She woke with a grunt.
Bleary-eyed. Covered in sweat. Wrapped in blood-stained cloth and old blankets.
I was already watching. Always watching.
"Welcome back," I said.
She blinked. Slow. Confused.
Then the pain hit.
She winced. Clenched her jaw. Reached for her face.
"Slowly," I said. "You have a new eye now."
A strip of torn canvas wrapped her head, covering the gash I'd sealed with fire. Her hair was stuck to her scalp with dried blood.
"Good," I grinned. "Your first kill."
She didn't thank me. Didn't speak. Just stared at the floor.
Then grunted like an animal.
Good.
I liked her more like this.
She tried to rise.
Her legs buckled. Her body folded into the wooden seat like wet rope.
She was weak, broken. Barely a thing.
I barked a laugh.
"You're not an immortal. You don't pop back up. You bleed. You crack. You break."
She spat blood into a bucket.
"I've had worse."
"Liar." I snapped.
She didn't argue. Just wiped her mouth and looked at me through her one good eye.
"What now?" she asked. "What's your plan?"
I leaned back.
Let the ocean sway behind me.
One word.
"Kusanagi."
Her face twisted.
A name she was very familiar with. The man that built the foundation of her miserable life.
"You want to kill the Lord of the Iron Clan?"
I nodded.
She grinned. Her lip split and bled again.
"Good."
I barked laughter.
"You're tiny. Soft. Easy to snap. Easy to kill."
She didn't flinch, just snorted.
Angery. Not at me. Herself. She understood… she was nothing. Meat.
I pointed at her.
"But I'll fix this. I'll break you down. Strip the weak out of you like bone from meat. Then I build you new. Make you worthy. Make you a killer."
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.
I stepped closer. Pressed my fingers against her forehead.
"Time for Rule Two."
I raised two fingers.
"Understand your enemy. Don't let them understand you."
Her eyes narrowed on me. Brain focused. She repeated it. Word for word. Like a prayer.
"You'll be my eyes. My ears. You'll learn everything. And when I send you, you'll bleed for me. Kill for me."
She nodded.
"I'll learn. I'll take whatever you throw at me."
"Good," I said.
I pointed to the east. "Nihon. A new jungle. I must learn. Understand the land, the prey. You will help me. Teach me."
She nods, eyes fierce and focused.
Good.
I turned from her.
"Rest now. Heal. When your bones stop screaming, I'll break them again."
She drifted off not long after.
The ship creaked beneath us. The ocean hummed. My body buzzed with power.
I closed my eyes.
And when I opened them again…
The sun was gone.
Orange bled into the sky like fire across old wounds.
I fetched food. Dried fish. Salted pork. Stolen fruit. Warm water tinged red from old rusted pipes.
I dropped it beside her and sat cross-legged.
She stirred. Sat up. Winced.
Ate slowly. Mechanically.
I watched her chew like she was a puzzle I hadn't solved yet.
"What do you know about Kusanagi?" I asked.
She wiped her mouth.
"Not much. Just scraps."
"Give me the scraps."
She nodded.
"This ship belongs to the Fleet of Steel, part of the Iron Clan. We came from the Northern Territories, home of the Storm Clan, bringing supplies and slaves."
"More…"
"The Iron Clan is small. But powerful. They craft the strongest weapons. The hardest armor. Their buildings are fortresses."
I nodded, chewing old pork.
"It's said they used to be more, bigger, one of the strongest clans." she continued. "But their lord, Kusanagi, doesn't care for politics. He doesn't bend. Doesn't follow the new age."
I grunted.
Smart man.
"They say he's been sitting on the same throne for a hundred years. Waiting for the return of war. Waiting for a worthy battle."
That made me grin.
She continued.
"He's called the Iron Tsunami. He controls thousands of swords. Can turn battlefields into rivers of blades."
I could see it. Steel rising like ocean waves. Cutting through men like wind through grass.
"His clan is weak politically. But if it came to war again…"
"They'd drown the world in iron," I said.
She nodded.
I licked my lips.
"Soon," I whispered.
Morning.
I kicked her awake.
Hard.
Her ribs made a noise.
She woke coughing blood.
She didn't scream.
Didn't curse.
Just curled forward and spat.
I stood above her, blade in hand.
I tossed one to the floor beside her.
It clattered near her feet.
She stared up at me through one blood-crusted eye.
"Lesson one: Don't die," I said.
She didn't speak.
Just reached for the knife.
Her fingers trembled.
Her legs shook.
But she stood.
Barely.
The blade in her hand was too big. Too heavy.
Didn't matter.
She screamed.
Charged.
The fight was clumsy.
Ugly.
Perfect.