Reviews have dropped, but I'm content because general consensus is that this a good story that stays true to the characters and the feel of Champloo. Nothing makes me happier than hearing that. I still want you to review, but for now, I present Track 3 for your enjoyment. Also, I suggest that you listen to Genome from the Music Record Katana soundtrack while you read, at least for the first section of the chapter, and perhaps Night Out, Sneak Chamber or YOU for the last section, whichever is your preference. Read ahead:
豊かな無秩序
Affluent Anarchy / Track 3: Hymns of the Heartbroken
In the stifling mists of early dawn, loud clanks and the clashes of metal against metal echo throughout an empty field. Animals of nature scatter with each reverberating blow, fleeing to safety after having woken to a ferocious battle. Grass rustles in the absence of wind, a soft shuffling lifting above the continuous collisions.
Mugen's loose red tunic flutters as he back-flips away from a side-slash, never ceasing its motion as he lands and springs forward, bringing his sword upwards in a vertical slash. The blade is parried and knocked back; the opponent leaps into Mugen with a well-timed stab. The Ryukan flips the blade in his hand and whirls, dancing around the sword flying past his back. With his turned sword, he throws his momentum completely into the spin and jerks his arm out. It cuts into the man's shoulder, eliciting a pained grunt. He steps back, glaring angrily at the smirk that has landed on Mugen's face.
The field is a sea of green, with lush patches of ankle-high grass spanning it as far as the eye can see until it meets the forest's border. The place is lit brightly, yet softly, by the rays of the rising sun, mere moments away from clearing the horizon. The sunlight blends with the mist above the battlefield, causing the entire scene to look as though it is taken straight out of a painting. Four men are spaced evenly on the grass, forming an imperfect square as one duo stares down another. Mugen and Jin stand at attention several feet from each other, their clothes hanging limp in the windless morning. The glares of the two men across the way bore into them, drawing attention to otherwise unremarkable appearances. The pair stand in stark contrast to the simply beautiful morning and all of its bright colors, both donning outfits consisting entirely of black: two dark gis combined with matching pants and and loose, draping head-covers with cloths to cover the face.ª
The stalemate is only momentary; in a flash, the entire square is in motion again.
As beautifully as any work of art, Jin brings his sword up to knock away the swing of his opponent, faking a jab step to the right while whirling to the left, his sword slicing up and into the torso of the man, blood spraying out perfectly.
"Who sent you?" he inquires without emotion as the man staggers backwards.
"As if you had to ask."
As good a confirmation as any that it is the government's work. Jin, having never ceased his motion, takes the initiative in his cold, composed manner and swings downward, another cut etching itself into the one fighting him. Finally, ensuring the end of the fight, the expert ronin raises his blade to eye level and stabs forth; as the heartless steel exits from the back of the victim, the painting is complete. The perfect fluidity of the kill has become a work of art far superior to any creation of parchment and color.
As if on cue, not to be outdone, Mugen displays his flair, backflipping to avoid a downward chop. His movements too fast for the man to counter, he leaps back into him with a kick, the steel-bottomed geta knocking the opponent backwards and to the ground. Slightly more intelligent than his comrade was, the man sticks his sword straight into the air as Mugen sweeps in for the kill, nearly successful in outwitting the Ryukyuan. However, in typical fashion, the airborne Mugen contorts his body at the last moment, moving just enough to land away from the pointed tool of death; he rolls backwards and stands, the grin on his face spreading, before diving in once more. Meeting the man just as he stands, he delivers an expert sweeping kick, and the opponent is knocked off of his feet.
The blade is impaled through his chest before he can hit the ground.
—§∞§∞∞∞∞§∞§—
Wiping his brow with a slight sigh, the Ryukyuan steps back, a smirk crossing his face as he looks to Jin. The bodies of the assailants lay strewn out before the pair, sent to their eternal sleep in retribution for ever making the mistake of crossing the two. Taking their momentary rest, the pair stand silent for a slight while longer before sheathing their blades, turning on their heels and departing, still heading further northeast, to Edo.
"I guess they ain't forgotten," Mugen says with an aloof tone to his voice, his hands clasped behind his head as he strolls.
Jin's face contorts, but his eyes do not leave the path. "Apparently not."
"Whatcha say we do?"
A moment of quiet thought is taken, though one is not needed. Jin speaks out softly.
"We should continue heading for Edo together,"
"Yeah, but we're gonna need money."
At last, Jin turns his gaze upon Mugen. "I concur. Fortunately, I have heard that a mercenary guild makes its home two towns over. Perhaps we should integrate ourselves with them for the time being and acquire sufficient funds to—"
"Aiite, aiite, I get it. We take some jobs for money, agreed?"
With a smile, Jin nods, his eyes returning to the road. As the pair continues on, the silent understanding between them growing stronger with each passing minute, the dawn completes its job and yields to the day, allowing them to make their way with the sun rising before them.
—§∞§∞∞∞∞§∞§—
のち で 8 にち
Eight Days Later
"Hey, you two newcomers, we finally got a job for you!"
"Heh, sweet!"
The thin paper hangings decorating the front door of the guild's headquarters fluttered in the light wind, regulating the coming and going of filtered sunlight. The interior was oddly resemblant of a simple restaurant, with raised floors on either side covered with mats and a nice walkway down the middle leading to the back room. The oddly unassuming appearance was no more than false advertising, as the chaos within was unrivaled.
Only on their second day within the ranks, the two had received a job. Quick work, one could say of the guild. Both men accepted it after receiving their orders with little to say and little to do before departing. They would be leaving as soon as their pockets were sufficiently full, after all. Useless conversation with the other mercenaries was pointless.
On the outskirts of the town, Jin reaches calmly into his gi and removes a folded piece of paper outlining in kanji what they would need to do, when, and for how much.
The residents in a town just outside of Kyoto have complained of warriors from the forests harassing them continuously, at times even killing a few. It is odd that the regional government does not interfere, but regardless, first verify the claim and, if it turns out to be true, satisfy their needs.
They have agreed to pay 3 ryo up front and you will receive 1 ryo from us upon completion.
Sweet and to the point. Needless to say, Mugen thoroughly enjoys the way the leader does business.
"So we're headin' to Kyoto?"
"Apparently," Jin responds quietly.
Not once do the two stop to consider the ramifications; only the money.
—§∞§∞∞∞∞§∞§—
のち で 19 にち
Nineteen Days Later
In the stifling quiet of the late night, loud clanks and the clashes of metal against metal echo throughout an empty forest clearing. Animals of nature scatter with each reverberating blow, fleeing to safety, quickly falling into slumber to avoid a ferocious battle. Grass rustles even in the absence of wind, a soft shuffling lifting above the continuous collisions.
Even when outnumbered two to one, Mugen and Jin's composures are astounding, their skills absolute, their minds blank. As Mugen's unique blade passes through a man's gut to meet him from the front of his stomach, Jin does him one better with a perfected slash, his own katana cutting into the abdomen of his adversary. The process repeats for several minutes until all who were originally involved lay dead save for two—Mugen and Jin themselves. Too easy, it was.
Later, with their pockets two ryo heavier, the men swiftly complete their business with the townspeople and depart, their feet moving continuously as they have been for the last month or two now. In their minds, it is a return to the life that they deserve, that they belong to—they always have and always will, with exception to that brief amount of time they spent in the company of one, and at times two, unique and amazing women.
Their feet clap against the path back to the east gently as they walk, both rather unaffected in their appearance.
"Before we make the return trip, I feel it best to pay some respects," Jin voices quietly, a proposal which Mugen only considers fleetingly before reluctantly agreeing.
"Suit yourself."
In his mind, it is more than likely another of Jin's stops to apologize to the many people in his life whose misery he feels responsible for. The slight change in Jin's expression, the first in quite a few days, signals that he realizes Mugen's thoughts. The pang of pity, sadness and resignation that crosses his face indicate that he knows all too well that the Ryukyuan is fooling himself without thinking.
The silence of the night presses deeper upon them as they continue to the bank of a small river. The water, rushing at a slightly halted, content pace, is as clear as ever, though in the darkness one can not distinguish the azure hue. Soft grass lines the banks, swaying in the breeze, basking in the moonlight streaming from above. Trees, standing further back, rustle slightly as well, a soothing chorus of nature's movements accompanying the beautiful scene by the river. Mugen brings himself to a halt near the bank, sticking out his bottom lip and letting his left arm fall onto his hip, his stance a clear notice of his impatience. Jin's sad stare calls once more from over his shoulder before he kneels where the grass gives way to several randomly aligned gray stones, in front of a small tombstone positioned in their center. He clasps his hands for a moment, allowing his eyes to close in silent prayer. The world comes to a halt for the slightest moment as he silently says his thanks and apologies.
When he stands, the expression he directs to Mugen cannot be described.
"Are you done?"
"Yes. But I feel it best if you would say some things as well."
Mugen's eyebrow raises in a mix of intrigue and annoyance. It doesn't make sense to him why he would need to pay any respects at the grave of someone he hardly knew.
Jin steps aside, the sorrow in his eyes building, indicating for Mugen to move forward.
As carefree and unthinking as he often is, it is not a surprise that Mugen has forgotten; but after a few moments, he begins to piece things together and...he remembers.
The Ryukyuan steps forward slowly, one foot after the other, before he finds himself standing above the unfeeling gray slate of stone. His face clenches, his hands draw into fists, and he begins to visibly shake.
"We...we buried her here..."
"Mugen..." Jin whispers, his hand rising to fall steadily on the man's shoulder. It is an action that can only be fostered with time and friendship, the manifestation of the bond between them. Mugen does not turn; their eyes do not meet. The breeze ceases as they stand still for a time. Then the ronin removes his hand and turns. "I will leave you now, to wait on the other side."
Mugen's mouth opens, yet says nothing, as he is finally brought to his knees, this one sight drawing forth a side of him that one should never contemplate could exist, nor expect to see. His eyes close until they are nearly shut as he slumps forward, gazing at the grave marker and the stones surrounding it.
"Sara..."
The first of many raindrops falls from the sky, pittering against his hand. It quickly increases from a drizzle to a steady rain, and then to a downpour, as he sits at her graveside for minutes on end, memories of the only woman that ever had the chance to capture his heart returning anew. For the first time in many long years, he feels remorse, remembering her death by his hands and his foolish realization just too late of why, and how it could have been prevented. For the first time he can ever recall, he feels longing, remembering how her blind gaze pierced him and how her naked body shined in the moonlight, just that one night in the onsen.
Mugen temporarily loses himself, finding himself, without warning, at the site where they laid a dear friend and hated enemy to rest, a woman who in her life and in her death caused the deepest complexities of his character to rise to the surface. That complex character, his usual persona and his buried feelings are all suddenly caught within the confluence.
A sense of regret stirs within him as he remembers, and he is suddenly overcome by emotion.
Just as he did one year ago, Mugen screams into the rain, his voice full of sorrow, and throws his sword into the crevice beside the grave; the metallic clash rings out into the hillside, eventually dying out within the unceasing downpour.
ひたん に くれ た の の さんび か
つづけ
ªThink Yukimaru.
A/N: I'm being honest with you guys—I really would like to get these chapters out more. I lost inspiration for quite a while, but it suddenly returned to me, so maybe I'll update this with more frequency from now on.
This chapter was a bit different, I know. The action was more indirect, there were time skips, and I never focused too long on any single thing. That was intentional, though, as I was trying to convey a unique feeling through this scene. As you all know, Champloo itself had episodes that were self-contained stories, and so will this story, which is why it begun and ended as it did. I hope you all enjoy, and I must say this: I apologize to you all for taking so long to update.
Review if you can, and I promise I won't take nearly as long to update next time.
LL