Chapter Nine: The Blade and the Moon

The attack came at midnight.

Not assassins this time, but something worse—armed men wearing the mon of the Kiyoshi clan, led by Kenshin Tsubasa himself. They marched through the estate's main gate, which mysteriously stood open despite Hayato's orders.

Arata woke to the sound of steel clashing, of men shouting. Beside him, Akari sat up, her eyes wide with fear.

"Stay here," Arata commanded, reaching for his sword. "Lock the door behind me. Don't open it for anyone except Hayato or me."

"Arata—"

"I'll come back." He kissed her quickly, fiercely. "I promise."

He found Hayato in the main corridor, surrounded by a handful of loyal guards. The older man's face was grim. "Kenshin's made his move. He's claiming you're unfit to lead, that your marriage to a prostitute proves you've lost your mind. He's invoking an old law that allows retainers to remove a lord who's deemed incompetent."

"That's insane."

"That's politics." Hayato's eyes were hard. "He's got thirty men with him, maybe more. All convinced they're acting in the clan's best interest. We're outnumbered three to one."

"Then we fight."

"We run," Hayato corrected. "I can hold them here long enough for you and Akari to escape through the servant's passage. There's a safe house in the merchant district—"

"I'm not running from my own home."

"You're not dying in it either!" Hayato grabbed his arm. "Listen to me, Arata-sama. You're a decent swordsman now, but Kenshin is a master who's killed more men than you've met. If you face him, you die. And if you die, Akari dies. Then everything you've fought for means nothing."

The logic was sound, but something in Arata rebelled against it. He'd spent his whole life running—from his father's cruelty, from his own inadequacy, from the weight of responsibility. For once, he wanted to stand his ground.

"There's another option," he said slowly. "Trial by combat. Single combat between Kenshin and... someone representing me."

Understanding dawned in Hayato's eyes. "No."

"It's the old way. Still recognized by law. If you defeat Kenshin, his claim is void. The retainers will have to accept my leadership."

"And if I lose?"

"Then at least we tried." Arata met his gaze. "You've protected me my whole life, Hayato-san. Let me protect you this time. Let me trust you to win this."

For a long moment, Hayato said nothing. Then, slowly, he nodded. "If I do this, you swear you'll escape if things go badly. You and Akari. You'll live."

"I swear."

"Then I'll need sake." Hayato's smile was grim. "And you'll need to fetch your wife and bring her somewhere safe nearby. If this goes wrong, you'll need to run fast."

Arata returned to find Akari pacing, still dressed in her sleeping robe. "What's happening?"

"Kenshin's betrayed us. Hayato's going to fight him in single combat to settle this." He took her hands. "I need you to come with me. We're going to watch from the covered walkway—close enough to escape if needed, far enough to stay safe."

Her face went pale, but she nodded. "I'm ready."

They moved through the estate like ghosts, keeping to shadows. Other servants passed them, some loyal, some not—it was impossible to tell anymore. They reached the covered walkway that overlooked the main courtyard just as Hayato emerged into the open.

The older man had changed into a plain hakama and tied his graying hair back tightly. His katana gleamed in the torchlight, the blade that had protected Arata for twenty years. He looked smaller somehow, older, but his eyes burned with purpose.

Kenshin emerged from the opposite side, surrounded by his followers. He'd removed his formal robes, revealing the muscled frame of a man who'd never stopped training. His sword was magnificent—a blade that had probably tasted blood in a dozen battles.

"This is madness, Hayato," Kenshin called out. "We were comrades once. I don't want to kill you."

"Then walk away," Hayato replied. "Accept that your coup has failed. Lord Arata is the rightful heir."

"Lord Arata is a lovesick fool who's destroyed his house for a whore." Kenshin's voice carried across the courtyard. "I served his father faithfully for thirty years. I won't watch everything we built crumble because the son can't control his cock."

Hayato's jaw tightened. "Then we settle this the old way. You and me. To the death."

"Agreed." Kenshin drew his blade, the steel singing. "I'll make it quick. For old times' sake."

They circled each other, two masters assessing, calculating. The courtyard had gone silent—even the insects seemed to hold their breath.

Then Kenshin moved.

The attack was blindingly fast, a horizontal slash aimed at Hayato's throat. But Hayato wasn't there—he'd already shifted, his own blade coming up in a vertical strike that Kenshin barely parried. Steel screamed against steel, and they broke apart, circling again.

"You've gotten slow," Kenshin observed.

"You've gotten arrogant."

They clashed again, and this time it was a flurry of blows too fast to follow. Arata's heart hammered as he watched his mentor fight for his life, for all their lives. Beside him, Akari's hand found his, squeezing tight.

Hayato was good—better than good. His technique was flawless, his timing perfect. But Kenshin was younger, stronger, and he'd spent the last twenty years fighting in Nobunaga's wars while Hayato had played nursemaid to a bastard heir.

Blood appeared on Hayato's shoulder—a shallow cut, but it slowed him. Kenshin pressed the advantage, his attacks becoming more aggressive. Hayato gave ground, step by step, his breathing labored.

"He's losing," Akari whispered, horror in her voice.

"No," Arata said, though his heart was screaming otherwise. "He's not. He can't be."

Another strike. Another cut, this one deeper, across Hayato's ribs. The older man stumbled, and Kenshin's blade came down in a killing arc—

Hayato rolled sideways, impossibly fast, and his sword found Kenshin's thigh. Not a fatal cut, but a crippling one. Kenshin roared in pain and rage, his next strike wild, off-balance.

Hayato caught it on his blade, twisted, and sent Kenshin's sword spinning across the courtyard.

For a heartbeat, they stood frozen—Hayato with his blade at Kenshin's throat, Kenshin disarmed and bleeding.

"Yield," Hayato commanded.

Kenshin's laugh was bitter. "To what? A dying regime? A lord who throws everything away for love?" He spat blood. "Kill me. But know that I'm not the only one who thinks this way. There are others. And they'll keep coming until—"

His words cut off as a kunai blade suddenly sprouted from his throat. He fell forward, choking, clawing at the weapon. Behind him, in the shadows, a figure disappeared before anyone could identify it.

The courtyard erupted into chaos. Kenshin's followers scattered, some fleeing, others dropping their weapons in surrender. Hayato stood over the dying traitor, his face unreadable.

"Who threw that?" he demanded. "Show yourself!"

No one answered. Whoever had killed Kenshin had vanished like smoke.

Arata felt ice in his veins. This wasn't over. Kenshin's death solved nothing—if anything, it complicated things. The man could have been interrogated, could have revealed his co-conspirators. Now they'd never know who else was involved.

"We need to move," he said urgently, pulling Akari toward the servants' exit. "Now."

"Why? Hayato won—"

"Someone wanted Kenshin dead before he could talk. Which means there's someone else. Someone more dangerous." His mind raced. "And they just eliminated their competition."

They were halfway down the corridor when Arata heard it—a sound that made his blood turn to ice. Akari's scream, suddenly cut off.

He spun around to find her gone. Just... gone. Where she'd been standing a moment ago, there was only empty air and the faintest scent of chloroform.

"AKARI!" His shout echoed through the corridor.

Hayato appeared, bloodied but alive. "What happened?"

"Someone took her. Someone—" Arata's world was tilting, spinning. "We need to find her. NOW."

"Calm down and think," Hayato commanded. "Who benefits from taking her? What's the play?"

Arata forced his panicked mind to work. "They want leverage over me. Or they want to draw me out. Or—" A terrible thought occurred to him. "Or they want to prove I'm weak by making me choose between pursuing them and protecting my domain."

"Then what do we do?"

"We find her." Arata's voice was steel. "We find her, and we kill everyone who stands in the way."

For the first time in months, Hayato smiled—a warrior's smile, fierce and approving. "Now you're thinking like a lord."