Chương 31: Book 1: Chapter 10 - The Bell [Part 4]

Nagai dismounted and immediately put the camp to work. The hunters checked spear points, tightened armor cords, and cleared loose branches from the fighting ground. Kurobane was watered while Kagawa inspected the saddle and harness, and the porters unloaded three stakes with crosspieces near their tops. The stakes were driven into the ground before the cave.

Ropes were passed over the crosspieces so that the prisoners' wrists could be held above their heads while their bodies remained a short distance in front of the upright timber, leaving their necks and limbs clear of the wood. The prisoners understood what the preparations meant. The broad man shouted that he had been promised a beheading, while the older prisoner collapsed to his knees and had to be hauled upright. The third man finally raised his face. Shimon recognized the pickpocket from the market.

Confinement had thinned him, sparse whiskers had grown around his mouth, and a faded yellow stain remained upon the cheek Shimon had struck into the mud. Recognition crossed the man's face almost immediately.

"You," the prisoner breathed. Tarō looked between them and asked, "Another friend?"

"He tried to steal from me," Shimon explained, his brow furrowing. The pickpocket pulled against the chain.

"Mercy, master samurai. You spared me in the market." Shimon looked away, offering no answer. The guards separated the prisoners and bound them to the stakes. Abe paced between the bodies and the cave mouth, considered the distance, and then ordered the stakes moved two paces closer. The broad prisoner cursed him until one of the guards replaced the gag. Shimon turned toward Nagai.

"They are to die here?"

"They were sentenced to die at the castle," the senior retainer answered evenly.

"Here, their deaths will also serve as bait. Perhaps they will be more useful in death than they were in life." The oilcloth was removed from the live weapons, and steel caught the late sunlight. A retainer assisted Shimon, holding the ōdachi's scabbard while Shimon drew the long blade. Nagai faced the assembled hunters.

"Straw does not panic, twist, beg, or seize a weapon," he instructed.

"Each condemned man will receive one disabling cut and one killing cut. No more. This is an examination rather than entertainment, and a damaged edge or careless stroke may kill the man beside you after dark." Kagawa's expression suggested mild disappointment.

"You will go first," Nagai ordered him.

"Take the arm, and then the neck." The broad prisoner's ankles were freed so that he could move beneath the restraint above his wrists. Kagawa measured the distance, waited until the man understood what was coming, and then shifted his blade toward the left arm. The prisoner recoiled as far as the ropes permitted. Kagawa laughed as he stepped after him and cut through the arm above the elbow. Blood splashed upon the ground, and the severed limb dropped beside the stake.

The prisoner screamed and sagged against the rope, his remaining hand clawing uselessly at the binding above his head. Kagawa made no attempt to finish him. He stood watching the man thrash, the tachi resting against his shoulder, and laughed again when the prisoner tried to press the bleeding stump against his body.

"Still standing," he observed.

"Stronger than he looks." There was no anger in his voice, nor any effort to disguise his pleasure. He circled the stake as though examining an animal caught in a trap, allowing the prisoner several more breaths of terror before adjusting his stance. The second smooth stroke removed the man's head. Kagawa looked disappointed when the body stopped moving. Nagai examined the edge of the tachi before permitting it to be cleaned. His expression did not change when his thumb passed close to the prisoner's blood.

"Acceptable," he judged. The older prisoner came next. Heita stepped forward with his naginata, and although his face had gone pale, the blade remained steady.

"Leg, then neck," Ishikawa instructed from beside him. He spoke in the same tone he used during formation practice.

"Drive from the hips, and do not reach with the arms." Heita cut through the thigh above the knee. The ropes kept the prisoner upright, though his body twisted violently before the second stroke. The naginata entered the side of his neck without passing through the spine. The prisoner convulsed against the bindings, choking as blood poured down his chest. Seki moved immediately. He drew the katana from his waist, set his feet, and looked toward Nagai for permission.

There was no excitement in his face and no revulsion either. A mistake had been made, and he waited only for the order to correct it.

"Finish it," Nagai commanded. Seki completed the cut with one controlled stroke. The prisoner's head dropped beside the stake, and the body became still. Heita stared at the blood coating the blade of his naginata.

"Your first stroke was clean," Ishikawa told him. He glanced once at the corpse and then returned his attention to Heita's footing.

"On the second, you shortened your step when he moved, and the blade lost its strength. Remember that." Heita shut his eyes, swallowed, and then nodded respectfully. No one reproached Kagawa for enjoying himself. No one reproached Seki for killing without hesitation. Now, only the pickpocket remained. When the gag was removed, he drew several desperate breaths before looking directly at Shimon.

"Please," the thief pleaded.

"Please, I do not want to die like that." Shimon looked toward Nagai, though he already knew there would be no reprieve. He possessed neither the authority to release the man nor anywhere safe to take him. Refusal would not save the prisoner. It would merely place the sword in someone else's hands, perhaps Kagawa's. The one-eyed samurai must have seen the thought cross his face, for he smiled. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"I will do it if you cannot." The offer, more than anything, settled the matter. Shimon stepped forward and drew his blade, his hands feeling cold. This was not combat. The man before him was bound, unarmed, and helpless. No explanation about law, custom, or the value placed upon life in this age could make the act righteous. It could only make one manner of death less terrible than another. Shimon approached the prisoner and lowered his voice.

"What is your name?" The man blinked, startled by the question. After a moment, he answered. Ayanokouji repeated the name so that it would not vanish unheard. He then reached up and adjusted the rope, allowing the prisoner to kneel rather than leaving him stretched against the stake like butchered game.

"Close your eyes," Shimon said.

"It will be one stroke." The prisoner's face crumpled with relief and terror. He bowed his head, whispered a hurried prayer, and closed his eyes. Shimon raised the sword, even as every instinct carried from his former life told him to stop. He cut cleanly through the neck, and the prisoner died before his body struck the ground. Shimon remained in position for a moment, both hands locked around the hilt. He felt no triumph and no satisfaction, only the sick certainty that he had killed a helpless man.

Yet when the cruel one-eyed samurai gave a disappointed snort behind him, the young man knew he would make the same choice again. He had not saved the prisoner's life. But he had saved what little dignity the man had been permitted at its end. That had to count for something. You have slain a Condemned Thief. 13 experience gained.

The System, it seemed, gave out experience points without distinguishing execution from murder or combat, the once innocent young man thought as he cleaned the blade letting it sleep in its scabbard. The three heads were fixed above the bodies, and blood darkened the ground beneath the stakes. Abe arranged knotted cords around the bait, placed scraps of meat in shallow dishes, and tied written charms to the corpses. Shimon watched him complete the pattern.

"What is that intended to do?"

"In theory, it carries the spiritual scent farther," Abe explained offhandedly.

"And in practice?" The scholar just gave him a grin. The party withdrew several hundred paces to a shallow hollow screened by bamboo and fallen timber. Food was distributed before sunset. The rice had been cooked with adzuki beans, staining parts of it a muted red. Kagawa raised his bowl toward Shimon.

"Blood rice," he remarked sardonically.

"Appropriate." Abe shook his head.

"Red beans repel harmful influence and are served on auspicious occasions."

"We tied three heads to stakes. I do not count that as a cause for celebration."

"Tell that to their victims," the scholar answered nonchalantly. Shimon took a bite and found the rice earthy and faintly sweet. He paused for a moment and saw Heita sat beside him, staring into his bowl as though the food was cursed.

"You should eat," Shimon advised.

"I know," the odd man murmured, although he obeyed without appetite. Across the hollow, Kagawa began recounting how he had lost his eye. The story had expanded considerably since the interviews. In this version, he had fought the mouthless woman alone for nearly an hour, saved an entire village, and ridden twelve leagues afterward without treatment. Kurobane slept nearby with its head tucked beneath one feathered arm. Tarō leaned closer to Shimon and whispered, "They found him beneath a cart."

"How do you know?" Shimon hissed.

"One of the men who pulled him out told me."

"Did he save the village?"

"The village was already empty." Kagawa reached the portion of the tale where he continued fighting after losing the eye, and no one dared interrupt him. Darkness settled early beneath the trees, while the full moon rose above the forest and silvered the world. No fires were lit, and the hunters wrapped themselves in cloaks before settling down to wait. Shimon sat with the ōdachi across his knees.

His katana remained at his waist in case the longer weapon became useless at close range, while the chip borrowed his senses and measured the temperature, his pulse, and the slow passage of time. [PASSIVE MONITORING ACTIVE] Ambient temperature: Falling Stress response: Elevated Unknown Carrier Signal: Low / Intermittent Hostile presence: None detected The hours passed slowly. Owls called from deeper within the trees, and small animals moved beneath the leaves.

These were the movements, the cycles of a natural place. Gradually, the forest quieted to an unnatural stillness. Kurobane raised its head as the feathers along its neck lifted, while Nagai's mount produced a low rumble in its throat. Heita touched Shimon's sleeve.

"Can you see them?" Shimon looked toward the cave, where moonlight reached the stakes through breaks in the canopy.

"I can see the bait."

"The shadows," Heita clarified.

"What shadows?" Heita's eyes moved between places that appeared empty.

"They move as they should not." The chip pulsed with fresh information. [ENVIRONMENTAL AUDIO SHIFT] Natural ambient activity: Suppressed Large-organism movement suspected [HOSTILE PRESENCE DETECTED] Pressure gathered along the edge of Shimon's perception, bringing with it the same unnatural awareness he had experienced during his first night in this world. He saw something crouched beside the stakes.

At first, it resembled a man bent over one of the corpses, although its arms were too long and worked too close to the body. Wet tearing carried across the clearing, followed by the sound of chewing. One of the severed heads slipped from its stake, but the creature caught it before it struck the ground and bit into the cheek. A second shape unfolded from behind the stones near the cave, and then a third moved through a place where Shimon had seen nothing. Nagai crouched beside him.

"How many?"

"Count hostile presences," Shimon ordered silently to his hidden companion. [ACTIVE SCAN] Detected structured hostile signatures: 3 Visual confirmation: Partial Classification: Unknown"Match the signatures to the gray feeders from the forest." [CLASSIFICATION REQUEST] Confidence: 71% Threat label added: YŌMA — GREY FEEDER Detected count: 3"Three," Shimon whispered.

"I can see only two," Nagai replied, with only the smallest bit of uncertainty in his voice.

"I am certain there are three," the young man assured.

"How?"

"I can feel them."

"There are three," Heita confirmed from behind them. Nagai looked toward him, and Heita pointed into the clearing.

"One is beside the first body, another is behind the cave stones, and the third is beneath the fallen cedar." The indicated place appeared empty until a long gray hand curled over the trunk. Nagai drew his sword.

"Ready."