The Traitors

The Veil Sealer Company halted at the base of the monastery’s main approach, where the mountain path widened into a stone-paved causeway flanked by weathered statues of guardian beasts. Their hollow eyes watched from the shadows as Renji studied the fortress above.

The Divine Monastery rose from the mountainside like a crown of grey stone and blue-tiled roofs, its walls fused seamlessly with the natural rock. Torchlight flickered along the battlements, where armored figures moved in steady patrols. The closed main gate was a massive structure of iron-banded oak, its surface etched with wards that pulsed with faint golden light.

“Fortifications here are heavier than the harbor,” Elder Denren observed, lowering his spyglass. “They’ve had time to prepare.”

Renji nodded, his breath misting in the cold mountain air. “The company stays here. I’ll scout ahead.”

He stepped away from the group and closed his eyes. His cloak rippled and split, the fabric darkening into leathery membranes. Bat wings unfurled from his shoulders, and when he opened his eyes, the night world sharpened into clarity.

Renji launched himself skyward. The wind howled past his ears as he climbed, banking around the outer wall. Below, the causeway dwindled to a ribbon of grey, the company’s lanterns clustered together like distant fireflies.

The monastery grounds sprawled beneath him as a labyrinth of courtyards, training halls, and temples connected by covered walkways. Priests and soldiers moved between buildings with tense expressions. They knew an attack was coming. They just didn’t know from where.

Renji circled the main keep, counting guards and noting positions. Then movement near the main gate caught his attention.

The gate creaked open, and a column of riders emerged with cloaks billowing in the wind. At their head rode a figure Renji recognized even from this height, marked by sharp features, a rigid posture in the saddle, and cold, precise movements.

Inquisitor Hideo.

The column turned west, away from the monastery, toward the dark expanse of the forest. They rode with purpose, fleeing or pursuing.

Renji watched them disappear into the treeline.

He banked toward the central tower, where the transmission chamber glowed with gathered mana. The windows were narrow, designed for archers rather than light, but he landed easily on the sill. Using his artificer magic, Renji softened the stone into an opening and slipped inside.

The transmission chamber was a circular room, dominated by a central node hanging in a lattice of copper and crystal. The Kami’s Breath flowed from it in steady pulses.

Master Artificer Hattori Kenji stood at the far end of the chamber, his back to the window. He wore robes of deep crimson and black, embroidered with symbols of the Temple’s authority. In his right hand, he held an arcane staff topped with a sphere that glowed with sickly green light.

He turned as Renji’s feet touched the floor.

“Well, well,” Hattori said, a thin smile spreading across his face. “You’ve defeated my elite troops and overcome my death traps to reach me here.”

Renji straightened, brushing dust from his sleeves. “Actually, I came through the window. I haven’t fought your garrison at all.” He paused, looking around the room. “Wait, did you install death traps in this tower? What a waste of taxpayer money. I’d love to see them if I have time later.”

Hattori’s smile faltered. “You’re a fool to face me alone. Your hubris will be your demise.”

“Actually,” Renji replied, raising his staff, “I am with Pochi.”

The wolf skull atop his staff gleamed in the torchlight, its empty eye sockets casting strange shadows across the floor.

Hattori’s expression twisted with contempt. “Furuta, show yourself!”

From the corner of the room behind Hattori, a shadow coalesced into human form. The figure wore black robes, his face hidden behind a mask painted with crimson lines. A curved sword hung at his hip.

Renji’s breath caught. “Furuta. The assassin who wiped out the Uchida clan in Kirigaya village. The one who wears kuroko kabuki gear even in the middle of the day.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” Hattori cackled, his voice echoing off the chamber walls. “Furuta, give this traitor his last…”

Furuta moved. The curved sword sang from its sheath, a silver arc cutting through the torchlight. Hattori’s words died in his throat as the blade punched through his back and erupted from his belly in a spray of crimson.

The Master Artificer’s staff clattered to the floor. His hands flew to the wound as if he could hold his life inside. He turned, his face a mask of shock and disbelief.

“And you, Furuta?” he whispered.

Furuta stepped forward without a word and drove his blade into Hattori’s heart.

The Master Artificer crumpled, his crimson robes darkening with blood. He lay still.

Renji stared at the body, then at the assassin. “So, you’re on our side?”

“I am on the winner’s side,” Furuta replied, wiping his blade clean with a cloth. “The reformists paid me more than the shogunate.”

Renji considered this. “I would have had a lot of trouble fighting you.”

“You think I am a worthy opponent?” Furuta began binding Hattori’s corpse with a length of rope. “Do you think I will win?”

“Nah.” Renji shook his head. “The fight isn’t the problem. The problem is thinking of a speech to give you during the battle. Something about loyalty, freedom, or protecting the people.” He sighed. “I’m not very good at those.”

Furuta paused, tilting his face toward Renji. “You’re a strange man.”

He pulled a giant kite from a hidden panel in the wall. With practiced efficiency, he secured Hattori’s body to the frame.

“Do you know where the monastery’s rift is located?” Renji asked.

“In the vault,” Furuta replied. “Enter the large red Torii gate from the main courtyard. The vault is built into the base of the mountain.”

“Thank you for the information.”

Furuta held out his open palm, expectant.

Renji blinked. “What is it?”

“I was paid to kill Hattori.” Furuta pulled up his mask, revealing a bland, middle-aged face covered in stubble. His eyes were flat and professional. “I wasn’t paid to guide you.”

“Fair enough.” Renji fumbled in his pocket and produced three gold coins, placing them in the assassin’s hand. “Consider this your tip.”

“Much appreciated.” Furuta pocketed the coins with a slight bow. “I will burn this tower as a bonus.”

“Do you have another contract?” Renji asked.

“I need to hunt Hideo,” Furuta said, glancing toward the window.

“Well,” Renji muttered, remembering the riders he’d seen earlier, “I saw him heading west.”

Furuta tossed one of the gold coins back to Renji. “Thanks for the information. Fair trade is a fair trade.”

Before Renji could respond, Furuta’s hands ignited with crimson witchfire. Flames erupted across the wooden walls and floor. He waved Hattori’s staff, causing the transmission node to hum and hiss violently.

“You’re overloading the Kami’s Breath transmission,” Renji said, backing away from the heat. “That’s a self-destruct protocol.”

Soldiers and priests fled the burning structure below, their shouts rising into the night. In the commotion, Furuta strapped himself to the giant kite and unleashed a burst of wind magic, launching himself into the sky. Hattori’s body dangled beneath him like a grotesque pendulum.

The assassin banked toward the main gate and released the corpse onto the stones below. Hattori’s loyalists scrambled to retrieve it, their defense collapsing as they fled north toward the Kurokaze Citadel.

Renji watched them scatter, then shifted his cloak back into wings and dropped from the window.

The monastery grounds had descended into chaos. Fire had spread to the adjacent buildings, and priests ran in every direction carrying buckets or fleeing outright. Renji flew low over the rooftops, scanning for the northern Torii gate.

He spotted the massive red structure marking the entrance to a sacred path carved into the mountain. But as he descended, something made him pause.

Bodies.

Monastery guards lay scattered across the stones, their armor torn to shreds. Some had been decapitated, their heads arranged in a row beside the gate. Others bore wounds carved by something sharp.

The blood trail led straight to the vault.

Renji landed softly, his wings folding back into his cloak. He walked among the dead, his jaw set. These weren’t casualties of the fire or the retreat. Someone had cut through them with absolute precision.

He followed the trail through the Torii gate and up the stone path into the mountain’s heart. The air grew cold and heavy with the smell of iron.

The path ended at a massive iron door set into the rock face. It stood slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling through the gap. Blood smeared the handle.

Renji approached slowly, Pochi raised before him, sensing the powerful presence lingering inside the vault.