Tales of the Samurai: The Red Dragons
Ben Hall
 
 In every era, there has always been an elite group of assassins. Their purpose is their own. For some it’s money, for others it’s the thrill of killing. However for the Red Dragons, it was for honor in their beliefs. The Red Dragons fought on the side of the Grey Wolves, or the rebellion to the empire. They believe in Kitsuguri’s (The Grey Wolves’ Leader) ambitions, believing that it will lead to a better land, a more peaceful land. Only seven are among the ranks of the Red Dragons, but those seven have been known to take down legions, and possibly even armies in their time. However they had not been called to act during this war, Kitsuguri wanting to use them as a trump card. But now a new figure had arisen from the dead to fight for the Imperialists that follow under the banner of Emperor Ming. The same figure that Kitsuguri had thought to have killed, starting the betrayal and the eventual war between the Grey Wolves and the Empire of Ming.
 Yes, Mitsuguma, one of Emperor Ming’s best Samurai, had returned from the dead, with a few changes. He was now blind and wore a blindfold over his eyes, marked with Japanese letters that said “Vengeance.” However his disability had actually been a gift, and because of it he had become even more powerful than previously stated. This man, blind or not, was the only thing standing in the way of complete domination over Japan.
 The trump card had to be played.
 Kitsuguri sat on his chair in his tent at the main camp. It was still winter, so the breath that escaped through the mouth slits of his metal mask was still visible. He had two leather straps that crossed over his bare chest in the form of an “X,” and wore the traditional lightweight pants of a Samurai. On his belt was always his jagged and crude Katana that had killed thousands. There was also a change to Kitsuguri as well. His mask was cracked under the heavily shadowed rectangular eye slot, due to his encounter with Mitsuguma in the snowy fields outside of Kyoto in Southern Japan. The masked warrior had no idea what the Blind Samurai had become, thus underestimating him and losing the battle. It was time to call the Red Dragons to his service, and be rid of that stand alone figure and win this war that has raged on too long.
 “General Haruko,” Kitsuguri spoke in his echo-like and metallic voice. An Asian man dressed in formal robes came forth and kneeled before his master. “Please indulge me as to why the Red Dragons have not arrived,” he said, looking off to the side bored.
 “I... I... well.” The General stammered.
 “Speak quickly... My patience is running thin.” He said in his slow and calm demeanor.
 “We sent a message out to them days ago, they should be here any minute.” And as soon as he finished seven men entered through the flap of Kitsuguri’s large tent. They all wore a matching outfit, but each carried a different weapon. They had  bamboo shades on their heads resembling broad cones, which shadowed their faces, masking their true identities. Over their mouths were black bandanas that hung down to the upper parts of their torsos. The rest of their bodies were plain in themselves as they were black kimono’s with a red trim to them. They wore simple pants too, much resembling what peasants of rice farmers would wear. They were all sporting white.
 “Yurikama!” the first shouted, stepping forward and bowing. On his side was a chain; on the end of the chain was a very sharp sickle.
 “Omitsu!” the second shouted and bowed in the same manner. He had two wakizashi’s, or curved knives, on his sides.
 “Itsu!” the third cried, bowing like the two before him. He had clawed punching daggers attached to his knuckles.
 “Koritomo!” cried the forth, bowing in a similar fashion. He carried two kunai on his sides, and a ninja-to on his back. Kunai are small daggers, light, and held between the middle and ring finger. A ninja-to was simple a very light and small Katana.
 “Tetseku!” cried the fifth, bowing. On his back was a large metal shield infused with a sharp blade.
 “Jutsuya!” cried the sixth, bowing like all the others. However he bore no weapon other than the metal gauntlets that wrapped around his wrists and hands.
 “Tai, leader of the Red Dragons!” Cried the seventh, who slowly walked in and bowed before Kitsuguri. On his side was a specially crafted Katana.
 Kitsuguri smiled, and even clapped his hands. He stood up and walked over to the seven, and examined them all thoroughly. “A pleasant visit from ones so loyal to our cause,” he uttered. “However I’m not sure if you quite know why you’re here,” he said, addressing them all.
 They all looked to each other, and then made blank stares at the Grey Wolf leader. If the masked warrior’s face could be seen, it would have been apparent that he had a very dissatisfied frown on his face. He crossed his leather bound arms and paced back and forth in front of them.
 “I’ve called for you for a special reason. As would be the terms of your summoning at any given time,” Kitsuguri started. “The Imperial Army has gained an upper hand over our forces. Something that can take the lives of thousands, turn the tides of the most grueling battles, and even turn the tides of war,” he went on.
 “I only wish that I spoke of a special catapult or ballistae,” cold vapor echoed from his mask as he turned to face the Red Dragons.
 “You speak of the white dove,” said Tai, their leader. However Kitsuguri looked confused at the name that had been given.
 “Mitsuguma,” started Jutsuya. “The people in this land call him the white dove, a symbol of rebirth and hope.”
 “They say “That a flock of white doves fly over head in the battlefield, as a symbol of his arrival,” interrupted Koritomo.
 Kitsuguri felt the cracks in his mask that flowed from his eye slot. He remembered the doves flying overhead, and his troops looking at them in confusion. He started to growl.
 “I care not what he is called.” He said, anger building in his voice. “He is the one being on their side that can turn this war against us! I want him dead, and once you do kill him I want his head brought to me. Is this understood?” The seven Red Dragons nodded in agreement.
 “What are we to get for his head...?” Tai asked.
 “Eternal Glory, honor to my name and this land, and most importantly, a great payment.”
 “Done.” Tai answered.
 “I want you to set off as soon as possible. He cannot be far from Kyoto.” And with a wave of his leather hand, they were off. Kitsuguri turned and rested his gaze rested on General Haruko. From under his mask, he formed a devious smile, knowing how to relieve himself of some anger.
 “General.” He asked, bidding him to come forward. Haruko scrambled forward, nervous as to what the commander wanted. “Bring me Commander Moto.” A few moments later, two guards escorted Commander Moto, the man in charge of a defense against an imperial assault on a Grey Wolf fort. He looked as if he’d seen his share of battles, and surely knew how to fortify a defense. Word had traveled quickly, however, that the fortress had been captured, it now being occupied by Imperial dogs.
 “I assume you know why you’re here?” Kitsuguri asked, walking within good distance on the Commander. He didn’t seem to have a hint of anger in his metallic voice, but rather a sense of glee.
 “Yes, and I just-” But he was cut off. The commander saw a huff of cold vapor escape Kitsuguri’s mask as he hand quickly went to the hilt of his vicious Katana.
 “Good, then I don’t have to waste time talking!” Kitsuguri roared as his jagged sword came out of it’s sheath, and lopped the head off of the man. A line of blood sprayed across the ground and the body slumped over as the head rolled.
 “Your actions in calling a retreat was disappointing.” He said, wiping the blood on a white cloth and throwing it to the side. The lord of the Grey Wolves sheathed his blade as quickly as it had been brought out. “That was a vital point for our cause.” Kitsuguri kneeled down and picked up the head, holding the head’s ear to his own mouthpiece. “More important than your life...” And he started to laugh as he threw the head into the raging fires keeping his tent warm. The face was masked with horror, and seemed to show much more clearer as it burned in the flames.
 “Take his body and feed it to the wolves! Away with you!” And he continued to laugh as the guards who escorted the commander in, dragged his body out.
                             ~*~                               ~*~                                ~*~
 
 Mitsuguma was resting against a large rock at an Imperial camp. Although he could not see, he could hear everything that was going on around him. The birds were singing as they flew through the cloudy skies, and soared with the cold winds of winter. Some soldiers played dice outside of their tents, betting their salaries as wagers. Others were sparring, prepared for an enemy attack at any time. The Blind Samurai had to commend them for that. Being on your feet at all times will give you an advantage in a surprise attack, he always believed.
 Captain Domo was patrolling the camp, smiling at everyone he passed. However his gaze was frequently on Mitsuguma. The man himself was a very mysterious person. All that was really known about him was that he was a part of the Emperor’s Shinku ken before it had broken up. Common knowledge was that he was killed by another Shinku ken, and had come back from the realm of spirits. Although he had come back with a price. Yet the soldiers would say that his gift of sight taken away was a curse, but Mitsuguma had always embraced his loss of sight, saying that he saw the world in a new light. What always caught the Captain’s attentive eye was the Japanese lettering etched across the blindfold: “Vengeance”. He knew not the complete story behind Mitsuguma’s inability to see, but those letters must have something to do with it. Captain Domo was a fairly young officer, one who wanted the wisdom of elders. He found the strength to walk over, and speak to the mysterious Samurai.
 “E-excuse me, Mitsuguma?” Domo asked, trying to grab his attention. The Blind Samurai’s head slowly looked upward, as if he was staring blankly at the Captain. There was a long pause between the two, but Mitsuguma sat patiently as the wind breezed through his tied up black hair.
 “If you’ve something to ask, then ask.” The blind man said, breaking the silence.
“But as you can see I am very busy at the moment.” He finished with a sarcastic smirk. The soldiers listening in (which was a good majority, because most had caught notice of the Captain’s bold move) laughed aloud in unison at the joke.
 The Captain had laughed lightly, clearly embarrassed. “I was just wondering, if you could... perhaps tell us a tale?” He asked, slightly backing away. He was afraid, and Mitsuguma knew it. However his fear both confused and boosted his pride. Confused as to why someone of his own loyalties would fear him, Mitsugama and took pride in the mere fact that his presence was intimidating.
 “S-sir, I’m just curious as to your being here. You were presumed dead...” he said, looking around to see his soldiers listening in.
 “My being here..?” Mitsuguma said looking into the distance. “It’s rather simple... the Heavens felt it wasn’t my time.”
 “But... surely they could have brought back your sight if the heavens so wished-” Mitsuguma waved his hand, cutting the Captain off.
 “The heavens have their limits. But my sight was a hindrance,” The Blind man said to the young officer.
 “How...how did it all happen?”
 Mitsuguma stood up and placed his sword by his side. “This conversation is over,” he said, dismissing the captain. As Mitsuguma walked away from his resting place, he heard the Captain give a disappointed sigh.
 “Ninjitsu is a dangerous tool, young Captain,” Mitsuguma said at first. “If you ever run into one who uses the art of Ninjitsu, then you had best be prepared.” And at that, The Blind Samurai departed into the nearby woods. Domo stood there, lulling over the words of the Samurai. There were other questions he wanted to ask, ones so that he could better understand the man himself. However, the White Dove had left his company and gone off to pursue something of more interest.
 
 Mitsuguma was walking through the woods, some water droplets plopping on his raven colored head. The winter was fast leaving, the flowers in the area already starting to bloom. It was comforting to the Samurai. Although he had been trained to fight in any climate at any given time, he always preferred the spring. The aroma of life and the melody of the birds was calming to his battle torn soul.
 He held his hand out, catching a few droplets of water from the melting snow on the long tree branches. His ears perked up when he heard movement from the branches above.
 “Ling Cai... stalking me again are you?” he asked in the open air. A dove flittered down and perched itself on Mitsuguma’s arm as he looked up to a tree branch, where a woman in dark garments was standing. Although she wore a face mask, and although Mitsuguma was blind, he could easily tell she was smiling.
 “You always seem to surprise me. No matter how silent I am you are always aware of me,” she said chuckling. Ling Cai was as Asian as Mitsuguma, but she was of Chinese heritage and had trained under Chinese style of combat. Thus her garments which signified her as the stealthy assassin, or better known as a Ninja.
 “You forget yours and mine’s teachings. When I went blind I did hear better, but our master heightened my hearing so I could hear even the likes of you,” he explained while stroking the dove. Ling Cai leapt from the tree branch and stood inches away from the Samurai.
 “Now when did you grow a beard?” she said, running fingers lightly along Mitsuguma’s chin, scraping across his slightly heavy black beard that outlined his mouth and chin.
 “After not being able to see a mirror, and my age fast growing upon me, it couldn’t be helped,” he replied with a grin. Ling Cai’s eyes traced Mitsuguma’s outline and had realized his build was more toned than their last meeting
 “Master Yun misses your company...” she said in a grim tone. “He’s growing old and he can’t keep up all the time.”
 “I’m aware from the time I left him Ling Cai. But he knows what I must do. He knows that this is my duty,” Mitsuguma replied calmly, letting the bird fly away. He continued to walk through the woods, the stealthy ninja following his every step.
 “Your duty to serve the emperor of Japan? Or your duty to use the skills he taught you to extract vengeance,” she queried.
 The comment stopped the samurai in his tracks, as he turned around to regard the woman. What surprised him even more was that his answer did not come as immediately as he thought it would.
 “See, even you do not know,” Mitsuguma waved his hand and continued walking. “He wouldn’t want you to go in blindly...” The last word made both of them stop. Mitsuguma turned and cocked an eyebrow. “Sorry.. But he wouldn’t want you to go in head first and kill yourself.”
 “Master Yun taught us to kill, to take lives of others. Never once did he teach us morality or the uses of our newly acquired skills,” he said coldly.
 “But you have your own code! What about your honor that is represented by the samurai?” she asked, her voice quivering with a bit of anger.
 “You know nothing of our code of honor, and you will never know. Do not speak as if you had spent your whole life studying it,” the insulted Samurai shot back.
 “I’m sorry, but the point still remains. Vengeance isn’t what should drive you.”
 “Your concern is touching, but your words will not persuade me from my path.”
 Ling Cai stopped as he watched the blind man continue to walk. For a second, she could almost see an aura of blackness surrounding him, but it was her eyes playing tricks on her.
 “I really came to you for a different reason,” she admitted, slowly walking behind him.
 “And that being?” Mitsuguma said, breathing in the nature’s air.
 “I’ve been scouting around the area and...”
 “Now why would you be out here of all places scouting?” Mitsuguma asked bluntly, smiling. Ling Cai blushed a little, but paid the comment no heed.
 “T-that is nothing important. What is important is I’ve spotted something out of the ordinary.” she said, trying to keep her composure. Mitsuguma scratched his chin and raised an eyebrow again, wanting her to continue.
 “Seven men have been spotted around the area. Some of the Emperor’s scouts have been killed on the spot. I think they’re coming for you.”
 “That would explain our scouts not reporting back,” his voice trailed off as he looked at the ground. “Did you catch any markings of who they might be? Insignia’s or banners of any sort?”
 “They did not bear the banner of the Grey Wolves. This is for sure. But... ”
 “Yes?”
 “They were all dressed in the same fashion, all wearing dark clothing and a bamboo shade over their heads.”
 “Interesting” He said, beginning a stride back the way he came.
 “Any idea of who they might be?”
 “Not a clue” he remarked. Ling Cai nearly fell over at that statement.
 “So what are you going to do?!”
 “Ask around a bit, and if no information can be provided then they are just merely bandits.”
 Ling Cai stopped in her tracks and watched Mitsuguma walk into the distance yet again. “Be careful Mitsuguma... Master Yun would like to see you one last time before he dies.” she said quietly, but apparently not quite enough for the Samurai’s trained ears.
 “I will do my best to honor his wishes, but for now...” and he continued to walk, Ling Cai staring at the one other person that mattered to her in her life.
 
 Mitsuguma slowly glided back into the camp and as the Captain rose from his seat again, Mitsuguma held out his hand in command to stop.
 “Conversation over, remember?” And he continued his walk to a tent. The Captain promptly followed.
 “Master Mitsuguma I just want to know” Captain Domo started again, but Mitsuguma held his hand out again.
 “My history is of no importance. Please, let it be.” He said as he stood outside the flap to his tent.
 “But Master Mitsuguma...” the Captain pleaded again, but Mitsuguma was frustrated and quickly turned about to face Domo.
 “Listen to me, and listen good,” he said in a cold tone. “My history has some significance in this world. However my past is irrelevant to the point where this war is still happening and nothing can change that.” Domo looked down at his feet in shame, having angered the Samurai. “Leave me be.” And he walked into his tent.
 Captain Domo stood outside for many moments, having just wanting a bit of knowledge to why everything is happening. He wanted wisdom and insight, but today was apparently not that day. The Captain walked away, his head hung low.
 Night was quickly upon the camp, and Mitsuguma had taken his blindfold off, his blue, lifeless eyes staring drowsily at the bedding on the ground. He had been into his tent many times and had figured out how many paces to his bed, and the exact placement of his sheets. He lay his Masamune, his trademark Katana that was the longest edge ever made, by the bed as he slipped under the sheets.
 He took off the band that tied up his hair and let it freely flow down his back. The blind man’s eyes seemed to scan the ceiling as he lay back, but all he could really see was a pitch black. Sometimes it was hard to know if he was awake, or still in deep slumber. Another reason why he sometimes missed his ability to see. Always had he embraced his other senses after the loss of one, but there was still that emptiness. He could no longer admire the colors of the many plants, nor could he enjoy the beauty of sunrise and sunset anymore. As the thoughts came to mind, he had remembered his discipline and rolled over in his bed, and the thoughts left him. His eyes slowly closed as he drifted into the realm of dreams.
 But they quickly awakened when he heard noises in the camp. They were lone footsteps, and too quick to be a soldier on casual patrol. He tied up his hair, placed his blindfold firmly around his head, and picked up his blade. The Blind Samurai walked cautiously out of his tent, and he heard the footsteps scramble off near the woods. They were not disciplined enough to be that of Ling Cai’s, but they were quiet enough to evade the hearing of normal soldiers.
 Mitsuguma followed the noise, and was a bit relieved that they did not wander into the forest, but rather near the mountainside the Emperor’s camp had built itself around. As he slowly walked around, his ears scanning for any out of the ordinary noise, one was picked up. A chain hummed through the air and Mitsuguma had quickly pulled his blade halfway out of it’s sheath as the chain wrapped itself around it. In the light of the full moon, the etched words of the sword gleamed out in the night: “Heart of the Warrior”.
 “I am your first opponent! Yurikama of the Red Dragons!” a man said proudly. A shiver coursed through Mitsuguma’s spine as he heard the name of the organization the man belonged to. Although not often identified by their looks (For men never lasted long enough to relay the information) their name was well known, and feared.
 A large tug came from the man, and pulled Mitsuguma forward. Realizing the Samurai was not about to let go his weapon, the chain unwrapped itself. The Blind man was given a moment of relief before he felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder, as a sickle had lodged itself within his flesh. Wondering how he could not have predicted the move, Mitsuguma was pulled forward again, the sickle ripping itself out, drawing blood as it did. The Samurai had finally pulled his blade all the way out and prepared a defense now, ready for anything that came his way. He heard the sickle soar through the air again and his sword raised to smack away the deadly weapon.
 “Very good,” Yurikama commented.
 “You cannot possibly beat me alone,” Mitsuguma replied, his head turning about to try and pick up any and every noise.
 “A wonderful observation!” and a two more pairs of feet shuffled onto the battlefield.
 “Koritomo and-”
 “Omitsu of the Red Dragons!” they said finishing the other’s sentence. The sounds of four blades being brought out of their resting place rang in Mitsuguma’s ears. He grimaced, realizing there were only three opponents, but four blades and one exotic chain. His ears twitched, trying to pick up the sounds of footsteps, but heard nothing. They were waiting for something...
 And that’s when the hilt of a wakizashi slammed into his side, and a small dagger sunk into his shoulder. Mitsuguma howled in pain as the weapons quickly pulled away from The Blind Samurai. Something was wrong, he should have heard their footsteps as they neared him. It was as if they were walking on the tips of the blades of grass. He needed to think of a solution, and quickly, for if he could not pick up his opponents with any of his senses, then he would likely die this night. He was readying a plan when he heard the sounds of battle from the camp in the distance.