A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

He breathed, as he ran forward, commencing the fight.

He aimed low on Kyougoku, intending to use his shoulder and tackle him to the ground.

Alas, he was not given the chance. The wooden sword had a far superior reach, so the big man simply stepped back and aimed a strike toward the bent-over Morohira’s head.

It was a tense moment for the onlookers, for such a strike, from their standpoint, seemed to be unavoidable. Rin had one eye closed in anticipation, whilst Gengyo’s eyebrows were deeply furrowed.

THWACK

Two raised arms blocked the downward strike, followed by an expression of intense pain.

Having received such a strike, the man was forced to retreat back, rubbing his injured forearms.

"Kakaka, why don’t you just give it up, Miura-kun? You know you can’t beat me. Not like this."

Morohira didn’t reply. His eyes were intense and focused.

Gengyo was sitting there in shock at the strength of his father’s bones. Rightly such a strike would have crushed the forearms of a lesser man, but now he already had his fists thrown back up into the air, ready to attack his opponent?

’This doesn’t look good though, old man. Your opponent is skilled in the sword – he’s not going to let you get close.’

It seemed his father was thinking the same thing, as he walked closer to Kyougoku, but stayed out of range of his sword.

His opposition waited patiently, with caution, put off by the look of confidence in his enemies’ eyes.

Morohira began to bounce from his left foot to his right, like a boxer might, intending to make his movements harder to predict.

He circled around the ring, waiting for his moment. He hounded the unsuspecting Kyougoku until he was all but trapped in the corner.

And then, using the wooden fencing as a springboard, he aimed a kick toward the taller man’s head.

THWACK

A swift stroke of the sword toward his outstretched thigh, and he was cut out of the air, hitting the wooden surface below with a great force.

He barely managed to roll away before the tip of the sword hit the position he was previously at.

Watching him struggle to his feet, and step forward with a slight limp, a smile began to distort Kyougoku’s loathsome face.

He took the opportunity to speak to the crowd once more.

"You see this? This is the man that challenged me to this fight, and see how it ends? The man’s a liar and a cheat!"

Mainly cheers greeted his words, though there were a few bitter faces in the crowd, seemingly more disgruntled at the lack of a real, enjoyable fight, than the loss of Morohira.

Nakatane also seemed to be losing interest. He’d grown rather fond of the idea of a man from his village winning, for reasons that those around him did not have a grasp of, but now such a thing was out of his reach.

Gengyo, Rin, and Fuku were tense all over their bodies, alarmed by the extremely one-sided fight in front of them.

But in contrast, Masaatsu appeared to be very relaxed.

The reason for his calm demeanour was completely unknown to Gengyo, for all he could see in front of him was a one-sided slaughter.

The slowed Morohira was chased around the ring by a relentless Kyougoku who was utilising his range to its fullest, hitting his enemy with an endless stream of jabs and slashes.

Such strikes – though light at first – were taking its toll on the unarmed fighter, and though he tried to counter, none of his limbs were long enough to even get close to the range provided by the sword.

And thus he was hounded, his ribs being played by the point of the sword as though they were some grisly musical instrument, and his face contorted fittingly with the pain.

The two women could barely watch the fight at this point, and even Akiko, who had no connection to either of the men in front of her – except through Gengyo – was averting her eyes, displeased with the now rather horrific spectacle in front of her.

A step forward, arms stretched to their fullest, sword extended as far as it might, and Morohira was forced against the wooden fence that bordered the ring, letting out a roar of pain as his rib broke.

The same jab movement was repeated, but this time using his palm, the wounded man managed to deflect it away from his chest – though it struck his arm instead.

This was no longer a fight. It was a one-sided slaughter.

Gengyo began to have second thoughts about the whole thing.

’They... Assured me that he would be able to take on Kyougoku, even if he had a sword. This wasn’t meant to be a fight at all – the sword was simply a means to bait him here. But this? This isn’t how it was meant to go.’

’Is this my fault, for believing in the boasting of a man? Is it not rare to find a person that can accurately evaluate his own ability? Perhaps... Perhaps this will be my first defeat since starting this new life.’

The thought of losing filled him with a sense of disgust. And though he was not in the arena, he very much felt a part of this fight. As did the rest of his family. Their combined will, begging for Morohira to win was likely the only thing that kept him going. For he was now decorated in many bruises, and though his face had escaped most of the damage, the skin under his clothing would not boast a pretty sight.

He was stumbling around the ring as though drunk now, and Kyougoku chased him wherever he went, laughing maniacally.

Such a scene had continued for almost ten minutes, and even the crowd were growing disgusted at the muscle-heads sadistic actions.

"Finish it!"

They cried.

"Finish it! Put the dog down!"

And being the entertainer that he was, Kyougoku could not ignore such shouts, and he moved to secure his final blow.

He performed his usual jab, anticipating the palm of Morohira that moved to defend itself. Targeting his outstretched arm, he struck downwards, forcing it out of the way. He struck then twisted his h.i.p.s and aimed a strike to the man’s left-hand side, before bringing his sword down atop of Morohira’s head as the man bent down in agony.

A hollow ringing noise echoed around the arena, like two blocks of wood colliding.

Morohira collapsed to the floor as though someone had relinquished the control of his body.

A scream rang out – Fuku’s – she called her husband’s name, and collapsed to her knees as tears began to decorate her face.

Rin moved forward to comfort her, though she was in a similar state.

Masaatsu’s face caved in, as though someone had just destroyed every single belief that he had held.

Gengyo stared forward, shocked. He realized something, then. Despite his father getting slaughtered in the fight, and despite telling himself that he anticipated his loss, he still had held onto a belief, somewhere in his heart.

But now that man, whom their family had placed their hopes upon, was now lying in the centre of the ring, unmoving, blood pooling onto the wooden surface around his head.

Kyougoku moved forward, his face a mask of savagery. With his sword still drawn and ready, it was obvious what he intended to do.

The crowd were also a maniacal mess, but their noise was not heard by Gengyo. He was focused entirely on what was going on in front of him.

He moved up from his seat, the muscles of his legs tensing before propelling him forward toward the arena. His mouth was open, intent on releasing a shout.

The demon in front of him grew closer, already starting his swing.

It was only then that Gengyo realised that he was too late, too slow, and he hurried himself forward.

But as he made it to the top rung of the fence post, the enemy was already upon his father, sword raised, ready to deliver his final sentence.

And then, his eyes shot open.

Kyougoku realised his error, and hastened to step back.

But his actions were too late. The man on the floor had already issued a sweeping kick toward his legs.

His feet were taken out from under him, and he landed heavily.

A beast then launched itself upon him – that was not how a man was meant to move. He sent a fist toward his torturers face, allowing him to see the stars that he had felt for a good while.

He then performed another action that would dumbfound the already chilled onlookers, who had condemned him as dead.

He stood up, snapped the sword over his knee, discarded the pieces and then he waited.

He slicked his hair back with the blood that decorated his skull, and then he bared a fearsome smile whilst issuing his death sentence.

"Come on then, let’s fight."

Gengyo was still paused, one leg atop the fence, frozen. Not once in his life had he witnessed such a variable, something that was so impossibly inhuman that one could never factor it in, nor even claim it existed.

He had discovered, in his father, the power of humanities hidden beast. His little shadow. That overwhelming might of strength that he could bring forth when he put everything on the line.

The man in front of him was not simply his father, it was a man possessed by such a shadow.

The area around them was encapsulated in silence, as all watched on, jaws agape.

A terrified brute of a man, made his way to his feet, raising his fists, trying to convince his broken mind that such a thing was not possible, that the man in front of him was too beaten, too broken, to put up any fight.

Morohira, for his part, displayed no such a motion. His bloodied face was intense and focused. He raised his fists upwards, forcing a new kind of momentum into his body. His shoulders shifted the left, and to the right, as he walked across the arena with all the authority of a king.

Storming up to the castle of Kyougoku, he delivered him a forceful front kick that sent the man crashing into the hard surrounding fences.

Just that one move was enough to defeat him, and he collapsed to the ground, winded and struggling to breathe, his eyes a mask of terror.

"Up."

Morohira would not allow him off that easy, and he waited patiently for the man in front of him to come to his feet. He even walked back toward the opposite side of the ring.

They met once more in the middle, and he still moved with his same indomitable aura, as though he was controlling the very air around them.

A lightning-fast right hand easily made its way past Kyougoku’s guard, sending him reeling backwards. But the combination was by no means done, as a left hand made his face symmetrical once more, before Morohira used the momentum of the punch to twist his body around.

Before anyone could even tell how he had done it, he had his arms firmly planted around Kyougoku’s waist. His opponent sensed danger, and struggled with all his might, but it was far too late for that. Morohira lowered his h.i.p.s, before exploding upwards, forcing this beast of a man over his shoulder – sending him sailing through the air.

It was an astonishing feat, but they were not given time to marvel, as he had already pounced upon his downed opponent, straddling him.

Fist after fist reigned down.

One

Two

Three

...

Thirty

He did not stop, even when the man had ceased to move. He wished to decorate his face the same way his had been distorted. But he was not a maniacal man – he placed himself above his opponent, and with each strike he controlled the force, ensuring that he would not be killed.

He still had to live out his days as a humiliated mess – no one could save him from that fate.