Secrets of the Past!

2 Years Ago

Lightning flashed across the sky as the rain came down in sheets against the night, threatening to turn the once-passable roads into muddy pools of mire.  Captain Akira Fujiwara grimaced as his sword clashed against his opponent. Around them, both of their respective escort parties laid slain, as this battle had taken its toll throughout the evening and into the night, as both men were pushed to the limits. Had the stakes not been as dire, both men would have withdrawn to fight another day, but that moment had long passed. There would be no quarter given; both men knew it. One of them would die tonight.

Akira had gotten word about this powerful rogue splinter group that had been stoking up a political alliance between some of the rival lords by attempting to entice some of the foreign nations to ally against the Empire and form a separate pact, possibly to overthrow the Emperor. His force had spotted this group just as the sun was coming down and the storm clouds were rolling in. He considered withdrawing, but knew that if he did, this force could very well escape under cover of darkness. This was going to be his best chance.

Unfortunately, as soon as the battle began, his men began dropping like flies. Much to his horror, he realized too late that the leader of his enemies had possessed one of the most powerful weapons the Kingdom ever forged; one of the feared "soul swords", a nearly unique weapon forged directly to the spirit of its wielder. Being so rare, it never occurred to him to even check for such a possibility. This meant, even worse than the loss of his men, he had to be facing one of the highest ranked nobles of the Kingdom. Only someone in the upper echelon would have such a weapon forged for them.

Akira fell back against his opponent's powerful blows, the soul blade's magical power amplifying both the speed and strength of every strike. Between the rain and the night, he couldn't tell who he was fighting, but if he didn't come up with a counter to his opponent, it soon wouldn't matter. He was also wielding an enchanted weapon, but nowhere near as powerful as a soul sword. If he fought toe-to-toe, he didn't stand a chance; he would need to rely on guile and experience to win this fight.

The mysterious attacker swung, connecting another strike, as the blades sparked as Akira pulled back to reduce the impact. Had he been using a regular blade, it would have long ago been shattered from the impact. Even his enchanted one wouldn't take many more such blows; he needed to end this fight quickly. Luckily, he had begun to spot a pattern to this attacker's style; he was relying entirely on offense, almost neglecting any defense. With a sword that powerful, he would usually defeat most opponent with only a few moves, so defense was almost superfluous. Akira waited for the next swing, holding his sword to block the strike once again, only to sidestep the strike, allowing the blow to slice empty air instead. With his flank exposed, Akira quickly slashed at his opponent's strong side, drawing blood and causing him to stumble. Pressing forward, he struck again, crippling his opponent, and finally gaining the upper hand.

"Yield," Akira ordered with a cold tone, his sword pointed squarely at his opponent's injured torso.

"I will not...!" the man snarled, lifting the sword, clearly meaning to continue the fight despite his condition.

Akira gritted his teeth; he needed to end this fight quickly before the soul sword's power came up with some kind of reversal, stabbing his opponent through the heart, then decapitating him for good measure. He slowly recovered his stamina as he examined his defeated opponent. A good part of him didn't want to know who it was; whoever it was would surely be high in the ranks of the nobility, possibly even one of the members of the extended royal family, vying to change the line of succession. It also meant his own life in danger; people like this likely had power behind them who would be coming for revenge. He carefully sheathed the soul sword; something this precious would not be missed. Dead or alive, someone would be coming to return this to a place of honor, with or without its master. One way or another, he feared, this would not be the last time he would be facing this blade...

____________________________________________

Present Day

Masako shuddered as she was escorted by a group of guards down a hallway. Unlike the dungeons, these rooms and hallways were opulent and showed wealth in every detail from the intricate sculptures that lined the ceilings to the polished mosaic multi-colored floors. The last hour had been a mixture of humiliation and confusion as she had been forcibly stripped, washed down head to toe, shoved into a darkened room then provided a stack of clothes and ordered to dress herself. She wondered what was about to happened, with her imagination conjuring all sorts of further degrading punishments this Kingdom could be considering but the clothing seemed to belay that. They were surprisingly beautiful, like nothing she had ever seen before outside of the finest fashion shows she could imagine. So, I guess I'm being sold as some kind of trophy?

Still, it's not like she could go around facing her captors stark naked, so left with no choice, she started putting on the dress and accessories. Whoever made this dress knew what they were doing, she thought, noting the near-perfect fit and sheer texture of the material. Or maybe someone just 'magicked' into existence, given what she was starting to see in this world. She was a modern girl who didn't easily buy the notion of magic, but when the evidence was screaming at her in the face, well, even the most stubborn unbeliever had to just throw up their hands and just say, yup, it's magic alright...

The room looked like someone's personal study with books, maps and trophies from many campaigns around the world, portraits and banners could be seen on the walls. The centerpiece however was a katana kake sitting in the middle of a broad table holding a single katana in place. Even from across the room, she could see from the craftmanship and details that this was no cheap knock-off or practice weapon but clearly an artifact being held in high regard.

A moment later, the door on the opposite side of the room opened and a pair of uniformed guards entered along with the imposing figure of the Emperor, only time he was without armor. He took a deep breath, looked Masako over, then stepped away from her and faced the fireplace, turning his back towards her and looked at the portrait on the mantle. "Guards, leave us," he commanded.

Masako blinked, Wait, what...? No guards, no armor... what was this? Her eyes flickered once again at the katana sitting just a mere double-step away from her reach. But surely the Emperor wouldn't just allow...

"Go ahead... pick it up..." The Emperor beckoned with a voice that was both an offer and a challenge.

Masako remained tense as a spring... he still wasn't bothering to face her or get his arms in any kind of ready position. She still hesitated, expecting some kind of last second ambush or trap, but no... nothing ventured, nothing gained, and lunged forward, seizing the blade by the tsuka.

Instantly, she felt it; a tingling warmth as her hands touched the samegawa wrapping, a subtle hum as she could sense the subliminal whispers going straight into her mind and heart, like welcoming home a long-lost child.

"You feel it, don't you? Not some cold clumsy piece of metal, but an extension of your very spirit. A servant of your will..." the Emperor intoned as he slowly turned around.

In an instant, Masako drew the katana from the hilt and swung down on the Emperor, only to clang against his saber. How did he get that thing up so quickly? she wondered. The two blades both seems to spark and blink as they made contact with one another, as if the two blades were having a conversation before Masako pulled back into a ready stance.

"Good... " the Emperor acknowledged. "Kesagiri strike, well executed, smooth, quick... if I were a common soldier, I may very well not be standing right now."

Ignoring the half-compliment, half-taunt, Masako tried again, this time, trying an attack from the side only to be easily blocked again by the Emperor's saber, as both swords seemed to glow slightly brighter as the duel continued.

"Yokomenuchi strike... not bad, though your footwork was slightly off that time," as he underscored his point by swatting Masako on the wrist with the flat of his saber, causing her to wince and fall back.

"So that's what this was about?" Masako fumed. "Just to prove what a big man you are by beating down someone half your size and reach?"

"Hardly," the Emperor proclaimed. "You may not yet realize it Masako Minamoto... but you've taken your first step to find your true destiny. The fact that you're able to wield the soul blade proves it."

"S-soul blade...?" Masako wondered, now looking more carefully at the glowing katana she was holding.

"A soul blade is forged to the spirit of its master; once bonded, they become one, capable of tremendous feats. Unfortunately, it can only do so with that one person... that one soul. To anyone else, it becomes merely a piece of metal, at best, to be swung like a club. As a result, that weapon has not been touched since the death of its master... my son. His name was Masahiro Minamoto."