Chapter 1: Summer over Miwa
"HOLD STRONG, SOLDIERS! The Black Banner may be strong, but Hachiman shall be on our side today!"
The fields of war ran red with the blood of fallen soldiers, a symphony of screams, steel and shots so deafening it was easy to lose one's voice within.
At the western end stood an army of shadowy hues, their black banner borne in the air bearing a crescent impaled by a sword through it. A sea of soldiers donning inky black armor accompanied by highlights of dark purple mercilessly cutting down anyone who stood in their path. At the east another army, valiantly bearing their golden banner with their motif a circle with a square within flying valiantly in a swarm of warriors with gold cuirasses so shiny it can blind a man from the sun's light bouncing off it.
Accompanied by their respective allies and their numbers in the thousands, both these great clans were locking horns in a massive battle that would define the future of Kyoshima, and its victor the reward of the nation's hegemony. Two oceans of black and gold violently clashing above creating an eyesore of a contrast.
Cavalry stampeded through enemy lines trampling soldiers like flowers while arrows rained down from the skies like a rain of death. Bullets fired through piercing the air as they flew as clouds of musket fire polluted the atmosphere.
In the crossfires stood Takashi Akaryu, a young samurai fighting with the strength of five men and slicing through Kurozuki soldiers as if a dragon descended from the heavens to deliver fiery judgement to the sinful souls on earth.
He was not hard to spot through the chaos as his deep red armor, making him stand out from the monochrome crowds, soon found itself soiled by the blood splattered on it and painting the golden dragon motif proudly on the front, soaked by the dark blue lacing keeping it together.
His gunmetal jingasa masking his eyes and katana's blade wet with Black Banner blood, it's no surprise he earned the nickname of "the Red Dragon" by both ally and enemy banners, his battle-fueled rage driving him through the slaughter.
The going got more chaotic and disordered, and just before he saw it coming, a great swing from a kanabo sent him flying and crashing into the ground, a ringing in his head so loud it was like he was losing stability of it.
Very soon, the grounds were reduced to masses of corpses littering the grass. Spearheads planted deep in the soil and arrows scattered in non-linear proportions. Banners of clans fell limp in the skirmish and lay lifeless while entire samurai armies under them were getting decimated by the minute, their clan colors slowly beginning to fade into the background till not a single speck of their own can be seen.
Still writhing in pain from his hard-hitting blow he received as he laid, Takashi began to muster up whatever strength and resolve in him to pick himself up and continue fighting for his allies and his banner.
The carnage continued raging on....... and yet, it seemed peace felt like yesterday. Memories of a life before flashed in his vision, like distant memories hard to salvage.
Though beyond his control, he only wished he could do something to rewind time and relive them once more. But how could he do so? Especially concerning the current circumstances
- ears ago-
A glow of light emanated from the heavens above, and through the gloomy clouds, the sun pierced its way through.
Its rays welcomed all within its reach. The pampas grasslands, the sea of emerald rice paddies and fields of fresh produce, the village houses and the woods from afar. It was the coming of summer to Miwa Village, located in Okamiyama Province in Shiroda Region, one of the regions making up the nation.
For the inhabitants of Miwa, this marked a season of harvest. Waking up to the familiar rural scent of wet fields at the first crack of dawn, they wasted no time preparing their tools and went off to the paddies on the village's outer reaches to commence their work for the day.
The farmers found themselves soaked foot deep in the water of the paddies as the muddy soil within squished beneath their toes, cutting fresh stalks of ripe rice ready to be downed in their mouths and for the surrounding villages. They did not appear to mind getting themselves soiled at all, as after all life in a village was bound to make some accustomed to the things an upper-class person would find revolting.
Further out on the fields, oxen ploughed the fields to pave way for the next seeds of radishes, cabbages and grains to be prepared for the next summer's harvest as fully-grown crops were ready for harvest.
At the heart of the village, the chatter of its denizens filled up the atmosphere as they went on and about discussing their day's plans, all under a brilliant blue sky as the sun cast a welcoming light of warmth and familiarity.
It was true that Miwa's inhabitants did not have the finest things in life that the elite had, but all that mattered was that they had enough for themselves. This down-to-earth approach on life may be why they appear so different to those from outside the confines of the province, but familiar ground for the villages dotting the province.
A few minutes' walk up north from the village and up a sloping hill and rows of trees, the Akaryu Estate stood. Modest in size and not much flamboyance to hold sway, but at least this house can be called a home.
Like at the village below, there was already activity of its own going around.
There in the courtyard stood Takashi, nineteen summers old and already training with his katana with the expertise and precision of a seasoned sword master.
The son of Miwa's most prominent jizamurai, the young warrior was absorbed deep into his current craft, envisioning how every strike and thrust of the steel in his hands would protect Miwa from would-be invaders like his father did.
Slashes of his katana let loose metallic ringing rocking the air as if it were being split in two.
Sweat began to drench his deep red hakama and watering the soil beneath his sandal-clad feet. His short, loud shouts accompanying every movement of his katana while his black ponytail flaps and flows along like a ribbon.
It seems he must be training hard for something.
Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap.
Footsteps began to grow more audible stepping on the earthen road as they reached the main gates of the Akaryu Estate, and with a swing of the cedar doors came a figure walking in.
A greying high ponytail, thin moustache and goatee complementing his semi-aged face and dressed in humble earthen robes with a flowing black surcoat and simple katana at his left, there stood Takashi's father Kizan, smiling in amusement and warmth seeing his son hard at work with his training after leaving the Miwa Jinya at inter-village politics with other fellow jizamurai.
It is no doubt he began to train the young Akaryu when he was only five in the craft of the warrior. From mental fortitude and katana practice to lessons in humility and compassion for others regardless of class, the performance his son was showcasing before his eyes were the fruits of it all.
"Takashi, you've trained enough today. Come inside, or you'll risk overworking your muscles!" said Kizan in a warm tone.
At times Takashi can be stubborn and can refuse to detach himself from something he's immersed in so deep from enjoyment. Well, most of the time, and katana training was often on the list.
Surrendering playfully to his dad's words, he finally agreed to come with him inside the main room of their home.
"Okay, okay, father. I'm coming in."
Father and son both stepped foot inside their home, a room of modest dwellings and decoration. Their katanas displayed side by side on the wall as they drank tea and exchanged talk.
"Dad, you do realize about the upcoming Tournament where jizamurai across the provinces compete, right? Our clan's name is relatively new, and so I thought to join it to bring our name into the light."
"Yes, I’m aware. I do know it, and I know you want to bring our name into recognition, but do you ever see those samurai from the regions? They have gone too far into what you want to do and what did that made them?"
"Um.... not too sure what they'd be."
"Butchers. Butchers with banners. They may have all the titles and lands and wealth they can have, but without humility, what's the point of having so much of them? If you really want to do what they did, I only hope you maintain your humility as you ascend."
Kizan glanced at his son with a soft smile. True, he only established this clan after becoming Miwa's steward from a prior lord before Takashi was born and it did not have many men rallying to its dragon-sigil banner like the clans of daimyos.
But as the steward of Miwa, all he needed were the villagers' respect and their wishes and that was enough. He earned their respect from the many times he led small jizamurai coalitions to defend Miwa and neighboring villages from invaders. This, his martial skill matching a sword saint's and the red dragon emblem on the back of his coat, it's no surprise they called him the Dragon of Miwa.
And ever since Takashi learnt of his father's history and how he holds his name with pride, he now wants to follow along and also help uphold the clan's name.
"Come, son. We have things in the village to tend to. They could use our help in their own matters."
Maybe for once Takashi felt agreeing to wrap up his training for today at late morning was a good idea. How is he ever going to help them in their errands on sore, overworked muscles?
Walking out from home and into the village heartland down, the duo set off to assisting its resident's matters.
Aiding in counting rice sacks to be sent to other villages, inspecting crop yields and soiling themselves in the fields planting fresh rice and tending to livestock, these rural activities is bound to set a person in the upper echelons recoiling in fear of dirtying their finest silk apparel like its infected, but like the villagers, the Akaryus didn't mind soiling their clothes with mud and sweat under the sun doing it.
Kizan often had Takashi help out with the villagers' errands since he was a boy in part of his warrior training to instill principles of appreciating hard work, and Takashi treated it like a part of his usual day.
It was evident that Kizan's status as Miwa's steward and his Dragon of Miwa reputation had made him and Takashi something of local celebrities in the village. Everywhere they went in Miwa to assist, the villagers would bow in respect at their presence, and in return they did just the same.
Their day's work wrapped up, they soon retired off back to the estate as the skies turned a hue of deep blue.
In his room accompanied by a lantern's light, he sat down on the crisp tatami, taking the time to examine his katana.
Running one hand on the walnut sheath, he gripped the leather-wrapped handle and pulled his katana out just enough for him to see a peak of the blade, his reflection within.
It was not as decorated as a daimyo's, but at least it can cut.
Staring into the blade, he internally thought about the plans for the next few days.
The Tournament's inching in close. I should really extend my training hours for these next few days. Or maybe their frequency. What was I weak in again?
Many inner thoughts ran in his mind that night about what the best approach to his training will be, accompanied by dreams of glory of when he'd step foot in the dueling ring on the day itself and bring glory to his clan's name and the cheers of Miwa's villagers.
The candle in his lantern flickered within its paper confines as the young Akaryu stayed up pondering his plans.
Little did he know that flame in the candle would foretell the events that will conspire in the future. Though he wouldn't know it immediately, its light casting shadows in his room bore a foreboding message that his eyes couldn't just see yet.
Only on the day itself would he himself know the answer to it.
