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Description
Toshiro made his way back to the road and looked down toward his father's stand in the distance.  A cloud of dust caused Toshiro a bit of confusion, though he wasn't too concerned, considering the high concentration of endorphins racing through his system.  Heavy boot falls announced the pace of the group of law enforcement officials and the single prisoner they carried.  The policemen looked worse than Toshiro had ever seen them.

Though they were the best-trained men in the town, it didn't mean much considering the sword skills originating in even the slums of the Southern Region. And with the West's technological advances leading them down the path of the firearm, it was only a matter of time before the Northern Region was little more than a dried up stain on Faran's map.

Toshiro meandered down the road.  He took care not to mention the sunburn on his back and sat down on a stool near his father.  As he slid the box into place beneath the stand he watched as the officials and their prisoner came into view.  The police had been beaten within an inch of their lives.  Sword cuts, bruises, and broken limbs could be found on just about every one of them.  One soldier required the aid of his colleague as a pair of large boots had smashed his face in and left imprints of the treads where his eyes would have been.  Their injuries were so gruesome that the prisoner looked almost immaculate in comparison.  He stumbled along ahead of them in heavy cuffs, though the weight didn't seem to affect him much.  He didn't even seem to mind the heat of the ground on his bare feet.  It was almost as though he was beyond caring about anything.  A glazed expression was affixed to his face.  The tiny scars that littered his face weren't unattractive.  In fact they flattered him, accentuating his gruffness.  His hair was cut short on top and long in back, pulled into a hastily tied topknot. His skin was tanned, though not as dark as the townsfolk who spent most of the day in the heat of the sun.  The soldiers pushed him along kicking dust onto his otherwise spotless hakama.  The largest of the officers carried a pair of well-worn boots and two swords: the standard official police weapon; dull in both blade and design, and an ornately decorated long sword that had to have belonged to the prisoner.  Toshiro stared at the man as his father spat into the mud at his feet.  The other merchants began muttering amongst themselves but Toshiro and his father remained silent.

One of the shorter officers, who was also the one with the fewest amount of visible injuries, staggered over to the lacquer ware stand and leaned on the counter near the father and son.  He was heavily tanned and though he lacked definition there was definitely some muscle there.  He was broad of chest and had a great number of facial wrinkles.  On his shoulder was a worn-in bow and a quiver of arrows.
"Sometimes I don't know why I even got into this business." The officer's uniform was torn along his shoulder and back and as he wiped his neck he revealed a series of thick, fist shaped bruises along his ribs.  He muttered something that neither Toshiro nor his father caught.
"HEY, Ojiro?! I said, 'do you have any extra water?' What's the deal with you today baby brother?" Toshiro's uncle, Yoshiro, closed his eyes and accepted the warm bottle of dirty water.  Ojiro craned his neck to catch a last glimpse of the captive swordsman as the caravan headed up the road towards the prison.

"I," Ojiro started.  "I-I-I- th-th-think I've s-s-seen that g-g-g-guy somewh-wh-where bef-f-fore."  He replied.

Though most people lacked the patience to deal with Ojiro and his stutter, Toshiro's mother had been one of the few women with enough compassion to give the artisan an opportunity to romance her, which he did with much gusto.  She thought he was cute and he always worked hard.  He knew her to be the most perfect thing he'd ever seen and had taken great care to practice speaking well for her sake.  She would laugh and tell him that his stutter meant that his intellect was so great that his brain moved faster than his mouth could keep up.

At her funeral he got through two words of the first sentence of her eulogy before emotion and a rebellious tongue left him stammering at the podium.  Eight-year-old Toshiro quietly thanked the town for coming while his father wept openly into his brother-in-law's shoulder.  It wasn't long after that that Yoshiro applied for a position as an official policeman for the town and received his officer's uniform and sword.  The two men searched for months for the man who'd taken her life, but the only clue they had was the complete lack of sword work and the massive internal wounds she had had when the officials found her body.

The three of them stood in the sunlight for a while.
"Who is he, Uncle Yoshiro?  What'd he do?" Toshiro quietly asked.
"Well from what we know he's a ronin that goes by the name, Ryu.  He was a big shot in one of the Southern slum gangs.  We got reports of him traveling with a young girl and keeping her against her will. Turns out the sonuvabitch killed her and dumped her body during one of them Western Holiday Festivals."

"W-wha-what-what'd he d-d-do-do when you c-c-caught him-muh-muh-muh?"
"Of course the bastard denied everything.  Claimed he hadn't seen her in days.  Stuck with the story until we decided to bring him in, then he attacked us.  Goddamn hurricane, he was.  Sword flashin'. Fists flyin'. He even blinded Ganjiro, with a boot to tha face! I never seen anything like it.  Then it got weird.  When Kurono mentioned that she was dead it was like he just shut off.  The guy had me by the throat and was in the middle of tearing my ribs to pieces when he heard it.  Then he just got that blank look on his face, like he couldn't believe what he'd done and dropped to the ground.  Now of course Kurono thinks he's such hot shit, especially since he went for that week of training in the East.  Asshole took it on himself to do none of the work and bring back the bastard's sword."

Yojiro sprinkled the last drops of water on his forehead and grabbed his bruised ribs with an exaggerated wince.

"I got to get to the station, make sure they lock that fucker down in the basement.  Stay out of this heat, Toshiro." He said as he tossed the bottle to his nephew.  The boy curled his hands around the width of the bottle and fought down a smile.

Due to an absence of government funding and despite the positive intentions of the elders, the town's prison was completely unsuitable for human prisoners.  The police officials were forced to repurpose an abandoned slaughterhouse, converting the stalls to cells and the basement hooks into a menacing looking solitary confinement facility.
The officials carted Ryu to the rundown building and pushed him through the doors.  The stockade banged against the doorframe causing some of the more nervous soldiers to quickly reach for their swords.  Ryu stumbled to the ground and knelt on the disgusting wood floor.  A sour musk met his nose and even some of the officials put the sleeves of their uniforms up to their faces.  Kurono, the large man carrying Ryu's shoes and sword stepped forward and kicked the fallen swordsman.
"Keep it moving, ronin!" He hissed.  The young twin officials at the "prison's" front "desk" looked at the uninjured prisoner.  Then at his escorts.  Then back again.  Stealing a glance at each other, they produced a stack of forms, a brush, and a pad of ink.  Kurono shifted the swords and boots to his right armpit and began to fill out the paperwork with his left hand.  He slid the papers back and glared at the two smirking youths.
"Stow those grins, you morons."
"Yes, Captain Kurono, Sir." The boys snickered.  And as the prisoner was led downstairs all in the prison could hear their laughter.  The captain's ears burned hot and he gave Ryu another kick.

Kurono and the rest of the troops dragged a dejected Ryu down towards the basement.  They passed several cells where bored native prisoners waited to be released before the storm hit.  Surprisingly enough as they got deeper into the facility the smell began to ebb.  A large steel door with an enormous padlock loomed in front of them.  Kurono reached into his kimono and pulled out a key.  Ryu coughed.  Startled, Kurono dropped the keys to the ground.  His subordinates snickered amongst themselves.

"Chain the prisoner, you idiots!"

Ryu grunted as they kicked his legs out from under him and clamped a short chain onto them.  Before removing the stockade they looped two sets of heavy links onto his wrists and clamped them together with shackles.  They lifted him by the shoulders and dragged him into the repurposed walk-in freezer.  Three of them lifted the warrior and hung him by the chains on his wrists on one of the dozens of hooks that glinted eerily around the room.  He dangled just above the floor and stared into the corner.  Kurono took the opportunity to check the size of Ryu's boots before tossing a devious smile his way.  Ryu said nothing.  He closed his eyes and hung his head as the soldiers closed the heavy door and secured the lock with a heavy clang.

The day was done and the sun was just beginning its descent.  Kurono and his troops were laughing and joking, warming up for the night they would spend at the town's meager bar. Yoshiro had just made it back from the "hospital" (a makeshift shack that had been retrofitted with medical supplies and examination tables). He had four broken ribs and was recommended by his doctor to spend the next week in bed.  He promised that after guard detail that night he would be more than willing for some time off.  The soldiers who were still fit to work finished up their daily guard detail at the prison instead of on the roads into the town.  As such they didn't see the thin man in the newsboy cap until just before the scheduled shift change.

He walked purposefully down the dusty road.  His kimono was slim in the waist and his belt drawn tight, though it didn't appear to cause him any discomfort.  The soldiers' laughter slowed.  They looked at the traveler and frowned at what he carried on his back.  The boy had tied a large sword across his chest that swayed with each step.  He strode closer to the facility and the soldiers tensed.  They'd had enough of fighting for one day and hoped that this traveler was just that…a traveler.  "Just passing through," they expected him to say.

When he spoke his tone suggested pious reverence. As though he traveled on a mission from a much higher power.
"I'm here for the prisoner.  I represent someone whose interests in the captive ronin lie well beyond your jurisdiction.  I'd suggest you toss me the keys and any other access devices and leave town."
"Who the hell do you think you are?!"
"You'd better get the hell out of here if you know what's good for you, boy!!"

The officers laughed and jeered at the frail looking young man.  They reasoned within themselves that, while menacing, there was no way the traveler could lift the sword he carried, let alone swing it skillfully enough to stop all of them.  He was either very brave or very much insane.  Yoshiro scowled at his colleagues and looked back at the boy.
The traveler reached up to unfasten the sash that held the sword to his back.  He knelt and set the sword down gently in the grass, taking great care to keep as much dust off of it as he could.  He turned back and took a look back at the road he'd just traveled.

Things will be ready when you arrive, Master Feru." He spoke softly to himself and turned back to the officers.  Many of them had drawn their swords though there were a few cocky youngsters who felt strong enough to take the young man on with just their bare hands.  The four sword less officers rushed to surround the man.  He pulled back his sleeves to reveal heavily taped hands.

"You all have one last chance to leave here with your lives.  I will not hesitate to kill every single one of you if I must."  He spoke with such confidence that even the seasoned officers gripped their swords tighter.  Two of the swordless soldiers attacked.  They swung in wide arcs aiming for the traveler's slender, well-defined jaw.  He ducked and their fists whooshed above his head.  He reached out his palms, connected with their elbows and with a sickening crunch he snapped their arms in two.  A guttural roar escaped them and their arms flailed uselessly at their sides as the traveler rose to deliver several sharp jabs to each of their throats.  They spat up blood and were dead before they hit the ground.  Stunned, the other two soldiers reached for their swords.

The traveler dashed toward the closest one, using one hand to slam the sword back into its sheath.  He palmed the officer's chest and sent him flying backwards.  Before his feet could touch the ground the traveler had appeared behind him.  He lifted the officer into the air by his head and neck over his shoulder.  When he was completely perpendicular to the ground the traveler twisted rapidly, snapping the soldier's neck so that his head faced the opposite direction.

As his body hit the dirt the remaining soldier swung his sword horizontally across the man's midsection.  Again the traveler ducked low and grabbed the man's sword arm and pushed it so that it continued its stroke past the man's intended radius.  As his shoulder dislocated the soldier roared and tears came to his eyes.  The traveler grabbed his wrist and continued the sword stroke so that it came around behind the man's head and neck.  He shielded his eyes as he used the man's own sword, hand, and momentum to decapitate him.  The soldier became a crimson fountain.  The ground around him was dotted with fresh blood that pooled around his feet and became red mud.  The remaining soldiers struggled with fear for the second time that day as the traveler dashed gracefully toward them.

"Kill him! Don't let him get near the prison doors!" Kuromo yelped.  He wore a look of nervous pride.  As though he truly didn't understand why this boy was able to kill his men so easily.  The traveler's hat didn't move an inch as he slid between the legs of a soldier who'd let his stance go a little too wide.  He thrust his palm upward and removed the soldier's hope of ever having children.  He rose quickly from the dust and grabbed the soldier's upper jaw with one hand and the lower with the other.  A scream followed by a snap signaled the breaking of the soldier's jaw.  He fell to the ground unable to control his tongue.  The soldier's last meal was bloody clay.

Kuromo was paralyzed with fear.  He watched the traveler tear one of his soldiers' throats out in abject terror.  He retched as the traveler reached into the eye sockets of a soldier that he'd grown up with.  And his stomach finally emptied itself as the traveler destroyed the organs of another with a quick flurry of punches to the gut.  Kuromo sank to his knees and looked up at the carnage.
During the shift change each official of the town had made their way to the prison to discuss the new captive and to change the guards on duty.  The town's entire force of soldiers numbered exactly thirty-seven at the start of the day.  The ground outside of the prison was slowly filling with the blood of thirty-five of the town's strongest men.  Kuromo gasped as the boy shook blood off of his hands and advanced toward him.  With each step Kuromo's heart skipped a beat.  The traveler began to trot toward him and lowered his hands in preparation for the kill.  Kuromo scrambled backwards and trembled against the wall of the prison.

Suddenly the traveler dropped to his hands and knees as an arrow buried itself into the wall above Kuromo's head.  The captain screamed.  He clawed his way through freshly yellowed mud and sprinted away.
"Hey, asshole," Yoshiro grunted.  "You want the ronin so badly? Well you're more than welcome to join him."  The soldier nocked another arrow and took aim at the traveler.  As Yoshiro fired the young adversary quickly thrust his palm in front of his face.  He twisted his wrist slightly and between his first two fingers rested the arrow.
"Sonuvabitch." Yoshiro began to fire arrows as fast as he possibly could.  His accuracy would have been tremendous that day if he weren't taking aim at a man who regularly dodged bullets.
The traveler made his way closer and closer to Yoshiro.  As the soldier fired his last arrow he reached to his waist and drew out a small knife and prepared to meet the boy.  They collided and Yoshiro felt his ribs move again.  He fought back a scream as they tumbled to the ground.  Yoshiro felt the man's grip on his chin.  It was like a vice.  It wouldn't take much for him to tear Yoshiro's head off.  The soldier drew his head back and put his knees into the boy's chest and stomach.  With a roar he thrust upward and threw the traveler into the air behind him.

Gracefully, the young man somersaulted once and landed on his feet above the officer.  Yoshiro rolled to his hands and feet.  He tossed the knife back and forth in his hands and waited for his opponent to strike again.  A dramatic battle cry rose up from behind him.  Kuromo roared and stood panting into the rapidly cooling air.  The sky was darkening very quickly.  Yoshiro looked back at Kuromo.  The captain had taken his sword out from its scabbard and was brandishing it with one hand toward Yoshiro and the traveler.  In his other was Ryu's sword.

"My training in the East has endowed me with dual sword style!" Fear had driven Kuromo mad.  He screamed and laughed maniacally until his throat was raw and dashed toward the traveler.  The young man simply closed his eyes, reached out his arm and caught the delirious police captain in the throat.   He fell over backwards and his grip on the swords loosened.  Kuromo landed face down into the dust as the swords twirled through the air.  The traveler caught them both and drove them down through the back of Kuromo's skull.  His stare froze Yoshiro's heart.  The soldier's broken ribs shot an outcry of pain.  He winced again and hobbled back to the prison building, hoping to make it to safety.  He got close enough to put his hand on the door when a white-hot burst of pain forced him to gasp for air.  The traveler had caught up with him.  The palm of his hand rested in between two of Yoshiro's bruises and he pressed down firmly.  Yoshiro screamed and his feet left the ground as the traveler launched him along the prison wall.  Taro raised his head and stood.  He inhaled the evening air and spoke softly.

"I used your broken ribs to pierce your lungs.  Just relax.  You'll suffocate soon.  Take heart and know that your death was the most peaceful of your troops.  You die a warrior's death because you fought a warrior's fight."

Yoshiro gasped.  His lungs struggled desperately against the quarter-sized perforations.  He realized something and used his last good breath to ask a question.
"Y-You killed a young woman a few years back, didn't you? Around this --cough--area."  Yoshiro began to lose consciousness and it took every ounce of his will to stay awake for the boy's answer.
"It sounds like something I would have done.  If she was kin to you, then you have my most sincere apologies."
Yoshiro rattled out a laugh.
"Apology….accep…accep…accep"

The traveler stood silent for a moment.  Distant footsteps signaled the town's abandonment.  Moonlight glinted off of the bloody pools around his feet as the traveler walked over to where he'd set down the sword.  He began to un-tape his hands as a tall figure rose from the shadows.
"Taro," He began. Though his voice was firm, there was no anger in it.  He was simply stating the facts.  "There is dirt…on my sword.  We've been over this, have we not? If you're going to carry my sword, you keep it clean.  The hilt, the guard, the sheath and the blade.  They are all integral to a sword's performance."  Taro removed his cap and bowed low.  The remaining lengths of his wrappings scraped the ground.
"Master Feru, please…accept my humblest apologies.  I did my best to keep the townsfolk away from your sword.  In my haste I must have kicked up a dust cloud toward it."  Taro looked genuinely concerned that the sword wasn't absolutely spotless.  He began to fiddle with his hat as he awaited his master's reply.

Feru slowly inspected the sword by the light of the full moon.  His large frame cast a large shadow on the ground behind him.  His wide hands skillfully slid along the edge of the decorated sword casing. He slowly slid the blade out and drew it past his face, admiring the shine.  The moon continued its ascension as Feru scrutinized his weapon.  Golden brown spikes adorned his head like a crown.  He maintained a messy short cut and gave no pause to the numerous stray locks.  His nose was shapely and his jaw strong.  Powerful shoulders protruded from the tattered edges of his sleeveless gi, now fluttering in the increasing speed of the air.  A single raindrop slid down firm pectorals and was carried by gravity to the warrior's belt. As the rainfall became more frequent he snapped his sword back into place and looked over toward his associate.

"No harm done.  Now let's get what we came here for."  Feru secured his sword at his waist and strode purposefully toward the prison.  He squelched across the road, through the mud and towards the door of the prison facility.

With a loud pop, Feru was left squinting in the glare of a floodlight.  He could hear crying as Taro walked up beside him.
"Master, I--" Feru's hand gesture cut him off.
"Whoever's out there, I don't have any reason to kill you today.  I'm here for the prisoner.  The ronin you're keeping in your basement.  Give him to me."  Feru spoke, much more relaxed than his opponents.  He rubbed a golden hand over his sword hilt and waited for their reply.
The twins at the front desk sobbed quietly, their whimpers were barely covered by the buzzing of the floodlight.  Their swords were drawn, but their hands trembled with such ferocity that they could barely hold onto them.

"Go away!" One of the twins roared.  His voice cracked with obvious fear.
"Yeah get out of--" His brother started.  He was surprised by the warmth trickling down his chest.  Feru stood above him staring toward the door where the officials had taken Ryu.  The high hum of his sword was the loudest sound in the room.  The boy's chest fell apart and a cascade of blood washed over the floor.  The living twin screamed and ran.  Dirty tears clouded his vision as he tried to lock himself in a nearby closet.  He clenched the knob and screamed.  The young soldier was on the verge of hyperventilation when the doorknob came apart in his hands.
Taro had palmed the knob, causing the mechanism holding the door closed to shatter and fall apart.  He burst through the door and grabbed the twin by the throat.  The twin struggled for breath. His eyes rolled back into his head.  He squirmed and the steady flow of tears dripped onto Taro's robe.

Moments later, Taro and Feru stood in the hallway that led to the basement.  Taro clamped his hand onto his hat as he jumped down the flight of stairs.  He crouched low and listened for intruders.
"All clear, Master Feru."
"Of course it is.  The door, Taro."
Taro stuck the key in the large padlock and gave it a twist.  The lock crashed to the ground.  Taro bowed low and opened the door to allow his master to enter the cold room.

Description
Toshiro made his way back to the road and looked down toward his father's stand in the distance.  A cloud of dust caused Toshiro a bit of confusion, though he wasn't too concerned, considering the high concentration of endorphins racing through his system.  Heavy boot falls announced the pace of the group of law enforcement officials and the single prisoner they carried.  The policemen looked worse than Toshiro had ever seen them.

Though they were the best-trained men in the town, it didn't mean much considering the sword skills originating in even the slums of the Southern Region. And with the West's technological advances leading them down the path of the firearm, it was only a matter of time before the Northern Region was little more than a dried up stain on Faran's map.

Toshiro meandered down the road.  He took care not to mention the sunburn on his back and sat down on a stool near his father.  As he slid the box into place beneath the stand he watched as the officials and their prisoner came into view.  The police had been beaten within an inch of their lives.  Sword cuts, bruises, and broken limbs could be found on just about every one of them.  One soldier required the aid of his colleague as a pair of large boots had smashed his face in and left imprints of the treads where his eyes would have been.  Their injuries were so gruesome that the prisoner looked almost immaculate in comparison.  He stumbled along ahead of them in heavy cuffs, though the weight didn't seem to affect him much.  He didn't even seem to mind the heat of the ground on his bare feet.  It was almost as though he was beyond caring about anything.  A glazed expression was affixed to his face.  The tiny scars that littered his face weren't unattractive.  In fact they flattered him, accentuating his gruffness.  His hair was cut short on top and long in back, pulled into a hastily tied topknot. His skin was tanned, though not as dark as the townsfolk who spent most of the day in the heat of the sun.  The soldiers pushed him along kicking dust onto his otherwise spotless hakama.  The largest of the officers carried a pair of well-worn boots and two swords: the standard official police weapon; dull in both blade and design, and an ornately decorated long sword that had to have belonged to the prisoner.  Toshiro stared at the man as his father spat into the mud at his feet.  The other merchants began muttering amongst themselves but Toshiro and his father remained silent.

One of the shorter officers, who was also the one with the fewest amount of visible injuries, staggered over to the lacquer ware stand and leaned on the counter near the father and son.  He was heavily tanned and though he lacked definition there was definitely some muscle there.  He was broad of chest and had a great number of facial wrinkles.  On his shoulder was a worn-in bow and a quiver of arrows.
"Sometimes I don't know why I even got into this business." The officer's uniform was torn along his shoulder and back and as he wiped his neck he revealed a series of thick, fist shaped bruises along his ribs.  He muttered something that neither Toshiro nor his father caught.
"HEY, Ojiro?! I said, 'do you have any extra water?' What's the deal with you today baby brother?" Toshiro's uncle, Yoshiro, closed his eyes and accepted the warm bottle of dirty water.  Ojiro craned his neck to catch a last glimpse of the captive swordsman as the caravan headed up the road towards the prison.

"I," Ojiro started.  "I-I-I- th-th-think I've s-s-seen that g-g-g-guy somewh-wh-where bef-f-fore."  He replied.

Though most people lacked the patience to deal with Ojiro and his stutter, Toshiro's mother had been one of the few women with enough compassion to give the artisan an opportunity to romance her, which he did with much gusto.  She thought he was cute and he always worked hard.  He knew her to be the most perfect thing he'd ever seen and had taken great care to practice speaking well for her sake.  She would laugh and tell him that his stutter meant that his intellect was so great that his brain moved faster than his mouth could keep up.

At her funeral he got through two words of the first sentence of her eulogy before emotion and a rebellious tongue left him stammering at the podium.  Eight-year-old Toshiro quietly thanked the town for coming while his father wept openly into his brother-in-law's shoulder.  It wasn't long after that that Yoshiro applied for a position as an official policeman for the town and received his officer's uniform and sword.  The two men searched for months for the man who'd taken her life, but the only clue they had was the complete lack of sword work and the massive internal wounds she had had when the officials found her body.

The three of them stood in the sunlight for a while.
"Who is he, Uncle Yoshiro?  What'd he do?" Toshiro quietly asked.
"Well from what we know he's a ronin that goes by the name, Ryu.  He was a big shot in one of the Southern slum gangs.  We got reports of him traveling with a young girl and keeping her against her will. Turns out the sonuvabitch killed her and dumped her body during one of them Western Holiday Festivals."

"W-wha-what-what'd he d-d-do-do when you c-c-caught him-muh-muh-muh?"
"Of course the bastard denied everything.  Claimed he hadn't seen her in days.  Stuck with the story until we decided to bring him in, then he attacked us.  Goddamn hurricane, he was.  Sword flashin'. Fists flyin'. He even blinded Ganjiro, with a boot to tha face! I never seen anything like it.  Then it got weird.  When Kurono mentioned that she was dead it was like he just shut off.  The guy had me by the throat and was in the middle of tearing my ribs to pieces when he heard it.  Then he just got that blank look on his face, like he couldn't believe what he'd done and dropped to the ground.  Now of course Kurono thinks he's such hot shit, especially since he went for that week of training in the East.  Asshole took it on himself to do none of the work and bring back the bastard's sword."

Yojiro sprinkled the last drops of water on his forehead and grabbed his bruised ribs with an exaggerated wince.

"I got to get to the station, make sure they lock that fucker down in the basement.  Stay out of this heat, Toshiro." He said as he tossed the bottle to his nephew.  The boy curled his hands around the width of the bottle and fought down a smile.

Due to an absence of government funding and despite the positive intentions of the elders, the town's prison was completely unsuitable for human prisoners.  The police officials were forced to repurpose an abandoned slaughterhouse, converting the stalls to cells and the basement hooks into a menacing looking solitary confinement facility.
The officials carted Ryu to the rundown building and pushed him through the doors.  The stockade banged against the doorframe causing some of the more nervous soldiers to quickly reach for their swords.  Ryu stumbled to the ground and knelt on the disgusting wood floor.  A sour musk met his nose and even some of the officials put the sleeves of their uniforms up to their faces.  Kurono, the large man carrying Ryu's shoes and sword stepped forward and kicked the fallen swordsman.
"Keep it moving, ronin!" He hissed.  The young twin officials at the "prison's" front "desk" looked at the uninjured prisoner.  Then at his escorts.  Then back again.  Stealing a glance at each other, they produced a stack of forms, a brush, and a pad of ink.  Kurono shifted the swords and boots to his right armpit and began to fill out the paperwork with his left hand.  He slid the papers back and glared at the two smirking youths.
"Stow those grins, you morons."
"Yes, Captain Kurono, Sir." The boys snickered.  And as the prisoner was led downstairs all in the prison could hear their laughter.  The captain's ears burned hot and he gave Ryu another kick.

Kurono and the rest of the troops dragged a dejected Ryu down towards the basement.  They passed several cells where bored native prisoners waited to be released before the storm hit.  Surprisingly enough as they got deeper into the facility the smell began to ebb.  A large steel door with an enormous padlock loomed in front of them.  Kurono reached into his kimono and pulled out a key.  Ryu coughed.  Startled, Kurono dropped the keys to the ground.  His subordinates snickered amongst themselves.

"Chain the prisoner, you idiots!"

Ryu grunted as they kicked his legs out from under him and clamped a short chain onto them.  Before removing the stockade they looped two sets of heavy links onto his wrists and clamped them together with shackles.  They lifted him by the shoulders and dragged him into the repurposed walk-in freezer.  Three of them lifted the warrior and hung him by the chains on his wrists on one of the dozens of hooks that glinted eerily around the room.  He dangled just above the floor and stared into the corner.  Kurono took the opportunity to check the size of Ryu's boots before tossing a devious smile his way.  Ryu said nothing.  He closed his eyes and hung his head as the soldiers closed the heavy door and secured the lock with a heavy clang.

The day was done and the sun was just beginning its descent.  Kurono and his troops were laughing and joking, warming up for the night they would spend at the town's meager bar. Yoshiro had just made it back from the "hospital" (a makeshift shack that had been retrofitted with medical supplies and examination tables). He had four broken ribs and was recommended by his doctor to spend the next week in bed.  He promised that after guard detail that night he would be more than willing for some time off.  The soldiers who were still fit to work finished up their daily guard detail at the prison instead of on the roads into the town.  As such they didn't see the thin man in the newsboy cap until just before the scheduled shift change.

He walked purposefully down the dusty road.  His kimono was slim in the waist and his belt drawn tight, though it didn't appear to cause him any discomfort.  The soldiers' laughter slowed.  They looked at the traveler and frowned at what he carried on his back.  The boy had tied a large sword across his chest that swayed with each step.  He strode closer to the facility and the soldiers tensed.  They'd had enough of fighting for one day and hoped that this traveler was just that…a traveler.  "Just passing through," they expected him to say.

When he spoke his tone suggested pious reverence. As though he traveled on a mission from a much higher power.
"I'm here for the prisoner.  I represent someone whose interests in the captive ronin lie well beyond your jurisdiction.  I'd suggest you toss me the keys and any other access devices and leave town."
"Who the hell do you think you are?!"
"You'd better get the hell out of here if you know what's good for you, boy!!"

The officers laughed and jeered at the frail looking young man.  They reasoned within themselves that, while menacing, there was no way the traveler could lift the sword he carried, let alone swing it skillfully enough to stop all of them.  He was either very brave or very much insane.  Yoshiro scowled at his colleagues and looked back at the boy.
The traveler reached up to unfasten the sash that held the sword to his back.  He knelt and set the sword down gently in the grass, taking great care to keep as much dust off of it as he could.  He turned back and took a look back at the road he'd just traveled.

Things will be ready when you arrive, Master Feru." He spoke softly to himself and turned back to the officers.  Many of them had drawn their swords though there were a few cocky youngsters who felt strong enough to take the young man on with just their bare hands.  The four sword less officers rushed to surround the man.  He pulled back his sleeves to reveal heavily taped hands.

"You all have one last chance to leave here with your lives.  I will not hesitate to kill every single one of you if I must."  He spoke with such confidence that even the seasoned officers gripped their swords tighter.  Two of the swordless soldiers attacked.  They swung in wide arcs aiming for the traveler's slender, well-defined jaw.  He ducked and their fists whooshed above his head.  He reached out his palms, connected with their elbows and with a sickening crunch he snapped their arms in two.  A guttural roar escaped them and their arms flailed uselessly at their sides as the traveler rose to deliver several sharp jabs to each of their throats.  They spat up blood and were dead before they hit the ground.  Stunned, the other two soldiers reached for their swords.

The traveler dashed toward the closest one, using one hand to slam the sword back into its sheath.  He palmed the officer's chest and sent him flying backwards.  Before his feet could touch the ground the traveler had appeared behind him.  He lifted the officer into the air by his head and neck over his shoulder.  When he was completely perpendicular to the ground the traveler twisted rapidly, snapping the soldier's neck so that his head faced the opposite direction.

As his body hit the dirt the remaining soldier swung his sword horizontally across the man's midsection.  Again the traveler ducked low and grabbed the man's sword arm and pushed it so that it continued its stroke past the man's intended radius.  As his shoulder dislocated the soldier roared and tears came to his eyes.  The traveler grabbed his wrist and continued the sword stroke so that it came around behind the man's head and neck.  He shielded his eyes as he used the man's own sword, hand, and momentum to decapitate him.  The soldier became a crimson fountain.  The ground around him was dotted with fresh blood that pooled around his feet and became red mud.  The remaining soldiers struggled with fear for the second time that day as the traveler dashed gracefully toward them.

"Kill him! Don't let him get near the prison doors!" Kuromo yelped.  He wore a look of nervous pride.  As though he truly didn't understand why this boy was able to kill his men so easily.  The traveler's hat didn't move an inch as he slid between the legs of a soldier who'd let his stance go a little too wide.  He thrust his palm upward and removed the soldier's hope of ever having children.  He rose quickly from the dust and grabbed the soldier's upper jaw with one hand and the lower with the other.  A scream followed by a snap signaled the breaking of the soldier's jaw.  He fell to the ground unable to control his tongue.  The soldier's last meal was bloody clay.

Kuromo was paralyzed with fear.  He watched the traveler tear one of his soldiers' throats out in abject terror.  He retched as the traveler reached into the eye sockets of a soldier that he'd grown up with.  And his stomach finally emptied itself as the traveler destroyed the organs of another with a quick flurry of punches to the gut.  Kuromo sank to his knees and looked up at the carnage.
During the shift change each official of the town had made their way to the prison to discuss the new captive and to change the guards on duty.  The town's entire force of soldiers numbered exactly thirty-seven at the start of the day.  The ground outside of the prison was slowly filling with the blood of thirty-five of the town's strongest men.  Kuromo gasped as the boy shook blood off of his hands and advanced toward him.  With each step Kuromo's heart skipped a beat.  The traveler began to trot toward him and lowered his hands in preparation for the kill.  Kuromo scrambled backwards and trembled against the wall of the prison.

Suddenly the traveler dropped to his hands and knees as an arrow buried itself into the wall above Kuromo's head.  The captain screamed.  He clawed his way through freshly yellowed mud and sprinted away.
"Hey, asshole," Yoshiro grunted.  "You want the ronin so badly? Well you're more than welcome to join him."  The soldier nocked another arrow and took aim at the traveler.  As Yoshiro fired the young adversary quickly thrust his palm in front of his face.  He twisted his wrist slightly and between his first two fingers rested the arrow.
"Sonuvabitch." Yoshiro began to fire arrows as fast as he possibly could.  His accuracy would have been tremendous that day if he weren't taking aim at a man who regularly dodged bullets.
The traveler made his way closer and closer to Yoshiro.  As the soldier fired his last arrow he reached to his waist and drew out a small knife and prepared to meet the boy.  They collided and Yoshiro felt his ribs move again.  He fought back a scream as they tumbled to the ground.  Yoshiro felt the man's grip on his chin.  It was like a vice.  It wouldn't take much for him to tear Yoshiro's head off.  The soldier drew his head back and put his knees into the boy's chest and stomach.  With a roar he thrust upward and threw the traveler into the air behind him.

Gracefully, the young man somersaulted once and landed on his feet above the officer.  Yoshiro rolled to his hands and feet.  He tossed the knife back and forth in his hands and waited for his opponent to strike again.  A dramatic battle cry rose up from behind him.  Kuromo roared and stood panting into the rapidly cooling air.  The sky was darkening very quickly.  Yoshiro looked back at Kuromo.  The captain had taken his sword out from its scabbard and was brandishing it with one hand toward Yoshiro and the traveler.  In his other was Ryu's sword.

"My training in the East has endowed me with dual sword style!" Fear had driven Kuromo mad.  He screamed and laughed maniacally until his throat was raw and dashed toward the traveler.  The young man simply closed his eyes, reached out his arm and caught the delirious police captain in the throat.   He fell over backwards and his grip on the swords loosened.  Kuromo landed face down into the dust as the swords twirled through the air.  The traveler caught them both and drove them down through the back of Kuromo's skull.  His stare froze Yoshiro's heart.  The soldier's broken ribs shot an outcry of pain.  He winced again and hobbled back to the prison building, hoping to make it to safety.  He got close enough to put his hand on the door when a white-hot burst of pain forced him to gasp for air.  The traveler had caught up with him.  The palm of his hand rested in between two of Yoshiro's bruises and he pressed down firmly.  Yoshiro screamed and his feet left the ground as the traveler launched him along the prison wall.  Taro raised his head and stood.  He inhaled the evening air and spoke softly.

"I used your broken ribs to pierce your lungs.  Just relax.  You'll suffocate soon.  Take heart and know that your death was the most peaceful of your troops.  You die a warrior's death because you fought a warrior's fight."

Yoshiro gasped.  His lungs struggled desperately against the quarter-sized perforations.  He realized something and used his last good breath to ask a question.
"Y-You killed a young woman a few years back, didn't you? Around this --cough--area."  Yoshiro began to lose consciousness and it took every ounce of his will to stay awake for the boy's answer.
"It sounds like something I would have done.  If she was kin to you, then you have my most sincere apologies."
Yoshiro rattled out a laugh.
"Apology….accep…accep…accep"

The traveler stood silent for a moment.  Distant footsteps signaled the town's abandonment.  Moonlight glinted off of the bloody pools around his feet as the traveler walked over to where he'd set down the sword.  He began to un-tape his hands as a tall figure rose from the shadows.
"Taro," He began. Though his voice was firm, there was no anger in it.  He was simply stating the facts.  "There is dirt…on my sword.  We've been over this, have we not? If you're going to carry my sword, you keep it clean.  The hilt, the guard, the sheath and the blade.  They are all integral to a sword's performance."  Taro removed his cap and bowed low.  The remaining lengths of his wrappings scraped the ground.
"Master Feru, please…accept my humblest apologies.  I did my best to keep the townsfolk away from your sword.  In my haste I must have kicked up a dust cloud toward it."  Taro looked genuinely concerned that the sword wasn't absolutely spotless.  He began to fiddle with his hat as he awaited his master's reply.

Feru slowly inspected the sword by the light of the full moon.  His large frame cast a large shadow on the ground behind him.  His wide hands skillfully slid along the edge of the decorated sword casing. He slowly slid the blade out and drew it past his face, admiring the shine.  The moon continued its ascension as Feru scrutinized his weapon.  Golden brown spikes adorned his head like a crown.  He maintained a messy short cut and gave no pause to the numerous stray locks.  His nose was shapely and his jaw strong.  Powerful shoulders protruded from the tattered edges of his sleeveless gi, now fluttering in the increasing speed of the air.  A single raindrop slid down firm pectorals and was carried by gravity to the warrior's belt. As the rainfall became more frequent he snapped his sword back into place and looked over toward his associate.

"No harm done.  Now let's get what we came here for."  Feru secured his sword at his waist and strode purposefully toward the prison.  He squelched across the road, through the mud and towards the door of the prison facility.

With a loud pop, Feru was left squinting in the glare of a floodlight.  He could hear crying as Taro walked up beside him.
"Master, I--" Feru's hand gesture cut him off.
"Whoever's out there, I don't have any reason to kill you today.  I'm here for the prisoner.  The ronin you're keeping in your basement.  Give him to me."  Feru spoke, much more relaxed than his opponents.  He rubbed a golden hand over his sword hilt and waited for their reply.
The twins at the front desk sobbed quietly, their whimpers were barely covered by the buzzing of the floodlight.  Their swords were drawn, but their hands trembled with such ferocity that they could barely hold onto them.

"Go away!" One of the twins roared.  His voice cracked with obvious fear.
"Yeah get out of--" His brother started.  He was surprised by the warmth trickling down his chest.  Feru stood above him staring toward the door where the officials had taken Ryu.  The high hum of his sword was the loudest sound in the room.  The boy's chest fell apart and a cascade of blood washed over the floor.  The living twin screamed and ran.  Dirty tears clouded his vision as he tried to lock himself in a nearby closet.  He clenched the knob and screamed.  The young soldier was on the verge of hyperventilation when the doorknob came apart in his hands.
Taro had palmed the knob, causing the mechanism holding the door closed to shatter and fall apart.  He burst through the door and grabbed the twin by the throat.  The twin struggled for breath. His eyes rolled back into his head.  He squirmed and the steady flow of tears dripped onto Taro's robe.

Moments later, Taro and Feru stood in the hallway that led to the basement.  Taro clamped his hand onto his hat as he jumped down the flight of stairs.  He crouched low and listened for intruders.
"All clear, Master Feru."
"Of course it is.  The door, Taro."
Taro stuck the key in the large padlock and gave it a twist.  The lock crashed to the ground.  Taro bowed low and opened the door to allow his master to enter the cold room.