The boy bent low, the whip whistling effortlessly just above him as he darted in a straight line towards Isan, each powerful step churning the mud, the wind biting harder at his face.
Isan's face drained of color as the boy closed in, his body trembled, a tremor even reflected in the taut line of his whip.
There's nothing he can do at this point.
He should know that whip, while powerful…
it's useless in this situation…
The boy took one last powerful stride, bringing him within breathing distance of Isan, his sword poised to strike.
There it is… his face.
The boy gripped his sword harder, coming to an abrupt, sudden halt.
Well, too bad.
Don't even care if he's the Kumigara anymore.
He swung the sword with full force.
SWOOSH----
A mysterious voice cut through the tense air, sharp as a snapped twig, just before the blade kissed Isan's cheek.
"What's going on here?!"
----KSH!
The boy's sword stopped, a mere hair's breadth from Isan's Adam's apple.
"What exactly is going on here?!" The voice cut through the silence, even sharper than before.
Isan sweated bullets, one bead dropping onto the boy's blade and sliding down to the ground. His eyelids trembled, barely able to look at the boy, who stood there, his face twisted into a mask of disgust.
But he's nothing more than swine…
The real thing I should be focused on… Is that voice…
The boy turned his head towards the crowd, trying to pinpoint the source.
The crowd, their feet caked in mud, their clothes worn and dirty, murmured. Only a few words were clearly audible through the low hum of voices.
"Oh, he's here!" a lady shouted, relief in her tone.
"Damn, can't we just have normal lives for once?" a man sobbed, a weary sigh.
Just who exactly is that person?
The boy's face twisted in confusion.
"Get out of the way, quickly now!" The same voice commanded again, and this time, that specific part of the crowd parted like reeds before a storm.
Some people stepped back in fear or respect, while others craned their necks, eager for a better look.
"Isan? What kind of problem have you gotten yourself into now?!" The source of the voice revealed itself.
An older man, shorter than both the boy and Isan, emerged. He wore a long katagira----a sleeveless jacket that looked sharp enough to poke someone's eyes out----coupled with neatly designed hakama trousers.
The boy looked at the old man's trousers, then briefly down at his own.
Come to think of it… Where is my hakama?
The man walked slowly, but each step oozed authority, not the crude, backwater kind Isan displayed. The boy intensified his gaze on the older man.
His dressing… The way he walks… Just who is he?
The boy couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the older man.
Then, out of nowhere---
---WHAM!
Isan, seizing the opportunity, used his larger body to shove the boy, driving him into the mud.
CLAMP!
Disgusting!
The boy's body and his long cape were now thoroughly painted in brownish mud, with just a hint of horse shit.
How dare he!
His face soured, a grimace of pure revulsion.
"Hehe…"
"... Hahahaha." Isan's chuckle reverberated, seemingly reaching right into the boy's soul.
"No problem whatsoever here, sir." He smiled, facing the old man, his posture straightening to an exaggerated degree.
"Oh… Is that so?" The old man stroked his whitish beard, his gaze unwavering as he walked closer.
I swear, making me covered in their shit! Looking just like them! ----Like him!
The gossip-filled crowd murmured, their eyes fixed on the mud-covered boy.
They don't know that I can kill all of them here and nothing will happen!
The boy swore inwardly, his hand moving frantically in the mud like an animal, desperately trying to get a hold of his sword.
He just can't disrespect the order of things!
Then the rest would start doing what he's doing!
…Found it…!
He gripped the sword tightly, mud oozing from the gaps between his fingers.
"Huh…The boy on the ground…" The old man's focus shifted, his question cutting through the tension.
"What about him, sir?" Isan scoffed, tracking the old man with his eyes.
"Are you…Are you from the----" The old man spoke, and the boy's blood heated up with every passing second.
I'll slit his throat. I'll show him the wrath of messing with nobles. The wrath of the---
"----From the Ujochi clan?"
---The Ujochi clan!
An abrupt, chilling silence filled the road with only the slight whisper of the wind could be heard.
"S-Sir…"
"...Did you just say the Ujochi clan?" Isan's voice cracked, his body shuddering back a little, disbelief warring with dawning horror.
The crowd collectively stared at the boy on the ground, and Isan's face twisted into a look of absolute dread.
"No, I didn't say it…" The old man answered sarcastically.
"Be acting like a big dunce, Isan!" The old man violently threw his hand up in a sweeping, dismissive motion.
A puzzled look dawned on the boy's face as he lay there in the mud, his hands trying to push himself upright.
Wait… what?
How did he…
The anger that had been simmering in his gut settled down, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness as the old man leaned in closer towards the boy, his eyelids packed tightly together in concentration.
---The end of chapter 11---