Ryuji's feeble body jolted forward as the rough hands of the brutish guard pushed him forward, yanking the chains that were attached to his hands and legs with a sharp pull.
The corridor was narrow and dimly lit, making it very difficult for him to even get a clear glance at his surroundings. He had barely gotten the chance to shake off the grogginess and weakness from his malnourished body before he was shoved forward, his bare feet scraping against the cold stone floor.
"Gently please! Or else I might just fall and die!" Ryuji cursed under his breath, but in the narrow corridor, his voice was loud enough, and his words travelled promptly to the ears of the guard pulling him along.
Regardless, his protests fell on deaf ears, and as if annoyed by his incessant ramblings, the guard who was responsible for him pushed him down the narrow, dimly lit corridor, the rancid smell of decay and damp earth filling his nostrils, making him gag.
Ryuji shuffled his steps carefully and tried not to fall, but it proved to be quite a daunting task, especially considering the fact that his body was extremely malnourished and his legs were chained and were being led by the unfeeling guard. The guard's treatment of him was so harsh that it was a miracle he had not fallen headfirst into the damp earth.
"Fucking hell." Ryuji cursed again, this time internally, because he didn't want his words to incense the hateful guard even more.
It was the first time in three days that he had left his cell, but he presumed that it would have been even longer for the original occupant of this body. It was no surprise that leaving his cell was disorienting.
Unfortunately, he did not have the luxury of being bothered by the disorienting sensation, especially when he was being led to a location he had no idea of.
'Is this it?'
'Is it finally my time to face execution?' Ryuji dejectedly thought to himself. Still, the moment he arrived at that conclusion, a shiver ran down his spine.
He could not tell what world this was, as there were no memories of his body, but he was sure that it was anything but kind. The brutality of the guard assigned to him had made sure he knew that.
Ryuji gulped.
In such a world, he could only wonder what sort of execution awaited him.
'Will I have to commit seppuku?'
'Will they put me in a pot of boiling water and leave me there to die?'
'Will I be beheaded?'
'What if I have to die by four different bulls tearing my limbs apart?'
'What about fire? Will I have to burn to death?'
In the brief span of time they continued to move forward, Ryuji had thought of 1,267 ways he could be executed, and each method sent shivers down his spine.
Just before he could think of the 1,268th way for his execution, the guard made a sharp turn around a corner.
Ryuji noticed the faint sound of voices nearby—low murmurs, hushed yet heavy with tension. Furthermore, they did not sound like they belonged to a few people, but rather to a group of people.
The corridor opened into a large, cavernous hall, which was faintly lit by flickering torches mounted on the walls. Due to them, he was just barely able to make out the vague figures of the source of the low murmurs.
Ryuji took just a single glance at them, but he could already tell what they were.
They were prisoners, just like him.
'What is this now? A prisoner convention?' Ryuji cursed internally as he squinted his eyes at the obscurely lit prison figures.
The prisoners, each bound in chains like him, had pale and gaunt faces that were scarcely lit.
Ryuji could barely make out the figures of the prisoners, but he was able to count their numbers.
Twenty.
There were twenty prisoners in total.
Since he could scarcely make out their figures, he wasn't entirely sure about their genders, but he could tell that there were both men and women present.
Naturally, they all came from different backgrounds.
Some looked hardened, their eyes glinting dangerously with malice, while some appeared broken, their lonely days in the hell that was their prison cell proving efficient in the arts of crushing their spirits.
However, there was one thing that remained constant despite the disparity in their backgrounds.
Death.
They were all nothing but prisoners awaiting their deaths.
"On your knees." One of the guards, who was leading a group of prisoners to the corridor, spoke in an icy tone. In his hands were a pair of wicked-looking whips, and it was crystal clear that he would not hesitate to use them at will.
Ryuji instantly knelt, alongside the other prisoners. It would be utterly futile for them to argue with the guards, as it would only incense the guards and cause more pain to be inflicted on their weak, frail selves.
Still, his mind scrambled for answers. It appeared he wasn't the only one confused, as the other prisoners exchanged cautious glances with one another. They appeared to be oblivious to the purpose of their arrival here today.
The guards, nonetheless, remained stoic and ramrod at their backs, their hands resting dangerously atop the hilts of their katanas. The moment any of the prisoners tried something remotely suspicious, their heads would instantly fly off.
The heavy wooden doors at the far end of the hall suddenly creaked open, jolting the condemned criminals out of their scrambling minds.
Ryuji squinted his eyes, trying to get a proper view of who or what was approaching, but to no avail. The figure was too far away for him to get a proper look.
As the figure approached the prisoners, Ryuji could feel the atmosphere change, thickening with anticipation and unease. The new figure's slow and deliberate footsteps, accompanied by the unmistakable clink of armour, instilled deep fear in both his and the other prisoners' hearts with each step.
The figure finally approached where they kneeled, his entire body shrouded in shadows and blending in with the darkness. The flickering torchlight, however, revealed his baroque armour, which gleamed brightly even under the hazy light.
The armoured figure took a final step forward, his imposing presence looming over the kneeling prisoners.
For a moment, silence hung thick in the air, broken only by the creaking of the man's armour as he came to a stop. His face remained obscured by the shadows of his ornate helmet, and even though his features were hidden, Ryuji could feel the cold intensity of the gaze upon them, threatening to pierce through their very souls.
Ryuji swallowed hard, leaving his throat dry. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs as deep-rooted terror began to take hold of him. The other prisoners faced the same crisis and dared not move, their eyes glued to the ground and their shoulders hunched to shield themselves from the figure before them.
The room felt now felt even colder than before, and it was the kind of cold that seeped into his bones and made him shiver uncontrollably.
He couldn't help it; his body—weakened and malnourished—could not remain still in the presence of the unknown figure.
He could feel it—his hands, still bound tightly in chains, trembled despite his attempts to steel himself.
The guards, as if on cue, straightened and lowered their heads in reverence, their eyes downcast, and their shoulders rigid.
"Prisoners." The figure spoke in a deep and commanding voice, with an almost sinister calmness that sent a wave of dread through Ryuji's body.
There was no warmth in it, no trace of compassion—just a sense of absolute authority that spoke of life and death that would be delivered without a hint of hesitation.
Ryuji's body trembled more visibly now; his breath caught in his throat. Despite every fiber of his being screaming for him to remain still, the fear relentlessly clawed at him, refusing to let go.
He dared not lift his head, and he dared not look at the figure who could now very well be the one to decide his fate. The weight of that realization crushed him, leaving him with a hopeless, suffocating feeling in his chest.
The armoured figure paused, his gaze sweeping over each prisoner, before settling somewhere near Ryuji.
The flickering flames from the torches cast eerie, shifting shadows, and for the first time, Ryuji caught a glimpse of the symbol etched across the chest of the figure's armour—a symbol he recognized from the endless amounts of history lessons he took in school.
It was the insignia of the shogun.
His worst fears had come true.
His body shook now, trembling beyond control, as the realisation dawned upon him with chilling clarity. This was no ordinary officer, or no high-ranking samurai.
No.
This was the shogun himself.
Ryuji's head spun, and the world narrowed to that one singular figure standing before him. He struggled to keep his breathing steady, to hide the terror that coursed through him, but the effort was in vain.
All he could do was kneel, trembling, and wait for whatever fate lay in the hands of the shogun.