Jin's blade found empty air.
The stranger had moved—not dodged, simply shifted like smoke. One moment kneeling with the dead child, the next sliding sideways as steel passed through space he'd occupied.
"Fast." Katsuo's voice held clinical interest. He'd released the girl's body, finally. She lay still while ash settled on her face like gray snow. "But predictable."
Jin recovered, brought his sword around in a practiced arc. Katsuo wasn't there. A length of broken roof timber whistled past Jin's ear, splintering against the shrine's stone pillar.
"No honor in throwing debris." Jin circled left, keeping distance. The stranger moved differently than any samurai he'd faced—loose, adaptable. Dangerous.
"Honor." Katsuo picked up a farming sickle from the scattered tools. Tested its weight. "Tell me about honor while their bodies cool."
He came forward in a rush. The sickle caught Jin's blade, guided it aside. Knuckles cracked against Jin's jaw. Stars exploded across his vision.
Jin staggered back, tasted copper. The stranger pressed his advantage, sickle sweeping low. Jin jumped, felt the curved blade whisper beneath his feet. Landed hard, ankle twisting on loose stones.
They separated. Both breathed harder now.
"You fight like a peasant." Jin wiped blood from his split lip.
"I fight like someone who wins." Katsuo examined the sickle's edge. "Your style is beautiful. Clean. Exactly what they teach in the great schools." He gestured at the burning village. "How's that working out?"
Jin attacked properly this time. Traditional strikes, perfect form. His blade cut burning air, scattered sparks like fallen stars. The stranger gave ground but didn't break. Turned each attack aside with farm tools and broken wood.
"Stand still and die with dignity." Jin's sword carved smoke trails.
"Why? So you can feel better about killing an unarmed man?" Katsuo ducked under a horizontal cut. The sickle hooked Jin's sleeve, dragged him off balance. "Or would that violate your precious code?"
They crashed through a market stall. Rice scattered like snow. Clay pots shattered against the shrine steps. Jin rolled, came up bleeding from a dozen small cuts. Katsuo shed the torn kimono, revealed the full extent of his scarring.
Three parallel lines across his chest. Fresh scratches from the rocks. Older marks from fights that should have killed him. A map of survival written in scar tissue.
"What did you do?" Jin demanded. "To earn that mark?"
"I saved innocent lives." Katsuo's smile held no warmth. "Got them all killed anyway. Sound familiar?"
Jin lunged. His blade caught the sickle, sheared through iron. The broken tool spun away. Katsuo grabbed a piece of burning timber, swung it like a club. Jin ducked. Embers showered his shoulders.
They grappled in the shrine's shadow. Jin's training told him to maintain distance, use reach advantage. But the stranger fought close, all elbows and knees and dirty tricks. Teeth found Jin's shoulder. Fingers sought his eyes.
Jin head-butted him. Felt cartilage give way. Blood painted both their faces now.
Katsuo staggered back, nose streaming. Found another weapon—a broken spear shaft with jagged edges. Spun it like a staff, testing Jin's range.
"You want to know what honor gets you?" Katsuo wiped blood on his forearm. "Twenty families executed because their lord showed mercy." He thrust with the shaft. Jin parried, felt the wood shiver. "Children hung beside their grandparents because someone believed in justice."
"That's not—"
"Justice?" Katsuo laughed. Blood bubbled between his teeth. "Right. Justice is what you do to feel good about yourself. Effectiveness is what actually saves lives."
Jin cut the spear shaft in half. Katsuo kept both pieces, attacked with short, vicious strikes. Jin gave ground, back toward the shrine steps. Stone bit his heels.
"You left them." Katsuo pressed forward. "Rode away to your war games while children learned to fear the dark."
"I didn't know—"
"Didn't care." A wooden point grazed Jin's cheek. "Too busy polishing your reputation to protect your people."
Jin's next cut took both shaft pieces. The stranger was weaponless now, bleeding, backed against burning buildings. This should end it.
Instead, Katsuo smiled.
"Now what, Lord Sakai? Kill an unarmed man?" He spread his arms wide. Flames danced behind him like a funeral pyre. "Strike down someone who speaks truth you don't want to hear?"
Jin's sword trembled. Not from weakness—from rage that had nowhere safe to land.
"You think I'm the monster here?" Katsuo's voice dropped to a whisper. "Look around. Count the bodies. Then tell me which of us failed them worse."
Jin looked. Thirty-seven dead. Men, women, children. People who'd trusted House Sakai for protection. People who'd died while he chased glory on distant battlefields.
"Your honor is a luxury the dead can't afford," Katsuo said.
He melted backward into smoke and shadow. Jin blinked, lunged forward. His blade found only empty air and rising heat.
Gone.
Jin stood alone among the dead, his perfect sword dripping with nothing but shame. Around him, Azamo village burned down to its bones while crows gathered to judge his failure.
The child's doll stared at him with painted eyes that held no forgiveness.
Somewhere in the smoke, a broken man disappeared into the forest, carrying twenty-one ghosts on his shoulders. Soon to be twenty-two.