just a tadpole oblivious to the duel. His former friend, ever perceptive, caught the fleeting glance.
"Ah, so that's it. You're protecting someone. Not yourself, but someone important to you, aren't you?" His smirk deepened into a feral grin. "I wonder who that could be."
Kin'ike's jaw tightened as he fought to contain the anger rising within him. The mystical coating enveloping his blade began to weaken and churn, betraying his inner turmoil. He was losing focus.
"So Haruka truly was with child then," he taunted, a sinister chuckle escaping his lips. "How touching. But you in particular would know that protecting others only leads to pain."
The ronin could hold his tongue no longer. "I...will do what is necessary to keep him safe." His voice was full of quiet fury, the words emerging from his mouth like a black venom.
Jūbei's eyes blazed, a vile thought forming in his head as his left hand, still dripping with blood, grabbed the wakizashi at his hip.
"Is that so..."
With a flick of his wrist, he drew it from his sheath, tossing the blade with great force towards the cart–toward Haru.
"Let's test that, shall we?"
As the wakizashi hurtled towards his son, Kin'ike's instincts kicked in. In a burst of speed, he intercepted the blade with the flat of his longsword, deflecting it away from Haru's fragile sanctuary. The wakizashi clattered to the ground, but in that split second, he left himself vulnerable. With the speed of a ravenous serpent, Jūbei's katana found its mark, causing Kin'ike to grunt and his magic to falter as it ripped a clean stripe into his torso. Imbued with the fluidity of the Water style, such a strike would have cleaved an ordinary man in twain.
Yet Kin'ike was no ordinary man.
As the crimson stain spread across his kimono, the samurai's feet returned to his stance, body blocking Jūbei from making any further cowardly attacks. The pain seared him like a branding iron, every nerve on fire. Yet amidst the agony, the thought of Haru gave him a sense of purpose that far surpassed physical pain. In that moment, the wound became a distant echo, drowned out by the unwavering love for his child. Fierce determination burned within his amphibian eyes as the Shizen Ryū enveloping his sword surged with new intensity.
Jūbei's expression wavered, his initial triumph fading as he saw the samurai stand unbowed.
"You're still standing?" Jūbei's voice betrayed a hint of surprise, quickly replaced by a scowl.
Kin'ike's response was laconic, his voice steady as a faint smile played at his lips. "It's nothing."
"In our journey, we learn to move with the currents of life, adapting and finding our place within its rhythm," he added, the warm timbre of his voice laced with quiet wisdom. "Such is the way of Shizen Ryū."
Kin'ike's expression remained calm and focused. He dropped to one knee, swiftly sheathing his blade as he closed his eyes. Jūbei's eyes, on the other hand, widened in recognition of the stance. Entering a high stance, the turbulent energy surrounding Jūbei's blade reached a fever pitch, crashing and foaming together furiously. With one strike, he aimed to split his foolish friend down the middle.
Time seemed to slow down as the vagabond's senses heightened. He could feel the tide of the universe around him, the fundamental entanglement that bound his life to everything from the fish passing under his bandaged feet to the heartbeat of his son.
"Suitōryū..."
With a deep breath, it all fell away into a pool of unearthly stillness. Amidst the dead calm, he gathered his strength, loosening his grip on the sword's handle.
To become formless
Swim with the current of life
Cut through nothingness.
In the darkness of night, Kin'ike's form blurred as he hopped towards the man he once called comrade with superhuman speed. As he unsheathed his sword, the blade seemed to harmonize with the air, leaving behind a trail of liquid unreality. In that split second between the dash and point of contact, he refined the swirling aura surrounding his katana, shaping it into a high-pressure edge akin to a waterjet.
"Kōzui Giri!"
His sword slashed diagonally upward in one fluid motion, tearing through the air with the force of a flash flood as Kin'ike skidded to a stop, now behind his opponent's back.
For a second afterwards, his old friend seemed unaffected, and a smirk tugged at the corners of Jūbei's lips. But then, the flowing water around his blade cut out abruptly. His sword snapped in two, the pieces clattering to the ground. Finally, as if in slow motion, a jet of crimson sprayed from his torso. His eyes widened in disbelief, and the smirk faded, replaced by shock and realization.
For a moment, Jūbei remained standing, his body betraying him only in the last seconds of life. The top half of his body slid downwards, falling to the ground unceremoniously. The ancient technique had carved clean through him.
The eerie silence that followed was broken only by the soft gush of the Kumoishi River below.
As Kin'ike stood victorious, the coating of his katana flowed with red wisps, blood mixing with the water's edge. With a flick, he dispelled the Shizen Ryū from his blade, sliding it back into its lacquered sheath with a hiss. The suspended gore fell at once onto the bridge, staining the planks.
He knew that the way of the warrior was to die, yet couldn't help but feel a sense of melancholy for Jūbei. How many hours had they strolled the castle grounds at the side of their lord? How many cups of sake had they shared before battle, their heads bowed in prayer? How many lazy afternoons had they spent smoking their pipes and engaging in chatter both meaningless yet infinitely meaningful? His hand pressed against his kimono as he walked back to the cart, stanching the bleeding.
With a gentle touch, Kin'ike lifted his son's glass bowl, cradling it close to his chest. A tear welled in his eyes as they shifted skyward.
Years later, in a distant land, the vagabond gently reached into his kimono and retrieved his kiseru pipe, a finely crafted piece adorned with intricate engravings and polished to a deep sheen. With a practiced hand, he filled the slender metal bowl with fragrant tobacco, the sweet scent mingling with the natural aroma of the surrounding wilderness. The long stem of the kiseru was warped slightly from the demands of their journey, extending limply from his hand as he fetched a flint.
As the tobacco ignited with a soft glow, Kin'ike took a contemplative puff from the pipe, the wisps of smoke curling upward as an offering to his departed friend.
Haru glanced up at his father, his bright eyes filled with a mixture of mischief and innocence. For a moment, it almost seemed as if he understood the lesson, but then another dragonfly caught his attention, and he pounced once more, snapping it up with gusto.
As Kin'ike settled back into his meditation, seeking that elusive state of tranquility, he felt a light but familiar weight on his head. A soft croak followed, and he couldn't help but smile once again. It was his son, Haru, playfully perched on his head as if it were his own personal lily pad.
Closing his eyes, it was the slap of Haru's webbed foot searching for purchase that finally broke his concentration. He began to chuckle, taking another pull from his pipe. "Alright then, Haru. I suppose it is time for lunch after all."
With a cheerful croak, Haru hopped off his father's head, ready to chase after more dragonflies. Kin'ike watched him go, a smile still gracing his lips.
The essence of the universe could wait. As far as Uesugi Kin'ike was concerned, his universe was busy snapping up dragonflies.