Words of Aoi:Trained hands to war,Hope shrouded by confusion

A true shame it is to witness this.
It is midnight and the poor, handsome writer man follows behind almost half a mile away as best as his untrained legs can,while i look on at this pitiful sight.
My eyes follow the larger than most i had faced before "THE HUNDRED FOLD DEATH''victim.He is number forty seven of them.He kneels beside a stone memorial and it is the memorial of his wife.This man,this samurai has been the subject of more than one historical debate.
I say.
LIVE IT BEFORE YOU JUDGE IT.

I watch from this shrine tip to grant him his respect for unlike Soji Okita-san,He seems somewhat aware.I don't even want to kill him but should everyone here die because i lack the desire to slay?
My father would not forgive such lack of conviction,he deserves better than that in life and after his death i owe him that much.
He cries out,slashes away the memorial and tries to pull up the ground,tries to pull up his long,long lost beloved out making a crater in moments.A tired groundskeeper appears and screams at the sight of a large tattered corpse of a former samurai that is now malformed into a creature thanks to the wickedness of power hungry men.

My only pleasure and respite from what to be a nasty duel is the sight of the Handsome writer man presuming he has snuck up on me.

"I must kiss that man at least once''
I let that thought be conveyed by a playful smile aimed his way when he turns the camera from me to the samurai and back again,he looks as though he could collapse at anytime but the dagger  eyes are more than awake and alive with fire.

Without further hesitation I move in,the groundskeeper in his aged wisdom,flees immediately to the shirne while I throw a shuriken into the shin of the samurai.He turns and his eyes turn to me with long lines of black that cry to me.
"Forgive me Akechi-san,I never believed the words of you."

As I race towards him,shooting into the weak spot of the taller victims,
They hate being shot or stabbed by the back inside knee spot.My brain fills as ever with the remnant from there lives,every shot every cut into torso,back,knees all of them waken my brain to a life I hadn't lived.

My father was a man,a true man.
He could not be convinced nor I either,that any man could willfully betray or leave one master for another,never could he believe that anyone who is a man could betray his new master and destroy him in his own residence.
To my father it was as deep a sin as murdering her own household.
I agreed,
Yet.
I wondered if what he did was betrayal in his own eyes,I often thought that all though Akechi Mitsuhuide-San served Oda Nobunaga -San and betrayed him I believed he would only do so if a line had been crossed in his eyes.

The records that I had found I discreetly left at the home of the Handsome writer man and I hope maybe he can shed light on a hero or leave darkness cast on a villain.

Whichever the case,I can only now avoid the errant swings of his arms,the expert dives and swings with his broken katana that fascinate me as much as actually scared me,I always knew from the stories told by aged samurai about the legendary skill of Akechi-San.

What a pity indeed.