𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 - 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘪'𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳
The kitchen servant's body lay hidden behind sacks of grain, throat opened with surgical precision. Katsuo wiped his blade clean while Jin secured the entrance they'd used to penetrate the command building's interior.
Their stolen armor had gotten them past the outer guards. Silent killing had cleared their path to the heart of the compound. Now they stood outside the chamber where their true target conducted his treason.
Through the canvas wall, voices carried—Mongol guttural mixed with refined Japanese. Katsuo's jaw clenched at the familiar cadence. Three years of exile hadn't dulled his memory of that particular tone.
Jin caught his attention with a slight gesture, pointing toward the chamber's main entrance. They'd planned this carefully—Jin would enter first as a servant bringing wine, positioning himself near Targutai. Katsuo would follow moments later, drawing attention while Jin prepared the poison.
Jin slipped through the entrance flap carrying a tray of wine cups. Katsuo counted twenty heartbeats, then stepped from the shadows into lamplight.
Their target sat with his back to the entrance, advising the Mongol commander with the same calm authority he'd once used in Japanese courts. Lord Shimizu hadn't changed—immaculate silk robes, pale hands that had never held honest steel, calculating eyes that weighed human lives like a merchant counting coin.
"The mountain villages will resist longer," Shimizu was saying, pointing at the campaign map spread before Targutai. "Their isolation breeds stubbornness. But destroy their shrines first, and they'll break quickly enough."
Targutai nodded, making careful notes. "And the coastal settlements?"
"Threaten their children. Japanese parents value bloodlines above honor—use this weakness." Shimizu's voice carried no emotion, discussing systematic terror with the detachment of a scholar.
Katsuo stepped forward into the lamplight. "Still teaching lessons in cruelty, my lord?"
Shimizu's head turned slowly. Recognition flickered across his aristocratic features, followed immediately by something far more dangerous—the pleased smile of a hunter whose quarry had finally entered the trap.
"My wayward student." The words dripped false warmth. "Still playing at honor, I see."
Targutai's hand moved toward his curved saber, but Shimizu raised one finger in a gesture that froze the Mongol commander. The casual display of authority revealed how completely the betrayal had corrupted their chain of command.
Jin remained motionless by the wine table, but Katsuo caught the slight shift in his stance—preparation for action when the signal came.
"I wondered how they knew," Katsuo said quietly, keeping his hands visible. "Our patrol routes. Supply schedules. Every defensive position mapped with perfect accuracy."
"Intelligence wins wars." Shimizu leaned back in his chair with infuriating calm. "Though I confess surprise at finding you alive. Exile usually kills idealists within months."
"You taught me to survive."
"I tried to teach you obedience. You chose conscience instead." Shimizu's tone carried the disappointment of a teacher whose prize student had failed a crucial lesson. "Tell me—did watching those families die finally cure you of sentiment?"
The ritual scars across Katsuo's chest burned at the memory. Three years of exile crystallized into this single moment, standing before the man who'd carved those marks while preaching duty and loyalty.
"You planned it all," Katsuo said. Not a question—certainty.
"Of course." No shame, no denial. Matter-of-fact acknowledgment of systematic manipulation. "The rebellion, the prisoners, your inevitable attempt to save them. Every detail calculated to serve my purposes."
Targutai watched this exchange with growing unease. The Mongol commander understood military necessity, but the casual cruelty of Japanese court politics seemed to disturb even his professional sensibilities.
"The families I tried to help," Katsuo continued, his voice steady despite the fury building in his chest. "You knew I would try."
"I counted on it." Shimizu's smile widened. "You were always predictable—noble heart, simple mind. Perfect material for a moral lesson."
The casual dismissal hit like a physical blow. Three years of guilt and self-recrimination suddenly revealed as hollow, not evidence of his failure but proof of his master's success.
"Their deaths served multiple purposes," Shimizu continued with the air of a lecturer. "Eliminating potential intelligence sources. Providing justification for your exile. And teaching my remaining retainers the true price of disobedience."
Jin's knuckles whitened around the wine cup he held, but he remained in position. The plan required patience—let Shimizu reveal the full scope of his treachery before they acted.
"How long?" Katsuo asked. "How long have you been planning this invasion?"
"Since the first mainland campaigns. The Khan needed local expertise; I needed protection from Imperial prosecutors investigating certain... financial arrangements." Shimizu waved dismissively. "Mutual benefit—the foundation of successful partnerships."
"You sold out your own people."
"I adapted to changing circumstances. The Imperial system failed to protect my interests, so I found patrons who would." Shimizu's eyes glittered with cold amusement. "Unlike you, I learned from betrayal instead of wallowing in it."
Katsuo felt his hands tremble with the effort of restraint. Standing here, listening to his former master casually discuss the orchestrated destruction of everything sacred, tested control he barely possessed.
"The scarring ceremony," Katsuo said through gritted teeth. "You enjoyed it."
"I found it educational." Shimizu's fingers drummed against the table in a rhythm Katsuo remembered from childhood lessons. "Pain strips away illusions faster than philosophy. What did it teach you about the nature of power?"
"That you're a monster."
"That conscience is a luxury the strong cannot afford." Shimizu leaned forward, his pale eyes reflecting torchlight. "Every choice has a price, Katsuo. You paid for your principles with exile and suffering. I paid for my pragmatism with... this."
He gestured toward the maps, the foreign commanders, the systematic planning of his homeland's conquest.
"You orchestrated my disgrace to remove my conscience from your service," Katsuo realized. "You needed retainers who would follow any order without moral hesitation."
"Precisely." Shimizu actually looked proud. "Though I admit your survival surprised me. Most exiled samurai choose suicide within the first year—cleaner than slow starvation or banditry."
"I chose adaptation."
"So I see. The Katsuo I knew would have challenged me to honorable combat by now, demanding satisfaction for perceived wrongs." Shimizu studied his former student with calculating eyes. "But you're standing there weighing tactics instead. Planning. Considering consequences."
The observation chilled Katsuo more than any threat. His former master was reading him like familiar text, seeing how exile had carved away idealism and left something harder behind.
"Tell me," Shimizu continued with growing interest, "what did three years of necessity teach you about the relationship between honor and effectiveness?"
Katsuo met his former master's gaze directly. "That sometimes monsters create themselves—and sometimes they're created by the system that should have stopped them."
Shimizu's smile widened with genuine pleasure. "Now you're learning. Perhaps exile completed your education where I failed."
Behind him, Jin lifted the poisoned wine cup toward Targutai's table, waiting for the signal to complete their mission. The Mongol commander remained focused on the conversation, unaware that death approached from multiple directions.
"One last lesson," Shimizu said softly. "The greatest teachers are those who show us what we're capable of becoming—for better or worse."
Katsuo's eyes flicked toward Jin, who had moved closer to Targutai with the wine tray. The Mongol commander reached for a cup, unaware that death approached in liquid form.
"One final lesson then," Katsuo said, his voice deadly quiet. "About the price of betrayal."
Shimizu's smile widened with anticipation, expecting another philosophical exchange. He had no idea that his former student's education was about to conclude with steel and blood.