Chapter VIII: Epilogue

The elder solemnly approached Ichiro. “This is for you as we agreed upon young man.” He said handling him a small pouch. He hesitated a bit but in the end he continued. “And this is Kenzo’s. I reckon he wanted you to have it. Take it and do what you wish with it” He said, as he gave him some bundled scrolls.

Ichiro grabbed the purse. Without thinking much, he took the papers too. He would see what he would do with them later. Now it was the dawn of a fine spring day. He wished to leave this place. After all, Kenzo had polluted it with his presence here. Looking for the first time around him he saw two roads, one in the east and one in the west. Surely they would go to nearby cities. Deciding on a whim, he went forward, towards some woods that were just visible in the distance. Away from civilization, away from the filth of humans, this would be were he would end his days.

Satoshi was looking at the piece of paper that was in his hand.

“I know you hate me, and yet I don’t care. I gave my vow to Hiro, not anyone else in this village. And I’ll keep this promise as best as I can.

Even if I cannot erase the troubles of this village, I can still give it a shot in erasing the harm that I have done. There is no way for me to think of anything that doesn’t involve death. But I was a fool before. For I had never thought about my own perish.

What I will tell you I’ll do. It may work, it may not. But if you want to try it, I will leave it your hands, alone.

In the small pouch that I have given you, are the only money that I have. Take them. Offer them to Ichiro. Ask from him to kill me in the name of the village, as retribution to the soldiers that I have killed. Either way, Ichiro will fight me in some hours, and he will kill me.

Send a messenger to the feud. Beg them to understand. To know that you value the soldiers that ‘protect’ you so much, that you hired a professional to kill me, in behalf of them. That your gratitude towards them is so much, that all little money that the village had went for a shot at this.

I robbed lives from this lord. And he knows that I would cost him more. Your act to put me away will be rewarded… maybe they will fully forgive you.

If you try this, I warn you. The repercussion of it becoming known to those lords will mean genocide. To have them fooled like this would be unbelievable to their small heads. So, even if you don’t do it, please burn this note. Carry this as a secret till you die.”

The elder tossed the letter to his small fireplace…

One could only hope now. The simple gesture of Kenzo showed only one thing. There is always hope. Even in the darkest hearts, a light still shines. He found himself pitying a bit Kenzo. He may have been a murderer, a vile beast, but he surrendered his life for them. He surrendered his name. For, even if his plan succeeded, Kenzo would always remain the butcher that Ichiro killed. His sacrifice would die with Satoshi’s death…

Ichiro had spent a few days in this forest now. There was nothing for him to do. Time seemed still. There was no reason for him to go forward anymore. He cursed, but what Kenzo has written him, seemed right…

“…for when you devote so much of yourself in revenge, you get burned by it too. I know. I had no purpose left either. I have been as you are now, alone, helpless, burned out…”

He had already read through the letters multiple times by now. It was just a recollection of Kenzo’s life. Starting from when he left his village, till the night he saw him. Ichiro could easily see the division on Kenzo’s writing. Half of it, he knew it already. A life he had experienced first hand, a bloodthirsty journey for revenge, the sacrifices that one makes for this purpose.

But the other half was weird. It was talking about what Ichiro was experiencing now. About this total void of emotions. About the nothingness that Ichiro felt was his future. And he was talking about the people that helped him change that.

He was talking about an old lady. A woman who taught him that killing your way through just brings more misery and death.

He was writing about the elder and his plan. A plan that taught him that a man like Kenzo, like Ichiro, like the lords, cannot comprehend intentions, that the only thing that matters to them is actions. A plan that taught him, in the end, that intentions are more important than the actions themselves.

He was depicting a tavern scene, where the simple farmers accidentally caused Kenzo to understand that running away is not an option. One can hide from his actions only for so long. But all actions have consequences, consequences that he just wouldn’t care to bother with.

Kenzo was talking about Ichiro, him, too. About the joy and pain that Kenzo felt when he recognized him. The joy of shaping other people like you, after your ideals and your mentality, the ultimate goal of humanity, to create life. The pain that he had thrown him in a life as disgusting as his, a life that even death is kinder than it.

Kenzo wrote a lot about that night. He wrote that it was then he formed his plan. A plan that taught him that sometimes, through a defeat in a battle, you can win a war. A plan that used trickery and deceit, two ugly weapons, to cause a shinning good.

And in the end, he wrote about his action of giving this letter to the elder. The elder could never understand him fully. The village would never forgive him. But for Kenzo, it didn’t mattered. In those last hours of his life, when he committed his soul to paper, he eventually saw a greater truth. He didn’t need the approval of the elder. He didn’t give a damn about Ichiro’s intentions. The whole village may hate him, but the thought passed only for an instant in his mind. For now, just before he die, he was giving his life for something that he truly believed in. And through his sacrifice, he had forgiven himself. Salvation doesn’t come from other people understanding you. Salvation comes from you accepting who you are and why. By forgiving yourself by actions intended to undo your past mistakes.

Kenzo was asking much in his letter. His wish, for this letter and his plan to remain a secret, was easy and understandable. After all, Ichiro didn’t have a reason to destroy those people by revealing it. But Kenzo was referring to him as his student…

Yes, the feud lords would be thankful to him for depriving Kenzo from their lives, as Kenzo said. But to stay and protect this village? There was no reason for it. This village had served only one purpose. It had stolen from him his revenge. Had the village not soften up Kenzo, he would have fought him full strength. And not like the weakling he had become.

On the other hand, he felt his life empty. He hated Kenzo even more now. Kenzo had denied him the pleasure of a fair fight. But the real reason was not that. The real reason was the damn letters. They were like the old man had looked directly in his Ichiro’s heart and written what he felt. He hated Kenzo for being right.

It seemed that the only time he failed was when he tried to help the village… Ichiro cursed again. He understood that Kenzo wanted him to think like that. To challenge him to help the village, as the only thing that could prove that he was superior to him. But the reason he cursed was because he felt like it was working…

Noriko looked out of her small window. The clear spring sky shone brilliantly today. Her gaze glided to the back of her small house. Two small paintings were there. One was depicting Ryu… her beloved son that had died exactly three years ago. He was an example man, a shining pillar of honor. Next to him was the picture of his murderer. He had died a few days later by Ichiro. Everyone was speaking about the courage of the young man to face such a beast and win. But Kenzo had spent a night in this small house. And Noriko has seen the crumbled remains of his. The man that was next to her dead son was not his murderer. It was another man the one that had given his life for this village, and a completely different one the Kenzo that had killed Ryu. After all, she had seen both fights, and only a fool could believe that Kenzo didn’t wished to die when the katana sliced him open…

Beneath the pictures laid a single vase. Two flowers, one for each, were blooming inside. They were left there by her, as a simple gesture to honor them. To honor them for the blood they had spilled for this village, for the training they had provided. Because as Ryu had shaped Kenzo, so had Kenzo shaped Ichiro, their current protector.

And a great protector Ichiro was, sharing traits from both. The honor of Ryu, the will to not kill. And the fierceness of Kenzo, the ability to kill for those he cared. It was a strange mixture, far better than each individual code. Because, unlike the Ryu era, when lords roamed around fearless of him. And unlike the small period that Kenzo was here, when lords hated him and were ready to direct their wrath on him. Ichiro managed to appear friendly and peaceful enough, while making sure that they knew, that if the lords overstep their authority, blood will be spilled.