Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ The Alchemy of Gold and Silver ❯ Strengthened ( Chapter 15 )

Chapter 15: Strengthened

 

The strongest is never strong enough to be always the master, unless he transforms strength into right, and obedience into duty.

-Jean-Jacques Rousseau

 

********

Sano observed his bleeding hand with some trepidation. If he wasn't mistaken- and he'd spent enough time around a certain doctor to be fairly sure he wasn't mistaken- he'd shattered most of the bones in it. He watched disinterestedly as the crimson stuff ran in tiny rivulets across his palm and dripped to the floor before him.

 

Maybe the missy's right… I need to start thinking things through a little more. It wasn't as though the pain was unbearable- he'd suffered far worse before- but his left hand was now entirely useless. He couldn't even make it into another fist. Which would be all well and good if Anji was his only opponent, but there was no way that was a certainty here.

 

Guess I'll have to be more careful with the other one, then. He shifted his gaze from his hand to his opponent. That blow really should have done the trick, and indeed, Anji did not look well. Unfortunately, however, it had not been the coup de grace that Sano was counting on, and now he had one fist less than his opponent.

 

“Come now, have I taught you nothing more than that?” The monk's voice was much the same monotone as it always was, but Sano knew a challenge when he heard one.

 

Cocking his head to one side, he considered the question. “Maybe. Maybe not. You'll know when I hit you next.” He grinned, and fell back into his stance, holding his broken appendage a little ways behind him, out of the way. If there was any way he was going to be of use against Shishio or anyone else, he had to end the match before overuse of the Futae no Kiwami destroyed his right hand too. And that meant the next pass would be all-out.

 

As if sensing his intent, Anji said nothing further, but sank into his own posture as well. Sano wasn't one for overanalyzing a fight, but he knew this wasn't going to be easy. There's no way… unless… heh, go figure. Sorry, missy.

 

With a cry, Sano leapt at his one-time teacher, swinging his arm with all the force he could manage. He felt it connect squarely with Anji's stomach even as he stepped into a corresponding blow.

 

The monk hit the ground first, though Sano himself was on his knees not long afterward, clutching at his gut, forcing painful breaths into and out of his lungs. Just about what I figured… People told him he was too reckless, but he knew no other way to be. In this case, it was being stupid enough to open himself up to a blow and practiced enough to take it that had given him the edge on Anji, who hadn't been expecting it. Not that he hadn't taken full advantage of the opening in Sano's defense, merely that he had no way to stop the other man from doing what he had planned to. Reckless, yes, but also blessedly unpredictable.

 

Whew… I'm gonna need a couple minutes here… With that, Sano sank to the floor, allowing unconsciousness to take over, if just for a little while.

 

****

 

Saito adjusted his grip on his sword only slightly. Fighting in the dark like this wasn't particularly difficult, but it would still be foolish to deny that it did not give his opponent an advantage anyway.

 

The next pass between them was much the same as the last; neither landed a hit, though Saito was working much harder than the other man to ensure this. He observed with customary disinterest that Usui was holding back somewhat, as though toying with him. Such would have caused a younger Haijime Saito to lash out foolishly in irritation, but years at war had tempered him, made him hard and strong, much like the steel of his katana.

 

That, and the fact that Usui was a fool to think himself the only one holding back. What his opponent did not grasp was that Saito was actually searching for a way to win without using his best technique. It was something of a point of pride for the former Shinsengumi that he had developed it on his own, specifically for use against Battousai the Manslayer.

 

The problem was, that man no longer seemed to exist. And so Saito was faced with a choice: inaugurate this move with the blood of someone far less worthy, or win the tedious way and take the chance that Himura Kenshin would be worth saving it for.

 

“Come now, won't you at least do me the honor of dying? This grows tiresome…” Usui trailed off, and Saito heard the telltale heft that meant the other fighter was readying his sword and makeshift shield.

 

Behind the cover of darkness, the tall man smirked. I think I've decided, he thought sardonically. This fool thought to carve a path to his own master through an officer of the law. A dog that pretends at being a wolf. It seemed that this man's ultimate ambition was to take down Shishio himself, if any of the inane things he'd been spouting over the course of their altercation were to be taken seriously. What he clearly did not realize was that Shishio likely counted on this to keep him around and servile. Usui thought to submit until he was stronger than his master; Saito could tell that it was precisely because of this that he never would be.

 

“I'm not the one that will die here. If it is honor you seek, however, I will do you one better. You shall be slain by the technique I was saving for the Battousai.” Saito stilled his breath so as to be harder for the blind man to hear. There was nothing he could do about his heartbeat, of course, he'd just have to be fast enough to allow the man no time to react once he was close enough for it to be audible.

 

“Oh?” Usui's tone was amused, bordering on condescending, but Saito couldn't have cared less. A dog could bark all it wanted as far as he was concerned, at least until the wolf ripped out its throat.

 

Dispensing with the needless chatter, Saito moved forward, angling his sword so it made the least disturbance possible in the air around it. Whatever Usui had been about to say next was cut off as the sharpened edge met flesh, and torso was separated from legs. As the wet thud of parts hitting the floor was heard, the Wolf of Mibu flicked his blade and sheathed it. Reaching into his coat pocket, he once again struck a match, this time holding it to the end of a cigarette. Shaking the flame out, he stepped over the halves of what had once been Usui and through the next door, briefly considering the chances that his wife would be able to smell the smoke on him later. He nearly laughed as he decided she'd likely be more preoccupied with that than the bloodstains on his uniform.

 

***

 

Truth be told, Soujiro was somewhat disappointed when he discovered that the person headed in his direction was not the one called Battousai. Truly, he had hoped to fight the man and kill him before Shishio-sama would have to be bothered, but it seemed that this task belonged instead to someone else.

 

Of course, the encroaching ki signature was nothing to sneeze at, either. Carefully-contained in the way most fighters were trained to have it, there was nonetheless something about it that struck him as odd. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but supposed in the end such details were of trivial importance. Still, it would be mistaken to say that he was not at least a little bit curious.

 

Curiosity quickly transitioned to mild surprise when the door he watched slid open to reveal Yumi and another, younger woman. He did not let a trace of this slip past his calm exterior, however, though he watched with some interest as the same surprise flitted openly across the girl's face. This did not puzzle him in the slightest; he knew it was confusing and unnerving to fight someone like him, a young teenager with no readable ki, and he often turned this to his advantage.

 

Rather than acknowledge the woman's presence, however, he turned to Yumi. “Are you not supposed to be watching the Battosai's battle, Yumi-san?” he asked, smiling as ever.

 

Yumi eyed him warily before shooting a look at the other woman. Odd. I wonder why she would do that? “He's got Cho; he won't need whatever his technique is…” she trailed off, and Soujiro caught a trace of something in her voice that he might have identified as guilt, had he any experience with the feeling himself. As it was, he merely nodded without changing his expression in a way he knew unnerved her, and turned at last to his would-be opponent.

 

“Might I ask you name, miss?” he inquired politely.

 

She regarded him steadily for a moment, as though weighing the possibility that this was some kind of trick. Soujiro sighed inwardly. Most people responded to his request with arrogance of one kind or another; they'd either refuse to say or boast about something, mostly because they were emboldened by his age, or lack thereof.

 

“Of course,” she said after a moment. “My name is Kamiya Kaoru.” The woman bowed, easy as you please, as though they were acquaintances in a marketplace.

 

Hmm… most unexpected. “Seta Soujiro,” he said by way of reply. All the while, he watched her for other pieces of information. She was, he decided, definitely a samurai, and one of no poor tutelage. She carried herself more like a man than a female, though there was also something decidedly feminine about her. Perhaps it was the smell?

 

All this he noted with the cold, detached mind of a tactician, and was somewhat bemused to find that though he was able to observe much- she was far from closed-off- he learned very little at all.

 

“Seta-san?” His eyes settled on her face, and he smiled again, realizing that for whatever reason, he had dropped the expression at some earlier point.

 

“Ah, yes Kamiya-san, forgive me. How my mind does wander sometimes. You see, I'm afraid we have something of a conundrum here. You wish to pass me to see Shishio-sama…”

 

“And it is your job to ensure that I cannot,” she finished. Why, he could not fathom, but her tone held traces of melancholy when she said this.

 

He simply nodded, and she sighed. “Well, I suppose there's nothing else for it then.” She bowed again, this time the formal one used by swordsmen at the beginning of sparring matches.

 

It had been such a long time since anyone had done such a thing that for a moment, he forgot what the correct response was. Belatedly, he returned the gesture, and straightened. She smiled at him, though he knew on instinct that it was not the same sort of smile he was giving her.

 

Before he could think about it too much, however, he pushed the considerations aside, instead falling back into one of his more well-used Battojustu stances. Her own posture was slightly different, and he noticed her eyes flick quickly about, taking in his own position as well as Yumi's, and the overall dimensions of the room. Interestingly enough, she adjusted slightly upon finishing whatever analysis she had been conducting, and he wondered briefly if this was an indication of something larger.

 

Without knowing what kind of style she used, he was reluctant to attack first. She seemed to have just as much patience as he, however, and it was several minutes before either one of them moved. Rather than drag it out any longer, Soujiro decided that it was unlikely that she was stronger than himself, and so sprang forward. Three steps below shuku should be more than enough. That in itself was faster than most people could see, and he knew even Yumi, who had spent much of her life amongst some of the strongest samurai around, wouldn't be able to follow it.

 

Rather than the soft sensation of flesh, however, his arms were jarred as steel met steel. There was a largely even match in strength, and so they rapidly disengaged, knowing that a struggle of locked blades would get neither of them anywhere.

 

He couldn't resist asking. “How did you know I was going to do that?” Nobody ever saw his strikes coming; his emotions were masked so perfectly that he knew he gave off no aggressive ki, no indication of when or how he would attack.

 

She smiled again, and shrugged. “Instinct, I suppose.”

 

Instinct… perhaps this woman was stronger than he had initially estimated. Still, he wondered just how far this girl's instinct would take her. Perhaps a test is in order…

 

***

 

Yumi didn't quite understand how they could be talking so casually in the middle of a battle one of them would not walk away from. Well, at least if Kaoru lost, she wouldn't be walking away. She was surprised Soujiro hadn't made some comment yet about the sword his opponent carried; such a thing as that was likely to offend his philosophy in addition to being- in her opinion, anyway- downright impractical. Even she carried a properly-bladed knife, and she'd only ever used it thrice.

 

But no, the two of them were actually participating in a calm, civil discussion when they weren't trying to stab or bludgeon each other. It would almost have been funny if it weren't so dire.

 

They made a few more passes, and Yumi was fairly sure that Soujiro had stepped up the speed again, though she couldn't tell for certain. While Kaoru did seem pressured by it, she was not giving an inch, and each was meeting the other's blows impossibly fast. The metallic collisions filled the room as the two leapt back and forth, utilizing the entire room, save for the corner she was standing in.

 

It wasn't until Kaoru landed her first hit on Soujiro that they spoke again. The boy's eyes darted to the spot, and then back up to his opponent. “Why didn't you cut me?” he asked tonelessly, and Yumi speculated that he'd allowed the hit just to see if she would.

 

“Because I have no wish to kill you,” the blue-eyed woman replied simply.

 

Soujiro blinked slowly. “I don't understand.”

 

Yumi thought she saw Kaoru roll her eyes, but surely that must have been her imagination, right? “Of course not. It seems as though nobody ever does.” Kaoru paused, as if considering whether or not to continue. Soujiro just stared at her, though, and she eventually relented. “I don't want to kill you or anybody else. I have no right to take a life for my own benefit, and my sword exists only to protect others.”

 

“But that doesn't make any sense,” Soujiro replied. “The strong live, and the weak die. There's no changing that; it's a simple fact.” Yumi couldn't help but silently agree.

 

“Is it?” Kaoru responded. “I hardly think that's true all the time, and even if it were, that doesn't make it right.” Soujiro's eyes narrowed slightly, and their observer was quick to pick up on it. I wonder…

 

“Enough,” he said, still displaying no outward feeling in his voice. “This test has gone on long enough.” So he was testing her… I thought so. How odd. It is unlike Soujiro to do something like that.

 

“I'm glad,” Kaoru quipped. “Now you can fight me for real.” An odd glint appeared in her eyes, and Yumi watched with interest as her once-blue irises tuned silvery-grey. She adjusted her grip on her not-quite-katana and brought it horizontal before her.

 

This time, Yumi could not even keep track of the individual collisions of their blades, as the room seemed to fill with the sound of one continual clash. The only thing that gave her any indication of what was happening was the occasional spatter of blood that appeared mysteriously on random areas of the floor or walls. She knew it could not be Soujiro bleeding, but she had no way of knowing if there were multiple wounds involved or just the same one.

 

For some reason, she could not shake the feeling of dread that settled in her stomach at the thought that it might be several wounds. It startled her, that she should feel this way. Kaoru was no ally of hers; indeed, it was Soujiro's job to kill her. Why, then, did the prospect seem so unpalatable? Was it merely the girl's naïveté? Yumi was sure she had never been that idealistic, so there was no danger that Kaoru reminded her of herself, and yet… we both love manslayers.

 

But hadn't Kaoru said just the opposite? That she loved not the manslayer, but the man himself? Do I love Shishio-sama, or his power? Power was, she decided, very attractive to her indeed. She had grown up without any, and fulfilled her ambitions the only way she knew how: by making herself alluring and useful to powerful men. But the days of working for multiple clients had ended when she met Shishio-sama. Did that mean anything at all? The man I love is… Shishio Makoto.

 

And just like that, she understood. Shishio-sama was more than his power, more than his deadliness. Though these things were an inextricable part of him, just as Himura would always carry the deeds of the Battousai, they were not his identity, not his whole self. It was all of what he was that made her loyal to Shishio-sama, and it had taken a naïve young woman to show her that. We are not so different as I had thought.

 

She would wait out the fight. If Kaoru lost, perhaps she would repay that unintended kindness in her own way by taking the younger woman's body back to her friends, should any survive the day. If the swordswoman won, well… that was perhaps best not dwelt upon.

 

***

 

Yahiko ground his teeth together in frustration. He had earned himself dozens more small wounds with nothing to show for it. The weird bat-guy was still swooping in at random intervals, only about half of the twenty normal samurai were down for any length of time, and Misao was still getting nowhere with the one calling himself Kamatari.

 

As he was contemplating the wisdom of simply chucking his shinai at the buzzard overhead, there was a small pop followed by a hissing noise, and he turned just in time to see the remainder of Shsihio's samurai hit the ground. The two Oniwaban who'd been holding them off shouted something about reinforcing Aoshi and left, but Yahiko was too busy searching for the source of the… explosive thing to notice or care.

 

Before he could move, though, Megumi had appeared at his side, about ready to chuck something at another group of soldiers not too far off. Putting two and two together, Yahiko caught her by the wrist. “Hang on a sec there. How many more of those do you have?” he asked quickly.

 

Megumi glanced at the object in her hand, and then at Yahiko. “Just the one,” she replied evenly. “Why?”

 

Yahiko grinned, a slightly off-kilter smile that would have made Sano proud. “How about you let me have it?”

 

***

 

To say that Misao was thoroughly disturbed would be an understatement. This was not the way she had planned on first seeing the naked bottom half of a man, but oh no, she'd just had to tell Kamatari that she didn't believe he was male.

 

Gah, focus Misao! You can freak out later, after you beat her- him into next Tuesday! That was much easier said than done, of course. For all the weirdness, Kamatari was as formidable an opponent as she has ever faced, and she wasn't even sure she'd still be alive if he wasn't clearly taking far too much delight in messing with her head. Every single projectile she'd sent his way had been deftly blocked with the chain of that odd scythe-like weapon he carried, and she couldn't seem to get in close enough to fight him any other way.

 

She backed up a few steps, casting about for some way to approach this differently. To her surprise, she bumped into something solid far sooner than she'd expected. “Eep!” she yelped, and turned her head slightly, one eye still on Kamatari, who was watching her with some amusement, to see Yahiko standing back to back with her. “Yahiko! Just what do you think you're doing? You scared me!”

 

Unless she was mistaken, he rolled his eyes. “Look, weasel, would you stop freaking out and listen to me for a second?”

 

“Don't call me weasel!” Misao clapped a hand over her mouth, belatedly realizing that Yahiko himself had been whispering. “Little Yahiko,” she added in a lower voice.

 

“Then don't call me little,” he rejoined, then sighed. “Look, there's no time for this. I know how we can beat the flying guy, but I'll need your help. Next time he swoops in, I want you to throw me.”

 

“Oh, yeah, sure, let me just turn my back on the crazy man with a scythe and do that then,” she whispered furiously.

 

“Oh, don't worry, my dear, I wouldn't dream of attacking you while your back is turned. That wouldn't be very sportsmanlike of me, now would it? You two just take your time dealing with our flying friend, and I'll fight you both afterwards, how's that sound, hmm?” Kamatari's eyes twinkled with mirth, but Misao was just further disturbed by the way he addressed her.

 

She looked at Yahiko and both blinked. “Well, I guess we just do that then,” Yahiko shrugged.

 

“WHAT?! Are you crazy? You're just going to… believe him?” Misao knew she was probably being a little too hysterical, but chalked it up to fighting for her life since breakfast.

 

“If we don't do something, we're gonna die anyway. It's a chance we'll have to take.” The young student's mouth was set into a firm line, and he stared forward with a resolution so like Kaoru that she might have made fun of him for it were the situation less serious.

 

The kunoichi sighed. She didn't like it, but the brat was probably right. If there was even a chance that Kamatari would keep his word, well, it was better than waiting for him to get bored and dispense with her entirely. “Fine. But if this doesn't work, I will personally haunt you in Hell, Yahiko.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just hurry it up; he'll be back soon.”

 

Misao pushed the errant sweaty tendrils of hair that clung to her face back, too busy to even care that she felt and probably looked gross, then knelt and laced her fingers together, making a step for Yahiko, who backed up several more paces and waited. Just as she was beginning to think someone else must have shot the flying man down with an arrow, he reappeared from the smoke cast off of the numerous burning buildings, including the Aoiya.

 

“Now!” Yahiko yelled, and ran forward, shinai in one hand and something else in the other. He sprang forward, and as soon as his foot hit her hand, Misao stood as fast as she could, giving him extra height and momentum for the liftoff. Halfway through his arc, however, she saw that it wasn't going to be enough to reach his opponent.

 

What happened next was a complete surprise. Instead of trying to reach the emaciated fighter with his shinai as Misao had assumed, Yahiko threw the object he held in his other hand at full force, catching him in the chest. The whatever-it-was made a small noise, and released some noxious-looking gas. Yahiko hit the ground hard, but on his feet, seconds before his flying opponent. Apparently, the man had not inhaled enough gas to knock him out, but he was grounded. Before he could try taking to the skies again, Misao launched a couple kunai, deftly pinning him to the nearest wall.

 

“Yahiko!” she yelled, but Kaoru's pupil was well ahead of her, and the resounding crack of wood was the last thing the flying man would hear for a long time.

 

***

 

Soujiro observed that his opponent was bleeding without much reaction. There was nothing unusual about his foes losing blood, after all. No, the most abnormal thing about this situation- the girl's strange way of thinking aside- was that all the cuts were much shallower than he'd intended them to be, which meant that she'd been able to dodge them, at least partially. What was more, some of them had only scored the outer layer of her gi, and never made it to her skin at all.

 

After listening to her talk, he had firmly placed her in the `weak' category of people in the world, because of course anyone that didn't see that the weak were supposed to die was weak themself. Shishio-sama had taught him as much. Yet, he had been moving at full shuku speed for the last couple of minutes, and he had not yet managed to do any irreparable harm. She was still blocking or dodging more blows than not, and he could feel a few sore spots where her own weapon had made contact with him.

 

How was it that after all this, the only thing separating them was that he was harder to read? For surely that was enough to account for the discrepancy in wounds. He had little difficulty telling when she was going to attack, but for some reason, he could never seem to predict where. He knew that she didn't know even this much about his own strategy, and yet she was still alive. Surely, she was not weak.

 

So, by two perfectly sound lines of reasoning, she was both weak and not weak. How was that possible? He glanced over at her again, and tried once more to observe, to find the answer he sought to this anomaly. She was clutching the wound on her shoulder, by far the worst one he'd inflicted. Blood was running from a shallow cut near her hairline, but she had barely seemed to notice it.

 

What gave him pause, though, were her eyes. They were the same silver they'd been since he began taking her seriously, but moisture leaked from the corners and ran in glistening streaks down her face. She… cries? Surely, this too made her weak; the rush of the fight would have dulled any pain she had received to what he considered to be manageable levels. But no, her focus was not on her wounds. She was looking squarely at him. Then she cries… for me? The thought made no sense at all, yet he could not shake the feeling that it was true.

 

For some reason, the sight of her tears made him angry. Why? Why would you do such a thing? You make no sense! You are weak but not weak, and you think things that I do not understand! Soujiro rushed her again, pushing shuku to its limits, lashing out so swiftly with his sword that he could have almost sworn he sliced the air itself.

 

Only to be met with the unyielding steel of the other sword, again, and again. Each time he lashed out, she met him head-on, and each time he went faster, she matched him. The tatami mats on the floor shredded under the sheer force of his movement, but still Kaoru stood, immovable as a mountain and adaptable as water, until he could attack no more.

 

Exhausted, he stepped back, knowing that she would not press her advantage. Oddly, his eyes felt hot, and it was only when he pressed his hand to his face that he realized Kaoru was no longer the only one crying.

 

“I… I have become weak,” he said, and he hated the way his once-impassive voice cracked on the last word.

 

Kaoru smiled gently and shook her head. “No, Soujiro-kun,” she countered. “You have become strong.”

 

He met her eyes then, somewhere between blue and silver, and read the truth in them. He felt light in that moment, as though some unknown, oppressive weight were gone, removed from his person.

 

And for the first time in longer than he could remember, Seta Soujiro truly smiled.

 

***

 

Kenshin sighed as he stepped over the prone form of Cho. The fight had been about as unchallenging as he had initially expected, save the unpredictability of that flexible sword of his. Still, it was nothing worse than he'd dealt with before, and he was uninjured.

 

Leaving his opponent to come to consciousness in his own time, he pushed open the door the man had been guarding. Temporarily blinded by the sensation of broad daylight, it took him a moment to realize that he had stepped outside onto a large, stone arena of sorts, built into the mountain itself.

 

Two men stood before him, one of them clearly not a threat, to whom Kenshin paid little heed. For there, standing before him, was the one who could only be Shishio Makoto.

 

***

Kiku's Corner:

 

Hello again, lovelies! Hopefully I don't sound too creepy saying that… Anyway, that was chapter 15. Not too much to say this time, we're getting close to the end. One or two more chapters (if it's only one, it will be quite long).

 

At any rate, thanks to GreyPhoenix for the review and pointing out my gaffe, which is hopefully corrected at this point.

 

Cheers,

~Kiku~