A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

"Miura-san, sir, what the hell do we do?"

The men were rattled, and rightly so. Their already slim chances at victory had grown even slimmer. It would be wise to retreat… yet after coming this far, it felt brutal to have to give up.

Gengyo stroked his chin, trying to come up with an alternate plan of attack. But with the numbers they had, and with no arrows left, there were very few options open to them.

He sighed, desperately wanting to cut off Toda's head, but he felt wrong forcing the men to do so.

"The odds are not in our favour. If would be better to retreat."

He turned his horse away, and began to walk toward the forest at a slow trot. It was a decision he did not want to make, but it was likely the right one.

"No…"

A small voice spoke out from behind him. The men turned, surprised.

"Kitajo..?"

Gengyo asked tentatively, struggling to believe what he was hearing.

The boy reaffirmed his motivation, grasping his spear tighter, and hardening his face. He was unable to hide the fear, but he spoke again this time, stronger.

"No! We can't leave it like this. You called me brave, Miura-san…"

He sniffed, struggling to continue.

"No one has ever called me brave. Everyone has always called me a coward… But I haven't done anything yet! I haven't fought with this feeling. You're the brave man, Miura-san!"

"I know you want to fight… I can see it. Everyone here knows you do... I'm scared. Really scared. But you're far braver than me - than any of us! If it's you, Miura-san, then we can win! We can kill that bastard!"

He spoke passionately, even as his eyes clouded with tears. Everyone knew how hard that was for him to say. And because they knew that, what he said was all the more powerful.

Gengyo could say nothing. His gaped, his mouth opened. He had never thought his actions – and his words – would have such an effect on people.

"F.u.c.k it… If that little shrimp isn't going to run, then what would the rest of us be like if we did?"

A guard spoke, grinding his teeth. It was a hard choice to make.

His words brought murmurs of agreement through the men.

"Aye. I'll fight as well. Ain't much left in this world for me. Wife died a few years past. I'll be honest with you fellas – this is the most excitement I've had in decades. I'm in, lad. Let's cut that f.u.c.ker to pieces."

Niiro spoke next, stepping up to stand beside the guard and Kitajo. There was nothing Gengyo could offer them, aside from a nod filled with the utmost respect. These were brave men.

"You're a brilliant man, little brother. Even if these men had not chosen to stand beside you, I always would. You've saved us countless times – let me help to save you."

Masaatsu then turned to face the rest of the men who had not yet spoken, his long hair whipping around as he did so.

"And what about the rest of you? I've given up on living today. I care not for it. I will throw away my life without the slightest hesitation for the chance to stand beside my brother, and achieve the glory that he speaks of."

"Do you not tire of being simple peasantry, and simple guards? Surely you feel it. There's something here. Our fingers are wrapped around the strings of fate. It's up to us. We of low birth have been chosen to decide the outcome of a samurai's battle. This is the pinnacle of my life. I've never felt such energy. I am honoured to serve at my brother's side."

He spoke with the vigour and passion of a general. Listening to him, Gengyo felt a chill crawl up his spine. To think there would be such a great man that thought so highly of him.

The men were as affected by the speech as he, and those that hesitated found the courage to move forward.

"To hell it with it… I'm here! The kid's right. This is our moment to prove our worth!"

"Aye! I used to dream of this as a boy. And now my time has come. I'm scared – f.u.c.k it, I'm terrified – but I'll be damned if I live the rest of my life in regret."

"I'm with you lad!"

The cries rang out, and morale soared. Spears were raised high, and intents were solidified. Despite the overwhelming disadvantage they sat at. Despite the complete lack of a plan. Despite their lack of experience. Despite their intense fear. In that moment – though they were putting their lives on the line – for the first time in their years of existence, they had finally begun to live.

There were no words that could do such passion justice, and so, their commander did not speak any. Instead, he grinned widely, inspired by their courage, as he hoisted his spear high into the air to reciprocate their calling.

With a heel to the side of his horse, he began to trot forward toward their foes. In that moment, their emotions were so in tune with one another, that a formation did not even need to be spoken. The men assumed a casual arrowhead as though they had been doing such a thing since the day they were born.

Their speed matched that of their leader's mount, and they ran forward, closing the distance between them and their enemies, their spears fully extended, ready to tear apart all that stood in their way.

"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!"

A fierce cry ran out as they charged. A cry that was fuelled with a life time's worth of emotion. They felt not a single aching in their bodies, nor the slightest niggle of pain. Their condition was perfect.

The long grass cowered away from their mighty step, and they accelerated forward, growing every closer to the baffled enemy, who could not believe that there would be any foolish enough to charge so mindlessly to their deaths.

But that was exactly what they were – fools. The most high-class fools that had ever lived. The intensity of their feeling, and the ferocity of their morale cowered the enemy, who feared facing their aggressive assault head-on.

Orders were called out by a green serpent, and a wall of 25 spears was formed in front of them. Mounted men kicked their horses into action, aiming to pincer their flank once the charge had been met.

Even as these vicious points stabbed outwards, begging to claim their lives, not a single man cowered. They did not even slow. Instead, they sped up, reaching a faster speed than they ever had in their lives. Any limiter placed upon their muscle usage was removed, as mind and body truly connected.

A black stallion charged forward, forming the point of this arrowhead. A spear was brandished, and only a single man entered the rider's eyes. He ignored the yari wall, and focused every fibre in his body on killing a single man.

He raised himself up to the saddle, with more ease than he had that time before. He crouched like a hunting tiger, his balance impeccable, and his intent merciless.

VWOOF

A heavy impact. Their momentum was substantial, and the great beastly black warhorse forced a sizeable gap in the wall of men. They pierced him with their spears, wounding him deeply, but he refused to go down. He reared, kicking out with his front legs, before brutalising them with his rear hooves.

The rest of the arrowhead met the wall a second later, widening the gap, and killing many with the initial mad charge.

A venomous man squealed in fear as he kicked his horse desperately, willing it to move.

It was far too late, however. The crouching tiger had already begun its leap. The distance between the two of them was immense, and not something that could be traversed in a single jump.

And yet, he was threatening to do just that. A barrage of spears punctured his body, slowing him by a mere fraction, but he barely felt it. There was only one man in his eyes.

His leap, even with the momentum of their charge, had proved to be too short. There was no way he could make it. But nor was this his queue to give up. Wielding the heavy yari in a single arm, he begged his muscles to let loose their fullest capacity, and lend stability to his strike.

His arm extended forwards at a speed that should not have been possible, and his strike remained true.

SPLUT

A wound appeared on the serpent's throat. A wound of the smallest proportion, inflicted by the very tip of the sharp steel yari.

He clawed at it, wondering why such a tiny stab was yielding so much blood. He began to choke, terrified. His eyes bulged as he struggled for air.

Feeling left his legs, and he started to real sideways, before his body went numb and he fell to the floor, dead.

The smallest of smiles was present on Gengyo's lips as he felt his vision blacken, and allowed his consciousness to fade. He fell to the floor, victorious.

He did not know what had transpired from this point out, but had he seen it, then it is likely that he would be unable to hold back his tears.

The men's morale had soured to a height that they had not reached even as they charged. They burst through the wall of men, and surrounded Gengyo's body, fighting like a bear that had its cubs threatened. Not a single blade, nor a single spear managed to reach their commander's body after that. They fought on, all but overwhelmed by the mass of people that pressed against them. They fought bitterly, for the longest of times, doing more than humanly possible.

Not a single one of them showed weakness. And not a single one of them regretted their decision. They fought with the courage of lions, and even when they were covered in injuries, the men refused to go down.

They would have happily died that day. But with its strange intent, fate decided that their annihilation would not come to pass. Just before they reached the point of true exhaustion, a drumming of hooves soothed their ears, and from the forest, two red demons rode, leading a horde of bloodied men.

The reinforcements acted without hesitation, crashing into the mass of men that had surrounded the remnants of the bow ashigaru unit. Within minutes the battle was over, and the men were parted, revealing the bloodied corpse of Miura Tadakata, who at the age of 18, lead a unit, and slew the enemy commander with his own hands, securing victory and peace for the people of his village.

His legend would be remembered for a long, long time.

END

VOLUME 1 COMPLETE