"Why the hell is someone like that a ronin?!" Taito roared.
He flashed away again—barely. Kito Toshitaka's massive blade missed his head by a hair. Panting, Taito circled the man at full speed, cutting down the surrounding fodder bandits as he moved.
"Even the Shinsengumi couldn't catch him," Yoshitoki spat, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth as he forced out an ugly grin. "They say the Daimyō put out three capture orders—dead or alive—and in the end not a single man dared claim the bounty!"
(Note: Shinsengumi is a swordsman police force.)
"Damn it… damn it! Such talent, wasted on being a bandit. If it were me, I'd just camp in the pleasure district forever and never leave."
"That's exactly why you're in your twenties and still can't even scrape together a noble title," Taito mocked.
BOOM!
The huge twin-bladed weapon smashed down again between them.
Kito's face was twisted with rage. A bright line of blood had spread across the chest of his samurai jacket—his blood.
He hadn't expected them to chat while fighting him—laughing, joking, calmly discussing who would carry his head to collect the reward, as if he weren't even there.
Like a cornered beast, Kito cursed furiously.
"You call yourselves samurai?! You preach about bushidō, and yet you're drooling over money like thieves! Is the Land of Iron filled with trash like you now?!"
Twin-Headed Dragon Ogre swept past their noses, the heavy chain in his hands whipping and howling like a storm.
What kind of suffering could turn a starving farmer's child into something this hideous—an ogre wearing a man's skin?
No one knew.
Maybe even he had forgotten what he once looked like.
The moment he became a ronin, his life had hung on that chain. The ruthless, violent Kito Toshitaka was the man standing here now.
That child who once knelt begging for medicine…
He had died with his brother in front of the clinic long ago.
Hirota Seichi's arms were broken. His blue-toned katana was stabbed into the ground, black hair scattered across the mud. He looked nothing like a noble now.
He still didn't speak.
Not because he didn't want to—
but because he couldn't.
If he opened his mouth, it wouldn't be a calm shout that came out. It would be a mouthful of blood from torn organs.
The hawk-nosed man—Yoshitoki—stood in front of Taito anyway.
In his words: how could he let a half-grown kid carry pain that wasn't his? A young man should at least taste a woman's warmth before dying, or the veterans in hell would laugh him to death all over again.
Taito laughed and cursed back. "You're the one going to hell. I'm going to become the greatest samurai this country has ever seen—I'm not dying to some coward. And even if I do die, I'm going to heaven!"
"Good! Then live," Yoshitoki said, black-red blood slowly sliding from his mouth. His hands trembled.
As much as he hated to admit it…
That man really wasn't on the same level as the three of them.
Maybe only a full samurai corps… only a force from legends could kill him…
Yoshitoki smiled with reckless ease and charged straight at Kito.
He was going to carve out a single opening for Taito—no matter the cost!
"Watch out—!"
Before Yoshitoki could close in, a sharp cry came from behind. His advance was stopped—Taito had grabbed the back of his collar with everything he had. The seam of Yoshitoki's repeatedly worn jacket tore open with a ripping sound.
Yoshitoki was about to explode—
Do you know what you just cost me?! I don't want a bunch of kids dying with me! If the mission fails, the other samurai will mock me—
He'd been mocked for a long, long time…
But the words never left his mouth.
A blinding inferno flooded his vision.
For an instant, he thought he'd fallen into a pit of fire. Hot wind scorched his face until it stung.
"Sun Breathing – Third Form: Raging Sun!"
A young yet unwavering voice spoke beside him.
Who—?
Was there someone else here?
Thank goodness…
We're saved…
Yoshitoki dropped to the ground as that blazing crimson-gold light slammed into Kito Toshitaka's body. It struck so suddenly that even Kito seemed not to process it until the impact had already landed.
"Cough… cough… who was that?!" Kito snarled.
He was a powerful warrior—one blow wasn't enough to strip him of his fighting strength.
"Hello. My name is Yoriichi."
Kito stared blankly as a small child walked forward.
There was no sound to his footsteps—quiet like a shy cat.
Yoriichi bowed, his baby-soft cheeks set in a serious expression. His right hand rested on the scabbard, his stance the formal posture of a samurai about to duel.
Softly, Yoriichi said, "I'm sorry. I attacked you from the side. But to stop you from harming his companions, I had no choice but to interrupt that strike."
"Even though we've only met briefly… that hawk-nosed big brother is Taito's friend."
Yoriichi leveled the tip of his blade toward Kito.
"I won't let him die in front of Brother Taito. If that happens, Brother Taito will cry for a long time."
"We're heading to Matsuo Town to face foreign enemies. A samurai should love his country. A samurai should revere life. And a strong samurai should restrain himself."
"Power is not a reason to do whatever you please."
His hair stirred like living flame in the wind. As the breeze swept past, the fire in his chest seemed to blaze even harder.
"A kid…" Kito murmured.
His voice rose—
and then he burst into wild laughter, striding toward Yoriichi. He bent down to look at him.
This boy was tiny—not even up to his waist.
Kito felt like he could puff out his belly and bounce the brat away.
"Listen, brat. This isn't some cute little 'samurai game.' Kids should crawl back home and enjoy dirty handouts."
"Then grow up to become filthy like your father—doing filthy things, squeezing the lowest people and slaves…"
Kito grinned viciously, spreading his huge hand over Yoriichi's head and ruffling his red-black hair into chaos.
"You should show others basic respect," Yoriichi said quietly. "People don't have to kill each other to exist."
He drew his blade.
In that instant—
his entire presence changed.
Kito's eyes—wide as bells, contracted sharply.
A searing pressure surged in from every direction, crushing down like the sun itself, squeezing the air from his lungs.
"Let's have a proper, honorable samurai duel!"
Kito snapped back to reality and looked down—
But Yoriichi was no longer under his hand.
The boy in the flame-patterned haori stood about ten meters away now.
And at some point, a large circle had appeared on the ground—burnt black earth forming a boundary that enclosed them both.
Yoriichi raised his voice again:
"Accept the challenge—like a samurai!"
"Fine," Kito growled. "I'll give you what you want!"
He lifted the pitch-black chain and whipped it into motion.
A vortex of wind roared across Yoriichi's face—
yet those crimson eyes never left Kito for even a heartbeat.