Home Again

After his weeks of lurking in Kumogakure, Kazuo finally followed up and investigated the traveling patterns of its ninja. In his search for purpose, he nearly went on a personal crusade against the reckless, warlike Shinobi, who seemed only to care about lining their own pockets and padding their own country with the land of their enemies. While their efforts sickened him, in the end, Kazuo couldn’t bring himself to kill that stupid kid. It was a shame he hadn’t given him a chance to draw his blade, but a Shinobi who would duel him honorably was rare indeed, and so he had to take what he could get. Yuumei’s intervention was not at all unexpected, but the level of control she was developing over Kazuo was quite concerning. Soon, he feared, he might not be able to stop her.

Pushing the thoughts from his mind, Kazuo pressed on. Amegakure had proven disappointing both times he’d visited this place, and he doubted he would ever return to this wretched place, filled with swamps and freaks and Shinobi who possessed about as much honor as Kazuo did hair care products. Standing from the spot in the marsh that he'd sat, he would brush himself off, the scar on his hand ever present in his vision. The letters A.K. across the back of his right hand, long weathered and partially healed with time, acted like a brand. It was distinctive enough that Kazuo could be recognized by the mark, but he'd never given an opponent enough time to notice it. Since he'd left the village in The Land of Iron, he'd cut down every opponent he'd met… Until now. The boy he met, whose name he did not know, was the first to be spared the steel of Kazuo’s blade.

He thought about what Yuumei had said, and about the place that he was returning to. He was not avenged, not yet. The names of the men of the list he’d retrieved were a blood pact to him, for they were the ones that signed away Aika to death…. He remembered what he’d thought at the time. He wanted to end them all. He would be relentless… He would never stop until they were dead. Every. Last. One. Until they all dropped, their throats slit and their breathing ended, Kazuo would press on after them, stalking them in the shadows by day, and executing attacks by night. He would not remain in this area alone, that was a rather stupid idea. He’d get caught, eventually. So he’d run. Because he was used to it. Hit and run tactics, sneaking in, then fleeing at his top speed to safety. Simple enough in theory, but it would be more complicated then that…. He had wondered if he could get a partner. A wingman. Someone to help him shoulder the burden… They’d have to be a more crime-hardened person, because people like Johan… He doubted Yuumei would let them live once they started questioning his methods.

Now Kazuo knew that you couldn’t get good help. And besides, he had the best wingman in the world in the form of Yuumei, even if she sometimes took the wheel at a bad time and subsequently ruined everything

As he walked, his Meigan active and surveying the area for threats, he thought once again about the people he'd killed. From his home, he'd murdered countless samurai to avenge his name, people he'd grown up with, people he'd spent his life training with. Kazuo had shown no remorse for them as he slaughtered his former comrades. And then there was the people who'd picked fights with him on the borders. Even Neku, the one who'd killed Aika, had fallen at his feet. Aika had been avenged, truly. Still, why did Kazuo feel empty inside? Like he'd lost his purpose?

Walking along the paths, Kazuo noticed that the swamps had melded into coniferous woods, then to snow and ice, the familiar terrain of his home land, the Land of Iron. As he climbed a familiar cliff, memories washed over him. He had not been to this place in many years.

He stood up, climbing up to the mountain to watch the village where he had grown up. So that was it. That life that he knew was over… He would once again catch a glimpse of it, a flicker of what he’d once had and what he’d lost. His village was easily in sight from this peak, the one he had watched over the village on first. From there, the black market was a short walk away, while the village was relatively far. Still, the view was good. As he watched the village, he thought about his life, reflecting on what he had lost. He thought about his wife to be, and his master.

He remembered all the awkward situations Miyamoto and Aika’s friends had put them into… Miyamoto was actually quite the gossip, despite the persona he wore of a hardened, wise swordsman. Forcing them to meet alone in every place you could imagine, from clearing out and locking a tavern after inviting them to lunch there, to leaving them stranded together in the middle of the woods with nothing but a tent and some food. They were really creative…. It seemed a shame that such creativity was gone from this world now.

Watching in the distance, Kazuo felt something wither inside, and for the first time in many years, he dropped to his knees, sinking to the ground, and he slept, finally at home, or at least, as close as he could be.


(TWC: 936)
Insta Travel to Land of Iron

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