The Hades Crusade - Preparation

Midnight bled into the mountains like spilled ink.

Cold gnawed at bone. Snow crunched beneath worn sandals. Breath steamed from mouths like drifting souls. The march toward Takayama had long passed the threshold of tiresome—it was torture now, slow and grinding, the kind that didn’t scream but seeped into muscles and joints until they burned numb.

Tenmichi’s legs trembled.

Six years old. Small lungs. Smaller steps.

She stumbled once.

Didn’t fall.

But sleep kept clawing at her eyelids, tugging them down with soft, merciless fingers. A child could fight sleep for only so long before the world began folding inward. Her head drooped. She forced it up. Again. Again.

The rope binding her wrists burned pink against her skin.

Beside her walked the other captive—the woman.

Bruises colored her arms like rotten blossoms. Her kimono was torn, dirt ground deep into its fabric. Yet despite that, despite everything, she kept glancing toward Tenmichi with sharp, watchful eyes.

And she saw it.
The wobble.
The sway.
The way the child’s knees bent too slow.

She turned sharply.

“You— You can’t tell me none of you see this,” she snapped, voice trembling with restrained fury. “She can barely stand. She’s going to collapse any moment!”

A bandit behind them scoffed. “Silence. Worry about your own footing, lady.”

“You’re dragging a child through snow at midnight!” she shouted. “From the way you move, from the way you guard her—she’s important, isn’t she? Then treat her like it!”

“Just—”

The bandit yanked the rope viciously.

The woman was ripped off her feet and slammed into the snow. Pain shot through her spine in white fire. Snow filled her mouth. Cold swallowed her breath.

“SHUT UP!”

Steel rang as a blade pressed lightly against her throat.

“Get up. Walk faster. Or worse will be dealt to you.”

Her hands shook. Rage boiled up, violent and desperate.

“What… more worse..? What... have you people… not done to m—”

Tiny fingers closed around her pinky.

Warm.
Soft.
Trembling.

She froze.

Tenmichi looked up at her with glassy eyes.

“P-pretty-maid-lady…” her small voice quivered. “Please don’t… They’ll hurt you more… I’m okay. I promise.”

The girl forced a smile so weak it nearly broke her.

Something inside the woman cracked.

Her lips pressed tight as emotion surged up like bile. She turned away sharply, standing again on shaking legs, unable to let Tenmichi see her face.

Behind them, the bandits whispered freely.

“Yeah, that’s right. Be a good slut.”
“She really thought she could talk back,” another chuckled. “I would’ve shoved my blade straight through her throat.”
“Oh? I wanted to grope her first.”

Laughter snickered through the snow.

The woman exhaled slowly as she was exhausted beyond fear now.

Beyond hope.

At this point, death felt closer than freedom. Sweeter than survival.

And yet—

She looked down.

Tenmichi’s small steps left uneven dents in the snow. Her breath came out in fragile little gasps. Yet she still walked.

Still endured.
Still worried about her.

“I want to die,” the woman thought quietly. “I truly do.”

But then—

Tenmichi peeked up at her again.

“H-Hey… Pretty-maid-lady… Are you sad?”

The woman swallowed hard.

“No,” she whispered quickly, forcing a faint smile. “I’m… just cold.”

Tenmichi nodded seriously, as if that answer satisfied her.

“…Maybe,” the woman thought as her steps continued forward, her eyes glaring at the little girl, “I should live a little longer than I planned.”

---

The abandoned warehouse slept on the outskirts of Takayama like a hollowed carcass abandoned by time itself. Once, its vast interior had stored rich grain destined for distant trade caravans. Once, it had been loud with the clamor of commerce: the sharp, bargaining voices of merchants, the heavy percussion of horse hooves on the dirt, the creak of pulleys, and the persistent grind of commerce. Now, only the wind remembered those sounds. It didn't rush; it slipped through broken slats in the walls and whistled with a soft, mournful sigh through gaps in the decaying roof, stirring up dust that had not known disturbance in years.

Inside, a single, lonely lanternlight sputtered.

Crates sat stacked like moss-covered gravestones. Strips of torn, grease-stained cloth hung limply from rusted hooks high on the rafters, swaying almost imperceptibly. The air was a heavy, layered scent: old oil, damp wood rotting slowly, and something faintly metallic—the residue of iron that had long since surrendered to the rust eating into the floorboards.

Ichirō leaned against one of the massive wooden support beams at the far end of the warehouse, nearly lost in the gloom. His traveling coat was loose, his posture deceptively casual, but his eyes were alert—too alert. They held the kind of stillness that wasn't rest, but lethal restraint. He had been quiet for a long time now, his breathing barely audible. Too long for someone of his restless, dynamic nature.

Toshio’s measured and unhurried footsteps approached across the creaking floorboards, each step a deliberate pause in the silence.

"There's someone outside asking for you," he said, his voice low and utterly devoid of inflection.

Ichirō didn't look up, merely flexing the fingers of the hand resting on the wood.

"Then tell him to crawl back to wherever he came from," Ichirō commanded, his voice muffled, laced with professional impatience. "I'm not hosting visitors tonight. Especially not those who can't announce themselves properly."

Toshio turned as if to leave, took one clean step—then stopped, his shadow stretching long and distorted in the lanternlight.

"He gave a name."

Ichirō exhaled faintly through his nose, a sound like sandpaper on wood. "I don't care what he calls himself. I deal with titles, not names."

"He said his name is Saru."

The warehouse went deathly silent. Even the wind seemed to pause its whistling lament.

For a drawn-out half-second, Ichirō didn't move. Then his spine straightened slowly, deliberately, like a blade being drawn from its sheath against the resistance of years of neglect.

"...Say that again." The command was almost a whisper, sharp and dangerous.

"Saru," Toshio repeated, his eyes finally showing a flicker of amusement. "That clear enough for the esteemed Ichirō?"

Ichirō’s eyes widened. Not in fear—his body language never admitted to fear—but in a profound, dizzying shock. In instant, absolute recognition.

"Hah—?" The sound escaped him in genuine disbelief. "Wait—no— hold on—" His voice cracked, melting into sudden, booming laughter that shook the dust from the rafters. "You idiot! Why didn't you say that first?!"

Before Toshio could offer a wry reply, Ichirō was moving—a blur of motion that shattered the previous stillness. His boots slammed against the wooden floor, creating a chaotic, thunderous drumroll. The single lanternlight shook violently, casting frantic shadows everywhere. The heavy warehouse door blew open violently as Ichirō burst outside into the frigid night air, the snow glittering under the faint stars.

Toshio shook his head slowly, a faint, almost paternal smirk touching his lips.

"...Good grief. Still can't hide it, huh."

---

Saru was standing stiffly near the collapsing fence line, huddled and bundled in travel-worn, thick clothing. The heavy snow of the region dusted his shoulders like powdered sugar. He barely had time to blink and register the massive figure charging toward him.

"SAAAARUUUUUU!!"

Ichirō crashed into him full-force, the impact generating a burst of cold air and snow. His arms wrapped around Saru's back in a crushing, suffocating embrace that lifted the courier momentarily off his feet.

"O—Oi— Ichirō Big Bro— I— I can't breathe—!" Saru managed, his voice strained and cracking.

Ichirō laughed loudly, a sound full of rough joy that echoed piercingly off the silent warehouse walls as he squeezed him even tighter.

"You got taller!" he shouted, pulling back only to inspect him. "And heavier! What've they been feedin' you in that village, rock candy?!"

"I—I'm serious— you're going to crack my ribs—!"

"Oh— right, right— sorry!"

Ichirō finally released him, stepping back with a wide, infectious grin that refused to fade. He planted his hands firmly on his hips, surveying his younger brother figure.

"Look at you," he said, his voice thick with affection and mockery. "Standin' tall in Takayama like it's nothin'. You're somethin' else aren't you, you runt."

Saru rubbed his sore shoulders but smiled genuinely, the relief of the journey ending palpable.

"I wouldn't even be alive here without you today Big Bro," he admitted, his breath clouding in the air. "Your letter saved us. The Nanushi actually listened to your instructions leading Takeshi to work himself into the ground helpin' my family get resettled."

Ichirō’s grin softened just a little, the predatory edge fading into quiet pride.

"Good," he said quietly. "That means it did somethin'. I didn't think that rusty piece of writing would ever reach you."

They stood there for a long moment in the bone-deep cold, a rare pocket of peace between the storms of their lives.

"So, what brought ye here?" Ichirō asked.

Then Saru’s shoulders stiffened, the casual posture dissolving instantly.

"...Ichirō Big Bro."

The shift was subtle—the simple address delivered with a heavy, serious weight.

Ichirō noticed immediately. His easy smile evaporated, replaced by the guarded alertness of moments earlier.

"That tone doesn't come with good news, Saru."

Saru hesitated. Snow drifted slowly between them, marking the passage of the cold, pregnant silence.

"...The daughter of Kisakago Keisakai," he said slowly, the name carrying an unfortunate familiarity. "Seiko Tenmichi... has been taken."

Ichirō’s face went blank. The word—Taken—was not spoken, but carved itself into the cold night air, promising consequence.

"...Who?" he asked, though the tightening of his jaw confirmed a part of him already knew the name of the child from the village.

"Seiko Tenmichi."

Ichirō stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low growl.

"By bandits?"

Saru nodded gravely.

"The footprints were disciplined. Formation movement. Straw sandals. These weren't desperate thieves lookin' for coin; they were professionals."

Ichirō’s jaw tightened until the tendons stood out.

"They used this," Saru said, reaching inside his heavy sleeves and pulling out a small, well-made straw doll.

Ichirō took it. He turned it slowly in his palm, feeling the texture. He studied the unnatural tightness of the weave, the heavy compression, the oil-stiffened fibers.

Behind them, the massive warehouse door creaked open, breaking the silence. One by one, figures stepped out into the harsh, shaking lantern glow.

Toshio.

Kenichi.

Shida.

Tsuyoshi.

Four silhouettes, their presence an immediate, heavy pressure in the atmosphere.

Saru inhaled sharply, recognizing the weight of their arrival instantly.

"Y-You..

You guys are..

The Kodokuna Sonae!"

"Toshio! Kenichi! Shida! Tsuyoshi!.. There's no doubt.." Saru's eyes widened, completely distracted from the doll as he gazed at the four figures, while Ichirō continued to inspect the straw item, seemingly unaware of the momentous arrival behind him.

"The Kodokuna Sonae (Lonely Samurai-Unit)... "Sonae" itself means "preparation" and is used for military formations, similar to a battalion that consists of hundreds of samurais.. But you four... You four are a group that worked alone and are equivalent to those hundreds by yourselves..." Saru continued, his voice ringing with awe and professional respect.

"Darn right, we are!" Shida declared, a booming voice full of rough confidence.
"I alone am the equivalent of 300 men if anything." Kenichi grinned, pulling his collar up with exaggerated bravado.
"Hm." Toshio offered no reply, his hands remaining tucked into his sleeves, his presence radiating an immovable silence.
"Hehe." Tsuyoshi chuckled, a strange, high-pitched sound that was unnerving.

Ichirō, finally finished with his inspection, gazed his eyes back to Saru, completely unconcerned with the grand introductions:

"Well, if your exposition for the four I've hired are over, Saru, I'd like you to tell me if you noticed somethin' about this straw doll."

"Huh? What do you mean, Ichirō Big Bro."

"Instead of a loose wara ningyō (curse doll), this one's tightly braided and compressed. Note the quality."

"Well, I'm a Higo-hikyaku who can run 40km in one run, not a straw toy dealer," Saru sarcastically countered, recovering his wits. "What are you getting to, Big Bro?"

"It's small, perfectly formed, possibly wrapped in a piece of oiled cloth or thin leather to maintain its shape and repel moisture. This isn't a typical child's toy or a common curse." Ichirō further explained, his tone shifting from older brother to shrewd analyst.

"So it's kind of a special straw doll is what you're saying?" Kenichi asked from behind, losing his grin.

"Not in particular, just that.. It's likely whoever produced this, or at least is an entrepreneur spending their fortune to produce something of this quality.. is rich. And he's not doin' it to sell high quality straw dolls to little kids, either."

Ichirō turned the doll over one final time, then kept it in his kimono, near his upper rib.

"I think I get what you're implying, Ichirō." Toshio crosses his arms.

"Huh?!" Saru is confused.

"Now I see. Makes sense, she's the daughter of Kisakago Keisakai." Kenichi closes his eyes reaching his own conclusion.

"What?!" Saru is further confused.

"Saru.. the kidnappers.. Or the bandits should I say.. I know where they're taking her." Ichirō smirks.

"How?! Just from the straw doll?!" Saru asks.

"Yeah.. Pretty much." Ichirō replies.

"Then.. Is she coming here?!" Saru asks, eyes widened.

"You can bet that much." Ichirō answers.

"Well if she's being brought here then Takeshi wouldn't know.. Oh man for what we know he probably hasn't considered Takayama an option." Saru realizes, before following with a question,

"So, Ichirō Big Bro.. Where will we find her??"

Ichirō weighs in his tone, deeper than ever before.  

"The Hades Bureau."

Saru’s blood ran cold. The snow seemed to bite harder. "The Hades Bureau..?"

"Organization ran by a rich merchant who's made his way up there being a bounty hunter before assigning his work to his hundreds of disciples now."

"Conquering the underworld of Japan; he soon wants to rise to military power and befriend those in-charge of the country." Ichirō concludes.

"So just underground terrorists? That's where they're taking her?"

"Good. Gives us one more reason to raid them tomorrow."

Saru stared at him in disbelief, his jaw slack.

"...You're not serious, you were going to raid them tomorrow..?"

Ichirō cracked his knuckles, the small, brittle sound echoing hugely in the cold air.

"Oh, I'm very serious."

Silence fell, thick and heavy, broken only by the whistling wind.

Then Saru exploded—

"YOU'RE GOING TO RAID A NEAR-TERRORIST ORGANIZATION WITH FIVE PEOPLE?!"

"Hey now, what do you mean five people? Did you already forget? We are the Kodokuna Sonae; The Unit that's worth hundreds of men." Tsuyoshi makes a remark from behind.

Ichirō laughed, the sound utterly devoid of fear, his gaze meeting the sharp, focused eyes of his hired samurai unit.

"Six, if you've got the legs for it."

Saru's soul nearly left his body. The members of the Kodokuna Sonae—Toshio, Kenichi, Shida, and Tsuyoshi—all smiled like men who had been bored for far too long, finally ready for the feast.

Amidst this, Saru settled down as he had a question for Ichirō,

"Ichirō Big Bro.. how come you haven't asked about your little brother?"