A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

"The righteous-"

He stopped himself as he realized his words were spoken outloud.

Kitajo turned his head curiosly as he sat astride on his horse, straw hat pulled low over his eyes.

"What was that Miura?"

But Gengyo merely shook his head in response.

"Nothing."

They had been travelling for a good few days, and the distance was beginning to take its toll, and his mind was running away with its thoughts. Their conversation had drifted off after the first day, for they had run out of things to talk about.

He barely looked in front of him, and allowed Kitajo to lead the way. It was a long road they had to follow, and it would continue for a while, so there was no need to use the map quite yet.

The lack of sleep was catching up to him, and he barely managed to keep his eyes open. Whenever he attempted to drift off in an evening, he would be assaulted with numerous problems that he would wrestle with for hours, and before he knew it, the morning sun was rising over the horizon.

He allowed himself to show this weakness in front of Kitajo, as there was little he could do to hide it. Such a decision also allowed him to preserve his mind so that should anyone confront them, he would be able to deal with them swiftly.

And by the gods he wished for someone to confront them. Even if they were heavily outnumbered, it was still better than dealing with the monotony of the road.

"I see a fork in the road ahead, Miura."

Kitajo announced.

Gengyo looked up slowly, betraying his tiredness. He had anticipated such a fork hours before, after he had reviewed the map. But the time it took to get he was longer than he had expected. Or perhaps it was simply that it felt longer.

"Left – that’s our path."

The lad steered his horse toward the left as he was instructed, and silence reigned once more.

If all went well, they would be able to cross the border into South Shinano by sundown that day, and with their crossing, they would hopefully be able to stay in an inn.

The purpose of which was two-fold: information, as well as comfort. When one was unused to the hardness of sleeping on the ground, it did not make for the most comfortable bed, and he hoped that with the added comfort, he might be able to restore some of the hours of sleep.

They had passed through numerous villages on their way into South Shinano, but they did not deign it appropriate to seek out their inns, for there was nothing they could learn from them. Because the only benefit was comfort, Gengyo had avoided staying there, so that they would not attract attention to themselves.

Either side of the road were fields of long grass, enclosing them. It grew higher than your average grass, and reached the knee. You could certainly hide a great many things in there, he reasoned.

’It would be a lucky fox that got to hunt here.’

The stone covered path caused crunching sounds with each step they took, filling their ears with the monotonous, regular sound. They had to allow the horses to walk the distance, as it was too great a burden to force them to trot or gallop the entire way – the last thing they needed was for their horses to give up on them.

And so, when they rounded a curve within the road, and a man stood, blocking their path, it was a simple task to slow to a halt.

He stood with his arms out wide, and barked at them.

"HALT!"

They had no choice but to follow his order, as they shared a glance with one another.

The stranger stood there, with long, untamed hair, and a great bushy beard. For a man that stood alone, he was rather confident, which aroused their suspicision immeasurably. From a casual glance, Gengyo could tell that he was not a man present on official business. His kimono was far too ragged and untended, and the katana thrust through his belt did not have a scabbard.

Their own blades were not on prominent display, and lay within the saddlebags. They had thought it better to pose as merchants rather than warriors.

"Can we help you?"

Gengyo asked dryly.

"Mmm, I wonder."

He let loose a vicious smile as he drew his sword, and pointed it towards them threatenginly.

"Hand over your belongings or face dea—ARGH!"

He howled out in pain, as his hand was served from his arm, and he stared it at wildly, terrified, letting loose blood-curdling screamings. A second later, a blade through his neck silenced him.

Gengyo dismounted, flicking the blood from his sword, as he grabbed the bandit by his shoulders and began to drag him towards the grass.

"Gurgh...urgle"

He gasped madly for breath as blood continued to splutter out from the wound in his throat. His face was a sickening concoction of fear and confusion. Just seconds before, he had been in complete control, and now he lay dying, with no warning at all.

’I’m not ready..!’

He whimpered internally. There was no way he could show his face in Takamagahara like this. The same fantasy replayed through his head – one in which he had acquired enough wealth from robberies in order to become an honourable man. Each time he robbed, he told himself the same thing – that it was just a means to an end. That he was a good man, and soon he would prove it, he just needed enough gold.

But his end was not as he imagined it. He was thrown to the ground, left to die amongst the vast fields of grass with no one to know of his passing, and no one who cared enough to mourn him.

The last thing he saw was the back of the man he had made the mistake of wronging, paying him no attention, as if he was a mere inconvience. An obstacle that had to be passed.

And then, light left his eyes.

Kitajo regarded Gengyo mildly. Had Gengyo not done it, he himself would have. It felt wrong to even humour such a lowly dog. With the road being empty, and their swords being near, they were not likely to put up with his manners for long.

"You can’t see the body from where we stand."

The boy commented, from astride his horse.

"Good. His blood has soiled my clothes, though. It seems I have to change them."

He muttered emotionlessly. The only thing he felt toward the man who lay dead on the ground was minor irritation.

"You had better clean your face as well."

Kitajo reminded him. There had been quite the spurt of blood from the man’s arm, and a couple of droplets even hit him.

Gengyo nodded, and threw his kimono off, as he used the clean sleeve to clear the blood from his face, and from the side of the horse. Once done, he merely threw the clothing into the fields of grass, to join the fallen, as he drew a fresh kimono from his saddlebag and donned it.

Within a matter of minutes, it was as though a fight had not occurred at all. Well, apart from the bloodstains in the middle of the road. But they were already leaving them long behind, as they continued their journey towards South Shinano.

After their encounter with the bandit, Gengyo’s mood was far better. The days of pent up irritation from the monotony had been unleashed with a single strike through his neck.

It was obvious to all that saw it – but Gengyo felt not a hint of remorse. He was long done with other people. If they were not his clansmen, and they had nought to offer him, then he would ignore them. But if they stood in his way, he would do as he had promised to do – and cut them down.

It was for that reason that Kitajo also felt nothing. To someone else his sudden attack might have seemed impulsive and frightening, but he was merely sticking to his word, and to him, that was honourable.

"He wasn’t a very good bandit."

Kitajo commented idly as the journeyed along the road.

"Haha, no. That he wasn’t."

He agreed with a chuckle. They had not yet realized it, but they had just crossed into South Shinano territory, into the lands of the Takeda clan.

There was a certain landmark he was on the lookout for that would inform him of their arrival. There was, of course, the border village of Menryo, but more prominently was a small mountain on which the Buddhist temple of Menryo-ji was housed.

The village had grown to its size not because it was on the border between two provinces, but because it was near to the famous Menryo-ji temple. People from all over Japan gathered to pay homage to such a temple.

Their philosophy was different from most, and no one was allowed near. But such a temple was the home to many great warrior monks, who, on their journeys into the world beyond the temple, had accomplished many great things.

Their belief was that the outside world was full of impurities, and in order to hone their bodies to the maximum, and achieve a high level of martial skill, they needed to separate themselves from it. Their discipline was rumoured to be legendary, and they trained far harder than any other man was capable of.

But when they reached a certain age, it was judged that they learned all they could within that pure environment of theirs, and the monks left the temple, to experience the plagues of the outside world, before they would once more return, stronger for the experience that they had gathered.

"There it is, Kitajo. Menryo-ji. Not even the Shogun is allowed inside."

They could see the mountain in the distance, and perched on top of which, they could see a high, four-storied building. There were other buildings around it, no doubt, but this one stood high into the sky, with its beautiful black-tiled curved rooves, and red-painted wood, with white connecting panels.

"You said lots of people gather to visit it, right? Why? What’s the point of visiting it if you’re not even allowed close?"

"Mm, I wonder that too. It’s a tradition, apparently, to stand and look up from the bottom of the steps. It is said in doing that, a warrior might be enlightened."

His time spent in the office reading alone had certainly not been wasted, as his knowledge of the surrounding areas was extensive.

"Heh... I don’t believe in that."

Kitajo decided, after a couple of seconds thought.

"Nor do I, but there are many people that do."

After all that they had faced, they could not believe that progress would be granted so easily. It required great pain, and great suffering. And simply staring up at a temple from the bottom of the steps was not likely to meet those requirements.

They walked their horses into the small village. It was a stretch to even call it that. It was made up entirely of merchants, as the land around here was not farmed. There was a simple inn, and a few stalls selling items to travellers.

Strangers like them were not an usual sight, and they were barely spared a glance as they closed in on the inn.

There was a stable to the side, with two men stood guarding it, and they approached.

"50 silver for two horses."

The man stated. They were allowed to demand such high amounts because they were the only stables for miles around.

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