Black Silk Knight

By Hisui

"Sacred rites made foul
Honor lost to Deviltry
Interesting times"

In the realm of Kai, a sacred tournament renews the ties between the Heavens and the mortal realm. For the past two cycles, that connection has been savaged by the Master of Devils. Now, a young fighter calling herself Black Silk Knight must compete in a grand tournament for the right to challenge the Master of Devils and restore order and harmony to the realm.

But does she have the skill to accomplish her goal? What purpose drives her to such an act? And will the people she meets change her, or is she too stubborn to see any other path?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9780359141753

Book preview

Black Silk Knight

Black Silk Knight

Hisui

Copyright © 2018 Hisui

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

ISBN:      978-0-359-14175-3

DEDICATION

To my discord servers and RP friends. You've been an inexhaustible font of inspiration, amusement, and distraction in all the right concentrations.

To all those who enjoy martial arts films, fighting games, and kung fu fighting.

~

Sacred rites made foul

Honor lost to Deviltry

Interesting times

I do hope the voyage wasn't unpleasant, Master Kang.

I understand that in autumn, the storms around the Sea of Qin can be difficult to navigate. I was concerned you would not arrive. I hope your quarters were up to your the standards of a master of your caliber?

Good, good. I would hate to disappoint. Close to two decades, and I still find myself uncertain of my place.

Yes, it has been a long time. Did it take long for word of it to reach Qin? Longer, perhaps, to reach the steppe-lords of Khagan or the monasteries of Shang Te.

You are a scribe by profession? I must admit, that surprises me. I was under the impression most mainland fighters thought such things pointless. A misconception that I am glad is now corrected.

No need to hide your curiosity. I imagine the details of the story are confusing and distorted on the mainland. I will recount the tale, though I am but one perspective.

My account is not the only account that matters. Still, you have asked, and I shall recount my ascension.

I am not a natural story-teller, so you may need to cut things out if you decide to publish this tale.

Sit, Master Kang. This may take longer than either of us is guessing at the moment. I will have drinks prepared.

First, let me provide a proper framework.

Sixteen years. For sixteen years the Master of Devils had disgraced every Dragon in Kai and all our ancestors before us.

In an act of treachery, he seized final victory in a tournament meant to be an offering to the gods. He murdered his way through the priestesses who were tasked with performing the sacred rites. He took the grand shrine as his own, declared himself its new master.

This was not met without resistance. Dragons from every direction of the compass tried to take it back, to purge our people of the disgrace known as Akitoshi. Yet, each one who challenged him fell.

A year of this passed. Then another. No challenger could surpass him. Any threat that came close enough would be overwhelmed by his demon brides or those forces who flocked to his banner.

In the end, the Dragons of the realm decided that merely killing their fallen brother, this Demon, was not enough. He must be defeated in the same tournament he corrupted. His death must occur there, to prove the event itself has not lost all honor.

I was less than a year old when the Master of Devils ascended. I was seven when I escaped the city he took under his thrall. My mother left me the secrets of our family's martial arts techniques. She told me a terrifying truth before she passed, so I might understand.

As the ending of one celestial cycle approached, a new tournament was  announced. The Dragons of the realm moved, gathered to the once-holy city of Nikawa. We knew that it was our last chance, our final opportunity to cleanse our dishonor – or fall with the worst of us.

This is the story of how interesting times came to an end.

Ring of Earth

Eternal watcher

The mountain stands vigilant

The stone roots the soul

The eastern gate was battered, the wood of one door rotted through and the other collapsed on the ground. I didn't trod over it, but the crowd had no such hesitation.

I saw ruins as I walked the streets. Remnants of estates or civic buildings. One shrine left abandoned, the wood of its torii gate tattered and eaten-through by mildew. Time to time, I noticed signs of what must have been a slum that half-burned, the rubble too stubborn to move with the breeze.

Walls of dust and stone

A thousand footfalls passing

Streets choking with life

Colors from ev'ry corner

But the hearth lies untended

The inn was along the eastern wall. I sent word for them to hold a room for me ahead of time. It was a wise decision. I did not express my surprise that they were still there, even after so much time.

Anyone who stayed in Nikawa that long was likely never leaving.

I found a quiet table in the common room, listened to the noise. I didn't do it often, preferred to focus to silence people. That day was different. That day, I wanted to hear what people had to say, what the gossip around the city was like.

...saw the Heavenly…

The Vagabond King…

...see the man in the armor?

...hope things don't get too rowdy…

A shadow cast over my table. Would you mind if I sit with you?

I turned to the voice that interrupted my shameless eavesdropping.

Spry steps on gray hairs

Folly many winters gone

Mantle of old scars

There was no other place for the man to sit. Some time between my sitting down and his interruption, the common room of the inn had filled. I made a gesture to signal him that the intrusion was fine.

These people are all here for the Tournament of the Sun?

If that's what it's still called, I answered.

It is on all the formal documents, he answered. His tone was neutral, as if it was a fact not worth disputing. I imagine changing it the name would draw much closer scrutiny from nearby samurai. Or even the capital.

A statement of the obvious, but I let it pass without comment.

Are you here to compete or to spectate, stranger?

Compete, but I plan to do a fair bit of spectating, I told him. You?

Much the same. As the strategist once wrote, know your enemy.

Know yourself, I added.

Together, we completed the old strategist's timeless wisdom. And your victory is never in danger.

He smiled. Are you a student of the classics of Qin literature?

No, but my mother insisted I study key strategic texts.

I see. Another nod. Ah, forgive my poor manners. Should we exchange names or exchange epitaphs? I am unsure of the protocol.

Epitaphs are fine.  I am Black Silk Knight, I volunteered. My name was mine to keep until trust was formed, as tradition demanded.

I am called… The pause was ripe. The kind that men make when they have to stop and correct something before they speak. I wondered what he had to hide. Shadowless Sword.

A serving girl came by with tea. He paid her little mind, focused more on a gentle stroking of his gray beard. I didn't think to offer to pour him a cup as I waited for mine to cool.

To the girl's credit, she looked focused on her work. At least, until one of the other patrons sloshed by. He was very rude without saying a word. She yelped as he grabbed her and I could taste her disgust as the drunk leered closer.

To the girl's further credit, she tried to elbow him away. You don't make a living in the shadow of the Master of Devils without being willing to fight people off. Unfortunately, it didn't take. The waste of space was tougher than his frame suggested.

Let the girl go, he said. When did he stand up? I hadn't noticed.

Why should I?

Because I am trying to have a nice time, and you being disrespectful to her is ruining it.

The dullard let the girl go. He adopted a stance, but failed on three details. His feet were too wide apart, compromising his footwork. He left his torso too open. And his guard was too lax.

I laughed. The waste of space thought himself a true Dragon!

Do you know who I am, old man?! he shouted. I am-

Dead.

I saw the flash, the distinctive click of a katana as it returned to its sheath. The old man's shadow hadn't even moved, so fast was his motion. A single cut on the chest, slicing upwards before it tore open the throat.

When the body landed, he began the traditional chant for the dead.

If he was here to compete, I don't think he'd have fared too well, he said as he sat.

He nodded to the girl, who returned it before leaving. No doubt to get help cleaning up the corpse in the common room.

Sword began stroking his beard again. I wonder if I drew first blood.

I don't think the tournament has formally begun.

It doesn't have to, not anymore. The last tournament had a lot of the rules changed, he said. It was news to me, but not to him. You didn't know?

I shook my head. Last I heard, there were formal announcements and all sorts of rituals. The tournament is as much religious ritual as it is a way for Dragons to compete.

Things changed last time. I wasn't here, but I knew people who were. The opening round is now...complete chaos, he said. He had a faraway look in his eyes. What caused it, I didn't think to guess. Once the gates close, it's open season. The Dragons in the city are free to fight each other, until there's only a few left.

I listened.

After that, the few who remain enter the grounds of the castle.

I thought the tournament grounds were at the shrine complex?

The main shrine of which is at the top of the castle, he said. The depths of my ignorance surprised him and appalled me. From there, Dragons just challenge each other until there's only one left. That one moves on.

I nodded in thanks. For both the information and his ignoring how little I understood of what I walked into. Fortuitous, then, that the Shadowless Sword – a name that was quite fitting – ran into me.

It sounds like complete chaos, I eventually said. Like a massive brawl, not a tournament. Certainly not a fitting offering to the Sun.

I expected a shrug. He only kept stroking his beard.

It sounds like we're both going to be in a lot of fights.

Yes, I imagine so. Especially with the opening.

I responded only with silence, and a slight lean towards him.

The initial stage is the most chaotic, and the rules about fights being one on one are discarded. His voice spoke volumes about how unsurprised he was by this, but also how disappointed. By what strength does the wolf take down the tiger?

By sheer numbers. I took a sip. The tea had cooled nicely. It is a worthy test for the strongest fighting gods.

It would be, if not for rumors of greater treachery.

I was not surprised. After all, what else could one expect from an event in the palm of the Master of Devils?

Anything else I should expect out of this?

One final thing, he said as he smiled. You're going to see a lot of styles that you aren't familiar with. You'd best be prepared.

How can you be so sure of that?

There are thousands of paths to becoming a Dragon, including a few more esoteric roads. No one is ever able to anticipate all of them.

Which means no one can prepare to counter all of them and dominate the event based on preparation.

As if anyone could ever prepare for that many styles. You would lack the focus required to actually push your own victory forward.

I paused, looked at him. I felt as if he spoke from experience.

Then again, maybe that was just a factor of the man's age? It was easy to think that any and all things a man of his age said came from personal experience. I wonder if they'd take offense to that, if they knew?

Hrm. He scratched at the neck I presumed was under the beard. I think I should see about getting a place to stay.

You didn't make arrangements?

He shook his head. Wise of you to have done that ahead of time. I had no such opportunity. My...participation in the tournament was rather sudden.

I chose not to pry.

He nodded. Appreciative of my discretion and respect for his privacy, I liked to think at the time. Well, I hope to see you in the late stages of the tournament, Black Silk Knight.

And I you, Shadowless Sword.

***

Old cot on cold floor

Night air whistles through old wood

Sleeper turns and stirs

My sleep – if it could be called that – was interrupted by a noise that was distinctly not old wood. The floors of the inn didn't squeak with each step someone made. Not a beat passed between the end of the whining of the wood and a breath that loosened the flow of ki through my body.

I reached and snuffed out the small lantern. Thrust into darkness, the only light in the room came from the stars. The moon-mask hid behind clouds that night, its gaze averted from what came next.

I closed my eyes. Listened. Two men, both out in the hallway.

I weighed my tactical options. I could sense the hostility in their intent, but couldn't gauge their strength compared to mine. A weakness in my basic skills, I admit.

The door opened. I drew steel.

Fools come in the night

Daggers gleam in candle light

Breathless before dawn

It was easy. Too easy, in fact. It took more effort to draw the sword.

Outside, it seemed I was not the only one accosted. I saw thugs carry their blooded daggers out of some rooms. In others, the thugs were thrown out like yesterday's rags or otherwise taught a lesson for their folly.

I stepped over a cold corpse, and then another.

A swing, then a flick of the wrist created a third. Once the body stopped its descent to the common area below, at least.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see others attacking these thugs. A man with heavy metal on his fists shattered bone with a punch. Another dispatched an attacker with a light push and a tap with her hip. One more got in my way, and I cut him off at the knee before he could get too close.

He screamed about it as I dispatched one of his cohorts.

These men were not Dragons. They were barely hired muscle or thugs. It was perhaps luck or an appalling lack of skill that cost some of the others their lives. That or the cheap plum wine from Yorae. Whoever sent these to dispatch the Dragons was either a fool or intent on insulting us at the cost of the lives of their lackeys.

As I run another through, I wondered which was right. There was little to be done other than ponder, as the rest had fled. I kicked the dying man off my blade and surveyed my surroundings.

Pathetic, the man with the metal glove declared. Who sent these, and why do they think such pitiful means could dispatch me?

Because whoever sent them is- A pause. I stepped aside first. The nudge was followed by a scream on his way down. -not very bright, or trying to insult us.

Another Dragon knocked a thug out with the blunt end of a spear. Or keep us from noticing something else, he said.

I turned my head towards one of the doors where the thugs emerged with blood on their daggers. Had they caught a Dragon too asleep, or too deep in his cups, to defend himself?

Killers in the dark

No skill but given fortune

A poor way to die

A blade in the throat of another thug felt hollow. The one that followed was less empty. The third was satisfactory in his death gurgle.

I felt a hand stay mine before I could deliver vengeance on a fourth.

Enough. It was the youth with a spear. He flinched when I glared at him, recoiled a beat later. I made no move to kill again. Our efforts are served best if we find whoever sent these unfortunate souls.

Probably someone who wants us out of the way, the armor-gloved man declared, his voice a roar laced with annoyance. A competitor, I bet. Not the Master of Devils, I think. He'd be smarter about this.

I nodded. He'd have sent one of the Demon Brides.

Or all four, another of the victors said. If he wanted to be sure.

I gave her a good look. I felt my nerves tense just a little.

Supple spring bounty

Silk laced with soft promises

The charms on that one!

I turned away before I was caught staring. Too late. Her smirk was laced with a licking of her lips before she spoke again. Well, now that we're all out of bed, she said as she adjusted the folds of her attire. She brought too much attention to it. We may as well introduce ourselves to each other. It does seem polite, don't you think?

The youth with the spear went back to his room. The armored hand only grunted before he did the same. The others seemed even less enthused by her invitation, until only I remained.

Well, just the two of us then.

Lady's dancing curves

Perfect skin on gilded silk

Venomous flower

I turned away to hide the flush of my cheeks. I'd met women before, had a stirring in my heart caused by their looks. But never one quite so brazen or so extravagantly blessed. The richness of the gold threads in her kimono seemed gaudy compared to what was promised under the fabric.

And that's exactly what made her so dangerous, I reminded myself. With a slight movement, I adjusted my sword arm.

She laughed behind a paper fan, the tips decorated with feathers. Black like a crow or raven. Or an obsidian crane, spirit-birds said to linger in the ponds and lakes of the underworld.

So cautious. She fanned herself once. My little rosebud has thorns.

I'm not a rosebud, I answered. I kept steel on the defensive. She made no hostile moves. Yet I recoiled as much as I wanted to be drawn in.

A little rosebud, not yet bloomed, she insisted. I am Karasu.

Black Silk Knight, I answered. I dreamed I was a moth. She, the flame.

Not giving me your name? How coy, she said. Did she smile or smirk? The fan kept me from knowing. Before those lips let loose another word, her head turned.

Mine followed suit, trying to see what caught her ears.

It seems someone has been stirred late by the commotion.

I paused. I saw a shadow move out of the corner of my eye. Whoever it was, they were too far for me to see. I caught a hint of feminine features, but it was just hair. It wasn't unheard of for more unkempt men to let their hair hang loose and untied. It was rude and filthy, but when did that stop the uncivilized?

Hrm.

The sound was a curious one. Not just actual curiosity, but also lacking in the bombastic charisma she oozed out of every pore.

Do you know them? she asked. Her eyes were devoid of levity.

I shook my head.

Hrm. She moved away, towards her door. I think, little rosebud, that I'll have to call on you another night. But rest assured...I'll be thinking of you until then. I do hope you'll be thinking of me.

Sleep was more consistent, at least once the inn staff removed the corpses.

***

Hot miso soup, a bowl of rice, some pickled fish, and perfectly-prepared tofu. A good breakfast, and one that even the wasteland of propriety that was the city of Nikawa could provide. Food was a comfort, and I found no small measure of surprise that it was so well-made. The grime and filth on the rest of the inn was a sharp contrast.

As I sat there, chopsticks digging into salmon, I looked for familiar faces. Some faces I saw yesterday were gone. Others were there. The crowd had not seen any significant change.

I breathed easier when I failed to find Karasu. Her face – and other areas of her anatomy – was not among the crowd.

A distraction like her was both easy and hard to welcome.

Chopsticks clicked before I snapped up more food. My hands lifted the bowl of soup off the table. It and a bit of tofu were all that remained of the meal as a human body was hurled like a dart. His head crashed through what remained.

I looked in the direction he came from.

Beast clad in metal

The predator wears iron

Would he rust in rain?

It wasn't hard to guess who threw the human dart. Or, given the clenched fists, who punched him in my general direction.

Now look what you made me do! said the man covered in steel. A visor turned in my direction, and it seemed safe to guess the head under it did as well. My apologies, milady. The Devil in Iron does not make a habit of interrupting other people's meals.

Before I could respond, the projectile was back on his feet. Only instinct saved the bowl of soup in my hand from being wasted. As the dart moved to the Devil in Iron again, I decided to finish what remind of breakfast.

Even with a lack of formal declaration, it was clear the tournament began.

I stood up. Best not to get in the way. I was not that rude.

I am the Prince of Hounds, and I will not be-

A fist clad in metal silenced him. A second followed, to the stomach. A third followed them, one that sent the Prince off his feet. He spun in the air from the force of the blow, landed face-first on the dusty floor.

The Prince sprung back on his feet, kicked the Devil in the process. His move barely touched, but it pushed the armored man back just the same.

A blow was parried. A face winced in pain at the same time.

Counters were made. The armor absorbed them all, and left only knuckles bruised and blooded for his troubles.

Another blow to the stomach. The strike came from below, powered by a quick lunge. It lifted the victim off his feet. One last punch sealed things, and the sound of bone cracking was near-lost to the gasp of the crowd. The Prince of Hounds would not stand up again.

I offered a prayer for the departed.

The Devil in Iron merely grabbed a rag from a barmaid to wipe the blood from his gauntlets.

My feet led me out of the inn. They knew before I did that I no longer had any interest or reason to be there.

***

Narrow paths choking

Dust and grim with ev'ry step

Shadows long and deep

A hidden tiger bares teeth

Hungry wolves circle their prey

I stood at the corner entrance of the alley, leaned on a wall to observe. Six men in total, five of them surrounded one. The five all carried a long knife in one hand, short dagger in the other. Good weapons suitable for narrow spaces. The one carried no arms. The cloak obscured his face from view.

The cloaked one nodded in my direction. I hadn't though they saw me.

A beat later, the pieces went into motion.

One of the thugs attacked. His steps were two beats too slow. He lifted his dagger up and made a fool of himself. Something cut his stomach open, let the innards spill out along with the blood, bile, and everything else. I saw no weapon flash, no blade drawn.

Only a trickle of blood at the tips of the cloaked figure's fingertips.

I stood by and watched. The trepidation, the uncertainty...it was palpable in the air. Even my untrained senses half-drowned in it.

Two more stepped forward, came at them from behind. A third moved and made good distraction.

The cloaked one shifted a foot back. Two fingers thrust into a throat as the body shifted just enough. The hand pulled away as the body moved aside, and blood splattered from the wound. The red must have blocked vision for the attackers. Not half a beat later, the two of them were taken down. A swipe of fingertips across the hamstring for one, and a wrist cut open for his friend.

Through it all, I barely even saw the cloak move. A good look showed that whoever it was, they'd deftly avoided any bloodstains. Years later, that would remain the single most impressive thing about that fight to me.

Four had fallen. The other two ran, and their path took them right to me. I did the city a favor.

I turned to talk to the cloak, and saw no one there. The alley bare, save for the corpses. I took a few steps deeper into the dark, thought to find a sign or get a sense of where she went. Nothing.

I should have taken that training more seriously, I said before I sighed.

Impressive, weren't they?

No hostile intent in the air. No attack from behind. The best guess at the time was someone that had a sense of honor. Or someone who preferred to kill face to face.

I turned to get a look at who it was.

Cold, featureless white

Lithe wings ready to take flight

Polished nothingness

My apologies if my mask is troubling. She nodded just so. It is not my intent to do so.

Why wear the mask…

I am Faceless Crane, she answered. At least half that name matched, and she wore the right colors for it. And I wear it because it is who I am.

Who you are is a porcelain mask?

One does not often question the identity of a mask.

I paused. I supposed that made a certain sort of sense. From the right point of view. A change in topic felt like the right move as I made my way to her, out of the alley. Do you know the cloaked figure?

I do not, but they are very impressive.

It felt like it took more effort to avoid getting stained than it did to dispatch these thugs.

It did, Faceless Crane answered. Her voice, muffled as it was by what she wore, sounded giddy. I look forward to facing them in the later points of the tournament.

You're confident in your skills, I commented. I shifted into a ready stance. Why bother to hide how eager I was? What makes you think you'll get that far?

Are you propos- She paused, the mask inclined upwards.