One Evening

The young swordsman looks up, scanning the blurry faces which greet his gaze. He swallowed hard, hoping not to let his new subordinates know how nervous he was. In truth, he was slightly trembling; he had only come from a recent injury during training to be put immediately in the position of squad captain a few hours before the battle. Eight other warriors, standing gaunt and silent, were to be under his command, at least before the fighting broke out. Knowing that time was of the essence, he hurriedly tried to recognize his fighters to draw up an improvised plan of attack. He cursed inwardly for his poor vision; but even if his eyesight was perfect, he doubted his leadership skills would have sufficed for the sudden occasion. Hearing that the enemy were approaching fast, he promptly gave out his orders. Each nodded, and ran into position to greet the opponent.

There was silence as the opposition arrived, almost gliding out of the woodwork. Exactly nine other samurai stood in formation across their lines, each with swords at ready. Not a soul moved, not one noise was made.

Then they clashed.

One by one, the warriors rushed forwards to intercept their foes. In pairs they fought, swords shimmering in the last rays of the day. Battlecries and howls were flung at one another, both to discourage the enemy and cheer on tiring comrades.

Still standing in the rear, yelling out support to his squad, was the Captain. But even as he cheered, from the corner of his eye he could see several warriors already falling to the blades of their foes. Some lasted longer than others; some had barely begun to fight before they were slain. His heart began to drop, but he forced himself to keep strong. As Captain, he could not afford to let his men know he was afraid. It was then that he saw a sight that made his heart skip a beat. He had seen his adversary.

The one person he knew was in the enemy's squad, the one person he hoped not to meet. He had, in fact, set himself up to face the champion. His mentor. Curiously, he felt no further fear nor hesitation when he stepped out from the rear to meet his opponent. There was no turning back. There was also no way that he could possibly win against the person who taught him how to kill another. He took a deep breath as he went into his kamae. Faced with the realisation of certain death, one thought took precedence over all else. He would certainly not die without a fight. With that in mind, he roared and sprang towards the woman he called teacher.

His first strike was immediately parried, though he was able to close the gap between the swords in one bound. Face to face with his teacher, he was able to look into her eyes from under her helmet. He had no time to think before he jumped backwards, hoping to strike down the centre of her head while she let her guard down. But the blow was weak, and only managed to bounce off the helmet. Gathering his courage and strength for another attack, he roared once more as he leaped forwards, sword raised high. It was then that he knew he had failed.

He had jumped too far, and too soon.

Within a split second, his opponent had disappeared from sight. It was also at the moment when he he felt something slip between the right side of his stomach to the left side of his hip. A moment passed before he, still flying forwards, felt the searing pain. He landed heavily on his feet, still in the final position of the strike had it actually struck his foe. He looked down and saw the damage that had been done. His armor had been sheared completely through; where the metal parted crimson stains grew on his gi. He tasted and felt fresh blood trickling out of his mouth as his vision grew even worse. He noticed that there was no longer any feeling his legs, and toppled forwards. Everything became slow, and bright. His sword had long fallen from his hands, his face half-buried in the mud. His breath was shallow and ragged, and his mouth moved as if to utter words. Words which would never be heard by any other ears.

He gave a shudder, and exhaled for the last time.

The captain was dead.

The battle was lost.