No Way Home

The woods sounded unnaturally quiet. Off in the distance, a lone owl’s sad cries echoed among the trees, the haunting voice made even more so by virtue of the silence. Every few heartbeats, the owl would cry again, and Orochi would feel the irrational trembling in his heart.

He walked with a soft, easy swagger born of many cycles of training. The lone bird of prey might claim this space, but Orochi knew no predators threatened him. His arms and legs were as thick as the trees he silently stepped around, but he moved with the grace of a leopard.

His progress was slow, and he only covered a few paces at a time before he stopped to take in his surroundings. Speed meant far less than stealth. He would hunt all night in safety, so long as he didn’t make a sound that revealed his presence. 

Every awareness he possessed strained against the oppressive silence. His eyes could make out the dim shadows cast by the otherworldly light of the moon, but they detected no movement. His nose, still sensitive to the new smells of this land, easily picked up the smoky hints of a campfire nearby. That smell guided his footsteps.

He used the sense, the special talent bequeathed to so few, expanding his gift for dozens of paces in all directions. The birds might be silent, but that didn’t mean he was alone in the forest. Indeed, creatures surrounded him, from the birds quietly observing him from their nests above to the almost silent whisper of the trees all around him. The woods teemed with life, making it more challenging to identify the one man he hunted.

In this deadly game of hide and seek, he had one distinct advantage. He could use his abilities to sense his target, but his target couldn’t sense him. Orochi’s ability, unique even among nightblades, kept him hidden. If all else between the two warriors was equal, that difference alone justified his confidence.

But this was not a game where all else was equal. His masters had taught him that if he ever found himself in a fair fight, he had already lost. That lesson was etched on his heart, and he gladly accepted every advantage. This evening was no exception.

The man who ran from him was tired and hungry. He had been on the run now for almost a full moon, forced to hide constantly. Orochi was well-fed and rested, and he had letters that granted him the nicest bed at any inn, with a free meal included. The thought of defeat never crossed Orochi’s mind.

Orochi fought the urge to relax. Just because this mission should be a simple matter didn’t mean it would be. In matters of the sword, nothing less than constant vigilance kept a warrior alive. But against a man of this land, where true strength had long been forgotten, it was hard not to be at ease.

His foot slid, just a bit, in the mud as he set it down. The snows had just finished melting, and the ground between the exposed roots was soaked through. Often, fallen needles from the pine trees supported his weight above the mud, but when he didn’t pay attention, a muddy foot was the result. He grimaced as he worked his foot free of the mud. The action made a soft squelching sound as loud as two swords clanging together.

Orochi froze, listening for any evidence he’d given himself away. But the woods remained as silent as before. He stepped forward again, paying closer attention to the placement of his feet and the consistency of the ground.

The smell of the campfire grew stronger until it filled his nostrils, and he knew he couldn’t be more than a hundred paces away. Closer now, he could tell that some meat had roasted recently over the flames. Fish from the nearby stream, unless he missed his guess.

Time slowed as he approached the smell, every heartbeat loud in his ears. As close as he suspected he was, he still couldn’t see any evidence of a fire. There was no orange light dancing between the trees, no crackle of a burning log. He crept forward further. One moment he was surrounded by trees, the next there was a small opening in front of him. Thin wisps of smoke betrayed the fact that the fire had only recently been put out.

His senses, already the focus of so much of his attention, now became his entire world. The silence of the woods pounded in his ears. Either the soldier had been incredibly lucky, or somehow had known he was coming. But how?

Reason reasserted itself. It was far more likely the man had left the camp for other reasons. This had to be coincidence and nothing more.

His instincts didn’t trust the logic, though.

His sense caught only the slightest hint of movement off to his right side. Orochi stepped back, and in that moment, an arrow embedded itself in the tree just to his left, the shaft less than a hand’s width away from his nose.

He knew he should pursue the soldier. The missed shot gave away his enemy’s position. He could follow the arrow and it would guide him true. His own training would take over once he reached the archer.

But he couldn’t help but stare at the shaft, still quivering directly in front of him. The wood that made up the shaft had been perfectly carved, and even the fletching seemed beautiful to him. How could something so pleasing to look at have come so close to killing him? In all his cycles, he’d never come this close to death. All the training in the world couldn’t have prepared him.

With a snap, his reason returned to him. The noises of the forest returned, and Orochi knew the man had escaped. Orochi was lucky. If the soldier had decided to loose another arrow instead of run, he would probably be dead. His lapse of judgment almost ended his quest.

He had made a mistake, one that had come close to costing him his life and his revenge, but it didn’t matter. The soldier was clever, but no one got a second chance at killing a nightblade.

The hard-packed snow crunched under his weight as he snuck toward the castle. Though his heavy dark robes protected him from the worst of the blizzard, he still felt naked without his sword at his side. He had stashed the blade away in a hiding place in a nearby village, knowing it would do him no good here.

Off in the distance, the freshly constructed walls of Lord Akira’s castle loomed. Even with visibility almost down to nothing, the thick walls could be seen in the small gaps between gusts of wind. Fortunately, the whipping winds meant that the guards who patrolled the walls weren’t likely to see him. Realistically, most would be hiding from the storm. The wind and ice would make scaling those walls more difficult, though.

Orochi reached the base of the wall without being spotted. Between the blizzard and the darkness, he wasn’t terribly surprised, but he was grateful. He took his time studying the wall, searching for both handholds and hazards. He’d only get one chance at this climb.

Orochi had spent most of his childhood climbing, so the only true challenges were the freezing cold stone and the howling winds. He grunted, knowing he was delaying a task that was better done than thought about. One hand and foot at a time, he made his way painstakingly up the wall.

The stone immediately froze his hands, but he forced them open as he went from handhold to handhold. His toes, protected by a thin leather covering, fared better, but not by much. About halfway up the wall, he was almost blown off as a gust snuck between the stone and his torso, but he managed to hold on with the tips of his fingers.

When he was close enough to the top, he paused to give his sense the attention needed to run over the walkway above. He couldn’t sense any guards nearby. He assumed they huddled in the alcoves, protecting themselves from the wind instead of protecting their lord.

Confident he would be unseen, he slipped over the wall and crawled down the other side. As expected, no alarm was raised. He settled in between a cart of hay and a pile of barrels, flexing his fingers to ensure no permanent damage had been done from the climb.

Inside the castle walls, he felt as though he was in a different world. The darkness of the plains he’d just traversed was replaced by the warm light of torches, and the stabbing snowflakes now swirled gently on eddies of air. The environment reinforced his beliefs about lords. They sat in their castles, small paradises of pleasure, while the people outside suffered.

Regardless, he had a purpose for being here. From this point forward, it was mostly a matter of proceeding through the castle while being questioned as little as possible.

Between the lateness of the day and his own gift, warning him when others were nearby, the challenge was not what it might have been. Most in the castle were inside eating, and few guards wandered within the castle.

Orochi strode forward, acting for all the world as if he belonged here, seeking the one man he’d come to find.

The waves crashed far below, roaring against the island with hopeless fury. Orochi stood near the edge of the vertical face, watching the sun begin to set. A storm was coming, a dark mass from the north that spat lightning constantly, thunder echoing on the empty water. But to the west, the sky was tranquil as the blood-red sun hugged the sea.

Orochi felt the man coming up behind him, his master’s once-powerful stride just a bit shorter and a bit slower than it used to be. Tenchi was not a man to take lightly, but his physical skills had peaked cycles ago.

Orochi made no move to greet the man in charge of their community. There would only be one reason for his presence, and even if they weren’t enemies, they certainly weren’t allies.

“I see that you’ve requested duty on the boats.” Tenchi’s voice was almost drowned out as a wave cracked against the rock below them.

Orochi didn’t hear a question in the statement, so he remained silent. He knew he bordered on treason with his disrespect, but he was angry enough to risk it. His request had already been denied, and now he weighed the merits of the different ways off the island.

Tenchi’s patience was stronger than his pride today. His voice remained calm despite his chilly reception. “I do not think it is wise for you to return to the mainland.”

“You can’t stop me.” Orochi didn’t mean to let it slip that he planned on leaving regardless, but long cycles of obeying every one of Tenchi’s commands, explicit or implied, made him habitually obedient.

Orochi wasn’t sure his claim was true. He was one of the strongest warriors on the island, but he hadn’t fought many of the masters, not in any way that mattered. There were dozens, if not hundreds, of boats scattered around the island. Tenchi could potentially guard them all, but it would disrupt all life on the island.

He tried a gentler method of persuasion. “There is nothing left for me here.”

Tenchi looked surprised. “Everything that is left is here. Here, there is no need to hide. People care for you and will look after you. You’re well respected for your skills. You would forfeit all these things?”

“She’s not here.” His voice was flat and expressionless.

Tenchi shook his head. “Revenge isn’t worth your life, or your spirit.”

“I will kill him.”

“He would have died already, had you not saved him.”

“I will kill him.” Orochi put the emphasis where it belonged. He’d freed Shigeru because vengeance was his, and the longer Shigeru suffered, the more pleasure Orochi felt.

“Do you think you’ll actually be able to kill him? You were as close as brothers. You’re talented, there’s no doubt of that. But taking a life requires sacrifice, and even more so when the two of you are as close as you were. I’ve always believed a part of our spirit dies when we kill another. Are you really sure that is what you want?”

Orochi glared at the older man. He’d thought of nothing but Shigeru’s death for almost a full moon now. Nothing would dissuade him.

“You know,” Tenchi continued after a pause, “that revenge is only for the softhearted.”

That caused Orochi to spin around, his face a mask of rage. But Tenchi didn’t move a muscle, his own face impassive. Orochi forced himself to remain calm.

Tenchi’s verbal assault was relentless. “Those of us who possess true steel know that death is certain the moment we pick up the blade. She was no different. You’re the one who can’t see the truth. The rest of us mourn and move on.”

Orochi brought his face close to Tenchi’s. “Do you wish to challenge my steel, master?”

Tenchi shook his head as the first rain began to fall. Orochi couldn’t tell if his master was crying or if the rain dripped down his cheeks. “I wish only to instruct.”

With that, Tenchi turned around and began walking back toward his home. As he did, he called back, “I’ll grant your wish once the storm passes.”

Orochi’s grin was feral. He turned back to the sea as the storm began to lash at him with its fury.

Orochi’s eyes opened, every sense instantly alert. Fragrant aromas flooded his nose with his first deep intake of breath, the forest coming alive in the spring weather. Even though he slept, his sense protected him, warning him of approaching enemies. He took a few more deep breaths, focusing his sense. The man he tracked was hard to follow, his life force barely distinguishable from the woods that surrounded them. Orochi was surprised he’d even woken up.

As near as he could tell, the man stood about fifty paces away, perfectly still. Orochi fought the urge to react. Somehow, even though there was no way for the former soldier to sense him, the archer was still able to track him. 

For the first time, Orochi wished he knew more about his target. He had read through the information provided, but place of birth and military service records had given Orochi little useful information. This marked the second time the soldier had ambushed him. How had he developed such skills? His military record hadn’t indicated any of the abilities Orochi was encountering.

Orochi remained prone. The only advantage he had was that the soldier believed he was asleep. Perhaps it wasn’t worth much, but it was all he had. Sweat started dripping down his forehead, running into his eyes and stinging them. His heart pumped as his body screamed at him to move. His breath became shallow and fast, and he strained to keep his sense focused on the man.

When he sensed the man pull back the bowstring, Orochi rolled. He heard a soft whistle and an arrow embedded itself right where his lung had been a heartbeat before. An impressive shot through the woods, at night, with a soft evening spring breeze. This man was the best archer Orochi had ever encountered.

He scrambled on hands and knees through the mud, exposed roots tearing at his robes. He put a tree between the man he was supposed to be hunting and himself. The tree wasn’t as wide as he’d thought, so he scrunched into a tight ball, making as small a target as possible.

Orochi tried to focus, but his mind refused. He imagined an arrowhead piercing his skin. He didn’t know how to sew up his own wounds, and he kept imagining infection digging into the injuries, decaying his body from the inside out. His arms pulled his legs in tighter, every muscle in his body tensed for the inevitable shot.

But no more arrows came his way. The woods were nearly silent, as though the creatures themselves were wondering which of the warriors would triumph. But Orochi didn’t hear anything that gave away the soldier’s position.

Orochi calmed his breath and threw out his sense. The soldier was some distance away, moving farther from Orochi with deliberate care. If not for Orochi’s sense, he wouldn’t have had even a guess as to where the man had gone. But the soldier had made a mistake. He had forgotten he was pursued by a nightblade, not an average court assassin. The man should have run as fast and as far as his legs could take him.

The danger past, Orochi’s confidence came back to him. The soldier had made the last mistake he ever would. Orochi would kill him easily.

The nightblade came out from behind the tree, his limbs thankful to be moving once again. Using his sense as a guide, he tracked the man. The woods here were dense, the trees closer together. Even though Orochi knew it was only him and the soldier, the woods made him feel as though he was surrounded.

He heard the trickle of a stream off to his right, but didn’t realize just how wet the ground was until his foot sank into the mud.

In the quiet, the sound of his foot sinking filled his ears. He gently pulled it out, dismayed by his own carelessness. However, the mistake wasn’t without its upside. If the soldier was trying to keep his own feet dry, the stream would form a narrow boundary. It limited the paths through the woods that the man would take. Orochi darted forward, remaining cognizant of how close he was to the stream.

Orochi kept his pace, gaining on the soldier. The archer couldn’t be more than a dozen paces ahead of him.

His only warning was a slight pressure at his ankle. He frowned as he heard the sound of something large cutting through the air behind him. Instinctively, he leaped to the side and was spun around in midair as a log clipped his left shoulder. Pain caused him to shout in agony as the joint was dislocated.

He landed face down in the mud, the ooze filling his mouth. When he pulled himself out of the muck with his good arm, he was completely disoriented. By the time he managed to get to his feet, the soldier had crossed the stream and disappeared.

Lord Akira stood alone in his map room when Orochi walked in. The lord was a younger man, probably not much older than Orochi himself, but even from a glance Orochi could see that the man’s reputation was well-deserved.

Of the three lords of the land that had once been home to the nightblades, Akira was the most respected. In the Western Kingdom their lord was feared, and the Northern Kingdom loved theirs, but Akira balanced the two emotions in his subjects with the grace of a much more experienced lord. Personally, Orochi had looked forward to this meeting, curious as to the truth of the rumors.

Akira stood tall, his gaze deep and focused. He remained perfectly still, but Orochi believed the man was ready for action at a moment’s notice. The sword that rested comfortably on his hip wasn’t just for decoration. Not many cycles before, he’d cut down one of his top advisers, an expert swordsman, with only a few moves. It had been at his father’s funeral, and the adviser had been plotting a coup. Seeing the lord now, Orochi believed the story.

Akira was absorbed in his maps, but he still noticed Orochi moments after he stepped into the room, even though Orochi had been silent and had entered behind him. Perhaps these lands had a worthy ruler after all.

Akira’s hand went to his sword, his body shifting comfortably and easily into a fighting stance as he rotated. 

“Who are you?” The lord’s voice held no hint of fear.

“My name is Orochi.”

The nightblade walked toward the map, showing Akira his back. “This has been made in great detail.” The statement was no exaggeration. In all his travels, Orochi had never seen its equal. Large blank sections remained, but Orochi assumed those would be filled in before long with dark lines representing forests, rivers, and mountains. The expense to create such a map was considerable.

Orochi sensed the move just before it happened. Akira’s cut was well-executed, clearing the sheath easily and cutting straight for his neck. Had Orochi been any other warrior, the swing would have killed him.

But he was a nightblade.

Warned by his sense, he stepped forward and the sword passed harmlessly behind him. He turned around to give Akira an irritated glance.

Akira deserved credit, though. Orochi suspected that other lords would have attacked again, driven by fear or rage. But Akira realized the type of warrior he was up against with a single cut.

“Who are you?” Akira asked, this time the words carrying a different meaning than before.

“My name is Orochi,” he repeated.

“Your name alone means little to me. You’re a nightblade.” The last statement was half an observation and half a question.

“Yes.”

“Why are you here?”

The only answer to that was a long story, one better left unsaid, at least for now. “I am looking to form a partnership with you.”

Akira appeared as though he was torn between calling for his guards and hearing Orochi out. Orochi could imagine the argument running through the lord’s mind.

The mere fact that the two of them were standing there and talking, if discovered, would be enough to bring war to Akira’s kingdom. Even though he was a lord, he would be arrested and sentenced to immediate death, with most of his subjects cheering the decision. Orochi’s existence was against every law of this land. 

Orochi possessed the skills to bring down armies, and that was the very reason his kind had been driven from the land over a thousand cycles ago. Nightblades dreamed of a return, but that day seemed a very long way away.

But the possibilities of working with a nightblade were enough to give Akira pause. When Orochi saw the lord’s weight settle, he knew he’d won. The rest was just giving Akira time to realize it.

“What kind of partnership?”

“You’re ambitious. Ambitious men often have problems. I can solve some of those problems, as quietly as you please.”

“I already have assassins, ones who pose far less risk to me.”

“None like me. None who will never fail and never be discovered. None who could kill even another nightblade with ease. I’m well aware that at times, one eludes detection by the monasteries.”

“You would hunt your own kind?”

“They are not my kind. My kind no longer live in these lands,” Orochi almost spit.

Akira clearly didn’t understand, but Orochi didn’t expect him to. Akira could tell enough to leave the subject alone.

“And in return?”

“There is a nightblade who I believe is hiding in your kingdom. His name is Shigeru. If you ever hear of him, no matter the circumstances, I will be the one to kill him.”

Akira’s eyes seemed to dig into his soul. “You would serve me solely for revenge?”

“And for enough gold to live off of. My needs are few, but I have no desire to labor for a living.”

“And if I refuse?”

Orochi didn’t need to answer that question. Akira would die by his own blade.

When Orochi left, it was through the front gate of the castle.

The small collection of huts had been burned down, with only one of the five surviving. A soft, powdery coating of snow rested on the blackened beams of the others, but a warm glow emanated from the standing hut. Fire both destroyed and sustained.

Orochi hated this land. He’d been pursuing Shigeru for moons now, and the trail led here, rumors of a family saved by a traveling swordsman. A swordsman who had killed four bandits in just as many cuts.

Orochi’s longing for the island was almost physical. When he thought about the blades, his people, working through their daily cycles of training and chores, he almost turned around and returned to the north. If he hadn’t been exiled for his choices, he probably would have. The Great Cycle was cruel indeed. If Tenchi had allowed him to leave without consequences, he would already be back home.

No matter how much time he spent in the Three Kingdoms, he wasn’t sure he could ever call them home. The people here were driven by petty desires. They had no sense of what mattered. They didn’t care for their bodies or their spirits. In his darker moments, he thought that this land didn’t deserve the nightblades anymore.

He was in a darker mood when he stormed into the small house, where a family was gathered. One young man, who must have fancied himself the protector of the house, turned and grabbed a blade. Even without the sense, Orochi wouldn’t have been in any danger from such an untrained child.

The young man attacked before Orochi could even introduce himself. The swing was wild, and Orochi easily avoided it. Then he stepped inside the young man’s guard and kneed him in the stomach. He dropped like the worthless excuse for a warrior he was, and Orochi scanned the room for someone calm to speak with.

His eyes settled on an elder, a woman who had seen at least sixty cycles. Old as she might be, her eyes were sharp and watched him without a hint of fear. Orochi had no doubt she was a formidable matriarch. He gave her the slightest hint of a bow.

“I come without intent to harm you,” he said.

“That was what the last group of men said as well,” she replied.

The rest of the family had scooted toward the walls, putting as much distance between themselves and him as they could. He knew he couldn’t hide his strength or size, but their fear angered him. Best to leave as soon as possible.

“I’m looking for the man who came that day. The man who saved you.”

“Why are you looking for Shigeru?”

So, he’d stayed long enough for them to learn his name. Was this his attempt at redemption? He couldn’t save her, so now he tried to save whoever he could? That sounded like a path that would appeal to Shigeru. The only pleasure Orochi felt at the revelation was that Shigeru was also haunted by that night.

“I’m going to kill him.”

The elder studied him before she responded. “Why should I tell you where he traveled to?”

He made his eyes and face as cold as possible. “Because if you don’t, I will kill you all.”

She gave the barest hint of a smile, as though his reaction was exactly what she’d expected. “No, I don’t think you will.”

The young man behind Orochi thought he had a chance. He believed the elder was trying to give him a hint, and he attacked from behind. Orochi sensed the attack and dodged again, grabbing him by the throat. He dug his fingers in, easily grabbing the sword from the boy’s hand when he tried to use it to defend himself.

Orochi turned back to the elder. She had been talking to him, not the young man, and he was going to prove her wrong. He stared into her eyes as the life drained out of her grandson’s body. Her eyes met his gaze with steely determination.

In his hand, he could feel the young man’s struggles getting weaker.

It was all such a waste. Why should this boy die?

The rest of the family was screaming, begging him to let the young man go, but the elder was impassive.

Finally, when it was too much, Orochi threw the young man into a corner, and the boy grabbed his throat, greedily gulping fresh air.

The elder nodded. “Shigeru went to the Southern Kingdom.”

Orochi was flabbergasted. What was going on in the old woman’s head?

He shook his head and turned away. But she seemed like she was inside his mind, reading his very thoughts, when she spoke her final words for him.

“Be careful when you meet Shigeru. His sword is certain, and yours is not.”

Setting his own shoulder caused Orochi to moan in agony, gritting his teeth against the pain. Fortunately, the injury was to his left side, so he should still be able to fight. But he wasn’t looking forward to the discomfort as his shoulder finished healing.

After taking some time to clean himself and gather his wits, Orochi began the pursuit of the soldier once again. Twice now he had been taken by surprise, but it would not happen again.

The voice of the elder haunted him, as it had too many nights before. Shigeru clearly had no problem taking life. He’d killed the bandits who attacked that family. If Orochi couldn’t even kill a single archer, a former soldier who was sense-gifted, what hope did he have against a warrior of Shigeru’s ability?

He needed to be stronger, more focused. Nothing would stand between him and his revenge.

He had underestimated the soldier. This land led him to misjudge the strength of his opponent, had led him to lose his focus and determination. But no longer. One of Tenchi’s favorite sayings came back to him: “If you’re going to do anything, do it with your whole heart.” 

Tenchi would probably be disappointed to learn he was inspiring Orochi in this task.

The soldier’s trail wasn’t too difficult to pick up again. Orochi crossed the stream and followed what sign he could. The soldier was a skilled woodsman, but he still made mistakes. Over there, some moss had been brushed off the side of a tree, right at shoulder height. About ten paces beyond was a faint outline of a footprint embedded in the mud between some roots.

Orochi wasn’t certain, but he assumed he was walking toward a trap. With every step, he surrounded himself with his sense, soaking in the information it provided like a sponge. Deep in the woods, he couldn’t extend his ability too far. He was surrounded by too much life, and if he stretched, everything he sensed became meaningless noise, his mind unable to focus on specifics. Even though the woods were as quiet as ever, the presence of so much life made him feel as though he was surrounded by a large crowd.

Eventually, Orochi felt the lightest brush of another human life. He crept forward, and the closer he came, the more carefully he moved. The soldier remained stationary, either asleep or alert and in position for a new ambush.

The nightblade slid from tree to tree, remaining behind cover as much as possible, waiting for the trap to snap shut. His eyes and ears burned with effort, and his hand was never far from the hilt of his sword. No trap would take him by surprise.

Soon, he realized that the soldier had taken refuge high in a pine tree. Originally, the man had probably set up an ambush, but Orochi felt as though the soldier had fallen asleep in wait. Orochi couldn’t see from the ground if the man had secured himself up high to rest or if he was actually on the lookout. Either way, the man gave no hint of movement, leaving Orochi with a decision. Should he climb the tree or wait below?

Climbing the tree appealed to the part of him that wanted this all to be over and done with. This whole mission had taken far longer than necessary and climbing the tree would finish it. However, wisdom and self-preservation suggested the opposite course. He was tracking an archer, and even if the man was resting, he wouldn’t fail to notice Orochi climbing towards him. Orochi would be an open target, absolutely defenseless, as arrows rained down on him.

As near as he could tell, he hadn’t been spotted. The woods were dark, and he’d been exceedingly careful. Regardless, the soldier would have to come down eventually and they could finish this. Orochi hid himself deep in a bush and waited for the final conflict.

Orochi’s second approach to Lord Akira’s castle couldn’t have been more different than the first. The late winter sun was bright in the sky, warming him through his layers of clothing, and the front gates welcomed him, their doors wide open.

Orochi felt alone without his sword at his side, but that was the price of their deception. He walked as an adviser now, and advisers didn’t carry swords into their meetings with their lord. All the same, Orochi considered the possibility that this was all some sort of elaborate trap created by Akira. He didn’t trust the lord, not yet, but this was the quickest way to his goal. There were too many places for someone to hide in the Southern Kingdom, from the woods in the center of the land to the mountains that bordered the southern reaches.

The soldiers at the gate studied him but made no other comment. He possessed the papers necessary to pass through without question. Orochi returned their glances, sizing up the guards. They were well-trained and alert, but Orochi sensed nothing in them that frightened him.

Orochi imagined his first assignment with a mixture of excitement and nerves. Would he be forced to kill another nightblade? There weren’t any true nightblades in this land, none besides Shigeru, at least. Still, there were some people who were born gifted that the monasteries missed. If they grew to adulthood, they could cause quite a commotion.

Or would he be tasked with killing some minor noble who had spoken up against Akira? Orochi imagined that was just as likely, but found himself saddened at the thought that his cycles of training would be wasted on such a task.

As he walked the polished wooden floors that led to Akira’s study, Orochi wondered what his old masters would think of his agreement with the lord of the Southern Kingdom. Even if there were no true nightblades, being born with the gift was considered the greatest blessing one could receive on the island. But here it was a curse, an accident of birth that needed to be destroyed.

Orochi wavered at the entrance to Akira’s study. He pretended to appreciate the intricate landscape scene painted on the walls, but the truth was something else entirely. A moment of doubt was all he allowed himself. He was strong enough to kill Shigeru, and this path led the way.

But as he often did when he lost his spark, he allowed his mind to return to the night his life had ended with hers. He’d never forget her smile as the blood trickled out the side of her mouth. No price was too high to pay.

He stepped into Akira’s study.

Akira looked up and tensed when he saw who it was. Orochi noticed the reaction but said nothing. It appeared that both of them were learning to trust the other.

“I wasn’t sure you would come,” the lord admitted.

“And I wasn’t sure you would call,” Orochi replied.

Akira gave Orochi a short bow. Orochi returned it with one of almost equal depth. When he straightened he saw the smirk of amusement on Akira’s face. For most advisers, such disrespect would be a death sentence, but Akira seemed to enjoy the unique dynamic they shared. Then his expression became firm, and Lord of the Southern Kingdom came straight to the point.

“Recently, we discovered that one of our soldiers has the ability to use the sense. We don’t know how he evaded detection for as long as he did, but when confronted, he killed three of his fellow soldiers as he made his escape.”

Orochi fought the overwhelming urge to shake his head in disbelief at these people. The sense conferred an overwhelming advantage in combat. Had Orochi been the lord of this land he would have built the entire army around those special few, not put them to death. Everything about this place felt as though he was looking through a distorted piece of glass, reality twisted in a way he didn’t quite understand.

Orochi said nothing, though. What could he say in a world so far removed from his own? Akira handed him some papers, and Orochi flipped through them. Inside was a sketch of the man as well as everything that was known about him. It was more than enough information to get started.

Akira’s eyes studied him carefully, and Orochi felt as though the lord was looking past his mask. The suspicion grew even stronger when Akira asked, “Are you certain you want to kill him?”

There was another question contained within, unspoken but far more meaningful. What kind of man makes a living hunting down those most similar to him?

Orochi thought of the masters he had trained under, the hope they had held for him as his skills developed. If they saw who he’d become, no doubt they would ask the very same questions. But then he saw her, and nothing else mattered.

He didn’t care that he was hunting his own kind.

He didn’t flinch at the awareness that he was turning his back on everything he knew and believed.

He didn’t worry that he’d never killed before.

No matter how high the cost of his journey to revenge, he was more than willing to pay.

The smuggler was the last obstacle that stood between Orochi and the Southern Kingdom. Shigeru’s trail had wandered and faded, but Orochi had never entirely lost the scent. He was beginning to think that a nightblade, intentionally or otherwise, left a mark wherever they went. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he felt as though he knew the moment he stepped into a village if Shigeru had come through.

Orochi was still moons behind the other nightblade, and the trail was getting harder to follow. At first, Shigeru had fought whatever perceived injustices he’d come across. But the habit had faded the farther he traveled. Orochi was dying to know the reasoning behind Shigeru’s behavior, but had to content himself with the knowledge that he’d probably never find out.

He was certain the trail led deep into the Southern Kingdom, but getting there from the Northern Kingdom was harder than he’d expected. Only one main bridge spanned the river dividing the two Kingdoms, and both sides of the river were heavily patrolled. Furthermore, the bridge wasn’t open to all. Migration between the Kingdoms was tightly controlled, and merchants were about the only people let through regularly.

Orochi needed papers, and it had taken him almost a half-moon of searching to find a competent criminal. Most were blatant liars, and unfortunately, they were the easiest to find.

Eventually, he found a man who called himself Kenji. Orochi told him what he needed and was told to return in a few days. Orochi followed the instructions to the letter and entered the nondescript building to collect his papers.

Kenji was sitting inside, whittling a small figurine with a razor-sharp knife when Orochi entered. Greetings were exchanged, but Kenji was direct.

“Do you have the rest of the gold?”

Orochi dug out a small bag and tossed it to Kenji. The smuggler caught the bag with ease and checked the contents. Satisfied, he stood up from his bench, the knife disappearing into his long sleeves. He walked over to a workbench and handed Orochi the papers. Orochi checked them. They looked every bit as real as the ones he’d seen other travelers using.

Orochi turned around to leave and was two steps toward the door when there was a loud knock on the door, and everything happened at once.

“Militia!” came the announcement from the other side of the door.

Immediately, Orochi sensed Kenji pulling out the knife and preparing to throw it at him. The nightblade stepped to the side as the knife whistled past him, clattering hilt first against the door. In the same motion he drew his sword and held it against Kenji’s neck, a thin trickle of blood crawling down into Kenji’s robes.

Kenji’s eyes narrowed, and Orochi knew the man guessed the truth about him. No one else dodged a blade they couldn’t see.

“Kenji, are you in there?” The voice had become less commanding and more concerned.

“My brother,” Kenji whispered to Orochi.

Orochi knew he should kill Kenji. The man knew, or at least guessed, what he was, and the reward for the capture of a nightblade would be substantial. The best way to cover his trail was to kill the smuggler. They both knew it.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do so. The man had done nothing but help him. He nodded at the smuggler.

“I’m here!” Kenji shouted. “I’m busy at the moment, though. What do you need?”

“We’re looking for a young pickpocket, a girl named Hiroko. She’s crossed the line and we need to bring her in. Have you seen her?”

“Not recently. But if I do, I’ll tell you.”

There was silence on the other side of the door.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” the brother asked.

“Absolutely. I’ll stop by your place tonight.”

Orochi almost laughed. That was a clever move. If he did kill Kenji, he’d only have half a day’s head start on the pursuit. He pulled his sword away from Kenji’s neck as he heard the sound of boots walking away from the building.

The two of them stared at each other for a few moments. Orochi knew it was still smarter to kill the man, but his heart wasn’t in it. He stepped outside the building and walked away quickly.

The archer had to come down from the tree eventually. The need for food and water was a cruel master, one that never left a soldier alone for long. All that was needed was patience.

Orochi’s patience rewarded him soon enough. He heard a rustling in the tree a full day after he had hidden in the bushes below. He still believed the archer hadn’t known of his approach, but the archer was being plenty careful. The soldier climbed down a few branches at a time, always scouting the area before descending further.

Orochi kept himself perfectly still, waiting for a perfect moment to strike. Finally he had learned what it would take to become the hunter instead of the hunted. His satisfaction was deep.

The moment the archer’s foot touched the ground, Orochi sprang from the bushes. To the soldier’s credit, he didn’t panic. His eyes darted around and Orochi guessed he was considering his options.

After the days of pursuit, this was the closest the two of them had ever been. The soldier began reaching for his bow, but stopped before his hand moved too far. Orochi was too close. The archer would never have enough time to nock an arrow and release it before Orochi killed him. Orochi’s patience had negated the archer’s strongest advantage.

Without any other options, the soldier drew his blade and charged. He met his end like a warrior should, with steel in his hand.

The conclusion was never in question. Even if the soldier had been one of the best swordsmen in the land, it wouldn’t have mattered. Thanks to Orochi’s gift, he could sense every move the soldier made before it happened. He didn’t even bother to draw his own sword in defense. He stepped back and to the side in time with the attacks, each one missing him by a hair.

The soldier redoubled his efforts, swinging with a fury that would have done a warrior of legend proud. Orochi was forced to give up more ground, but he never felt as though he was in danger.

Eventually, Orochi had to make a choice. From here forward, there really was no turning back. But still he gave up ground, dodging the cutting steel. All he had to do, at any point, was draw his sword, and it would all be over. But still his sword rested in its sheath.

When the moment came, it was purely instinct. Orochi didn’t even notice the change. The soldier had been attacking, but his guard was beyond poor. One of a hundred openings presented itself, but Orochi took this one. He stepped forward, and drawing his blade, ended the man’s life with a single cut.

He didn’t feel anything at all.