Kendo no Go
In the Language of Kendo:
A Fanfic in 100 Chapters
by Akai Kitsune
41: Fall
~*~
Kenshin had a great deal of things in
his past that he wished he could forget, easily or not, but some
of his oldest memories were that of his long, grueling lessons
with his master. Hiko Seijurou was no easy teacher, and he was by
far one of the strongest men - physically and mentally - that
Kenshin knew or could think of. But he could be, and was, quite
cruel at times.
It wasn't a harmful sort of cruelty, really. Kenshin had to
acknowledge that fact, and he most often did. He knew that much
of what his master did and said was to help him grow, to mold his
character into a stronger, more assertive personage. Their
scattered bickering - usually ending in his frustration and his
master's amusement - showed him how to argue, how to defend
himself with more than simply a sword. It taught him to use his
wit, the gradual stream of knowledge he acquired during his early
years, although it was rare that his mind - immature and
underdeveloped as it was - was able to triumph over his master's
remarks. Much later in life, Kenshin was able to think back and
appreciate - to a certain extent - such lessons.
It didn't change the fact that as a teenager, and a perfectly
intelligent young adult - as he thought himself to be - he
resented the majority of Hiko's insults, whether they were
subtle, or blunt as his sakabatou.
But, no more than the reverse-blade, Hiko was not as blunt and
obvious as he seemed. His curt words and brusque tone served to
infuriate people, but eventually Kenshin came to sense that the
older, more experienced swordsman was giving him
experience, showing him the ways of the world in order to better
prepare him for the type of statements he was to receive when he,
in turn, was left to face the world alone. A joking word from his
master, maddening as it may be, was infinitely less harmful than
the snide insults of a challenger out to cause his temper to
rise, hoping that a mistake on his part may end in his death.
Whatever he did, Hiko Seijurou had a reason for it, the truth
hidden behind his obscurity and tempered intelligence - like a
sword - from his idiot pupil.
Despite his master's instantaneously
bestowed nickname, Kenshin knew he was not, in fact, stupid. Slow
at times, certainly; naive, at others; stubborn to the point of
foolishness, almost on a daily basis. But not stupid. A student
of such a devoted and complex sword style could not afford to be
stupid, and Hitokiri Battousai would not have survived five years
of war purely on luck and brute strength - both of which he
seemed to lack very badly.
Using his mind, instead of his sword, amused him at many
points in his life, and he was almost ashamed to admit that he
was very much like his master. He did not often take delight in
tearing apart another's confidence or state of mind, but he had
the sense to recognize when it was deserved or needed. A
Mitsurugi master desperately required the ability to gauge his
opponent's weaknesses to be used against them, allowing them to
fall to pieces, sometimes without a sword ever being drawn. A
swordsman had more than a single strength, more than just the
capacity to maneuver the wrist and body for the most efficient
attack.
Sometimes the most efficient attack was to do nothing but
speak, from your heart, soul, and mind.
He admitted quite easily that talking
an opponent out of a battle did not always work. Some men were
simply too caught in their own ideals to even consider that of
another. Some believed the same standards of life, yet carried
them out in a different manner. Some were simply insane, beyond
the point where logic and reasoning would pierce the layers of
personal desire.
Jin'ei, Saitou, Shishio. He had faced many battles which, had
there not been some interception of fate or circumstance, might
have ended by a death by his hand.
Perhaps he had more luck than he assumed.
Battles that involved less physical and more verbal contact
was weary, demanding work, so often ending in more pain for him
than the one he fought against. But he didn't care; his lost
blood was nothing, if it prevented the blood of another from
falling. He had caused enough blood to spill in his lifetime. His
words were often able to help other men cease their thoughtless
acts, to show them what pain formed from making the choices he
had made.
Sanosuke - first and foremost, his greatest triumph, the one
he was most and eternally grateful for - Raijuuta, Aoshi. Those
who disappeared, those who wandered and returned, those who
remained near to learn more, to continue to grow.
Even Enishi, the man hell-bent on his death to the point where
he was willing to shatter another man's soul into a thousand
fragments, had, in the end, been forced to surrender under the
weight of his carefully chosen words, bearing guilty, shame, and
heartsick anger. Kenshin himself felt the most guilt over that
defeat; it was a death he certainly deserved, but refused to
submit to, if only for the sake of sparing his already suffering
brother-in-law such pain.
The pain which stemmed from taking the life of one to whom he
might have been - in another life, another circumstance, or
simply a little more time - closer to.
He was very grateful Enishi was still alive. He had thought
so, even as he lay broken and lifeless in Rakuninmura, even as
Sanosuke and Misao called his name, demanding he rise and avenge
his lost love.
"We have to kill Yukishiro Enishi!"
And is he dead?
Who knows.
'But it was not by my hand.'
'I can feel remorse at his grief, at his lifelong
agony of living alone and distrustful, but I will never live with
his blood on my hands.'
'The blood in my mouth - as I spoke the words which
must have broken his heart's shield of ice and hatred - was
enough of a bitter taste for me.'
'No more.'
He had not fallen so far, in all his years, as to seek
revenge. Not when he himself felt so deserving of it.
'How many swords have I turned aside, striving to
bring honour and glory to a soul vanished by my hands? How many
cries of death and justified hate have been left ringing in my
ears for every black envelope delivered into those same hands?'
'I have no right... no right to seek revenge for
anything.'
He wondered how his shishou would have to say at that. But, in
a way, he knew.
"Baka deshi."
Some things were never meant to change, no matter how much the
world shifted around it.
~*~
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