A valley once existed, known for its beautiful scenery and peaceful people. Tall and old forests stood strong along the bottom edges of the surrounding vale mountains, with a river sourcing from the North and running through a stretch of hills and plains. Within these fertile lands, life thrived peacefully up until the news of this paradise reached the world around them. Many countries wished to assimilate this incredible and important find into their borders. Disputes came up and the only expected solution came to be war.
On a small hill inside of this valley, there stood the ruins of a mansion. Once it housed a small family, but the war ended their lives quickly. At the time, few could remember the kind family without tears, a bitter reminder of their once peaceful summers. From this location, three children looked down towards the plains below, watching a battle with incredible clarity. They were so focused on the battle they did not notice the fourth figure in the shadows.
“Who’s fighting today?” One of the children asked.
“I think it’s the pale-skins and the burnt-ones.” The second child answered.
They watched as regiments of heavy armored soldiers charged into a group of dark-skinned men, their armor covering only specific portions of their body. Many of the dark skinned men fell, trampled in the sudden charge; but the rest maneuvered around the attacking regiment and closed in, choking the life and momentum out of the heavily armored soldiers.
“I think the burnt-ones are winning today.” The third child spoke shyly.
“Yeah, but they’ve been losing for a while now, so it only means that they’re regaining some lost territory.”
The shadows shifted, and then whispered, “You’re well informed aren’t you?” it said with a heavy eastern accent.
The three boys jumped as they turned to face the speaking shadow, finding a woman in tight black clothing covering most of her body, except for her eyes. They would have paid much more attention to her figure, if she had not spoken again wielding a small onyx dagger in her hand, “I’d like you to run away now,” she said, “and don’t return, or else your luck and my kindness will have run out.”
The three boys said nothing as they ran from their places, moving around the outside of the house and sprinting away from the battlefield. The woman watched them go out of the corner of her eye and then kneeled down near where the boys had been sitting. From her position, she watched the battle continue to unfold. Her eyes shifted from side to side, searching through the ranks of the armies before she gave a small sigh, “They aren’t here today either...” she whispered to herself.
She recalled the information of the two armies in front of her. These armies belonged to do of the three nations fighting over this piece of land. The heavily armored soldiers made up the army of the Kingdom of Noor, better known as the pale-skins by their enemies. They sought the land for the metals that they believed laid embedded deep within the expansive walls of the valley, hoping to make better weapons and armor for their oversized soldiers.
She turned her eyes towards the dark-skinned men, easily recalling them to be the Mercenary Army of Bailadan, the Desert Prince. Their enemies knew them better as the burnt-ones and it was rumored that the Prince hoped to make a large merchant city within the defendable yet easy to travel valley. It would bring a profit to the already wealthy prince.
Without realizing, she had placed a hand to her chest, breathing in relief at the absence of a certain person, before she stood and faced the dark forest down the side opposite of the battlefield. She picked a small hand mirror from her waist, and reflected the light from the sun down towards the woods. Nearly instantly, men and horses began to step out from within the forest and fell into tight block formations. They came wielding spears, swords and long bows, and carried hard cloth and ceramic armor organized in plates over their shoulders and down their waists. Ahead of them rode an imposing man with the same samurai armor in black and copper, and devil horns on the top of his helmet. A black Oni mask, the mask of a demon, covered his face.
She bent to one knee as he trotted his horse towards her and slowed to a stop. “You executed the children?” He said in his native language.
“No Master...I scared them off instead...” She responded in kind.
The man paused for only a moment, “Why is that?”
“I felt that mere children were not worthy of such a death. Forgive your shadow if it offended you.” She said with her head down the entire time, eyes focused on the grass beneath her feet.
“It is forgiven, but it shall not be repeated.” He said sternly before waving his hands towards three soldiers near him. “What is the situation on the battlefield?”
She nodded her head slightly as she spoke, “The pale-skins and the burnt-ones are in heated battle. They have already suffered several casualties; they will be easy to defeat for you, my master.”
“It shall be so then.” He nodded to the three soldiers, who quickly moved back to their respective men, shouting out orders to them. He then turned to the woman, still on her knee, “Return to your post. I, Tensen Miyamoto, have a victory to confirm.”
She nodded her head, watching as he turned his horse around and trotted down towards the other horsemen. Several archers broke ranks from the regiment and passed by her as she finally stood up, crawling just over the peak of the hill, notching arrows in their bows. This was the ‘proud’ army of the Makoten Empire, reduced to resorting to ambush tactics on weakened and bleeding enemies. She recalled the nickname given to them, squints, meant to insult them for the shape of their eyes. She remembered laughing the first time she heard it.
She listened as the near silent sound of snapping bowstrings, as the archers shot their arrows down at two fighting armies. The sound of horses pounding into the once beautiful grass rumbled through the hill. The hero of the Empire led a stampede of horsemen down the slope of the hill. This fearsome Demon’s Blade drew his sword, and rode into the enemies. He cut down and slashed through all in his path, those that stood their ground, those that fled and those that surrendered on their knees and begged for mercy. No shame or hesitation ever affected his sword arm.
With these thoughts in mind, she ran down the slope of the hill, heading towards her next assignment. The battle would eventually end with victory to the army that appeared from nowhere.
-----
Along the valley, different battles took place simultaneously. Armies gained and lost territory, always leaving the ground littered with corpses. From one of these corpse ridden battlefields, marched the victorious Noors. They sluggishly walked to their encampment, dragging their feet along the soft ground. They each wore plates of silver armor, dulled and dented by the weapons, and the blood, of the enemy. Ahead of them led their General, the hero of the Kingdom of Noor.
General Grath Brithmere, better known as the Armored Mountain by his enemies, walked taller and larger than any other Noor with little difficulty. His armor covered him from head to toe, leaving very small openings along the joints. Light scratches, dents and dirt had marred the shining beauty that normally graced his armor, but as he left behind footprints almost two-inches deep in soft and dry ground, no one questioned the strength of the armor. Nor did they question the strength of the one who wore it.
The soldiers walked leaning on their spears or against each other, some with sounds but most lethargic and aching from wearing the heavy armor for most of the day. But Grath continued without any aid from his comrades. As they neared their destination, the sound of blacksmiths banging hammers against heated metal echoed towards their ears. An encampment lied before them, consisting of several tents, some connected to each other with tented tunnels and hallways. Smoke stacks could be seen from the blacksmith room pitched on the far side of the encampment.
As the troops reached the perimeter of the tents, many of the soldiers fell to the ground, grasping for the latches to take off their armor with the help of any page or squire that was available. Grath walked on, moving towards a solitary tent near the river and stepped inside. He sat down on a stone stool and waited as several squires and pages came to unfasten and pull off his armor. After several minutes, they left Grath in his chainmail underclothing and carried the armor to be washed, smoothed out and polished. It took three pages alone to carry his spear to the blacksmith, in order to re-sharpen the blade.
Grath sat still for a moment, running a hand through his beard, grey and damp with sweat. His hand moved up to his face, feeling the wrinkles that mapped from his eyes all around to his brow and his lips. He stood and walked through a doorway into the war room, where a large map of the valley lay on a wooden table with several small and simple figurines lay on top of it. Several old men stood around it in various states of clothing. Some stood in their armor, either leaning over and inspecting the map before them or drinking a glass of red wine as they rested. Others leaned against or sat near the table dressed similarly to Grath, with sweaty faces and droopy eyes.
“Well met, how went the battle with the squints general Brithmere?” asked one general covered in shiny armor.
“We were victorious,” Grath responded in a deep voice, “even though they ambushed us at every corner.”
“Such is the way that they do battle general.” said another, older, officer in chainmail underclothing. “You did well despite the losses.”
“Inevitable,” Grath said strongly, “such is war.”
“General Brithmere,” A younger officer began, “how many men did we lose in the battle?”
Grath turned towards the younger general, remembering his name to be Calib and eyeing him before turning his head back to the map, “the battle was won, and the losses were acceptable.”
General Calib placed a hand on his smooth chin before shaking his head, “general we can’t win the war on the backs of dead men. Surely we can think up a better strategy against the enemy armies.” He eyed each of the generals before turning back to Grath, “general Brithmere, you’ve had many battles against the squints before, what would you suggest? What can our men do in order to fight them off better?”
“Our strategies have yet to fail us in our wars,” countered a general from the table. “It is enough that we win each battle after another.”
“But there must be a better way!” the younger general said in a raised voice.
General Grath cut him off with a pound on the table, “If you wish to fight the enemy better, force your men to charge faster. Once they strike your men, the enemy will be unable to use their own weapons for a time. That is when you finish them quickly.”
Cabil froze for a moment, before another general interjected, “Don’t worry general Brithmere, we have no reason to change our strategy. As long as you lead the men into battle, they will fight and die for you and we will come out of this victoriously. You may rest for today.”
Grath nodded his head slowly and moved away from the table as the war meeting continued. He walked down one of the many interweaving hallways between larger tents, stepping towards a room connected to smaller ones built to house each general comfortably. Grath entered his with a tired face; his mind moved along his memories, searching through each of the battles he had taken part in. He wondered if the young soldier truly understood war.
Grath shook his head as he realized how far back he went. He remembered the battle where he became a respected hero, after the many battles where his nation merely considered him a berserker. His battles ended in death on both sides; many of Grath’s own men would reach their end simply be standing too close to the hero as he spun his large spear around himself. None disagreed in the fact that Brithmere achieved impressive feats, but none could ignore the death trail of fathers and sons that followed Brithmere wherever he went in war. He went through platoons and soldiers like food and water, leaving nothing behind but scraps and bone. His infamous reputation did not change until the day he accidentally ended a war.
As the war against a neighboring empire began to intensify, Grath received orders to do frequent patrols around the camp. After a few days, Grath decided to widen the patrols himself. He took his men along a much longer route, walking around the camp in what would have taken an entire day to fulfill. Instead of finishing the route however, Grath came across an unexpected surprise, the enemy encampment. Purely by accident and incredibly outnumbered, Grath charged forward into the enemy stronghold with his men.
After that, he could only remember the looks on the enemies faces as he skewered them, slashed at them, and pummeled them to death. He remembered nothing of the time, and only awoke from his trance when a horn echoed through the sky, signaling the reinforcements had come to support him. They were unneeded. Grath had succeeded in destroying the entire encampment, and sending many of the soldiers into a sudden retreat. Grath’s entire platoon had died early on in the battle; he simply had not realized it.
Grath shook his head as he returned to reality. He saw no need to relive the past. The world knew Grath Brithmere as a general and a heroic one. He also knew that many years after he would have passed away the kingdoms of the world would speak of his name in awe and fear. Grath had done the greatest feats he had set out to do. He was a member of the aristocracy and was married. He had an heir to his fortune, which was vast. None saw any doubt that Grath had fought for everything that he had received as a reward and this was only after payment of the blood of his enemies. His only goal now, was to survive for as long as possible.
With that, he eyed the soft cot in the corner of his private room. He sat on it, and fell onto his back. His body ached as his eyes began to droop immediately. Almost at once, he began to dream, and he focused on the heroic deeds he would commit during the next battle.
-----
No moon shined that night at the Bailadan camp but the mercenaries and the soldiers cared very little about that, deciding to light up the night with their bonfires. They feasted on meat cooked by the flames, each with large smiles on their faces. They spoke to each other and laughed in a way that would make anyone wonder if they had truly just returned from a battle.
Among these happy warriors sat one whose smile grew into a grin. His teeth turned red from the meat; he had not allowed it to cook enough. Still, he continued to tear his teeth into the morsel, holding it out against the flame as he chewed and swallowed. The battle with a victory for the young warrior grinning with red teeth; Budi, the hero of the Mercenary Army. Budi had a grand ability with a blade and still he had the skill to run into battle with one in each hand. His grin, causing the laughter and glee of his fellow soldiers, turned into the sole reason that many of the enemies feared the Bailadan Army. The enemies knew they could not compete with the Bloody Grin easily.
No sign of the fearsome hero showed however, as Budi continued to cook and bite into his piece of meat. He laughed and listened as other warriors told their battles in detail, and then recounted the sight of their hero striking down an enemy commander behind enemy lines. “Budi! You must be insane for taking such a risk, do you not fear death?” One of them asked from across the bonfire.
Budi did not know who had asked, but knew how to respond, “Why fear death when I know I’ll be returning to such a feast after a victory?” He half-shouted smiling, wiping his chin as he moved closer to the fire, showing his features more. Each soldier had a different age. All countries remembered the Princedom of Bailadan for their powerful Mercenary army. A mercenary had the most dangerous work but at the same time it paid almost the best. Only a merchant could earn more in their lifetime. Old veteran mercenaries and young rookie mercenaries always existed. But if a veteran fell, a rookie would soon enough take his place on the battlefield. Yet with Budi, his veteran status did not show in his age. By far, he fought as the youngest warrior in the army. Barely an adult by most standards, many people already considered him a hero. Prince Bailadan rewarded Budi with a rate that most mercenaries would not live long enough to see, yet none could believe the money was not well spent.
Budi grinned under his dark spiked hair, sniffing his nose gently as he took another bite of his meat. He had skin as dark as the rest of them but, unlike them, his face had no scars. Anyone could see his small nose and wide grin through the bonfire. But although he looked childish, his eyes held the same wisdom and experience that most soldiers who had seen a great deal of bloodshed owned. A few had heard rumors of his story, but no one could say they knew the honest truth. They only needed to know that the Bloody Grin appeared on the battlefield after he had made several kills. They knew also that he would walk away from battle covered in blood that was never his own.
The food, drink and conversations lasted the hour before most of the mercenaries began to separate from the fires and head towards their tents. Their other benefits, a woman for each warrior, lay on their beds and waited for the return of their masters. They left Budi in front of the bonfire, along with a pile of meat meant to congratulate his success; a pile of meat he knew very well he could not finish alone. He knew the friend he had to go to.
With several slabs of cooked meat on his arms, he stepped through the camp looking through the other bonfires. He came across the one where his friend sat, an old friend. Around this bonfire sat several men of the same skin tone, but wearing different armor than those of the mercenary. Their armor shined dark red, covering their forearms as well as their stomach and their shins. The rest were covered in cloth, meant to keep their bodies light and fast. Next to each of them laid a spear, most of which had seen a great deal of action. They were not mercenaries, but the few soldiers that existed within the Bailadan Army, soldiers with a wage and an occupation during peacetime as well as wartime. The position belonged only to those who passed the requirement of blood and family, acknowledged in the past by the first Prince of the desert. After which, the Prince and the nobility never offered the position to even the most well-known mercenaries.
“Jobi!” Budi shouted and watched as his soldier friend turned around with an arched eyebrow. Although just as young as Budi, most people considered Jobi as one of the more responsible warrior. At least, most believed it from the standing of his family among the common people. Jobi looked down at Budi’s arms, before he reached out and grabbed hold of two slabs of meat for himself. He then let his smile widen as he scooted to the side, giving Budi room to sit.
“It is good to be your friend,” Jobi said as he began to chew his piece of meat. Many of the soldiers reached over to take their fill of beef offered by the mercenary hero, the bowl of gruel at their feet completely forgotten.
“It’s a shame they don’t let you out of your armor, you look like you’ve been in there a while,” Budi said as he saved a piece of meat for himself, he knew he would go hungry later on anyways.
“Not all of us can be as laid back as you mercenaries. We are supposed to be ready to fight at all times. Who do you think protects you during the night?”
“Not only during the night, or so I hear.” Budi said with a glance towards his friend. The stern expression on Jobi’s face and the way he avoided Budi’s eyes told him all he needed to know, “So it’s true then, they’re now ordering you into the battlefield.”
“Yes, it is so,” Jobi said with a piece of meat between his teeth. He swallowed and shook his head, “Either the battle tomorrow will be fiercer than any we’ve ever come across,” he smirked as he looked back at Budi, “or you mercenaries are simply dying too quickly.”
“Well,” Budi said unshaken as he showed his hand and pointed towards himself, “you and I both know that I haven’t been touched in any of these battles.”
“Ah the luck of the Bloody Grin continues to surprise us all.”
“Luck has very little to do with it.”
“I doubt that old friend,” Jobi said smiling, “look at yourself. You are no older than the rookie mercenaries who could survive their first time on the battlefield, and they die the quickest .”
“I suppose it was luck then, that had me survive my very first encounter with bandits?” Budi said with an arched eyebrow. He noticed that his friend did not respond, instead continuing to eat through his food, “And I suppose it was luck that had me at the frontlines of the first battle that saw me as the Bloody Grin.”
“Why the hell do you grin on the battlefield anyways? You’re not crazy enough to enjoy the bloodshed, are you?” Jobi asked, but his eyes already knew the answer. He and his friend had grown up together; they knew each other like true brothers.
“You know I’m no war monger, just a hero of the battlefield.”
“Most people do not see a difference.”
“Most people aren’t warriors either.” Budi spat back and stared at the bonfire in front of them. He began to realize that most of the soldiers had already gone for the night. He sighed as he continued, “most people don’t watch their fathers die at a young age.”
Jobi looked over at his friend and nodded his head in agreement, but remained silent.
Budi sighed as he continued, “It wasn’t luck that brought my father to death and swords in my hands. It was fate, and my skill that kept me alive when I was surrounded by cutthroats, pale-skins, squints, and any other enemy that we’ve faced in the last five years.”
“Enough Budi, I meant no offense.” Jobi said sternly as he finished his meat. He watched as Budi took out the meat he had hidden from the other soldiers and began to eat it as well. “Still you are hungry?”
Budi looked down at the meat slightly surprised before looking at his friend grinning, “Food is meant to be eaten, otherwise it’s wasted. You’re words if I remember correctly.”
“Why not give it to your harem? Heaven knows that they may need it.” Jobi said smirking as he grabbed his spear and stabbed the wood in the bonfire gently.
“I gave them some food a while ago, I’m sure they will be ready.” Budi said with an equal smirk. The two laughed alongside each other, as good friends did.
“You mercenaries are all so spoiled. Most of them have a woman, but you Budi are given three!” Jobi said with a shake of his head, “How could you manage to receive that anyways? There are rumors that you even have a squint among them?”
“Jobi, my old friend,” Budi began with a grin, “what better way to keep a war hero happy than to give him women to entice him to fight harder and return home alive and well?”
“I doubt you could possibly be that famous...”
“Really? Then why was it that so many pale-skins turned tail and ran as soon as they realized who I was?” Budi responded, brimming with confidence.
“Budi, I’m afraid I must be honest with you.” Jobi began seriously, causing Budi to raise an eyebrow. Jobi turned to him with a smile, “You’re just so ugly that most people would run in fear of catching some rare disease off of you.”
Budi shoved Jobi to the side and laughed as he stood up. “You’re just jealous that the battle is half-won for me just when I show my face.”
“Well then, in that case, I will just have to make sure that I stand behind you when the battle begins.” Jobi said grinning and standing up alongside Budi, “That way, I won’t have to fight all that much.”
“Fine then, I’ll make sure to suggest you into my troop tomorrow.” With a grab of each other’s arms, the two smiled and honored each other with great luck in battle the next morning. Jobi returned to his duties, and Budi walked towards his tent. He stood in front of the entrance eyeing his two scimitars and his armor hanging from a hook at the entrance. They shined and held no cuts or dents on them, the blacksmith had worked on it as soon as Budi had walked away from the battle. Budi smiled as he entered his tent, the scent of incense entering his nostrils almost immediately. His tent was covered in bright colored sashes, and the ground was completely covered in carpets and pillows. The sight did not really suit his tastes however his mind was preoccupied by other things.
-----
“Commander Miyamoto?” a guard called out from outside a small tent in the shadows. The tent flap moved to the side as the man in question walked out. He walked out and looked up into the night sky, dark without the moon.
“Are you here to waste my time?” The commander said staring at the young guard coldly, who gulped in response. The guard remembered the stories of the last person who wasted a moment of the Commander, he shuddered at the stories.
“No commander!” The guard whispered fiercely knowing that their cover of darkness was meant to be secrecy. “The Lieutenant asked me to inform you that the rest of the squad leaders are present. They wish for you to explain the plan for the battle tomorrow.”
“Good, in that case, you’ll be keeping your fingers today subordinate. Be grateful.” Miyamoto waited for no response as he quickly stepped past the guard and marched deeper into the encampment. He walked past several trees and watched as many soldiers that were standing at ease quickly bowed at Miyamoto’s presence. He did not slow down or give any response to the bows. He continued on his way, not once changing his direction, expecting the soldiers and even the trees to move to the side as he walked in the most direct path to his destination. He reached it in less than a minute, entering a tented room with a large map on the floor. Many of the officers were kneeling in front of the battlefield map, while others were standing above it with furrows on their brows. As soon as Miyamoto walked in however, the attention quickly shifted to him.
“The Hero of the Makoten Empire appears,” said an aging general amongst the many officers. His face was covered in wrinkles and his hair was white with age, but his eyes were young and fierce. No man dared challenge him, for there was no chance at besting his ferocity in battle nor would there be honor in such a fool’s death.
Miyamoto gave no response as he moved to the other side of the map and kneeled onto a cushion on the ground. He and the aging general stared at each other for a bit, while the rest of the officers knelt down around the map slowly and as quietly as they could manage.
“Well Commander, I believe you have a plan that you wish for us to implement in our battle tomorrow, is that not correct?”
“My plan will be everything that our battle hinders on general; it is our best way for victory.” Miyamoto said with a straight back and a stern face. The General did not respond facially but gave a small nod, waiting for Miyamoto to continue. Miyamoto looked down at the battlefield map and pointed towards a spot where the river was narrow, “That is where the next battle will occur in the early morning, our spies have confirmed this. The burnt-ones and the pale-skins will be battling each other with all their might, it will be the perfect time to cripple both of their forces.”
“It will be no simple battle if they mean to bring as much force as you suggest. How are we to place our men against such a large amount of enemies?” An officer asked, searching the map for cover and concealment where an ambush on the battlefield would work best.
“We must split our forces into small groups, and then begin to surround the enemy from this base before we attack.”
“That will take many hours, we won’t know when each of us will be ready, or if we can move around without being caught and attacked.” The General stated, a finger on the map, “if it succeeds we will more than likely be facing only the surviving enemy, but only if we succeed in stealth.”
Miyamoto shook his head, “I intend to attack before we have completely surrounded the enemy. It will draw their attention away from the rest of the forces, while you surround the battlefield.”
“And should this distraction fail?”
“There is no need to plan for such a thing. I will be leading the distracting forces myself.” He stated as he stood up from the ground, “My presence is all we will need to assure victory, the rest of the plan is merely in case it takes longer to wipe them out.”
“How can you call the combined forces of the rest of the army a contingency plan?” The old General finally spoke up once more.
“Obviously I cannot enter the battlefield with only my platoon. I will need a great deal of men from each of the platoons to make the battle easier.”
The General did not speak immediately, instead eyeing Miyamoto with a suspicious look. “I cannot accept this request,” He finally said and moved to stand up.
“Thank you General,” Miyamoto said with a bow and a smile, “I knew you believed in me. I only wish that you could have seen my victory in this war.” The General looked towards him in confusion before his eyes blanked. He looked down at the Eastern Katana blade that stuck through his chest. Blood dripped off the blade slowly and fell onto the map, before the sword was pulled back suddenly. The General fell, bleeding and dying but silent. His killer was merely another officer, returning to his place on the ground next to the other officers.
Everyone remained silent; most had looked away from the sight that they knew would eventually come to pass. But some could not help but stare and now placed a finger between their collar and their neck to allow a little air. Miyamoto was already gone from the tent, and the Officers began to leave as well, moving to their soldiers to tell most of them where they would be going and who they would be fighting for.
Miyamoto could not force down the smug smile that had come at the General’s death. He knew that with the general gone the rank would soon pass on to him; a victory was all that was needed. As he sat down on his cot, his mind began to consider many different ways that the battle would go. His considerations had always gotten him this far on his own, but now he had several men at his disposal and an information network that had a finger in every country. Now that the rank was within his grasp, he needed to worry about the next stage of advancement. It would be more difficult to reach Emperor, but with time, he could secure his future.
Miyamoto did not mean to become a warrior. He meant to stay as an officer that never made it into the front lines. But his commanding officer sent him in on his first battle, although Miyamoto never understood why. He took his men against a larger number of enemies and found himself losing the battle almost immediately. He retreated, angry and the only survivor of his platoon. His commanding officer spoke with him, asking him where the enemy was heading. Miyamoto gave him a direction, and the commanding officer followed it, allowing Miyamoto to rest in the shadows.
The battle ended in victory, but Miyamoto’s commander never returned from it. The commander was sent through a forest and ran into the enemy accidentally. The platoon survived, but it is said that the commander died first and the platoon scattered to regroup and reform their chain of command. The victory only came when the enemy found themselves outnumbered and outmatched. Miyamoto found his victory when he was promoted because of the death of his commanding officer. It was something that he learned from and used to his advantage when it came to war. He used his mind and manipulated things so that they would turn out how he wanted them to turn out. He created the name “Demon’s Blade” knowing that many of the pale-skins would become superstitious and afraid.
The flap to Miyamoto’s tent opened suddenly and Miyamoto was forced to return to the present. A young soldier entered and knelt in front of Miyamoto. He was not an officer, but he had been present moments before in the war room.
“You are quick to clean yourself I see.” Miyamoto stated noticing the lack of blood on the soldier’s uniform. The soldier gave a simple nod and Miyamoto continued, “And you hide your gender well, I had forgotten that you were a woman when I ordered you to commence this job tonight.” Miyamoto stated after noticing two mounds under the uniform on the soldier’s chest. The soldier reached up and pulled off the bun their hair had been in and released it, allowing the long flowing hair to fall and reveal the soldiers more womanly appearance. She gave no other response.
Miyamoto spoke once more as he went to fetch a bit of alcohol for himself, “I feel it is necessary to congratulate you tonight Kiben, I was unsure of your abilities until now. As I have promised, I will reward you through your clan with a handsome payment.” He took a drink silencing him for a moment as she looked towards him, waiting for him to continue with a different set of words. A different reward.
“I have also considered your more personal request.” He stated quickly and without looking towards her, “You wish to become my shadow. My eyes and sword on the battlefield, is that not so?”
“It is so,” as she spoke for the first time she quickly bowed her head, “I wish to be in the service of an esteemed leader. I feel that will be the greatest reward for my clan and my honor.”
“I believe your skills are great now, but you are aware that I already have a warrior in my service. I must remain secretive, and I may be successful in this with only one. Otherwise, my enemies will realize my past victories were...pulled by several unseen strings.”
“Give me the chance to prove myself!” She stated before gasping and bowing once more, “Forgive me, I spoke out of turn.”
“It is forgiven. I did wish to know of your resolve, and now I believe you are willing. I will not tell you where my warrior is or what she is doing, but I am sure you already know where to find her. If you wish to stand by me, you will take her place. And for you to take her place, she must become useless to me. Take her life, silence her, and your place at my side is certain.” Miyamoto said and then turned to her, kneeling down to her level and raising her head. “Do not fail me Kiben.”
“I would never dream of it.”
“Oh, and before you go, pick a group of men to perform the task that you and I spoke of yesterday. I want this plan implemented before I enter the battlefield.”
“Yes my master.”
-----
Early in the morning of that day, before the sun had even lifted itself out of the horizon, Budi had woken up thanks to the woman that was lying on his chest, wide-awake and striking up a conversation with him. Two other women slept at his side, but he did not mind. The Makoten now speaking with him always made conversations interesting.
“Are you sure you don’t need more rest?” the squint said with a hand over his cheek. Her smile showed she knew the answer to the question but allowed Budi to respond.
“I’m fine. I’m only going to war, isn’t that right?” He said in a whisper.
“Then, I have a question. When was the first time that you were made known as the Bloody Grin?” She asked with no amount of caution. Instead she had an even wider smile across her face, like a little girl wanting to hear a story.
Normally, Budi would rather avoid the question or think of something else to focus on within his mind. But for this woman, he began to think back to those awful years without realizing it, “It was after my father died, so I know I was already well trained with a blade. I was with the mercenaries then, and I couldn’t have been more than...15 years old. We fought an enemy, I don’t know who, but I do remember that we were clearly outnumbered. By the time the enemy reached my group, we had been forced to scatter thanks to their arrows and their cavalry. I thought the battle had been lost and that I would be able to retreat to the encampment, but I got lost.”
Budi closed his eyes as he tried to remember the next details, and forget the beautiful woman’s body that was caressing his face at the moment. “I...jumped into a ditch, in order to try and wait the battle out. But it wasn’t long before the enemy found me. I suppose it wasn’t a very small ditch in the end. I don’t...remember what happened after that though. The fight went by too fast, but I do know that I was sure I was going to die. Yet the army tells me that they found me on the ground, covered in blood but not my own. They woke me up, told me I was still alive, and I couldn’t help but grin. Even my teeth were red there had been so much blood, but they coined the nickname out of it.”
“You mean...” the squint woman began with a smirk on her face, “it wasn’t the enemy who named you this?”
“They caught on eventually, but at first it was just a name to remember me by through my friends and comrades. The enemy was not the ones who first thought of that name.”
She gave a silent giggle as she looked up at him, “You’ve come a long way since then.”
He nodded his head silently, “After five years of constant war and struggle and not a single scar to show for it, I certainly hope so.”
“Why do you still grin though?”
“Reflex.” He said simply and then shrugged his shoulders, “Or maybe it’s my only way of dealing with the stress of battle. All I know is that I’m still alive, which means it must be working.”
“I’m glad it is.”
“Glad that I can take part in battle with it, or glad that I’m still alive because of it?”
“Both.” She said grinning and pressed her face against the crook of his neck. “I probably wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”
He placed a hand on her back, rubbing it and grasping her attention before asking, “Now, what about you? I’ve never asked your story, but how is it that a simple mercenary like me gets a hold of someone like you?” He winked as he waited for an answer.
“I’m a slave, remember?” She said with a roll of her eyes, “I was bought by a Maharaja that passed by in the Makoten Empire, and am currently here for your pleasure and presence, hero.”
“It can’t have been that simple.” Budi said with a raised eyebrow, “There would be more than one single squint slave if that was the case.”
“Well squint slaves are more expensive than burnt-ones.” She said gesturing to the other two women that were sleeping, “Besides, squints are much more experienced.”
“That...I can believe. But if you were so expensive, why would the Maharaja even let you out of his sight.” He responded thoughtfully.
“I...may have enticed the Maharaja slightly when he bought me and when Baladia asked for women.” She felt her face go warm and began to avert her eyes from his. “I wanted to see the hero that put fear into many soldiers in the Makoten Empire.”
“You flatter me.”
“No, you truly do put fear into the hearts of many men.” She said smiling and looked back at him expecting a smile, but instead receiving a light frown. He stared at her as he shook his head.
“No, I mean you really flatter me. You became a slave to a Maharaja and then more than that, just to meet me?”
“No,” she said simply and watched Budi’s face become a mix of different emotions as he tried to stay indifferent. She smiled as she pressed her lips against his cheek, “I did all of that, so that I could see you. I never expected to meet you.”
Budi remained silent looking towards the girl holding him but finding his voice had left him for a moment. “How...” he began remembering the gift of speech, “How could you want to find someone who was an enemy to your people? Someone you’d never even met before?”
She gave no answer, instead placing her warm face into the crook of his neck again, hoping that he would forget he had asked that question and ask another. But he did not, just as she knew that he would not. “I saw you...once before. A very long time ago...”
“When?”
“I...” She wanted to continue, but a horn sounded outside of the tent and Budi closed his eyes and let out a sharp sigh through his nose.
“Sorry...” Budi said as he stood up from the covers and began to put his clothes back on. He reached outside for his armor and pulled it into the tent. With her help, Budi latched on his armor and looked over himself in a large full-length mirror.
“You look dashing...” She said over his shoulder, her squint eyes smiling as she stared. His armor was focused on his arms where he had large plates of sand colored armor scaled over each other along the entire arm from his hand to his shoulder. The end of his shoulder’s armor stuck out straight into the air, giving him some protection to his head. He had a piece of armor around his mid-section as well, covering his stomach and the bottom half of his chest.
Budi moved his shoulders around a bit and flexed his hands and arms, before smiling and nodding his head, “Great, everything’s working just fine.” He turned around smiling, looking down to see his squint slave standing with a smile, still naked, carrying two scimitars in their sheaths. Budi took them and holstered them to his hips, before looking back at her and smiling, “I’ll expect that I’ll be on my back for quite some time after this battle Yukki. Sure you can handle that?”
Yukki shook her head as she wrapped her arms around him from behind, “Just come back alive and we’ll see.”
-----
The cold morning air was refreshing for those wearing heavy armor. Grath knew his men felt fear at the coming battle, but the air cooled their sweat-ridden bodies and kept their nerves under control. They marched, deep into the disputed territory. The Noors looked to match weapons with the Bailadans, and strike a crippling blow strong enough to turn the final tide of the war. Grath noticed that Cabil was marching with a troop of his own to his left.
He remembered an older general telling him earlier in the morning that Cabil wanted to study his techniques. Grath found himself growling at the sight of the young upstart, before he turned away and noticing that they had reached the shallow part of the river. He raised a hand and watched as the flag bearer next to him pulled a horn carved out of a tusk and blew into it with a great burst of air. The rumbling tone echoed amongst the troops and they all came to a sudden stop in their march, retaining their rank and file.
Brithmere remained watchful though the fog blocked most of his sight. In fact he only noticed the river once they came close, and stopped only a few feet from the bank. The sound of the running water drowned out most noises, except for the light clanking of heavy armor and shields. Tapping his foot against the ground, Grath began to wonder if the enemy waited for the fog to life with them, or if they were simply unprepared at the moment. He pushed forward the soldier next to him with ease, and then pointed across the river. With a quick nod of his head, the shorter soldier jogged forward with his spear in front of him and entered the water. He waded through, quickly disappearing into the white mist though his armor could be heard as the soldier climbed up on the other bank. The armors steps faded slowly, until the closest soldier could hear nothing over the running water, until a shout echoed through the air and was then cut off.
“Weapons ready!” Brithmere bellowed, tightening his grip on his heavy spear. All the Noors watched ahead of them, waiting to see who would come from the mist. Grath strained his ears, listening for any sign of life on the other side of the river, but could hear next to nothing within his helmet. The fog began to lift, and Grath pivoted his spear and pointed it ahead of him as he spread his stance a bit and bent his knees.. He gave a glance at the flag bearer, who nodded and prepared his horn. The air grew thick and wet as each soldier’s tense hand fiddled with their weapons, the noise overpowering the sound of the river itself. Everyone, save Brithmere, held their breath as the fog began to lift, the sight of burnt-ones came into view, and Brithmere threw his hand up and waited.
The flag bearer’s horn blew a deep and rumbling tone that each Noor followed with their fiercest cry. Both sides moved forward, slowly at first before breaking out into a jog and then running towards the running water. Each soldier carried their spear or sword aimed directly ahead of them, hoping to impale the first enemy they ran into. Grath lagged behind most of the soldiers, watching as many of his men entered the river and many of the Bailadans followed suit. Then in the wind, he turned his head as the faint sound of a second horn blew in the distance, echoing through the entirety of the valley itself, and followed by a tremor in the ground.
-----
The Noors waded through the water, not realizing the horn that echoed above their heads. They focused on the Bailadans that charged towards them, pushing through running water with swords up in the air. With a quick spin of his spear, one of the Noor knights pummeled a Bailadan mercenary into the water, knocking him out and letting him drown underwater. He spun around, thrusting his spear at another approaching enemy only to have his spear deflected and then watch the Bailadan strike at his head. The Noor fell over, decapitated, and the victorious mercenary pushed forward through the water to reach another armored enemy. All along the front, the battle was similar, with soldiers felling one after another. The splashing cold water began to turn warm and red as many more bodies began to flow with the current.
But eventually, even the shaking became evident to them and they turned their attention upstream, ignoring the enemy before them at least for the moment. Grath and Budi turned North, towards the the source of the river, and wondered what could cause such a quake. The sight of thunderous rushing waters gave them an answer, and chilled fear ran through the armies. Jumping over the horizon and barreling along the river’s path, the wall of water jumped off of the bank and spread along the battlefield. Grath and Budi barely had time to react or order their soldiers before the fresh water pummeled into them and sent them off of their feet.
The bodies swam in the water without control, some dragged along the ground as the water continued to push through for half a minute; seconds that broke ranks and sent the armies in a blind panic. The raging water swept away everyone that stood within the river itself, whether they were alive or dead.
Budi felt himself tumble against the ground while underwater. He shut his lips tight and held his breath before he dragged his fingers against to ground to steady himself. The current pushed and pulled against his body, dragging him where it pleased before it was finished with him. When the water finally drained away, continuing along the rest of the valley, Budi coughed out a bit of water as he forced himself to stand up against the now muddy ground. His body felt a little sore but nothing had broken. Though soaked and a bit cold, he stood up and opened his eyes. They went wide in an instant as he took a sharp breath and held it.
All around him, Noor soldiers moved and staggered to their feet. Others stayed on the ground, searching through the mud for their weapons.. Budi made a quick check of his own weapons, finding both weapons sheathed and locked as they had been before the waters hit him. He relaxed his worries, though none could notice it by the stance he took, before he heard the sound of a sudden battle cry. Without a second thought, he ducked his head and rolled to his right. He stood up using the momentum of his dodge and faced his opponent. There stood a Noor with a halberd stuck deep in the mud where Budi had been standing a second before. With his lips beginning to twitch already, Budi moved his thumbs over the locks of his sheaths and pulled both of his scimitars.
He watched as the armored soldier finally wrenched his halberd out of the ground, with mud splashing into the air, and then spun around, swinging the halberd at Budi’s head. The wild strike barely missed as the Bailadan ducked his head and the Noor then charged at him, crying out once more. Budi gripped his swords tightly before taking fast steps forward. He leaned towards his right side as he ran, using the sword in his left hand deflect the halberd’s path away from his body, and giving a solid cut through the midsection of the Noor soldier. Experience found less armor there, and so the scimitar cut through and the soldier fell to the ground.
He did not find the time to celebrate as many other Noor knights stood up and gave a battle cry like the first one had. Budi forced his fear down and grit his teeth further, his smile more prevalent as he swerved under a sword. He spun forward, raising both of his scimitars over his head before he swung them down and cleaved off the arms of the attacking Noor. Budi ignored the soldier’s surprise and pain as he twisted around to another that charged with his sword above his head, hoping to split Budi’s skull in two. With a quick flick of his wrist and an aggressive step in the right direction, Budi cut through the soldier’s neck and ignored the body fall past him like a rock.
Blood flew through the air and he knew this. But he had no care for where it landed. His enemies and his cutting blades were his focus. He kneeled under a spear and stabbed his scimitar into the leg of the attacking soldier. The pale-skin cried out in pain before Budi ran his blade across his throat as he stood up. In the same motion, he leaned to his left and pushed a spear away from his right side with his scimitar, and stabbed under the Noor’s armpit with the other blade, cutting into the ribcage. The sword shined red, and with the last few strikes, he began to realize his face felt wet and an odd metallic taste had fallen into his mouth. His grin only seemed to widen as he slid the scimitar out from the bleeding corpse and watched as the charge slowed to a stop and the war cries remained silent.
He could not see the faces on many of the soldiers through the visors of their helms, but he noticed their eyes. He saw them widen and noticed several spears and swords begin to shake. “It’s...” A soldier tried to speak, taking a step back. Budi continued his grin as he spread his stance, standing straight and looking towards each of his enemies. He spread his arms a bit but his scimitars remained in his hands and at his side. The blades pointed outwards and red dripped onto the muddy ground from the tips. “It’s!” The soldier tried once more, finding it hard to breathe and speak. Budi stepped forward, watching the stuttering pale-skin try to move away but tripped and fell on his back. The hit caused his breath and voice to return, “It’s the Bloody Grin!” He shouted as he dropped his sword and turned around, trying to crawl away. With a yell, two scimitars stabbed through the fleeing soldier’s back and he coughed as blood ran out between his lips. He slumped into the mud, silent and growing colder as the two scimitars slid out of his body. The man with red teeth watched as the tension broke like a mirror and the rest of the Noors started to flee. They tripped over each other as they pushed and shoved. And as they ran, he chased and struck hard at the backs of the cowards that feared him. The Bloody Grin did not stand amongst the bodies of the enemy, he killed and searched for more, blood covering and spreading through his water soaked clothing and armor. His teeth had long since become completely red as more ran down his face. Now, his battle was beginning.
-----
Tensen Miyamoto held a rare smile as he rode through the plains with his men. He had seen the waters from the river rush forward and cover the enemy, but the damage and confusion it had done was more than he had hoped for.
From the Makoten Empire, the river weaved into the valley and merged with the main river running from the North. But it had been dammed a year before and had been used to create more land and build up more water. The Empire hoped to increase their farmlands when it became evident that the most of the land would dry out easily without the river to moisturize it. Yet the Empire never removed the damn and used it, instead, to keep a reservoir.
The night before, Miyamoto sent a signal that would break the dam to pieces. It would only take a few minutes before the excess water would rush through the shallow river channel and reach the valley. The plan worked perfectly and Tensen would reap his victory as he moved closer to the wet battlefield.
He had watched the entire event from a higher ground and then ordered the charge. Hundreds of men rode with him at full speed, ahead of the rest of the army. With a quick hand to his helm, he pulled down his white and red porcelain mask, showing an ugly face with tusks for teeth. His hand reached to his side and pulled out his katana, the eastern blade. He held it high in the air as he and his men charged onwards, watching as several soldiers and mercenaries cleared the fog from their heads. A Bailadan stood up and shouted to the rest of his comrades over his shoulder, before his head separated from his body and rolled along the ground.
The Demon’s Blade had awakened and its thirst for victory would be quenched. The charge continued as the cavalry trampled many of the men who lied injured and resting on the ground. Hooves broke bones and blades drew blood as the charge continued. And then the unforeseen happened.
The Demon’s Blade found himself flying through the air and then landed on the muddy ground. He slid along the mud for some time, creating a small trench along his path until he finally stopped. He looked back behind him to his horse toppled over and unmoving. It had tripped in the wet mud and had probably broken its neck at the impact of the sudden halt. He saw that most of the men were in similar states, some unlucky enough to be trapped under the horse themselves. He watched as other soldiers, both Noors and Bailadans charged towards him and towards each other. He growled as he stood up and held his katana with both hands. A mercenary reached him first, shouting at the top of his lungs. The Demon’s Blade watched his attacker swing down from above. The Demon’s Blade moved his up and to his left side in the beginnings of a circular motion, catching the enemy’s blade with the reverse edge of the blade. He then slid forward, continuing the circular motion as he slashed across the armored stomach with little effort.
The mercenary fell, almost unnoticed by his killer, but another one soon took his place. A quick swipe at his legs forced the Demon’s Blade to jump back before bounding forward and planting his foot firmly into the ground as he slashed upwards, cutting through the Bailadan’s chest. An armored knight then ran ahead, and aimed to impale the monster on the blade of his spear. He watched as the Demon’s Blade moved without hesitation, spinning around the spear and grabbed hold of his helmet. With a motion of his hand, he could hear a sickening crack and the Noor’s body fell.
More soldiers shouted their war cries as they hoped to best the hero that struck fear into their hearts. Those that died by his blade, died with the same desperate and fearful expression they had while they charged forward, yelling out their battle cry. Three Noors approached the Demon’s Blade together and charged forward with halberds in each of their hands. They each charged towards each other with the Demon’s Blade standing at the center of the three. A quick spin later, they realized that he had dodged their attack and was quickly moving towards one of them. A katana through the neck killed the unprepared one, before switching and moving on to the next armored soldier of the three. He brought his katana down trying to strike at the neck again, but found his weapon blocked by the staff of the halberd. The Demon’s Blade swung his blade around and slashed the Noor’s stomach, sending him to his knees in pain and shock. There was only one left now, and he prepared himself for the Makoten Hero’s next onslaught. The Demon’s Blade stepped forward, slamming the sword on the Noor’s helm and denting it at its top. He continued with another step and pushed his fist against the visor, sending the helm flying off his enemy’s head. The Demon’s Blade pulled back for only a second and then stepped forward again, striking the head in the same way and cutting through the top of the skull with ease. In less than ten seconds, the Demon’s Blade had efficiently killed enemies that outnumbered him and had even tried to work together.
Those who watched them fall one after the other took a step back and turned their focus to enemies they felt they could handle better. They also hoped that the Demon’s Blade would choose to ignore enemies with different opponents, all in vain as the Demon’s Blade found the closest enemy tangled in battle and slashed through his back and then cut through the opponent’s neck. Covered in both mud and blood, the Demon’s Blade continued his onslaught. His movements were quick and efficient, bringing enemies down in the smallest amount of attacks possible. He would move on immediately after dealing a lethal strike, but never even stood still long enough for the body to land on the ground.
-----
After the water had thrown him across the battlefield, Grath could barely get back onto his feet without depending on his spear. Once on his feet, he began to step between the bodies of allies and enemies. But those simple victories did not last, instead it spurred on the rest of the Bailadans to get on their feet and prepare to at least fight for their lives.
He felt a smirk come over his face as several mercenaries ran up against him and bounced their blades off of his thick armor. His solemn face resumed under his helm as he spun his heavy spear around and sent the Bailadans toppling through the ground, most with broken bones. The Armored Mountain had made his appearance as he ignored the weapons pinging off of him uselessly. He ran his spear through another Bailadan and then picked it up with the body attached to the blade. The Armored Mountain then heaved it to the side and sent the body flying off into another group of soldiers and mercenaries.
He marched forward slowly, sinking deeply into the mud and pushed aside any of the Noors in his way, and lethally batted away any of the Bailadans with his spear. His grip slid down towards the butt-end of his spear and snapped it upwards, smashing the jaw of an enemy. With no hesitation in his grip, he then slammed his spear down onto another one of his enemies, smashing them into the ground. Chunks of mud and blood flew into the air, some of which splattered onto the shined metal over the Armored Mountain. Several Noor soldiers then ran to his side without any indication that he had called for them, and began to push and cut through the enemy ranks, moving ahead of their general. The marching progress only came to a halt when arrows began to rain down from the sky.
The Armored Mountain paused as he listened to the pinging of the arrows bouncing off of his armor harmlessly, and ignored those that pierced through the unprotected body parts of some of many of the warriors continuing their battle. He swiveled his head to the side quickly and found several Makoten archers standing at near the peak of a small wooded hill, notching arrows for another volley. In a sudden motion faster than most would think possible with his size, the Armored Mountain prepared his spear and pushed his legs against the ground with a bellow. Others were quick to follow his example, shouting and chasing after their general. Grath knew he was leaving them behind; they were not nearly as strong or as quick as he was. But with his size, his thick armor and his spear, he could stampede through such a group of enemies on his own. He stomped through Makotens and Bailadans alike, before he reached a clearing within the battle and continued to push himself to reach the archers as they aimed their bows towards him. The Armored Mountain lowered his head as the archers released their arrows, only to watch helplessly as their arrows bounced and broke against the mightier steel plate he wore.
There was no time to prepare another volley as the Noor hero finally reached them and slammed his shoulder into the commanding Makoten in the lead. Though he could not run any farther as he felt, Grath easily crushed one of the archers with his spear as he slammed it into the ground once more. The strike shook the ground around them and a few of the archers fell to the mud. His spear tasted blood on the easy targets, and the threat of the archers became a simple and unimportant memory. Turning about from the mass of bodies riddling the ground, the Armored Mountain marched back onto the battlefield, searching for new prey.
-----
The battle had raged for only half-an-hour, but so many soldiers already lied in a pool of their own blood mixed with the wet mud of the ground. And still the fight continued. Thousands of soldiers had joined in, killing one of their enemies and then turning as an enemy ran them through. The heroes focused on bringing about a quick end, but even as they left behind more dead, the enemies refused to lose hope. Instead, they fought harder, spurred on by the thought that their own heroes were fighting alongside them.
The end came near only when the Bloody Grin and the Armored Mountain finally caught sight of each other. They had never met before, but the fear of their allies and the blood that covered them was enough to prove to each other, ‘this enemy is strong’. Without waiting, the Mountain stepped forward and slammed his spear against a Bailadan mercenary, sending him sliding out of his way. The Grin widened his smile as he stepped forward, pulling his blade away from a Noor that had rushed him earlier. The body hit the mud limply.
Deciding to move first, the Mountain rushed forward and aimed his spear ahead of him. He watched his enemy twist around the blade and barely push the heavy spear away with his scimitar. The Armored Mountain then came to a quick stop and leaned away from his enemy, making himself just out of reach of the sword’s cut. A quick jab of from his left hand landed onto the Grin’s armored gut. The Bailadan hero took a few steps back, beating his chest in order to try and force air to return.
The Mountain took this moment of weakness to strike at him again, slicing to the left and watching the Grin roll under it to the right. The Grin stood up and cut upwards with his both his swords, causing sparks to emit as it made contact with the thick armor. Marks dug into the silver plating, but the blades had not broken through. The Mountain turned towards him slowly and stuck his spear into the ground, waiting and watching the Grin with his cold eyes.
The Grin stepped forward and cut to the left, but met resistance as the Mountain blocked the attack by leaning the spear slightly. The Grin then tried a cut to the right but was blocked the same way. Pushed back again, he held his twin scimitars tightly and charged forward, opening his arms wide to strike from the both sides simultaneously. As the blades came closer, the Mountain twirled his spear in front of him, catching both blades with the staff and twisting their aimed target. The Grin spun through the air holding onto his blades and stopped only as he hit the mud on his back. He opened his eyes and quickly rolled to his left as the Mountain stabbed into the ground where he had been seconds before. He pushed himself back onto his feet and looked to the watchful Mountain.
The Grin leapt forward again and felt his air leave him as the butt end of the spear landed firmly against his stomach. The Grin flew back and slid across the ground once more, but he could not muster the strength needed to push himself back onto his feet. As he watched the Mountain step closer to him, however, he felt a almost cold sensation begin to coarse through his blood and forced him to stand up and open his lungs. He stood on his feet, both blades still in his hands somehow. The Mountain stopped marching and instead placed his spear in front of him and held it with both hands. The Grin tightened his face and his grip, and waited for something to move between the two of them.
Surrounding the two heroes, many of the warriors watched with intensity. Several of the Noors and Bailadans called a temporary truce in order to watch the heroes fight. But the Makotens had no interest in the end of the battle and forced their enemies to fight back instead of watching the battle unfold. Cabil stood among those who wanted to watch the battle with intensity and then found himself blocking the blade of a Makoten. A strong-armed slash with his broadsword ended the encounter, only to find another samurai replacing the fallen one. Cabil grit his teeth as he stabbed through the chest plating and watched his enemies eyes roll back. He then threw the body to the ground, and turned to watch the Armored Mountain and the Bloody Grin once more.
The Grin ducked down and rushed forward, hoping to end the battle quickly. He leaned back and slid under and between the Mountains legs, cutting at those armored limbs. The Mountain heaved a groan as he fell to his knees with pain and a strange sense of feeling unbalanced overcoming him. The Grin took this chance and ran towards the Mountain’s back, jumping onto it and raised his swords over his head. He slammed both of them down over the Mountain’s helm. The blades cut and dented the helm and even shifted it from its perfect placement, but the Grin absently lost a glimmer in his smile, as he could not cut through the armor completely. The Mountain stood up suddenly and reached over his shoulder and grabbed hold of the Grin. He then tossed the Grin, like a small parcel, off and flying into the mud.
The Mountain pushed his feet sluggishly against the mud, feeling the weight of their current conflict already weighing against his muscles, towards the Grin. He began to sink into the muck and used his spear to push himself up and further forward. On the other side, with aching arms and legs, the Grin pushed against the ground. The water and dirt seeped through his fingers and instead he felt he sank even deeper. The Iron Mountain stopped suddenly as the front of his armor pinged from a sudden strike. He hooked his spear in an arc towards his attacker and watched as Jobi fell to the ground before his vision, screaming in pain. A swift kick send Jobi tumbling to the side, where tears fell from his eyes as he continued to shout. Jobi reached over to grab his pained arm as he choked another scream, but found nothing there. The Mountain then turned to the Grin and lifted his spear over his head, poised for the final strike, before dying suddenly.
A small and thin Makoten blade jutted out from under the helm, stabbed through the neck of the Armored Mountain. On his back was the Demon’s Blade, crouched and holding the katana in his hands. With a smooth tug, he pulled it out from the body, and stood on it as it fell to the mud, dead. The Demon’s Blade stood tall with his katana in his hands and watched as the Bloody Grin stood on his feet. The smile was gone, wiped clean by the sight of the dead giant in front of him and the small hero with a monster’s mask. Thunder rumbled through the sky and lightning flashed.
The battlefield remained silent in the immediate surroundings. None had expected the sudden ending to the conflict and now all soldiers wanted to witness the next hero’s death. They waited, almost holding their breath and with wide unblinking eyes. The only other sounds were that of moaning and crying soldiers like Jobi, injured but not yet dead. The Grin stood on his feet, eyes darting from the Blade and to Jobi. The Blade kept his stance and his eyes focused on the enemy ahead of him. The silence broke suddenly as a yell echoed from within the crowd and a brightly armored Noor charged through the ranks of watching soldiers.
“Revenge for our fallen general!” shouted Calib as he charged straight on towards the Blade, broadsword aimed in front of him. The Demon’s Blade took a step back and attacked Calib’s back. Calib dodged by rolling forward, leaving the Grin with enough time to run towards his friend. He grabbed hold Jobi’s good arm and pulled him farther out of the mud and towards several other Bailadan mercenaries. “Protect him!” he yelled as he handed him off and then turned back to the occurring fight. He stopped to grab hold of one of the scimitars he had dropped moments before and watched as the Demon’s Blade cut through the neck of the young Noor general.
The Blade stood over recent kill but his eyes remained focused on Bloody Grin, as if they had never turned away. He sheathed his sword suddenly and beckoned the Grin over, before he twisted around and sprinted through the battlefield the fight began again. The Grin swore as he followed, turning his weapons around to have the bladed edge hover just over the ground as they hung from his relaxed arms. He watched as two armed Makotens with chips along their armor, and one missing his helmet, barred his path. The Grin reacted sliding across the mud on his knees and below their strikes, and sliced through their legs. He got up to his feet and arched his arms to dispose of the two with a stab through both of their backs and then continued running. Ducking and weaving between soldiers, both friendly and not, the Grin began to wonder where he was being led to. The ground he ran across became dryer and though the sky above him began to darken with clouds and more thunder and lightning.
He came across fewer soldiers and soon found that the only person close to him was the Demon’s Blade himself, turning over his shoulder every few steps and giving a quick wave. The Grin could already feel his lungs begin to ache as he continued to chase, spitting into the ground as he kept pushing himself forward. The two kicked their feet against harder ground, moving faster with better traction. As he ran and followed the Blade between tree after tree, the Grin realized he had begun to run through the shadows of a forest and felt a chill run along his spine as his foe came to a halt and turned around quickly. Still in his momentum, the Bloody Grin jumped forward and slashed at the Demon’s Blade, watching as he ducked and ran out of his way. The Grin dug his feet against the ground as he forced himself to stop completely, and turned around to keep his enemy within his vision.
The Grin ran forward through the thick shadow, slashing upwards using his right scimitar and giving off a grunt. The Makoten hero shifted aside to the left, eyeing the curved blade pass by casually before he drew his katana, looking to strike up and across the Bailadan’s body in a single killing blow. The Grin raised his armored right arm slightly and listened to the blade sing and clank along his plated armor. He then pushed his shoulder down against the blade, letting it slide up past his shoulder and over his ducking head. The Grin spun around behind the Demon, following the momentum of his deflecting strike, and held his blades out over the Blade’s open back. The Makoten instantly rolled forward and back up onto his feet, turning towards the Grin.
There was near silence as they stared down at each other, even with the Grin’s panting and the chirping of the wildlife between the trees. The Grin twirled one of his scimitars and bounced on the balls of his feet while the Blade dug his rear foot into the ground, tightening his hold on his katana. The Demon’s Blade rushed first and attacked, and the Grin ducked under the blade and pulled his arm back to stab through the Makoten when he felt his foe’s knee land solidly against his chest. The Grin staggered back, a tree stopping his motion as he slammed up against it. He pushed his fists against the bark, standing up on his sore legs once more. He breathed in deeply and released a growl as he slowly accelerated into a running charge, yelling at the top of his lungs.
The Demon’s Blade cut first, slicing through the air as the Grin dodged around the katana in a spin. At the end of his spin the Grin rolled his shoulders to slash through the back of the Blade’s neck, and watched as the Blade crouched to a knee and roll away by mere inches. Without a moment to think on the next move, the Blade roughly kicked the Grin on his knee, causing him to fall onto the ground. The Bailadan pushed himself up on his feet as quickly as he could muster, and quickly felt the same leg give way, unable to hold him up completely. But another worry soon came to his mind; he could not find the Demon’s Blade. The Grin looked around him. He limped backwards, bumping into a tree and continued to watch and wait for his enemy. Something snapped over his head and the Grin jumped forward, barely dodging a sword stabbing into the ground. The Grin hit the ground hard and rolled onto his back, pushing himself onto his good leg. He spun his scimitars around, and stared at the readied Demon’s Blade. The Bloody Grin would not surrender, even now.
But the unexpected happened. The Demon’s Blade stood up straight suddenly, arching his back as if pushed from behind, with a small inconspicuous hand pulling his shoulder back. The Grin’s eyes widened as he watched a small and thin blade suddenly appear through the front of the Demon’s armor, blood running down the front of him. The Demon’s Blade coughed and gurgled before he fell to the ground, sliding off of the short katana. It revealed his killer, the one who had struck a final blow from the shadows. She stood tall, covered in black clothing and free of dirt, grime and blood save for her blade. Her eyes, Makoten eyes, were the only things that the Grin could see of her body. He wanted to raise his swords in defense, but found that his strength had left him. The sight of the two dead heroes entered his mind; both struck down but not by his hand. He was alive, but not through his own skill.
He fell to his knees suddenly, feeling weak and sore but wide awake. He looked up at the shadowed warrior as she walked forward. She came down to her knees, pulling down her mask to reveal her face. The thunder rumbled and the lightning flashed as the rain finally began to pitter through the trees. The blood was washed away and the dry land became wet, and a clean-faced Budi was left staring at his savior.
Yukki smiled lightly, placing a gloved hand on his face and caressing it gently. She then stood up and retreated, and all Budi could do was watch as his body refused to move to his commands. She disappeared in the distance, covered by trees. And when Budi’s legs finally found the strength to hold him up again, he knew that she was long gone. He sheathed his swords and looked down at the body of the Demon. He sighed as he continued back to the battlefield, hoping that the battle had ended.
***
Jobi had thought he had died. There had been silence for far too long for it to be a battlefield. He could hear people moving, but could barely move his neck enough to watch and see who they were. Still, he was not sure he wanted to know. Dying by loss of blood remained better than dying through torture and execution. He tried to shake it off such thoughts, trying to find another thing to focus on. The shock of losing an arm came to his mind; he wondered what life would offer him if he lived through this. He wondered if his people would promote him to an officer’s status, or retire him and send him a decent pension. He smiled at the thought of a relatively comfortable life. Then Budi entered his mind, always smiling and grinning, helpful and passionate. Jobi could remember the days of his childhood, and some of the adventures that they had. His mind drifted further, thinking of a girl who promised to wait for her hero’s return. “I wish Suri had been talking about me...”
Jobi felt a hand on his shoulder suddenly tug on his right arm, his only arm. His heart skipped a beat in fear; fear that he was found by those who would not care about torturing a prisoner. “Jobi,” he heard a familiar voice say and looked up at the face of a war hero, “Suri has never noticed anyone besides you, old friend.” Jobi felt himself lift into the air and then felt his stomach land on someone’s shoulder.
“Run back to the camp. I want him alive, and well! Understand? That’s an order! Now go, run!” Budi shouted at the mercenary holding Jobi. Jobi felt himself jostle under the mercenaries arm, but kept his head steady enough to look back at Budi. He had not noticed the rain before, but it became evident at the sight of Budi. There was no blood on his face and his teeth did not show. There was no Bloody Grin.
-----
Budi’s return to the camp was quiet in his mind, but outside the soldiers celebrated. People passed food and drink along to each other, and congratulated Budi. “A true war hero,” they called him with smiles and yells. But he ignored most of it. His thoughts were too focused on the bodies of the other heroes, the other powerful warriors. The image of the bodies of the Demon’s Blade and the Armored Mountain were clear in his head. Each one was dead, but not by his hands or his skill. His unfocused mind led him to his tent without realizing, and inside he stopped. His eyes came across something that woke him up from his trance, blood.
The tent was empty. He had expected Yukki to leave, but the other two slaves being missing was surprising to him. Blood was soaked into the carpet in three different spots, and on one of the spots was an envelope. Without thinking, he stepped forward, picking up the envelope and removing the letter that was inside.
My dear Budi,
I am leaving. If my calculations are correct, the Armored Mountain and the Demon’s Blade are both dead, most likely not by your hand. I will be honest with you. I knew who you were before I was given the task of spying on you. I’ve heard the stories of the Bloody Grin, but as a spy, a shadowed warrior, I knew other things about you. I heard the stories of a hero who was once kind and caring of his people and friends. A hero that wanted survival of all who fought alongside him and not just money, fame and rank. I wanted to meet this person and prove the information wrong.
I never believed it was true. And yet when I met you, I understood the honesty of it all. But before my very eyes you were already beginning to change. I would have welcomed it, if I knew it was truly who you were and would bring out your best potential. Some people are not meant to be good and kind heroes. And some people, like you Budi, are not meant to be the uncaring hero. There is a true meaning to the word hero, and you will find it, one day.
I leave you now, knowing that my life is forfeit. With the death of my attempting assassin, I have sealed my fate to a life of hiding and escape. I don’t want that for you. I feel like a coward for not telling you this before, but the sooner I leave then the better off you will be in the end. I expect to hear news of you winning the war soon. Good fortune to you.
Budi, I do love you. If fate If you decide that you wish to come and find me; look to the East, and follow those who seek the shadow.
Eternally yours from wherever I am watching you,
Yukki
Budi remained silent after reading through the letter. His eyes smiled at the thought of seeing her once more. He read the letter over several more times, making sure he understood its meaning clearly. “She doesn’t want to let go...” He whispered to himself and quickly came to a decision in his mind. He rushed towards a lit candle in his tent and hung the flame under the letter. He watched the paper turn black and orange and then dropped the flaming letter to the floor. The rug would catch on fire quickly and spread through to the entire tent. He took what he needed: a bag of money, food from the soldiers who were still congratulating him, and his swords. His armor was so damaged he would have to wait until the sunrise to get it back in good condition, and he felt he did not have that time.
As he felt everything was ready, he watched the flame spread through most of the inside of the tent. He picked up a cloak and covered his face with a sash before walking out of the burning tent. He made his way to the exit of the camp, ignoring the mix of soldiers celebrating and those realizing that a tent was in flames. As he neared the exit, he heard a familiar voice coming from a nearby tent. Jobi was injured and would more than likely wish to return to a family or a future one at least. But Budi knew that the war would reach a stalemate without a hero again, and he turned to the tent with his friend in it.
He pushed the flap aside as he entered, glad to see that his old friend was merely talking to himself. “That’s a sign of insanity you know.”
“It’s also a sign of insecurity, but I’m not eavesdropping or anything.” Jobi snapped back at him before sighing and leaning back against the bed he had been given. Jobi sat up quickly once he realized what Budi was wearing. “What are you doing?”
Budi looked down at himself and then returned the stare Jobi was giving him. He gave a small shrug, “I’m leaving Jobi.”
Jobi sighed as he put his right hand to his face, “This is not funny.”
“This is not a joke.”
Jobi grit his teeth, “The war will continue if you leave.”
“I have other duties.”
“To what?”
“Someone.” Budi answered with finality. Jobi looked at him with wide eyes before turning away and cursing.
“They’ll keep me here!”
“They’ll make you an officer.”
Jobi pointed towards Budi, and then began to think on the prospects of an officer status. He shook his head as he continued, “I don’t want that. I want this war to end, I want to go home.”
“So make it end then.” Budi said as he turned around, deciding it was time to go.
“You’re going to leave now? So soon?” Jobi shouted.
“I’ve got no time to waste.” He said looking over his shoulder.
“How the hell am I supposed to end the war?”
Budi stood outside of the tent, holding the flap open as he spoke, a smile in his eyes, “Be tactical. Use strategy.” When Jobi gave no answer, Budi dropped the flap, “I’ll expect to hear the news of your victories soon. Don’t let me down.”
He smiled as he heard Jobi yell; “Well now I don’t have any time to!”
-----
“What? He did not say that?” One of the boys yelled from behind the campfire.
“Actually he did say that,” said Budi with a smile on his face, “he wants the last word.”
“So that’s the status of the war? Two heroes die and one decides to run off in search of some girl who may be in love with him? We don’t even know if the hero’s in love with her!” A second boy shouted in exasperation, and Budi barely restrained a chuckle.
“Where is he now?” said the third boy calmly.
“He’s probably on his way. East is all he has to go on after all.” Budi answered keeping his smile, “I’m not sure he’ll ever stop either.”
“Sounds mushy.” The first boy said with grief. “I bet he finds her and realizes that he wasted an opportunity as a hero.”
“I doubt that’s going to happen.” The second boy said, “If the story is true, then this guy seems to have a really good chance with her.”
“Well, you’re the romantic, so you would know.” The third boy said with a lowered voice but laughed anyways along with his friends.
“All right then boys,” Budi answered as he pushed himself onto his feet. The sky was dark and the fire was blazing, and it was the perfect time to travel in secret. “I believe it’s time for me to head on out.”
“Wait!” The first boy said suddenly and stood up, “We don’t even know what’s going to happen to the two. Will he find her?”
“Hmm…might be a while before that happens...” Budi said simply.
“Well...when you do find out, how will we?” the third boy asked unsure of a good answer.
Budi smiled over his shoulder as he began to walk away, “I’m sure the rumors will pass along at some point. I’m not very good at keeping quiet.” He waved at the three boys, watching as they waved in return and continued along his way.
His steps never paused as he moved along, but in one moment he looked up at the bright moon and whispered, “I’ll find you…one day.”
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