Chapter 2

High atop the roof of Kumamoto Castle the Red Ninja watched in amusement as all hell broke loose. The Kumamoto Samurai were put on high alert the instant Itto Isamu’s body was found.
From his vantage point, Goda could see everything. The Kumamoto Samurai responded quickly. Guards were reinforced and search patrols were sent out. Their blazing torches lit up the alleys of the surrounding town. The shouts of the Samurai echoed through the night.
Goda smiled inwardly. The Samurai were scared. Man always feared what he did not understand, what he could not see. Their fear made them weak.
The Red Ninja moved back from the edge of the roof. He knelt down and closed his eyes. Slowing his heart rate, he used an ancient technique known only to the members of the Clan to make contact with his Master. Goda’s consciousness entered a dark place. There, he waited.
A threatening voice spoke from the darkness. “Did you succeed in your mission?”
“Yes, my Master,” replied Goda confidently.
“Excellent,” the voice praised. “What did the old Kensai master have to say?”
“Exactly as we had anticipated. The sword is resting in the Dead Forest. He spoke of a map that showed its precise location.”
“Where is the map?” the voice said anxiously.
“It is hidden,” Goda said, with a smile on his face. “At The House on the Volcano.”
“This may be a problem,” the voice spoke worriedly. “It is a difficult residence to breach.”
“My Lord, I have grown powerful under your guidance. I will not fail you.”
The Clan Master paused for a brief moment, pleased that finally the Sword of Souls would be in their possession. “Good. The Kensai are on the brink of extinction and the Sword of Souls will soon be ours. You are proving to be most useful, my young apprentice.”
The Clan Master spoke from the darkness and meticulously laid out his instructions for the next mission. He spoke with confidence, and excitement.
With the approval of his Master, the Red Ninja slowly brought his consciousness back to his present surroundings. The shouts of the Kumamoto Samurai continued.
Goda was not at all worried about infiltrating Okinaga’s fortress. He had been there before. It felt like a lifetime ago he had memorised every inch of the residence. But he still remembered. He remembered how he was just a spy who worked only for money, a mercenary for hire, a man who wore black. Reconnaissance, espionage, and assassination were his business and his services were not cheap. He remembered that night ten years ago, not only because the payload would have been enough to retire on, but also because absolutely nothing went right. But then again he wasn’t the powerful Clan member he is today; he was just a man, a man who wore black to blend in with the night.
It was ten years ago, but it felt like a lifetime.
Goda remembered he was dressed in the clothes of the Koga Ninja as he moved silently through the night, across the roof of Lord Sato Okinaga’s main residence.
His mission was simple.
On him he carried only his most basic weapons and tools: a grappling hook, a knife and a pair of handspikes. There would be no need for a sword. The instructions of his employer echoed in his head. Do not engage anyone unless absolutely necessary.
Goda paused at the edge of the roof and looked out at the ground three stories below him. He could barely see the perfectly kept garden surrounding the huge house as he scanned the darkness for the patrolling guards.
He was amazed at how different things looked at night. It would be impossible to move around if he hadn’t studied the entire layout of the house and grounds for weeks in advance.
He crouched down as a gust of wind kicked up, careful not to move any of the tiles on the roof. Goda looked skyward and saw the crescent shape of the moon appear behind the clouds. The dull light just barely enough to illuminate the leather armour of the guards. All of them armed to the teeth and ready to die protecting Lord Sato.
As he knelt on the edge of the roof, he studied the movements of the patrol one more time. The guards moved about just like they had done every night for the past three weeks. Their behaviour was now totally predictable.
But something was wrong.
Goda counted the guards. He could only see twenty. Every other night there had been twenty-one. Where was the last guard? He double-checked the count, moving across the roof to make sure he wasn’t making any mistakes.
Again he came up with twenty.
Was the guard sick? Had he been relieved of his duty for some kind of indiscretion?
Goda knew that samurai led a strict life. One little mistake could cost them their life. He had heard rumours of some Lords demanding their guards to perform ritual suicide for something as little as wearing their armour incorrectly. Other Lords simply cut off the fingers of a samurai they had deemed not worthy. While this option spared their life, it greatly diminished their ability to wield a sword. A fate worse than death.
Goda counted the guards again. There were definitely only twenty. Maybe he was hiding somewhere? The last possibility frightened Goda. Weeks of preparations could be undone. He forced the idea out of his head. It did not make any difference he thought. His training had turned him into a ghost; he had learnt how to become invisible. There was no way one samurai could prevent him from achieving his objective.
He turned his attention back to the surrounding garden. It stretched out for more than fifty meters in every direction from the house. In the dark of night it seemed to go on forever. The garden was enclosed by an intimidating fifteen metre stonewall. It made this residence one of the most fortified in the land.
But the real fortification was not man made.
The house and surrounding garden had been built on the side of a semi-active volcano. The volcano was not violent when it erupted, which it had done only once since Lord Okinaga had live here. Any lava flowing down the side of the volcano was re-directed away from the residence by a huge moat. If the moat failed, the stonewall would not. The volcano was the reason Lord Sato Okinaga chose this site to build his home. It was the perfect defence and the ultimate deterrent for anyone considering raising an army against him.
Goda admired the dark silhouette of the volcano as he looked up from the roof to the north. It sat dormant; it’s silence belying its power.
At the southern end of the garden was a natural spring pool. On the other side of this pool and beyond the fifteen metre high wall, was a sheer cliff face. Half man made, half natural, it added to the already seemingly impenetrable security of the residence. Goda knew that Lord Okinaga was the envy of many others in the land who could only dream of the security offered by the volcano.
Goda remembered feeling mixed emotions of excitement and apprehension when he was told he would be infiltrating the famous house on the volcano, a tough assignment even for him.
Ultimately he remained determined. A volcano or any fortification would not deter Goda, no matter how high.
He had easily climbed the northern wall. The stones that made up the impressive fortification had provided perfect hand and foot holds. The climb being made easier by metal spikes attached to the palms of his hands. The spikes, he had discovered, were not only great for climbing, but were impressive weapons as well. They had saved his life once and he had never left on a mission without them since.
Looking out into the darkness, he strained his eyes to see the southern wall but found nothing. He needed to make his way to the pool.
The pool was his target tonight.
His instructions were clear. Complete the mission, return to the rendezvous point and wait for further instructions. Do not engage anyone unless absolutely necessary.
As he listened for the familiar sound of trickling water, Goda waited for the right moment and then dropped to the ground effortlessly and silently. The guards continued their patrol, totally oblivious to his presence.
He moved through the night quickly, nothing more than a shadow. He came to the pool at the southern end of the garden and removed a small bottle from his sleeve. Pouring the contents into the water his mission was now complete.
He turned and surveyed his surroundings, looking for his escape route. He wished he could simply climb over the southern wall, but climbing down the cliff in the pitch black of night would lead to a certain death. He needed to make his way back to northern side. This would be no easy task. The timing was crucial. The guards needed to be in the right positions.
Just as he was about to make his escape, he heard what sounded like a muffled footstep. Goda turned. The next noise he heard was the unmistakeable sound of a spear flying through the air, the deep whoosh breaking the silence of the night. Leaping back, he saw the dark outline of a guard.
It had to be the missing guard, he thought.
No one had ever snuck up on Goda and he was determined to make it the last time.
The guard attacked again. He was fast and strong, his technique forged through years of relentless training. Goda leapt to the side, just barely avoiding the full brunt of the spear.
He needed to end this now.
The guard, determined to finish off the intruder brought his spear slicing down one more time. Goda caught the sharp end of the spear between his palms, his hands protected by the metal climbing spikes. He twisted the spear and pulled it free from the guard, throwing it into the pool.
The guard had made a crucial error in judgement. He should have raised the alarm and waited for reinforcements. But instead, he had acted out of greed. He had attacked in a vain attempt to capture the intruder, hoping to gain the praise of Lord Okinaga for himself.
His mistake was deadly.
Momentarily in shock, the guard presented an opening in his armour. Pulling free his grappling hook, Goda threw it at the guard’s neck, piercing his windpipe.
The guard fell on one knee.
Goda rushed forward and tied the rope tight around the guard’s neck.
There was no time to think. He simply acted.
Leaping to the far side of the pool with the rope in hand he scaled the fifteen metre stonewall with incredible speed. When he reached the top, he jumped.
Goda fell downwards into a dark abyss, rapidly accelerating towards his death. He was still clutching the rope attached to the guard. He couldn’t see how far the drop was but he knew he wouldn’t survive it.
As he fell, the rope tightened around the guard’s neck, still kneeling on the ground on the other side of the wall. The rope turned into a pulley as the weight of Goda falling instantly pulled the guard across the pool and over the stonewall.
As the guard was launched over the wall and the rope became slack, Goda slammed his hand against the cliff face in a desperate attempt to slow his descent. His metal spikes screeching against the rocks trying hopelessly to catch on to anything. Each vibration felt like nails being hammered into his hand. He gritted his teeth and blocked out the pain.
As he continued to fall and pick up speed, time seemed to slow down. He felt like he had been falling for an eternity. Both he and the guard were now falling to their deaths. His only thought was that the second phase of his mission was not complete. He needed to return to the rendezvous point. He needed to live.
Finally the spikes caught on a jagged stone and his descent came to an abrupt halt, the force dislocating his shoulder in the process. The man in black screamed. The noise lost in the howling wind tearing across the cliff face.
A split second later, the body of the guard came flying past as it fell towards the earth below. Goda let go of the rope attached to the guard and watched it slip into the darkness.
He hung on the cliff in the night, his shoulder throbbing with pain, the tendons straining under his weight. He tried desperately to regain his composure.
It had happened all so fast, a matter of seconds. It was just a reflex. Goda shifted his weight and tried to get a foothold on the cliff to ease the pressure on his shoulder.
He felt like he had cheated death.
Goda weighed up his options. He could climb back up to the top and make his way over the stone wall hoping no one had heard the struggle. Or he could attempt to climb down the rest of the cliff. Both options sounded like suicide but he had no choice. He needed to make his way back to the rendezvous point. There he would receive further instructions. This was his top priority.
He looked skyward, craning his neck to see the House on the Volcano. But it was too dark. The wind intensified, chilling him to the bone. Lifting his good arm up, he began the slow and painful climb back to the top, satisfied that his mission was complete and determined to make it to the rendezvous.
Goda shivered as he remembered that dark night. He should not have survived. He should have fallen to his death. Fate it would seem had other plans. He was stronger now, powerful enough to eliminate the legendary Itto Isamu. Never again would he come so close to failure.
Goda moved to the edge of the roof Kumamoto castle and surveyed the terrain below. The cries of the searching samurai were full of panic.
Goda sat perched, like an owl watching it’s prey. He could feel their fear.
He removed a metallic pole that had been secured to his back. The pole was about three feet in length and was covered in leather straps that served as grip.
He triggered a button located near the centre of the pole. Instantly a blade extended from within the pole with a lightning quickness. Goda studied the edge of the blade. It glowed in the moonlight.
His attention returned to the ground below him. The Samurai were still searching for the killer of Itto Isamu: their fear growing with every passing second.
Goda smiled. It was time to reward himself for his excellent work.
With the anticipation of fresh blood he jumped from the roof of Kumamoto Castle.
Landing silently on the ground he moved undetected to the rear of a patrolling Samurai. The Samurai was dressed in full battle armour. He carried on him two swords, one short and one long, the ultimate symbol of a warrior. In his hand was a nine-foot spear.
This warrior was a formidable opponent. However, on this particular night, this unfortunate Samurai never knew what hit him.
Goda attacked, slicing the Samurai’s throat. The cut was so precise, the blade so sharp it took the guard’s head clean off. He fell to the ground; blood spurting from the carotid artery and covering Goda. It was instantly absorbed into his red gi.
Goda moved out into the night. There was still time to play before his next mission. And right now, there was plenty of scared Samurai to satisfy his lust for blood.