Chapter Text
frosty air, through the half-open shoji, penetrated into the temple. there was a faint aroma of incense and the sound of a monk sorting out a rosary. he prayed to the deities and muttered as he bent over the temple's Shintai, Masamune's blade. it is now impossible to know if the sword was forged by a famous gunsmith, but Nikkan valued it more than his own life.
"cold. close the shoji,” he said, without looking up from his rosary.
once he told you a beautiful story about a monk who heard the voice of this blade and learned the truth that you cannot see even if you read all the books of the world and spend your life in the mountains. you knew it was just a fairy tale. swords only start talking after drinking a bottle of sake.
previously Nikkan was a samurai. however, the warrior's path was so cruel and bloody that he could no longer bear it. every evening, leaning towards Masamune's blade, he prayed to the gods for forgiveness and the repose of dead souls. Many years have passed, the shoginate has changed, but Nikkan still continued to repent.
your gaze rushed into the distance - to where the eagle mountain gleamed from the snow, and the setting sun hid behind it. the cold forced you to huddle into your kimono just to keep yourself a little warm. the shoji were still open.
"be kind," now the monk said louder, thinking that you didn’t hear him the first time. "close the shoji".
your body didn't move. you heard Nikkan perfectly and, moreover, badly wanted to close the doors, but then the proud monk would continue to ignore the presence of someone in the temple courtyard.
"Please close the doors".
"It's good that the wars are finally over. you need to visit the shrines and ask the gods that peacetime never stops".
the monk frowned. putting aside the rosary, he got up from his knees and moved towards the shoji.
the lake at the temple was covered with a crust of ice. a cold wind chilled the wounded skin of a tramp who had come here to wash off the blood and traces of the battle. his body was so weak and uncontrolled by the mind that he could not break through the white thickness of the ice. snow from a yellow-brown branch of cryptomeria fell on his body, lying right on the lake.
you picked it up from your knees and went up to the monk. the tramp moved, trying to get to his feet, but because of the wounds he immediately fell back. the ice under the weight of his body was covered with cracks.
"I'm not sure he's human. looks like a wounded animal. You reach out your hand to someone like that and he bites it off. do you want to help him? so go. but be aware that he may be a criminal".
grunting at the words of the monk, you resolutely stepped onto the thickness of the ice. wooden sandals made a clanking sound. all your determination disappeared after a few steps, when you slipped and fell.
the tramp lay stooped. blood flooded his eye and he could not see what was happening around, but he heard every rustle well. his whole body was tense like a bowstring, and his hands moved chaotically in search of a sword.
now he really looked like a beast. a wounded and wild beast, expecting trouble at every turn. but was it possible, having lived his life, to continue to trust people? naivety died in him more than ten years ago.
every second gave the tramp conflicting feelings: now humility in accepting death, then suddenly a fierce will to live.
after another fall, you never got up again. it was faster to crawl on your knees. his palms instantly turned red and began to tingle unpleasantly.
The stranger was not wearing a haori and you assumed he was a ronin. with a jerk he tried to jump to his feet, but failed again.
"Stop it, you'll only hurt yourself more".
Hearing your voice, the man froze. he stopped looking for his sword and seemed to surrender completely to your will.
The cracks in the ice were getting deeper. noticing this, the monk finally moved. mastering his body well, he walked over the ice with the same dexterity as if on the ground itself.
“Pray that he doesn’t bring us trouble,” Nikkan said.
"his corpse would bring us much more problems".
the tramp wanted to croak something, but his voice was muffled by the cawing of crows. Nikkan looked at him first, and then looked off into the distance.
"I feel that these birds will have a rich dinner".
***
crows, sensing blood, began to flock to the battlefield. you felt nauseous. the ground near the huge pine tree was covered with frost, blood and severed limbs. birds circled over the bodies of the dead.
"bring me stones!" Nikkan said, trying to outshout the crows' din.
You followed the instructions immediately, trying not to look at the bodies of the dead. Each of the Nikkan stones you brought was inscribed with a sacred prayer and commanded to scatter them among the dead. then he clasped his hands and recited a prayer from the Lotus Sutra.
"Prayer will comfort the dead."
soon you returned to the temple. Nikkan had time to regret taking you on as an assistant.
You couldn't get away from what you saw. it seemed that the smell of death followed you on your heels. as soon as you closed your eyes, you again saw bloody limbs in front of you, drained brains and eerie grimaces frozen on the faces of the dead.
the monk poured you some sake and sent you to bed. but even so, you are still not fast asleep. you looked at the fusuma, behind which was the only survivor of that massacre.
what will your acquaintance with such a person lead to?