….
As they passed a waterfall of greenish blue water, Kenshiro said, "I'm hungry. Got any food on you?"
Kiro replied, "No. Starve to death for all I care."
"Not nice."
"…..Boy."
"What?"
"Where are you from?"
"Kuroyama village. A place where they don't believe in violence."
"…So you know what it's like to be the only strong one in your group?"
"Yes. I do."
"Hm."
[A few weeks ago]
[Temple of Merchants]
商人の部族 (Shōnin no Buzoku) "Tribe Of Merchants"
The Shōnin no Buzoku primarily operate around the region of Iga, a mountainous area known for its rugged terrain and strategic location. This area provides them with ample opportunities to travel discreetly and avoid conflicts. The Shōnin no Buzoku, or Tribe of Merchants, is a nomadic group that roams the feudal lands of Japan, trading goods and services. They are not wealthy or famous, but they are respected for their integrity and the quality of their wares. The tribe is known for traveling on foot, using hidden mountain paths and forest trails to move between villages and towns.
The Shōnin no Buzoku are masters of a unique Battle Art Technique called SoulSong, This technique allows them to sing or chant in a way that can sap the will to fight from their enemies. The effectiveness of SoulSong depends on the strength and resolve of the opponent. Against weaker foes, it can completely pacify them, while stronger adversaries might only feel a momentary hesitation. However, the tribe does not acknowledge Shikorin due to his corruption and attempts to destroy the other heads. They believe that Shikorin's influence brings rot and decay, which is contrary to their values of trade and growth.
The Shōnin no Buzoku are known for their resilience and adaptability, thriving in the ever-changing landscape of feudal Japan. Their deep connection to Ryujin and their mastery of SoulSong make them a unique and formidable presence, even if they prefer to avoid direct conflict.
The temple was packed to its brimming edges, the air thick with the scent of incense and a palpable sense of urgency. Every corner was filled with members of the Tribe of Merchants, Kiro's tribe, all gathered in a state of near-panic. The temple itself was a grand structure of ancient stones, its walls etched with intricate carvings depicting scenes of trade and prosperity intermingled with divine guardianship. Overhead, wooden beams supported the high ceiling from which hung tattered banners of vibrant colors now dulled by time.
At the far end of the temple, commanding every eye, stood a colossal statue of the seven-headed dragon, Ryujin. Each head was magnificently sculpted to represent its domain, vibrant and lifelike, except for the seventh head, Shikorin, which was rendered in darker, almost muted tones, an evident sign of its controversial nature.
Elder Toshiro, a venerable figure with a flowing white beard and eyes gleaming with a mix of wisdom and unspoken sorrows, stood before the congregation. His robes, adorned with the symbols of Ryujin, shimmered subtly in the dim light provided by the oil lamps.
"Brothers and sisters of the SoulSong," Elder Toshiro's voice echoed through the chamber, "our world is cloaked in darkness, a rot that spreads more insidiously each day, seeking to undermine the harmony that Ryujin has bestowed upon us. Each head of our protector offers us gifts: Mizuchi's waters, Kagutsuchi's fires, Dojin's lands, Fujin's breezes, Hikari's light, and even Yami's necessary darkness."
Murmurs filled the temple, some voices tinged with fear, others with defiance. "What of Shikorin?" a merchant called out, his voice laced with accusation. "Why do we not speak of the rot that festers?"
Elder Toshiro raised his hands, pleading for calm. "We do not invoke Shikorin because to do so invites his decay into our hearts. We focus on the soul-light, following the path Ryujin has illuminated. It is only through our faithfulness to the SoulSong that-"
But his words were cut abruptly by a chilling, resonant voice that was not his own. "Hello."
Commander Takeda, once a respected leader, now stood in the center of the temple, his appearance horrifyingly altered. His skin and armor appeared to glow with an eerie, putrid luminescence, signs of rot spreading across his visage.
"A disciple of rot!" one of the merchants yelled in terror, drawing a bow with trembling hands. The arrow whistled sharply through the air, aimed directly at the corrupted commander.
In a horrific instant, a massive arrow formed of rot blasted forth from Commander Takeda, intercepting the merchant's missile. It struck the man squarely in the face with brutal force, his body momentarily suspended in a grotesque dance of death before the rot-arrow carried on, smashing through several other merchants in a burst of blood and screams.
Pandemonium erupted. Merchants scrambled, tripping over one another in their desperate haste to escape, their cries a cacophony of terror and confusion. Elder Toshiro stood frozen, his eyes wide with horror as the scene of devastation unfolded before the statue of Ryujin, casting a dark shadow over his teachings and the hopes he had tried to instill.
The temple, once a sanctuary of faith and unity, had transformed into a tableau of chaos and despair, its sanctity violated by the very corruption they had feared most.
In the aftermath of the initial shock, Commander Takeda stood serenely amidst the chaos, the stench of blood and fear permeating the ancient temple. His voice, now a hollow echo of his former self, resonated through the hall.
"Why not embrace the rot instead of fearing it? I am not merely a disciple; I am an embryo, a gestation of new beginnings through decay. The world's true savior," Takeda declared, his eerie glow casting sinister shadows across the frantic faces of the remaining tribe members.
Elder Toshiro, though aged and considerably shaken, faced the corrupted commander with defiance. "Our salvation lies not in decay but in the balance of the great Ryujin's heads!"
With a swift and violent motion, Takeda formed a massive sword from the rotting essence surrounding him and swung it brutally, severing both of Elder Toshiro's legs. The elder crumpled to the ground with a stifled scream, his blood mixing with the dirt of the temple floor.
Yet, despite the horror unfurling before them, other merchants charged forward, weapons drawn, their cries filled with both vengeance and terror. Takeda met each attack with cruel precision, his rot-blade slicing through flesh and bone, each swing leaving a trail of blood and severed limbs. The temple's sacred ground was desecrated with each fallen body, their lifeblood seeping into the ancient stones.
Amidst the slaughter, several children, tears streaming down their faces, charged at Takeda, small weapons clutched in their tiny fists. "I do not kill children with my own hand," Takeda stated coldly, as he effortlessly flicked them away. Their bodies hit the temple walls with sickening thuds, their wails echoing painfully in the now-hushed space.
Continuing his grim sermon, Takeda spoke of the insignificance of the other dragon heads. "Mizuchi, Kagutsuchi, Dojin, all of them... they fade before the inevitability of decay. Your precious SoulSong holds power, but under my guidance, it could reach unfathomable heights. Reject Ryujin's illusionary balance. Join me."
His offer met with silence, sobs, and defiant glares. Not one elder, merchant, or warrior stepped forth to join him. Their allegiance to the lore of Ryujin was unshaken, even in the face of annihilation.
"Very well," Takeda's voice dropped to a whisper that somehow carried over the quiet moans and labored breaths. "In a few weeks, when your bodies surrender their shadows in death, I will return. I will claim the Battle Art of SoulSong from your remnants. But in order for me to collect Battle Art, you all will have to die—."
It was then that Kiro, previously silent and observant through the unfolding horror, stepped forward. His voice was steady, his eyes resigned yet fierce. "I will accept it for them!"
The other members exclaimed: "You fool!"
"Stick to our ways! Our beliefs! Breaking the code of honor for an embryo of rot!"
"You traitor!"
Takeda's response was a cruel smile that didn't reach his rotted eyes. In a blur of motion, he crossed the space between them, grasping Kiro's face in a grotesque, decaying hand. "You are mine…"
In Takeda's hand, Kiro strolled through a vast field blooming with vibrant flowers, each petal a stark contrast to the grim thoughts clouding his mind. The air was sweet with the scent of liliums and roses, a delicate fragrance that usually soothed his senses but today did little to ease the weight of his decision. As he walked, he muttered to himself, grappling with the gnawing question of whether he had chosen rightly.
"I've always seen farther ahead, haven't I?" Kiro mused, his voice a quiet whisper among the rustling leaves. "Leadership demands not just foresight but the courage to act for the greater good. My tribe... they are steadfast in their beliefs, loyal to the SoulSong, but their purity would have been their end."
The garden, with its weaving paths lined with cherry blossoms and towering sunflowers, seemed to listen, a silent observer to his inner turmoil. As he ventured deeper, the beauty of the garden began to warp subtly. The path curled towards an unnerving sight; the bodies of his fellow tribe members emerged halfway from the ground, their flesh marred by the rot that had claimed them, yet bizarrely crowned with blooming flowers sprouting from their decay.
A pang of sorrow struck Kiro as he recognized faces among the floral graves—warriors, merchants, young ones he'd known all his life. Their eyes closed, faces serene, as if the earth itself had chosen to honor them with its blossoms rather than remember them for the horror that befell their last moments.
"It's the risks we bear for those we love," Kiro spoke to the wind, his voice gaining strength as he made his way among the fallen. "Risks that can alter the course of many lives. If preserving the SoulSong means bearing this burden, then so be it. Their sacrifices, and mine, are etched not just in the rot but in every bloom that springs forth from their ordeal."
Kiro paused at the edge of the garden, taking a long, deep breath. He looked back at the path he'd walked, marked by the sorrowful yet oddly beautiful sights of his comrades enshrined in floral decay. They would not be forgotten; their ends, though tragic, served as a somber reminder of the cost of survival and the painful duty of a leader.
With a final glance at the serene faces of his tribe members, Kiro turned away from the garden, the scene fading as he carried his resolved spirit forward, determined to protect what remained at all costs.
[Present Day]
Kiro explained, "Do you see now, kid?"
Kenshiro stated, "What am I supposed to see? You had no choice.."
"But I'm made to feel like the bad guy. It's bad to care for people?"
"My tribe did not believe in fighting, or violence, as they thought it would bring in violence itself. So when I was 9, I started to train. Because I've been hearing about villages being raided by bandits, I feared for my people too. I trained for 10 years straight, killed over 200 bandits that thought about getting to my village. Even if my tribe was faced with adversity, they would not succumb to violence, they didn't believe in it."
"Hm. So you feel it's your fault?"
"100 percent. I trained, which was pretty violent training as I hunted large animals and beasts."
"How did your tribe eat then?"
"Fruits, vegetables. And if they wanted meat, they would find a merchant or a marketplace. I didn't even eat the meat of the beasts and animals I killed. But..because of what I did, training and hunting beasts and animals to train more, I brought their fate upon myself. Doing the very thing they avoided. And right now.." Kenshiro's fists were shaking, and he continued, "I can feel something trying to jump out again, everytime I think of the fate of my tribe, I will start going crazy or something, like you've seen before. It's more intense now, and I don't know what it is. I'm truly scared."
Kiro thought, 'This kid…too much detail in his story to be just a lie. He's like me. What happens..if in the end, what I was trying to complete becomes wasted? If everyone truly dies? Is there any way else to preserve the secrets and beauty of the SoulSong? This Kenshiro boy is holding in his rage, I can see he's trying to think of something else. And me, I'm using the joy of SoulSong to combat the chaos the rot is trying to engulf me in. But I'm losing the fight.'