The Distortion

The castle was built atop a small mound, a natural mound serving as its foundation. By no means was it considered a grand or giant castle, but it remained a castle nonetheless. The simple fact that it stood on top of steep stone walls—a material not often used around these lands—conveyed the intimidating feeling one should get from staring at this kind of structure. Besides, this building was in its early stages; its master had bigger plans for it in the future.

Surrounded by a moat, only two passages permitted entry to the castle. The first and larger bridge, large enough to sustain fifty or so people, led to the primary entrance consisting of the main gate. The roof of the wooden gate was supported by four posts—two at the front and two at the back—which were in turn covered by roofs of their own to protect the opened gate.

Cane tapping against the bridge, Atsuo passed without trouble for the two guards recognized who he was. The bald head and pointed white beard were quite recognizable around the castle. He had yet to verify, but Atsuo was almost confident he was the oldest living resident in the castle, and that title was usually accompanied with a certain level of fame. The guards bowed to him and regained their usual stature. He walked through a narrow passage before crossing another, smaller, gate and arriving at the courtyard where the festivities would take place the following day.

He had to check whether the preparations were all in place. The gardens needed to be tended to flawlessly, the cobblestone not tainted by a speck of dust and most importantly, the manufactured stage—hosting the different performances—in perfect shape. The stage was built by designated workers specifically for this particular occasion. Atsuo was purposely fastidious about every last detail, no matter how minute, because he knew his lord would give him hell if anything, no matter how small, wouldn’t end up as he intended.

The courtyard wasn’t bursting with as much energy as one might expect preceding such a notable occasion. That was understandable though since the bulk of the work had already been accomplished well ahead of the eve of the festival. All that remained was putting the final touches and perfecting some of the finer adjustments. Atsuo conversed with the individuals in charge of the various projects, seeking their assurance on the progress being made.

He got his confirmation after a thorough investigation summarizing the personnel involved in the preparations—their number and their tasks—the approved troupe of performers and their background, the guests of honor and their companions, the scheduled performances and their exact time…needless to say the interrogated were left drained by the end of it. Atsuo wasn’t always this paranoid, but his attitude had changed ever since his lord climbed the echelon of power. Consequently, his dedication needed to match his master’s ambitions, and that included accounting for every last detail.

That left one more matter requiring his attention, a secluded corner he needed to verify. Not many people dared approach it; they were constantly reminded—and warned—not to. Their curiosity was peeked at first but eventually, when nothing came of it, they lost interest. It was some sort of an underground passage locked by solid iron bars. At best, it could be an escape route for the lord during emergencies. At worst, it could a canal or conduit for draining water or waste.

Atsuo carefully stepped towards it, bringing his ear closer. He heard no sounds emanating from it, a silence which comforted him greatly. That was the one disturbance he absolutely could not permit to come to pass. Not ever, and definitely not tomorrow.

Finishing his supervision, Atsuo went on to the main compound where the buildings were faithful to the traditional style adopted in the rest of the capital. However, one major difference caught the eye immediately, a tower—four-story tall—occupied the middle of the compound and dwarfed all the surrounding structures. It was by far the most impressive and imposing building. Not really surprising considering it was the headquarters of the Daimyo himself.

Atsuo always dreaded the thought of visiting the place; his knees were way past the point of withstanding the stairs—a lift was being considered to surmount that obstacle. Luckily, Atsuo didn’t have to climb any floors this time since he could already see and hear his lord chatting from a distance. He waited as he didn’t wish to interrupt his discussion.

Kensei Nakamura had long straight dark green hair, so beautiful that some of the women envied him for it. His silver kimono was truly worthy of someone of his rank, made of the finest fabric there was. Although, Atsuo couldn’t help but notice the considerable curve in the kimono at the abdominal level. The pot-belly, alongside the portly build, had become growing symptoms ever since Nakamura became a Daimyo. Even while being a Samurai, he had forgone most of his training and given in to the temptations of the luxurious life granted to him by his rank.

There was a common belief among many that one’s status needed to be reflected in his appearance and his surroundings. Wealth needed to be exhibited, and Nakamura certainly adhered to that line of thinking as shown by the interior that bore witness to the majesty and grandeur of the tower. Each floor was its own museum and the first one was an exhibition of weapons that varied from the most popular, such as the katana, to the uncommon ones such as the “kusarigama” or the “shuriken”.

Atsuo had come to know his master always had a taste for the opulent before the Distortion—having been an artist and whatnot—and becoming a Daimyo allowed him to better explore that side of him. Granted, Nakamura sometimes went overboard with the showiness and his choices resulted in gaudiness instead…much like the bizarre and unusual choice of colors, some of which you wouldn’t usually see on the inside of a Daimyo’s castle.

As Atsuo was scanning the area, a voice finally snapped him out of it.

“Oh Atsuo, you’re here, I didn’t know you were gone. Where have you been?” Kensei finally noticed him.

“I have been making sure that everything was in order for the festivities tomorrow, Kensei sama.” Atsuo replied solemnly.

“Ah, reliable as always.” Kensei said, patting Atsuo on his shoulder. “Why are you looking so tense? This is a celebration, we will all be enjoying our time.”

Atsuo wore a slightly troubled expression. “Apologies young lord, but there are a few details that seem a bit concerning to me.”

“Again with your constant worrying…” Kensei rolled his eyes. “What is it this time?”

“I know it is too late to reconsider now, but I still worry. First, this group of performers, I’ve never heard of them before and now all of a sudden, they are the first to present themselves to attend our banquet. And word has it they have a very peculiar act among them.”

“Meaning?” Kensei asked, his eyebrow cocked.

“I’ve been hearing they have foreigners among them that will present a…nontraditional act.”

Nakamura’s face lit up.

“How delightful! It’s nice to have a change once in a while; I’ve grown tired of seeing the same plays over and over again.” Kensei sounded pleased with the news.

“With all due respect young lord, this is a festival that celebrates the revival of our country. Outsiders should not take part in this particular ceremony.” Atsuo was clearly bitter, not to mention weary, about this arrangement.

“Come now, it wouldn’t hurt to open up to other cultures once in a while.”

“Still, I can’t help but feel a bit suspicious my lord, which brings me to my next point. I would advise further reinforcing our security measures.”

“I’ve already agreed to having four stupid bodyguards following me wherever I go, what more do you want?”

“I am grateful for that, but that is hardly enough for a potential…” the words were stuck in Atsuo’s throat.

“Potential what, Atsuo? I am holding a banquet inside my castle in celebration of a national festival, there should be no need for concern. Let the people enjoy themselves once in a while.” Kensei was still making light of Atsuo’s claims.

“We can never be too cautious Kensei sama, we may have angered some people…in the past.” Atsuo’s voice trembled a bit.

“What are you insinuating, Atsuo?” Kensei’s tone and facial expression instantly darkened.

“You know…what I mean…” Atsuo stammered.

“Careful Atsuo,” Kensei clenched his teeth and whispered in Atsuo’s ear. “We have agreed that it never even happened in the first place so don’t even mention the damn topic ever again, do you hear me?”

“Ye-yes…”

Atsuo was one of two persons—other than the Daimyo himself—who were aware of a certain assassination plot. Nakamura made sure that the quasi totality of his own men would have no knowledge of it, reducing any chance of a potential leak of information. That would bring about much more trouble than he could deal with—he already had enough secrets as it was. Furthermore, Nakamura forbade both confidants to bring up the subject again, even among themselves.

“Relax Atsuo, I’m not going to do anything to you, and you can stop worrying about the cursed security. Gin will be present so rest assured.” Kensei recovered his lax attitude.

Atsuo’s face, previously showing concern now, expressed displeasure and discontent. He abhorred even hearing that name, the memories it brought up were truly revolting.

“You’re putting a lot of faith into one man, Kensei sama”

“Got something to say about me, old man?”

Gin.

He suddenly appeared behind Atsuo who almost collapsed from a heart attack—an unpleasant condition he already experienced once unfortunately. The newcomer draped his arm around the old man’s frail neck, resting his hand on his shoulder—every bone could be clearly discerned. Atsuo grunted, immediately pushing away the despicable hand with a thrust of his shoulder. No chance he would tolerate Gin acting friendly with him. Atsuo never liked him, or even trusted him for that matter; he never understood how his lord could confide sensitive matters with such a man.

His name alone could not inspire confidence, and his appearance didn’t help. The ragged clothes and the short ponytail made him look like a bandit unworthy of the company of prestigious samurais. Beyond that, the hump at the top of his back felt somewhat unnatural, as if the man wasn’t comfortable in his own skin. Atsuo was familiar with an unfortunate case of a hunchback, and somehow it felt different in Gin’s case. Atsuo couldn’t properly put it into words, but sometimes Gin did not even feel like a human, namely that time with the eyes…Atsuo shunned that memory and chalked it up to going senile in his old age.

However, and as much as Atsuo hated admitting it, Gin proved on one more than one occasion to be a reliable addition on the battlefield. No, he was much more than just “reliable”, he was a terrifying beast that, when unleashed, would be devastating.

“Gin san, I hear you will be joining us in the banquet.” Atsuo feigned a smile.

“Yeah, I mean it’s supposed to be fun so I thought why not? I hope you don’t mind, old man.”

“Why would I mind? Having you around would definitely ease my mind.”

“Why thank you! I always thought you hated my guts, but to know that you think so highly of me, I have to say I’m flattered. Be that as it may, as Kensei said, nothing will happen.”

Atsuo hissed. Addressing the lord so casually without the proper honorific was one of Gin’s most detestable and irritating traits.

“Exactly, we have nothing to fear…”

It was no secret that they barely stood one another and whatever interaction between them would always be a fake and forced display of amicability.

Atsuo had been by Kensei’s side for the longest time and knew him very well. The Daimyo wasn’t an exemplary man and was prone to committing many mistakes; a common state for any young and ambitious man. Nevertheless, Atsuo stood by his side and counseled him on every possible occasion, supporting his good decisions and advising him against the bad ones. That was what a loyal and experienced retainer, like himself, would do. Atsuo was there to fend off his lord’s worst impulses.

Until one day, a random and suspicious stranger named Gin entered the scene. That event marked the beginning of Kensei’s gradual surrender to his hideous side. From betraying his allied forces to seeking the rank of Daimyo, the bad decisions started piling up and the last one was definitely a grave mistake, so much so that Atsuo could not help but fear for his master’s life.

He despised Gin’s presence and always fought to chase him as far away from his lord’s side, but to no avail. He became too involved and his grasp and influence over Kensei strengthened by the day and the result definitely troubled the old counselor. Kensei was a decent man with much room for growth and enough potential to reach greater heights, Atsuo had realized it when he first met him. That was the reason he didn’t forsake him despite his disagreeable character. Many had questioned Atsuo’s loyalty to him, reproaching him for the prissy and subservient behavior he often showcased towards his master. However, the old man’s attitude was genuine, he was always able to see past his lord’s flaws and recognize the passionate and spirited person.

Kensei was a decent man…but he was also a broken man, scarred and hurt, a man who once died unable to achieve his goals and dreams. He sought success and worked hard to achieve it, he persisted through the many failures and he never lost sight of his ambition. Giving up was never an option he considered. It was a lesson taught to him time and time again where he grew up, seared into his very marrow.

Unfortunately, life before the Distortion had a different plan for him. He may have tried all he wanted, a modest life was all he ever achieved, nowhere near what he envisioned for himself. Kensei ended up as a failure—by his standards—never expecting to get a second chance, much less after his death. So, it was no surprise that Kensei picked up right where he left off. Your path in life may have been dictated by your Incarnation after the Distortion, but your personality and character traits were still your own. One retained control over his choices, and Kensei chose to pursue glory once again, this time as a famed Samurai.

However, the road was even harder this time, for the resurrected came in all sorts and presented quite the challenge for his ambitions. Kensei had to go against legendary figures that already had an established reputation and gained others’ recognition by name alone. The competition didn’t seem fair, which was why he resorted to climbing the ranks through questionable methods proposed by Gin—heavens know who else was behind him. Atsuo saw him as a threat that plagued his master’s mind and never agreed to this shady approach.

Sadly, he vastly underestimated his master’s sense of despair. Kensei would not live as a failure, not again. His old scar from before the Distortion hadn’t fully healed, and he would die before letting it reopen. Becoming a Daimyo was only the first step and he would continue aiming higher, whatever the cost.

“I suppose your mind is finally at ease Atsuo?” Kensei asked.

“Yes, Kensei sama.” Atsuo responded noncommittally.

It was then that a messenger suddenly entered the castle and asked for Kensei’s permission to speak. Once granted, he informed the lord that the party they had previously contacted finally offered a response, handing Kensei a folded piece of paper. The latter unfolded it and swept its content with indistinguishable mutters. He wore a smug face by the end.

“Well, looks like Gin will be nothing more than an insurance policy.”

“How do you mean?” Atsuo asked, relatively concerned. Whatever this matter was, this was the first time he’d heard of it. Atsuo did not appreciate his lord going behind his back and not consulting with him.

“A precaution of my own, it was a shot in the dark so I didn’t want to trouble you with it. Rest easy, you needn’t worry—or even know—about it for that matter. Being kept in the dark is rather fitting now that I think about it.” Kensei smirked haughtily.