JamesWW_Audition_Crimson Katana

Taro, a betrayed samurai, flees after killing his cruel lord, Kurodo. Alone in a dangerous forest, he reflects on his actions and struggles to survive. Hunted by his clan, he seeks shelter in a nearby village, Akita. Exhausted and hungry, he faces uncertainty about his future as he navigates the perilous Sengoku period in Japan. Chapter 1 The Blade's Betrayal The forest swallowed Taro whole, its shadows thick as ink under the moonless sky. His sandals sank into the mud, each step a struggle against the earth's grip. Rain from the storm that had chased him from the clan stronghold still clung to his kimono, heavy and cold, dragging at his limbs. The katana, sheathed at his waist, bumped against his thigh a constant reminder of the act that had severed him from his past. His lord's blood had dried on the blade, but its weight pressed on his soul. Taro's breath came in sharp bursts, steaming in the chill air. He had run for hours, the shouts of his clansmen fading into the distance, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant howl of a wolf. The Sengoku period had turned Japan into a land of predators, warlords, bandits, and now it seemed him—a traitor, they had called him, a kinslayer. The words burned hotter than the ache in his legs. He slowed, leaning against a gnarled cedar, its bark rough under his palm. The forest was dense, a maze of pines and underbrush that offered both shelter and danger. He listened for pursuit, hoofbeats, the clink of armor, the snap of a twig, but heard only the drip of water from the canopy. From now, he was alone, but alone was not safe. The clan would hunt him, and the roads of this fractured land crawled with those who preyed on the lost. Taro slid to the ground, his back against the tree, and drew his katana. The blade gleamed faintly, even in the dark, its edge unmarred despite the night's violence. He traced a finger along the steel, stopping where a faint smear of crimson lingered. Kurodo's life spilled by my hand. The lord's face flashed in his mind's eye, wide with shock, mouth gaping as the katana sliced through his chest. Taro had acted without hesitation, driven by a fury born of years watching Kurodo's cruelty erode the clan's honor. Taxes that starved villages, warriors sent to die for petty grudges, innocents punished for defiance. It had been too much, but the cost of his justice was exile. He sheathed the blade and forced himself to stand. Dwelling on the past would not keep him alive. He needed shelter, food, a plan. The nearest village, Akita, lay a day-trek's north. If he remembered the path correctly, it was small, overlooked by the warring Daimyo who carved up the region. Perhaps he could pass through unnoticed, a shadow among shadows. The forest thinned as dawn broke, gray light filtering through the mist. Taro's stomach growled, his last meal a distant memory from before the betrayal. He scanned the undergrowth for signs of game, a rabbit, a bird. But found only mushrooms, their caps slick with dew. He knelt, inspecting them. Poison or sustenance? His father had taught him the difference once, but the knowledge felt slippery now. Lost in the fog of exhaustion, he left them untouched and pressed on.