Robinhood of The Rice

Mission Specs:

Temo & Temo Inn sat in the far north of the Land of Rice up against the deepest inlet of Gaikotsu Bay. Nestled amongst a cluster of old-growth trees, the inn looked out over the sea. Sitting on the building’s wraparound porch one could look out and see the open ocean bounded by the inhospitable coast of the Moon Country to the left and the coast of the Land of Hotsprings and Frost to the right. It was truly a sight to behold and something entirely foreign to Yasahiro Yagami—Asahi had been right to recommend this particular trip to the sea.

Since his arrival at the inn, the samurai spent much of his time gazing out at the sea undisturbed. Upon his arrival, the elderly couple who ran the establishment explained that guests were infrequent of late due to Zukumiki’s roving thugs, which was just as well for the man because it meant that there would be more space for him. In fact, he soon found that he was the only guest of this particular inn. Asahi, for his part, had to yet to arrive, so his older cousin intended to take time to kick back and relax for the time being.

“Sado is putting tea on,” Hinotara, the landlady, asked as she stepped out onto the porch with their only guest. “Would you be interested in some?”

For a moment the samurai remained silent, enjoying the view before responding.

“I would love some, thank you.”

Hinotara bowed ever so slightly and stepped away silently, leaving the exile alone once more.

The Land of Rice had not disappointed in the slightest; never had the samurai spent time in a place so replete with natural beauty yet so devoid of humanity. The people, it seemed, suffered under the yoke of a repressive warlord by the name of Shinji Zukumiki. Some—like the farmers he met a week or so back—fought back, others made ends meet by ignoring the problem—like Lord and Lady Kita who lived in their high castle—and a rare few live a life away from it all, like Hinotara and her husband, Sado. No matter what way he looked at it the land was destined to fall under Zukumiki’s control entirely, the people simply lacked the collective will to push him out.

“Here you are, dear,” Hinotara intoned, placing the tea on the table at Yasahiro’s side. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

Another brief silence as before.

“There is one thing, yes,” he took a sip of tea, savoring the minty taste. “Can you tell me a bit about Shinji Zukumiki?”

A breeze blew up off the water and up onto the porch sending the samurai’s wild hair every which way.

“Well,” the innkeeper glanced behind her as if gauging whether anyone was listening in. “It’s not really something Sado and I like to talk about...but I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”

“Thank you,” a kind smile slipped across the man’s face. “I just want to know more about who he is and what he intends to do with this land.”

“Oh, you’re talking to the wrong person then, I’m not that knowledgeable about his plans or personal history. Frankly, Sado and I pay our protection money monthly and see little trouble from Zukumiki and his lot,” she cast her gaze out over the bay and furrowed her brow. “I’ve heard that he’s consolidating power near the center of the country where much of our agricultural base lies. What he plans do with such centralized power is beyond me.”

“Interesting,” this time it was the samurai’s brow to furrow. “When do they collect on that protection money?”

“At the end of the first week of each month, like clockwork.”

“Hmm,” he sighed, trying to count out the days he had been on the road. “So, that would mean they’re coming by tomorrow, right?”

“Indeed, they typically send a small group early in the morning.”

“I see,” the exile trailed off and soon lost himself in thought, which Hinotara took as her cue to silently shuffle away and leave her guest in peace. Yasahiro’s mind, however, was anything but peaceful. Dangerous thoughts and devilish ideas danced about in his head. The Zukumiki’s were a cancer on the land—all that was required was a sharp blade to excise it before it metastasized.

The next morning broke with a magnificent sunrise that illuminated the land with its warm rays that flashed off of the distant sea. Unfortunately, Yasahiro was not in his usual spot on the porch to see such a spectacle. Instead, he found himself silently trailing behind a group of three goons who had stopped by the inn before daybreak to collect their protection money. The samurai had not whispered a word of his plans to either Sado or Hinotara and, luckily, the Zukumiki thugs were not the sharpest. Perhaps they were simply used to doing what they pleased with no one to challenge them?

Regardless, Yasahiro was not one to complain about the incompetence of his prey, especially when it worked in his favor as it did for the moment. Moving between rock outcropping and underbrush, he kept pace with the thugs without breaking a sweat. The landscape of the Land of Rice made for the perfect camouflage to his movements, another definite point in its favor.

Making the final approach to what appeared to be a small fortified outpost, the samurai slipped into one of the irrigation channels for the surrounding rice paddies and allowed the thugs to advance unfollowed. He now knew where he had to go. Following them any further was only tempting fate; if he wished to carry out his plan then he would need the element of surprise, getting spotted in the final stages of an operation simply wouldn’t do.

The plan—as many of Yasahiro’s plans were—was simple. Indeed, were his younger cousin with him now he surely would have insisted on adding some flair to its execution, but he wasn’t present and the samurai had no patience for theatrics. If all went as planned he would sneak into the outpost, cut down those inside, and ransack whatever ill-gotten gains they might be stashing therein. With one fell stroke, he would begin to remove the cancer of the Zukumiki forces from the Land of Rice and send a message that the land would not settle under their yoke without a fight.

The people of this country deserved better, that much he had seen.

Weaving a few hand seals, the familiar feeling of chakra flowed through the samurai’s body. In place of the black-clad man stood a small woman with a gaunt face and fiery eyes. The transformation jutsu was simple but especially effective against those who did not see it coming. The Zukumiki aligned thugs wouldn’t see this coming and by the time they figured out the ruse, it would be far too late.

Alighting from his hiding spot the transformed Yasahiro stumbled his way along the road to the outpost. Acting had never been a strong point for the man, but he tried his best to appear as a wayward waif who had lost her way. He zig-zagged across the road, whimpered pathetically, and stopped at seemingly random intervals to survey the landscape around him.

It was certainly not the most inspired performance the world had ever seen, but it seemed to have done the trick for soon the samurai arrived at the same door he had seen the thugs entered through unassailed. Throwing himself at the door, he pounded against it in hopes of attracting the thug's attention—stealth came in many different flavors as those within the outpost would soon find out.

“Please,” he wailed, doing his best to remove the typical gruffness from his voice. “Let me in, I need help.”

Hearing no response from behind the door she redoubled her efforts and pounded on the door with a renewed vigor.

“Please…” he whimpered, trying—and no doubt failing—to make himself sound like a distraught woman. “Help…”

“Oi, shut up, you wench,” a gruff voice finally shouted from behind the door. “Get lost or you’re asking for a beating.”

“Please...I just need something to eat,” the transformed Yasahiro wailed even louder. “I’ll do anything you want...please.”

“Anything?” the perverse edge in the man’s voice curdled Yasahiro’s blood. “Well, if you’ll do anything I’m sure we can figure something out.”

The click of a couple of locks issued from behind the door and it swung inwards.

“Well, look at you, lovely—”

“Yes,” Yasahiro replied wryly. “Look at me.”

The samurai’s transformation dispersed in a poof, and in place of the small slight women stood a seething Yasahiro. Before the thug could recoil to close the door there was a kunai in his throat. In a blur of motion and violence, the eldest son of the Yagami family moved through the outpost like a hot knife through butter. The thugs never saw their end coming, one after another they fell until the first floor of the outpost was slick with blood and severed limbs.

The second floor was more of the same. A few of the thugs put up more of a fight after being alerted by the screams of their companions a floor below them. The warning they got was not enough, however, for they too fell to the samurai’s fury until only a single miscreant remained.

“Well, well,” the exile’s voice was erratic and jumpy with adrenaline. “It looks like you’re the last one, lucky you.”

“Lucky, like hell, you bastard,” the sole survivor spat trying his best to put on a strong front. “You killed them all, why? Why did you do it?”

Silence reigned for a moment before a dark chuckle issued from deep within the samurai.

“Do you really need a reason?” he said, his eyes narrowing. “After all, you’re going to live, you have nothing to worry about.”

“You’re letting me live?”

“Of course, I need someone to inform Zukumiki of his coming demise. You will be my messenger for that purpose—”

“No, no, no, Shinji will kill me on the spot.”

“No, you don't understand,” the exile shook his head. “I will kill you on the spot if you don’t do this for me, so make your choice.”

He stepped aside to allow the thug the chance to escape. Instead of just walking away, however, the thug lashed out trying to take Yasahiro down with him. The man’s head rolled on the ground in a flash; the samurai stood as the lone soul remaining in the building.

The next hour or so was spent scouring the outpost for anything of use. Tables were turned over, cupboards emptied, and glasses smashed. By the end of it, all Yasahiro found only a safe full of their ill-gotten gains. It was easily cracked with the key found on one of the expired thugs, which gave the man a small windfall but none of the information on Zukumiki’s plans that he had hoped to find.

Either way, he counted the day as a triumph. After washing in the irrigation canal by the outpost, he soon returned to the Temo & Temo Inn where Hinotara and Sado greeted him with a hot lunch and high spirits. Hopefully, they didn’t ask any questions about how their payment to the Zukumiki thugs had returned to their coffers. Sometimes it was better to simply accept the small miracles in life.

For the remainder of the day, Yasahiro remained camped out on the porch enjoying the view of the sea once more. The Land of Rice was feeling more and more like home every day. He had spilled blood here and helped its people, which was more than he could say for his last ‘home’. Perhaps it would be worth sticking around for a while to see the campaign against the Zukumiki-led forces through—it wouldn’t do to leave something half done. Only time would truly tell what would happen next, but for the first time in a while Yasahiro was optimistic.

Times in the Land of Rice were changing.
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TWC: 2015
+ 2100 ryo (2000 mission ryo | 100 rank-based mission ryo)
+ 45 (5 from mission | 40 from training)
+ 1149 words towards Shadow Clone
+ 866 words towards A-Rank Blood Tastes Like Iron

Approved.