In Defense of Heaven
This, at least, has not changed.
Mirumoto Kissaki thought absently as he gripped his daisho. A thousand years have passed, but just as he had died, he found himself once again facing the Dark One’s hordes, and once again, he defended his Emperor.
This time, however, he survived.
--
then
Embers leapt from the campfire and danced high into the mountain air, drifting off into the chill sky. A small group of men sat around it, talking softly and nursing cups of fragrant tea. This was not the delicate blends from the south; it was a robust, earthy blend used to warm the spirits in the cold mountainous region. Hearty folk need hearty drink, after all. The tea that eats like a meal, some quipped. Into the light of this fire, deep in the uninhabited, mountainous land, a tall man stepped. The companions turned to face him, and though they did not lower their cups, they certainly were prepared inevitable confrontation.
“I am looking for the greatest swordsman in the world.” The stranger’s words were a surprise, but not an unfamiliar one- each of the others had in turn said some variation of the same thing at one point, and without words, knew how to respond to such a situation. The oldest man, a man of weathered stone, placed his tea down and stood to face the stranger in a ritual older than time. Both drew their swords and, while the stranger held his sword in a high, aggressive stance, his rival’s hung loosely, almost carelessly, at his sides.
For a moment, the two men stared at each other before they struck in a flurry of steel. Soon, the old man lay on the ground, unconscious. The stranger bowed to his fallen opponent and turned back to the group.
“I say again: I am looking for the greatest swordsman in the world.” Though the stranger’s voice was harsh from the exertion, it was neither demanding nor angered. “If you would please me point to him, I would be quite thankful.”
“Father, allow me.” The youngest man spoke. He was thin and lithe; his hands rested on his swords with a comfortable ease.
“No, son,” The older man, a tall, lean monk with a scarred face, said. He stood and placed himself opposite the stranger in the traditional dueling position without even bothering to put his cup down, standing there in an all too casual way. The two men were roughly the same height, but the difference was night and day, for those who know how to see.
The stranger was taken aback. “You are he,” the stranger said, immediately dropping to his knee. “Teach me, sensei, and I will serve you for as long as I am able.”
“Nonsense,” the kneeling man looked up in a flash, but before he could speak, the monk continued. “I just defeated you with a cup of tea, so therefore I am not the one you seek. What’s your name?”
Confusion raced through the younger man’s face. “Kissaki, sama.”
The monk raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit pretentious, don’t you think?”
“Would you fear a man named Dumpling?”
“Fair enough. Kissaki-san, if you are seeking to learn from the greatest swordsman in the world, I would point you to my son, Hojatsu, and know that I say this unclouded by pride. Would you serve him with the same zeal that you would me?”
Kissaki looked at the young man sitting on a log in front of the fire, sizing him up. Unlike his father, Hojatsu was as thoroughly average as a man could be. His were neither the bright eyes of the braggart nor the cold eyes of a killer, they were just as he was in appearance- unremarkable. The only clues that pointed to his skill were his simple, unhurried breathing rhythm and the way he held his teacup. Kissaki bowed to him, and Hojatsu returned it.
“Absolutely. If you would have me as a student, Hojatsu-sama, I would be greatly honored to learn your techniques.”
The young man smiled, as he began pouring another cup of tea. “I too would be honored, Kissaki-san.”
The old monk smiled. “Excellent. Now get Takao up so we can go home, it’s cold out here!”
--
“I am not worthy of such gifts, Mirumoto-sama.” Kissaki said, bowing his head low to the ground. It had been almost a year since he had joined the famous swordsman’s dojo, and though he did not feel his skills were worthy, he had worked tirelessly to prove himself and overcome any challenge thrown in his way.
“It’s good that you’re practicing your courtly etiquette, Kissaki-san, but drop it for now, all right? Togashi-sama specifically requested that you go south to his brother’s court with us, and Hojatsu-san demanded that you not go without proper weapons. Might as well give you something fancy, ne?”
Kissaki couldn’t help but smile at the elder monk’s brusque ways, thanking the fortunes that Mirumoto was Togashi’s yojimbo and not his ambassador. “These aren’t just gussied up to impress Lady Doji’s family, are they? These are something I’d expect to see hanging on some fat courtier’s wall.”
“Tell me about it,” Mirumoto raised eyebrow, his usual sign of mirth. “No, Togashi-sama specifically stated that your new swords should look like this. As much as I could care less about such luxuries, I will admit that they are intriguing. I tested them myself to make sure they weren’t just pretty wall-hangers.”
“Then I accept, and swear to you that I will not become some fat courtier, even if Hantei-sama offers me a position as one of Kakita’s own magistrates.” Kissaki grinned as he accepted the ornate swords, tucking the daisho carefully into his obi. Though the two were slightly different, it was obvious that they were a matched pair. Kissaki studied them for a moment, marveling at the detail- the tsuba of the weapons were designed as a dragon with emerald eyes, which formed a protective circle around two flowers- one a chrysanthemum, the other a plum blossom; all in brilliant gold. “I sense a subtle theme in the design here.”
“Togashi-sama isn’t always mysterious and vague, though I’m sure it’ll still confuse some. Any thoughts on names for the blades yet?” Mirumoto asked, signaling for Kissaki to rise, so that they could move about. This little ceremony had occurred in an impromptu fashion on the grounds of the new dojo that, much like the other buildings in the region, was still unfinished. Workers and students buzzed about.
“I believe I will stick with the obvious- Daikiku and Dai-ume seem fitting, to me.” Kissaki said, watching Mirumoto nod thoughtfully in approval. “With them, I will surely bring great honor to our clan.”
“You already have, my friend. Hojatsu-san is very proud of you, though he’d never say it. You’ve exceeded all of our expectations, and I now understand what Togashi-sama saw in you. Did you know we camped out on that damned mountainside for a week waiting for you get there?” A small, mischievous smile cracked across what was normally a stony façade. “I hate camping.”
Kissaki was speechless for a long moment; not only was that strong praise from a sensei, but it came from a man who never praised anyone and was, in most people’s opinions, a rude, mean, ungraceful bastard of a man. He bowed deeply. “I… thank you, Mirumoto-sama. I will not let you down.”
“I know you won’t. If I had any doubts, I would have killed you with that teacup. Anyway, gather your stuff, we’re leaving in the morning.”
“Hai, sama.”
--
The battle against the forces of the Fallen raged for late into the afternoon, with Gods and men fighting against demons beyond number. The children of the Sun and the Moon fought alongside the humans they swore to protect against their wayward brother and the very forces of hell itself, monsters never before seen in the mortal realm, though all too common in the centuries after. Though the oni were terrifying beyond reason, the forces of humanity had powerful figures to rally around, all under the banner of the First Emperor, Hantei. Hantei was not a tall man, but neither was he short. He was handsome and strong, but so were many others. He was fearless and brave, but these were not the qualities that brought him to the fore. He was wise and just, but these too were not unknown among men at the time. That he possessed all of these qualities in abundance would have made him a natural leader, but that was not why men fought and died for him, and to say that it was any one quality that Hantei possessed that made him great would be to place all the others low, which simply would not do. Any man is more than the sum of his parts, but there was something about this one, something that could never be described nor qualified, that took his good traits and amplified them to the nth degree. This spark of the divine was what Mirumoto Kissaki saw in the Emperor that day on the battlefield, when men trembled before the might of the forces of Hell, only to be inspired to stand and fight against insurmountable odds by the Son of Heaven. Just knowing that the Children of Amaterasu and Onnotangu were fighting beside him filled him with such resolve that even though he stood beside those who would be his enemies, they were all united against a common foe. That he numbered as one of the personal bodyguard of the Emperor drove him to defeat enemies much more powerful than he. Kissaki watched the battle below. The forces of Akodo One-Eye and Hida held the ocean of beasts at bay while the sons of Bayushi and Shinjo punished the wicked with withering archery fire. However, even the forces of the greatest tacticians and soldiers the world has ever known tire and grow weary.
“It is time,” said Hantei, as he buckled the last strap of his golden mempo. A quick flick of a command fan to the two armies below created a gap in the wall of spears, and a flood of oni poured through, charging up the hill towards the lightly defended command group of the Emperor. Kissaki and the rest of the unit leveled their spears, ready to meet the charging demons, bunching together in a strong defensive line. A great howl arose from the foul beasts as they pushed their way up the hillside, each one clamoring for the blood of the Divine. As the oni were almost on top of the small unit of spearmen, a great noise arose as the forces of Togashi, Shiba, and Doji crested the hill- thousands of men held in reserve to crush the will of the demons. This did not give the oni pause, however, but as the Hantei and his small unit of men rose to press the offensive, the blessings of Amaterasu broke from the clouds, blinding the devils with overwhelming brightness and purity. Seeing the opportunity, Hantei shouted, his voice carrying over the battle on the wings of the kami, echoing in the souls of each and every samurai on the field: “FOR THE EMPIRE!”
They charged as one.
--
Mirumoto Kissaki awoke with a start, reaching for his blades and scrambled to his feet. He blinked, his eyes darting around. Only moments ago, he was… he was not here. Tall mountains stretched high into the pure heavens, standing over the rolling green hills below. The air was cool and crisp, with a slight breeze, carrying the scent of wildflowers and evergreens, where just moments ago it was the humid sweat of the lands far to the south, the smell of…
“Welcome, friend.” Spoke an old man, aged with the wrinkles born from a lifetime of smiles and laughter. Kissaki’s fingers gripped his swords in confusion. “Where am I? I was just… just…”
“Kissaki-san, I know it is difficult, but close your eyes, breathe, and try to remember. I know such things are difficult here, but recalling the events of your death will help you understand.” Not sensing any enemies present, Kissaki lowered his blades. My death? He looked at Daikiku, his katana.
“Wait, shouldn’t this be broken?”
“Just close your eyes, and remember.”
Kissaki did so, recalling his training. He sheathed his swords and sat on a rock outcropping, taking in the scene for a moment, which was perfect as he could ever imagine- birds sung, squirrels played, the air was soft and fragrant. As he closed his eyes, though, images of death filled him with a start. A man, a perfect man, leading soldiers into battle, not for his own sake but for the very people whom he ruled, charging down a steep hill against a horde of towering demons.
“Hantei,” Kissaki whispered. He remembered following the man, surrounded by… thousands of other men just like him, running down to confront the oni and to protect the Son of Heaven from having to even come close to such evil things. He remembered fighting the sea of devils, pushing them back from whence they came, his blades and armor black with devil blood, pushing ahead of his Emperor, driving the monsters before him. “I was fighting against the forces of the Fu Leng…”
The old man smiled, but said nothing.
Kissaki’s face twitched. A great oni lord, taller than a house, was before the Emperor, and they fought. Kissaki could not disengage from his own battle to help. Only after the great beast kicked the Son of Heaven to the ground did Kissaki break free… Just as the demon raised his massive sword to cleave Hantei in two did he reach his Lord, placing himself above his fallen leader, sword raised high in defense… only to watch Daikiku break, and the monster’s blade enter at his shoulder and exit at his hip, striking the Hantei. With his last ounce of strength, he raised his broken sword and threw it, burying the blade deep into the oni’s eye before he fell.
Kissaki opened his eyes with a start, looking around. “Is he here? Is the Emperor dead?”
The old man smiled. “No, Kissaki-san, the Son of Heaven is alive, thanks to you. Close your eyes, remember the last part.”
It was difficult, as the pain of being cut in half filled his memory, but he did so. Laying on his side, smelling the spring grass beneath him, he watched the oni brought low by the spears of his fellow soldiers, and though Hantei was grievously wounded, he stood and raised his sword, directing and inspiring the troops to press onward. As the world faded from view, the last thing Kissaki remembered was the Emperor bowing deeply to him before being escorted from the field.
“I... saved his life.” A smile grew across his face as tears began to fall. “I saved the Emperor.”
“And with him, the Empire, as was your destiny.” The monk said, softly, “and now that that is complete, you have earned your rest here in Yomi. Come, let us meet the others, and watch the future unfold.”
--
It is a terrible thing to say that a man should grow bored with Perfection, but such things do happen, and Kissaki, like any good samurai, was a man of action. A life spent fighting for what he believed in was always preferable to that of quiet contemplation, even here in Yomi. Time, in the afterlife, was meaningless, as each day became the next, and everything simply boiled down to one eternal moment, and while many chose to spend that moment in quiet contemplation, many more found their peace with the sword. Even here, in the Blessed Realm, Kissaki and countless others practiced their swordsmanship and martial abilities. No one was ever hurt, nor was anyone ever tired from the exertion, let alone killed- that sort of thing just didn’t happen here, but compete and train they did, for a thousand years of the mortal world. News from the Empire filtered in slowly, as each new spirit to ascend brought tales from the land of the living, supplemented by those who watched their ancestors go about their daily lives. The forces of Fu Leng were defeated. The Crab built a Wall. Fu Leng came back, and was defeated again. The last of Hantei’s line died, replaced by a mortal man. Soon news came that the Heavens themselves were under siege from the Lying Darkness, and a call to arms was placed to fight for all of creation at the place called Oblivion’s Gate. The newest Emperor, one named Toturi, argued to rally the spirits of the deceased heroes, but with only a moderate amount of luck- the heroes of the past were spread out roughly either where they lived or were most happy in life, and this meant that Yomi was as large as, if not larger than, the Empire itself; even where time is ephemeral, that is a lot of ground for one man to cover. Mirumoto Kissaki went to see this new Emperor, not of the line of Heaven but a man crowned by the Sun to lead, and upon meeting Toturi he instantly knew that this man carried the Mantle of Heaven with him, even here in Blessed Yomi. Such a thing was without question or doubt, plain as the sun that hung in the sky, though some spirits had doubts as to where best to fight. Having met other Emperors before, however, there was only one thing that Kissaki had to ask.
“For whom should we fight, Toturi-sama?”
“Fight for the Empire,” Toturi responded- words that struck a chord deep within Kissaki’s soul.
“We will stand by your side, Toturi-sama,” Kissaki said, kneeling, and a thousand years of heroes knelt with him.
