Shadows of The Ghost

Damnation

Genso sat alone in the back of the caravan, watching the mountains with their paint of snow pass, his gaze set on the horizon. His mind was on other things, however. The scroll had talked about another person from his past. An old enemy, currently in charge of a fort out towards the north of the border, named General Izom, was the man he had to kill. He remembered him from the war, all those years ago, a brute who rode into battle with a club and flail, bashing in the heads of all those in front of him, regardless of whether they were friends or foes.

Genso shook away those memories and decided to rest for the remainder of the three-hour journey. It wasn't long before he saw darkness creep in and he passed into the land of nightmares.

He walked through the battlefield, corpses lying everywhere. Some stabbed with swords, the blades still in their bodies, others with arrows pierced through their bodies. He found him there, missing an arm and with deep slashes all across his torso and legs. His right eye was missing, and a stream of blood fell down that side of his face. Despite this, he stood straight. As Genso watched, his wounds began to heal and the missing arm started to regrow. Within moments, standing before him was a young man and not the corpse of the same person he had seen almost five years ago. The man had grown in age too, yet he still carried the same youthful vigor he did all those years ago. He spoke, asking just one question, but the sudden temperature drop was enough to snap Genso awake.

"Why didn't you save me?"

Genso sat up, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily. The caravan had stopped and Genso decided to take a look outside. It was a starry night, but judging from the horizon, it wouldn't be long before the sun's light reached this land. They had stopped in a valley, with the snow-capped mountains surrounding a lake. He realized soon enough that it wasn't just a lake but rather a dam that created a path for a river peppered with white-water rapids to pass through. It took him a while to realize that this was the fort whose General, he was tasked to kill.

He found the driver, sleeping in a tent nearby along with the rest of the men. Those who had commissioned the caravan must have fallen asleep inside. Genso left some coins in a pouch and a note next to his driver, stating that he had chosen to cut through the forest in search of adventure, rather than take the road with everyone else. If he didn't return by sunrise, he was to be left behind and presumed dead.

He walked over to the edge and slid down towards the river. Looking downriver, he saw villages and small towns. But the river was too small for the area, even Genso could see that. It must have been a way to control the people living there, demanding more taxes in return for more water to farm and drink. He stopped close to the entrance that was carved into the side of the mountain. Probably used for supplies and those who visited via land, it was guarded by just two guards.

Something was different about them, however. Genso had infiltrated many castles and forts in his life, but the guards here didn't give off a sense of commitment. Others did it for the money or the sense of responsibility, but not these. One would expect guards to be vigilant at all times, trained to heighten their senses. These looked tired and gave more blind spots than Genso's old teacher, who was blind from birth.

Why?

He knocked them out in a matter of seconds before heading straight inside. He met patrols that were either avoided or left unconscious where they couldn't be found easily. He passed by some quarters and decided to take a look. And that's when he understood why the guards acted the way they did. It is said that one's sense of responsibility and commitment are chained to their soul. One without these two important facets is lost. These men were chained both metaphorically and physically.

They were slaves.

Genso kept heading straight for the captain's quarters, finding the door locked inside. He reached into his pack and pulled out a set of lockpicks. He knelt in front of the lock and got to work. He just hoped he remembered Akagitsune's teachings.

It took a few minutes, but the door finally clicked open. Unfortunately, Izom had woken up from the sound of the lock clicking and would have taken Genso's head off with his flail had the latter not rolled out of the way at the last moment. He stood, and the two opponents regarded each other. The stalemate lasted a few tense seconds, before the General walked back inside, and returned donning his complete armor and weapons. He flicked his head to follow and, without a word, made his way down the hallway.

Genso followed him to an open training ground, where a circle had been dug into the ground around them. Perhaps for training the men, but it was more likely built as a ring for the entertainment of any officers who visited the river fort, or maybe just Izom alone. In any case, Genso knew he had to end the suffering here sooner or later.

"So, the Ghost of Korishma has returned?" Izom asked, more out of curiosity than fear, his voice playful. "I wondered where you had gone to after you and your pathetic group were defeated in the war. And after five years, here you are. I wonder if you came to tie up loose ends before you start another revolution – I heard the Red Fox is still at large and yet at the center of every revolt –, or are you here for revenge?"

Genso didn't answer, he walked to the edge of the circle, took a deep breath, and stepped inside, unsheathing a sword and taking a stance, prepared for slashing or stabbing as the moment required. "I'm not here by my choice, but rather to protect those I hold dear. And if I have to kill you to do it, then so be it."

"All right then," Izom chuckled as he entered the ring, dropping his coat and shirt and grabbing his flail and club from a weapons shelf nearby. "Let's fight."

They charged each other, Genso ducking under the flail and trying to slash the General's bare chest. But his opponent had not spent the time after the war ended to watch his slaves fight to the death in the very ring he now fought in – though there was no shortage of that –, but spent training, trying to constantly improve himself, often using the slaves who were close to death as his targets. Genso knew this, watching how the man moved with speed one would not expect from a man of his physique or age.

Genso's slash missed and he barely dodged the club as it came down, almost snapping his arm in half. He moved back to the edge and the two opponents regarded each other, one too fast to be caught, the other too experienced to give an opening. Genso sighed.

Looks like I have no other choice.

He reached over his shoulder again with his other hand and reached for his other katana. He took a stance, one foot in front of the other, one hand held in front of him, the other over his head.

Hi Kenjutsu, or as it was alternatively known, the Flying Sword Technique, required absolute focus, timing, and practice. Used when dealing with multiple enemies, it required one to spin the blades around, often letting go of the katanas to let them spin in the air, as a method of keeping other enemies at bay while dealing with the one closest to the person. It takes years to practice, and many lost their hands while learning to spin their swords. However, Genso had taken it a step further, often tossing the one sword in the air as a means to distract the opponent while using the enemy's weapon to strike fast, either letting the katana fall edge first into another enemy or catching it before it hit the ground.

He moved, tossing the katana in his right hand into the air. Izom, to his credit, immediately moved to close the gap between them, swinging the flail. Genso dodged the spiked end and caught the chain wrapping it around his forearm in one quick move. He pulled, plunging the blade straight through Izom's heart before he could have a chance at swinging the club. He reached out with his other hand, catching his falling katana at exactly the right moment.

With one swift move, the General lost his head. The next morning, the first slaves woke up to find the keys to their chains waiting for them in their quarters.