Four weeks passed.
The ship bled under our feet. Wood soaked in sweat, blood, and spit. Yumi had long stopped crying. That was good. Crying was wasted breath.
She got faster. Not stronger… not like me. But relentless. Clever. She moved like a dog that had tasted its first kill and wanted more.
I broke her wrist on day five. Popped her shoulder out of socket on day eight. Split her lip wide open on day nine.
She thanked me for all of it.
Every scar. Every lesson. Every shattered piece.
Said I gave her purpose.
I cackled.
"You're only useful if you live," I told her, spitting a cracked tooth overboard. "The second you stop being useful, I'll gut you."
She didn't flinch.
"Then I'll fight for every breath left in me," she said, panting, blade in hand. "I'm done being a slave. This is my life now. I'm just waiting for the next kill, Master."
Her mouth twitched into something between a smile and a snarl.
Good.
I didn't say it, but something deep in my ribs stirred. Almost like pride.
Almost.
A week later, the continent rose from the horizon like a beast waking from sleep.
Mountains like teeth. Smoke curling from towers. Trees thick as fists.
My blood started to burn.
We were close.
So close I could almost taste the iron.
Yumi and I fought again that morning. On the top deck. Wind screaming. Sun burning. Salt stinging our eyes.
She came at me fast, knees bent, hips low. Good form. Her strikes were sharp now, clean. She didn't telegraph as much.
I let her land a few hits. Just to see her grin. Just to see her teeth stained red.
She was scarred now. Face torn from old cuts. Fingers crooked from broken knuckles. She walked with a limp and held her ribs like shattered glass.
But her eyes were fire.
Pain and fury.
And loyalty.
When we were done, she collapsed beside me on the deck, blood trickling from her nose.
"Thank you," she muttered.
"For what?"
"For this. For everything," she said. "You let me be part of it. Of you."
I barked a laugh.
"Don't thank me. Rule One, remember?" I lifted a finger. "Kill or be killed."
She nodded.
"I remember."
"You're still weak. You'll probably die soon."
"I don't care," she whispered. "I'll die fighting. And that'll be enough."
I didn't reply.
Didn't need to.
We hit land two days later.
The hull cracked. The keel screamed. The ship shuddered as we ran aground on some grey sand beach, the bones of our vessel now part of the shoreline.
I stood at the bow, barefoot, blade strapped across my back, sea wind in my hair.
My heart thumped slow. Calm.
A new land. A new jungle.
And new prey to learn.
The hunt was starting.
I was 25 years old when I first set foot on Nihon. Yumi said she was 17, looked more like 12.
We barely stepped foot off the sand before we were greeted by the Iron Clan.
The soldiers came fast. Iron banners. Shiny blades. Metal armor that caught the sun and screamed "look at me."
Idiots.
Yumi crouched beside me, teeth bared.
I saw her fingers twitch. Reaching for steel.
"Don't," I growled.
She twitched again.
I slapped her upside the head. Hard.
She staggered, blinked, then scowled.
"What the… Master?"
"Rule Two," I snarled. "Say it."
She gritted her teeth.
"Understand your enemy. Don't let them understand you."
"Louder."
"Understand your enemy. Don't let them understand you!" she snapped.
"Good." I grinned.
The soldiers barked orders.
Spears jabbed at our ribs.
I let them.
Let them prod. Let them talk.
Let them think they were in control.
We were marched through sand, then grass, then thickets of trees that looked like spears themselves. Tall, thin, reaching. Birds screamed overhead. Bugs buzzed like madness.
The village came next.
Small. Crude. Fish-stink in the air. Salt in the wind. Smoke from chimneys.
Peasants froze in their tracks as we passed.
Children stopped playing. Dogs whined and ran.
People stared.
I stared back.
Some lowered their heads.
Some held gazes for a second too long.
All of them breathed.
All of them bled.
Prey.
I felt Yumi glance at me.
She saw my face.
Saw the twitch in my lip. The glint in my eye. The way my fingers flexed.
Like a starving cat watching a crippled bird.
She grinned.
Eyes wild.
And whispered, low enough only I could hear…
"Kill or be killed."
I threw my head back.
And cackled.
"Shut up!" A soldier sneered. "Wouldn't be laughing if I was you."
"General Hitsoku will have their heads." another said, laughing.
I turn to Yumi and whisper. "Hitsoku?"
She shrugs. "A general. Leader. Controls this village. People. Soldiers."
"Strong?" I ask.
She nods.
Good.