“Your scouts have returned, my lord. The boy of your interest has travelled across the channel. His feet now stain your realm, my lord.”, said the assistant, before hurrying away.

Kisho’s ears prick up at the news.

Now 60 years old, the seasoned General Kisho sat in his throne, gazing out of his manor window. He had gained patience and wisdom with age, but his brutality in rule remained. The worthless commoners shrivelling at his feet bored him. He yearned for something fresh, for a chance at blood and glory again.

Kisho heard of the boy’s existence through stories of his duels. The supposed undefeated son of a disgraced Samurai, who fled to the northern prefecture of snowy Hokkaido as a child. With only two small daggers, this boy was freeing slaves and siding with rogue villagers, rebelling against the might of Kisho’s growing Kingdom.

It was said that meeting this boy in battle was like fighting an immortal hornet, with an undying resilience to sting whichever soul became it’s enemy.

Sudden commotion in the courtyard.

The General watches as his sons holler for guards, his hand resting upon his rigid chin. His daughter seeks refuge with her mother in the stables.

The screams and clatters of katanas echoed as a chaotic symphony, getting louder as the hum of the so-called ‘hornet’ reached the manor gates. Kisho smelt the growing aroma of fear amongst his residents.  

Guards’ bodies hit the floor.

The teenage sons wave their swords in the air, shouting insults at the guards’ dead bodies until finally, the manor gates creak open.

A bear skin on his shoulders, a large bamboo fisherman’s hat and two small daggers brandished.

“Hornet…” says Kisho. His hand drops from his chin.

The sons of Kisho charge, roaring as they plunge their swords towards the boy.

But the boy was quick.

He dashes backwards, letting both the sons’ reckless swings clatter into each other.

An opening.

The boy leaps forward, effortlessly slicing the throats of both sons and landing with elegance, his hat still covering his face.

Kisho watched on as his two sons bled out onto the snowy floor, their blood pumping and spraying in a violent splatter against the ragged shoes of the boy.

But Kisho felt nothing.

Nothing apart from a fresh flame.

His wife runs out of the stable, weeping and crying at the boy’s feet.

But the boy continues his silent rampage.

The daughter of Kisho followed, begging him to cease the destruction of her family.

“You have my mother’s innocent beauty.” The boy says, raising his hand to her face and wiping the tears away from her eyes. The girl stared back at the boy, her weeps slowing.

For a moment, General Kisho reminisces the eyes of Shuto, his heroic rival, the man who freed the girls from his pleasure manor. The man who watched hopelessly that joyous day when Kisho took advantage of Shuto’s wife, who is now his own.

He remembers how he cut down Shuto, slicing at his tied-up body like a butcher on a pig’s carcass in the middle of that very courtyard where the boy now stood. How Kisho laughed at the faces that watched on in horror. How he enthralled seeing that man cry and suffer.

This boy though … he showed no emotion. A coolness that irked Kisho.

How can one kill with no rage?

How can one seek blood with no fire?

The boy walks through the open manor door, approaching the throne where General Kisho sat, whose face was plastered with a confused frown.

The boy bows.

“General Kisho, sir. I am the son of Samurai Shuto Yamata, former member of the 56^th Koto clan regiment. You are a coward. I will deliver your fate. Do you wish to take it peacefully or with honour in battle?”

Kisho stares at the boy before arrogantly laughing. He wears a tight midnight black and red kimono, with the very katana that carved apart the boy’s apparent father, laid proudly across his lap.

“Son of Yamata, you claim? Hm…Then I shall take your life as I did his.”

The room fell silent, as the mighty General began his slow ascent from his iron black throne. His giant hands slam onto the long red grip of his katana. With two booming steps, he assumes a fortified defensive stance, like an impenetrable crab, his sleek sword as his claw.

“Now approach me with all your might, and witness true strength, for I am not my sons nor my soldiers, I am General Kisho Koto, ruler of all Aomori and soon all of Japan.”

The boy takes off his hat.

Scars and burns etched across his head and face.

Kisho’s katana lowers for a second.

Such a young boy with such gruesome battle-worn injuries.

He felt… something. Something that he only assumed lay in the souls of the weak.

The General strides forward towards the boy, shaking his head as if to banish away his sense of unnatural compassion.

The boy stands still, dropping the bear skin off his shoulders and holding his two daggers’ outwards.

“My name is Yuto Yamata and I will deliver your fate.”

“Yuto…. ‘to soar with excellence’.”

Kisho grins, now swinging his sword sideways, lining up an attack to Yuto’s chest.

But Yuto was quicker.

He slides towards Kisho’s ankles, slicing his right shin.

Yuto spins, flinging his dagger in a ferocious hunter-like fashion.

But Kisho deflects, a slight limp now impeding him.

This boy’s speed was staggering.

Kisho attempts to steady himself, bringing his sword quickly back to a defensive position.

But Yuto was quicker.

He jams his final dagger into the General’s stomach.

General Kisho falls to one knee and roars.

Yuto rips the katana out the Kisho’s palms, resting the glinting blade upon the side of his neck.

A clacking of wooden shoes suddenly approaches.

“YUTO!”

“Mother. Watch as I end this once and-“

He gasps, looking over his shoulder.

Pain swells in his back.

The mother stares, tears in her manic eyes.

She yanks the old farm hook out of her son’s body, screaming in a confused sadness.

Blood erupts from Yuto’s wound.

Kisho chuckles through a gurgle of blood. His chuckle, oddly proud.

“Yuto, the immortal hornet …

…you have fought well, boy-”

Until a rusty pitchfork punctures his neck.

A girl stands behind the General, the weapon trembling in her hands.

Kisho’s mouth stays wide open, he panics for a second or two, gasping for air but only receiving blood.

The girl lets go of the pitchfork.

The General’s body slumps.

She rushes to Yuto, ripping part of her kimono to patch up Yuto’s wound.

Her mother, dropping the bloodied hook, begins to weep.

Ignoring her mother, the girl uses her small but adrenaline-packed arms to tie a makeshift bandage tight onto Yuto.

“Your son will live, Mother-”

“You don’t understand, my daughter. Kisho… oh my beloved. You’ve left me just as Shuto did.”

Yuto, clasping his wound, looks across at his mother.

“My beloved? The General was a coward!”

She kneels by Kisho’s carcass, her hand resting gently on his silent heart.

“No, boy. I had only one child with Shuto Yamata, a daughter.”

The small girl smiles, her vengeance now confirmed, but Yuto’s eyes widen. Their mother continues.

“Kisho envied Shuto and his many heroic tales. When you were born, Kisho didn’t just want a son; he wanted an heir. Someone like Shuto. Someone with honour… a true hero.”

She looks up at Yuto.

“He sent you to Hokkaido, entrusting his spies to plant rumours. He wanted you to truly believe it… that you were a lost son of Shuto… and it worked.

…but you… true hero…”

She bows her head towards Yuto.

“You are the immortal heir of General Kisho Koto. The new ruler of Aomori and soon all of Japan…

…all shall hail General Yuto Koto.”