Chapter 1A

Have you ever wondered if you were born in the wrong era? People all the time imagine what they would have been like living in the dark ages or renaissance. You see them at fairs or special events that allow them to act out the part of someone from their favorite time period. These people are easily recognizable, but what about a more select group? They are more difficult to distinguish then the first group. They are people or persons who live by a romantic ideal that causes them to feel out of place in the modern world. Kenshiro Hidori was such a person. At the age of five his parents were taken hostage during a bank robbery. In a hostage situation gone bad the hostage takers killed the young couple as an example, this happened when they found out things were not going their way. The police report said that all but one of the hostage takers were killed when the police raided the bank. The last was sent to prison only to escape before making it to trial. Both Yoshi and Kenshiro were denied the justice they had waited for after his parents' death. The criminal was never recaptured and was walking free on the streets. It was a memory that would haunt him the rest of his days.

When young Kenshiro saw the bodies of his parents lying lifeless in their open caskets tears streamed down his face. His world was left reeling; he was lost without anything to hold onto. It was like drowning in a sea of sadness with no way to get out. It was then in his most desperate hour that a comforting hand gripped his shoulder. Turning to see who it was he saw his paternal grandfather Yoshi Hidori who was his mentor in the samurai arts. His mother had encouraged the relationship hoping the two would bond and she had been right. The two Hidori males though separated by generations welcomed the other's company whenever the opportunity presented itself. Kenshiro's father Samata Hidori was a military man who had served in the U.S. Navy before ending his tour and joining Japan's defense forces. His career had been glorious and during it he had met Kenshiro's mother Mariko Yamata who had been born and raised in America and was of mixed descent. She followed her husband whenever she could to his new bases even after the birth of their son Kenshiro. Kenshiro had been born on a U.S. base in Japan his mother insisted that their son be raised in Japan for she loved the land and believed he would love it too, again she had been quite correct in her prediction of the future. Kenshiro had been given dual citizenship which gave him native born rights in both America and Japan. When he had traveled to America with his family he had always found himself wishing to return to Japan, that land was his true home.

Among his mother's family members he felt so out of place even among his Japanese-American relatives. They spoke the language but they did not practice any part of their ancestor's culture. While his mother had embraced this part of their history, they had seemed determined to fit in with the people around them discarding much of their Japanese heritage for a shared history with their neighbors. While they were polite Kenshiro still felt strange around them. Her mother's other relative were similar in that they did not share the same culture he did but they too were polite though his feeling toward them were similar as the rest. When they finally returned to Japan Kenshiro would immediately rush to his grandfather seeking something familiar to him. Now their bond in this moment of crisis lent strength to Kenshiro, strength he needed to get a handle on things.

"Cry as much as you need Kenshiro. Let your tears flow until you can shed no more. After today you will never cry again." Yoshi Hidori said. It had been his grandfather who had been asked to identify the bodies. Kenshiro was too young to perform the duty himself. Seeing his parents in those caskets was enough to deeply affect him for the rest of his life. Deep in his heart there grew hatred for criminals and those who existed outside of the law, that day the first seeds were planted. The next day his training began. Yoshi Hidori knew his grandson would begin to feel better when he had something constructive to focus on, so Yoshi Hidori taught Kenshiro everything he knew, raising his grandson in the ways of his forefathers. Kenshiro took in their values that familial duty and honor was everything to a Hidori. Kenshiro was inspired by the stories of his samurai ancestors, and by other samurai of the feudal era. Giving his all he practiced, and practiced seeking to push himself to the limit of his abilities. He studied every aspect of the martial arts the samurai employed both armed, and unarmed combat. Though his first love was the sword Kenshiro was determined to master the other weapons and aspects of his studies. When he felt he was ready he challenged the best in each of the weapons he had studied. Most were private matches with the exception of the sword. Kenshiro found that kendo could best demonstrate his skill with the sword in open competition.

Kenshiro blew through the competition easily. None of his competitors were in his league. Kenshiro had trained himself to actually do battle, while they had trained for competition. He practiced against an equal yet imaginary opponent; they practiced against opponents normally weaker than them. When the dust settled he was left with a hollow victory. He had expected to find a true challenger someone to push him even further but there was no one to be had.

Kenshiro was left wondering if he would ever find someone who could challenge him at the peak of his physical abilities. How he longed to be like the samurai of the old days like in his grandfather's stories. He knew the only way he could be truly be tested was in real combat. Combat that would mean the difference between life and death.

After two years of waiting Kenshiro believed his wishes would never come true, especially after his beloved grandfather died. Kenshiro took over their dojo in Japan training students that entered the dojo day to day. Up until a few months ago he had helped teach the students that came there. Now he would teach them alone. One fateful morning in the twenty-first year of his life a stranger entered his life that would change it beyond his imagination. While sweeping the wooden dojo floor with a broom Kenshiro heard the door swing open. Looking up he saw a man dressed in a trench coat and black hat. He was about average height and build for a Japanese man, not someone who would stick out of a crowd.

"Hello how may I help you?" Kenshiro asked. Taking off his hat the stranger said, "Greetings Kenshiro Hidori, it is actually you I have come to help. You may call me Sato. We have much to discuss you and I."

"How is it that you know my name? Are you a fan or something?" Kenshiro asked trying to understand what was going on. He began to wonder if this man had seen him in a match and was here to offer him some sponsorship as others had in the past. Smiling Sato replied, "I have observed your tournaments as well as the rest of your life. From your birth until now I have watched your progress, and have been impressed. You are an exceptional human being Kenshiro Hidori. That is why I have come."

"What are you talking about? Who are you?" Kenshiro asked. "Who I am doesn't really matter. As I said before you may call me Sato for now that is enough. May I ask you something? What would happen if you could have a chance to live the life you always wanted, to fight as your ancestors did? To know the thrill of combat and to know your destiny can be decided by your sword? Would you want a life like that or would you prefer to stay in this life? A life where you will never be able to be the hero you always wished to be. Would you live a life where you will never truly be tested, never to know whether you could actually survive if you were placed in danger upon some distant battlefield?" Sato said reaching out and inspiring Kenshiro's imagination.

"I have seen your dreams Kenshiro I know the visions of battle call to you. You can already imagine your heart thumping loudly in your chest and your breath quicken. You seek the ancient battlefields and their challenges. You yearn for adventure it is in your blood. Your grandfather's stories caused the feeling to bubble to the surface, and now you can no longer hide it. All that can be yours and more if you are willing to risk all." Sato said his voice passionate.

Kenshiro was resistant to the idea at first, but the images Sato displayed spoke to his heart. It was true he could no longer hide it. Soon he feared even training itself would lose its appeal and that would be it. Life would then sink into a great emptiness, a vast wasteland where he would waste away into nothing. He longed for one chance at glory before that moment came, to know he had succeeded where others had failed. Kenshiro wanted to leave a mark that the world would not forget and not be forgotten or ignored totally. Sato continued sensing that he had captured Kenshiro's attention, "You are a unique individual Kenshiro. Others like yourself have been invited to join a kind of competition. A game if you will, where one is transported to different times and places throughout the world. A separate time line will be created and you will be able to affect history as you travel from one time period to another."

Kenshiro had a gut level feeling that the man was not kidding or delusional, but something was missing this was too easy. "What's the catch?" Kenshiro said. Taking a more serious tone Sato said, "Every wound will be real even your death. If you die then your body will be transported back to this time, the apparent victim of a mysterious death. On the other hand anything short of a mortal wound will be healed as you pass from one life to the next. You will retain the knowledge and muscle memory from each life, even if you survive and win the game. You will start each life at the age you physically started at, and if you succeed you will be brought back to this time the same age as you are now."

This was too good to be true so Kenshiro was forced to consider if it really was. "How do I know that this is real, that you are not just a dream, or a joke?" Kenshiro asked. To this Sato answered, "When you wake up tomorrow, you will begin your first life and your journey will begin." In the blink of an eye the man disappeared without a trace. Kenshiro looked all over the dojo but could find no sign of him. Sato had known Kenshiro could not refuse that is why he had not waited for Kenshiro's verbal agreement. This man knew his dreams and wishes and that hope that they would still come true was alive in him.

Finishing his classes for the day Kenshiro went to his room at the back of the dojo, and went to sleep. When he opened his eyes he was laying on a grassy hill. Getting up Kenshiro began to wander trying to find out where he was. Exiting the woods he began to consider where he might have ended up at. All of the plant life looked oddly familiar to him. Ahead he saw a figure traveling up and down on a dirt road. At first Kenshiro could not believe it, but he could not deny what his eyes saw. Before him were peasants of Japan's feudal era. He recognized the clothing from the pictures in the books he read beginning as a child.

Kenshiro's wish had come true; already his senses took in his fresh surroundings. Moving forward he sought to join the bustling traffic on the road. A flash of light in the tree line opposite of him caused him to pause. Instinct told him something wasn't right. Searching the crowd he spotted a merchant with weapons on his cart. If this bad feeling was like others in his past he would feel more comfortable well armed. Moving forward at a normal pace so as to not tip whoever might be watching him. The merchant obviously sensed the danger as well as he kept glancing at the trees, the merchant tried to speed up but his cart was moving too slow to escape any serious pursuit. When the merchant saw Kenshiro he saw the face and build of a samurai. The look in Kenshiro's eyes and the outward calm he showed spoke volumes for the merchant. Perhaps this man could save him from the bandits that were surely eyeing them.

As Kenshiro neared him the merchant could feel the panic rising in his voice, "Save me and you will receive a rich reward and your choice of my weapons!" Itching for a fight and liking the offer Kenshiro said, "I accept, let me see your stock."

Gathering his weapons Kenshiro stuck the arrows from his quiver into the earth before him. Tossing the now empty arrow bag aside he grasped the first arrow and notched it to the bowstring. Drawing back on the bowstring he felt the tension. Sighting along the arrow he waited for the first bandit to emerge from the trees. When the first one did burst forth on horseback an arrow caught him in the chest. Kenshiro watched the first fall as he notched the second arrow as the rest of the bandits appeared at the tree line. Now the bandits charged as a group wanting to overwhelm Kenshiro. Firing a second shot he saw another fall and he was able to quickly be ready to fire again. When the third bandit fell the rest tried to weave and dodge the rest of the distance between them and him. Kenshiro still managed to kill a fourth, always aiming for the biggest part of his targets insuring a better chance at hitting them.

Tossing aside his bow Kenshiro grasped his naginata and did the last thing they expected as they closed with him by charging at them at full speed. The naginata was a staff with a sword-like blade on one end of it. It gave the user more reach while allowing them to still use the cutting edge of a sword. Roaring a battle cry Kenshiro charged aiming his naginata at the nearest rider. The horse startled at the sudden movement and shied away. Kenshiro thrust the point of his weapon at unprotected side of the bandit piercing flesh and drawing blood. The rider toppled from his horse holding his side as he died. Slapping the horse's flank with the shaft of naginata, this caused it to sprint forward sending the last two horses into a panic as they tried to get out of the way. Using the confusion to his advantage Kenshiro made a cut with the weapon for the second man wounding him with a cut to the arm as he twisted away. Fighting back the bandit used his sword to cut the blade off of Kenshiro's weapon, slicing right through the wooden shaft. The problem with this move was the end of the wooden shaft now had a point that Kenshiro used to stab the man in the throat. Coughing up blood the wounded man fell to the ground choking to death. The third bandit made his way clear of his fallen comrade's horse and moved to attack. Kenshiro seeing him threw the pointed wooden shaft at him forcing the last bandit to knock it away and slow his progress buying Kenshiro precious seconds. Reaching out he grasped the bandit's outstretched sword arm and using his body weight as he turned ripped him from the saddle. Upon hitting the ground the bandit tried to roll to his feet, but Kenshiro was not going to let him off so easy. Drawing his killing blade and short sword he attacked. Off balanced from his fall the man was only able to block the killing blade as it came in from overhead, however the short sword made it through his guard. The blade pierced his heart killing him almost instantly. Jerking the blade free Kenshiro let the man fall into a pool of his own blood.

The merchant stood rooted to his spot staring in amazement at Kenshiro. "You... killed them!" The merchant said. Glancing back at them Kenshiro replied, "Yes I suppose I did." It had not been the first time Kenshiro had killed. An unlucky meeting with a mugger caring a knife had done that. Kenshiro had killed the man with his own blade by puncturing the man's lung. He had seen the shock in the criminal's eyes and the realization that he had picked the wrong prey before he died of suffocation and blood loss. He was as calm about it then as he was about death now. In a way he found a short of justice in it. The mugger had been the only surviving criminal from the botched hostage situation, and he had died at the hands of the child of one of his victims. He had been raised to believe dieing in battle was an honorable death there was no guilt in killing an enemy so now he felt no shame in what he had done.

The merchant offered to pay Kenshiro if he would protect him until he reached the next city. Kenshiro accepted his weapons as a bonus to his payment when the job was done and sold the bandits weapons and most of the horses through the merchant. The merchant took his fair share and gave the rest to Kenshiro. Now with plenty of money Kenshiro traveled from place to place occasionally hiring himself out as a bodyguard. Kenshiro soon became rich and bought himself nice battle armor and a white horse that once belonged to a samurai who had died in battle.

After finishing one of his jobs he heard the sounds of battle and rode up to find a group of bandits attacking a group under the banner of Lord Nobunaga Oda. One hand maiden was protecting palanquin probably carrying someone important. The porters who would have carried the palanquin were cowering behind it.

Lady Fujiko Mitsuhide had been surprised by the suddenness of the onslaught like the rest of her party. The ronin appeared to come from nowhere greatly outnumbering them. In the first few moments almost half of the samurai fell to hail after hail of arrow. Now the Oda samurai had rallied after the initial chaos and they were trying to push the attackers back, but as she saw more Oda samurai fall Fujiko knew all was lost. Drawing her dagger she prepared to defend her lady in the palanquin until her last breath. Stabbing a ronin as he swung she had trouble freeing the dagger that was now lodged in him too deep. When she finally did Fujiko saw flash of light to her left and barely dodged the blade meant to take off her head. Falling to the ground she tried to roll to her feet but saw it was too late. Already the ronin was in the process of dealing the blow that would end her life. As he began to strike something halted him in mid-swing. Staring at her oddly for a moment she saw the breathing in his chest slow and his eyes dilate. With one last breath and he sunk to the ground falling on top of her an arrow stuck in his back. As she tried to pry him off Fujiko heard the sounds of panic all around her as attacker appeared from the forest. When Fujiko finally managed to free herself she saw a masked warrior in full battle armor charge into the fray. Using sword and naginata he stabbed and cut his way into the attackers' ranks forcing them to split their forces. Any who did not quickly move out of harm's way were soon missing a head or a limb. Getting the respite they needed the Oda samurai renewed their effort and were able to turn the tide. Caught between the stranger and the defenders the ronin were quickly cut down, those few who managed to flee ran for their lives into the surrounding countryside. For a moment Fujiko could not believe they had won.

One of the younger samurai, who was now the highest ranking after the death of his predecessor, spoke to the stranger asking his name. "I am merely a ronin traveling the land in search of fortune and being able to test my skill. My name makes no difference. You have lost many of your men here, so if you wish I will accompany you to the next city which I know belongs to your clan."

"You know our borders well stranger. I thank you for your assistance and readily accept your company. If we are attacked again it would be good to have you with us. Never have I seen such skill in combat or in practice." The captain said bowing to the stranger who still sat astride his horse. Fujiko remembered the look of the man as she tried to get a closer look at him. He wore a white mask travel stained with dust. His armor was well cared for as were his weapons although they had seen much use as scratches and other marks showed. The stranger was quite large for a Japanese man. He had wide shoulders and was much taller than average. His muscles were well developed and he sat with practiced ease on his horse. What she noticed the most about him were his eyes. A brown color they were now cold and calculating the previous warmth they had held as he spoke to the captain was now gone. They were definitely Japanese and were not too large or too small. He did not appear to really notice her, his eyes now scanning their surroundings for danger. Still they were handsome eyes as was what little of his face you could see through his white hooded mask.

When they reached the city just inside of the Oda clan's borders the stranger parted ways with them. Later that day Fujiko saw the man in the marketplace. Speaking to one of the merchants she asked, "Excuse me but do you know that man?" Looking at the man she pointed at the old grizzled merchant nodded replying, "That is Kenshiro. I don't know his last name. When he was a bodyguard for my son he never told it to him, however my son says he would have not had a safe journey if not for that man. Kenshiro he said took on a group of bandits all by himself killing every last one. He has done so many times I am told. All of us merchants look for him when we are traveling through dangerous parts. He is not too expensive just hard to find. He travels a lot you see that is why he can be hired for so cheap. He usually picks the merchant who is going the same way he is." Marveling at the information she had learned Fujiko left happy to at least have her rescuer's first name for now "Kenshiro"."

Kenshiro continued traveling seeking a place he could come back to from time to time. Eventually he came to a small town where he met a courtesan named Uriko. Graceful and kind she managed to capture his attention. She was Kenshiro's first love and they pillowed many times always enjoying their love making. An older woman by ten years she taught Kenshiro many things. She admired her lover's enthusiasm and stamina as well as his sense of adventure. He would often take her on horseback rides around the surrounding landscape. She enjoyed the rides and the speed and skill that he handled a horse. Kenshiro stayed with her as long as he could between jobs treasuring their time together. Uriko was pretty but did not have overtly beautiful face or body. Some might described her as plain. Kenshiro himself found her lovely. He loved her giddy smile and the sound of her voice. Like his mother Uriko was gifted in playing the flute something that had always made him happy as a child and did so now as well. He would often ask her to play for him late at night or when they sat in the shade in the countryside and he would just lie there and listen.

Uriko admired Kenshiro's sense of right and wrong and found him very attractive. While most of his features at least in the face were Japanese his body was a larger build then was average among those around him. It was more akin to the larger Dutch Barbarian with their wide shoulders. Kenshiro was very muscular and was well fit. He considered food merely to be nourishment for the body and did not gorge himself on food and drink. When not walking in a crowd instead of wearing his hair in some bun or other braided fashion, Kenshiro preferred to let his hair hang free. He had the hair cut so it normally hung just below the shoulders. He was clean shaven and had a smooth face with no blemishes that were evident. A few scars marked his body from tough scrapes but they were hidden by his clothing. Most were quite small because Kenshiro had learned to practice medicine on himself up quite well. Stitching up open wounds he learned to apply herbs that lessened the scarring and allowed the wounds to heal quicker. Generally if he felt something was useful on the battlefield he made a point to learn it.

Making a name for himself Kenshiro hired other bodyguards from ronin he found. In Japan ronin were master less samurai who often wandered the countryside seeking employment from a daimyo preferably. The other two choices were becoming a monk or a bandit like the bandits who attacked Kenshiro. For most part samurai thought the idea of becoming a ronin was shameful. As a ronin you had not only outlived the master you swore to defend but also faced a life of starvation and possibly begging, while trying to make a new life for yourself. Kenshiro himself was a different kind of ronin, a very unusual one. Though born of a samurai family he had never served a daimyo nor wanted to at this point. Kenshiro offered the ronin he chose another life not unlike the one they lost. These ronin were happy to be employed particularly Natsumo. When Kenshiro had found him the man was a drunkard falling down and reeking of sake; an alcoholic beverage made from rice. Kenshiro had offered him a second chance to serve someone again. Natsumo cleaned himself up and soon became Kenshiro's second in command. As he became more well-known Kenshiro rode with a white cloth mask with the eyes cut out. Some Buddhist monks wore a similar design. Generally recognized in it he took it off some times when he went into town. Kenshiro wore the mask so he would not be recognized all the time. Despite this precaution Kenshiro could not escape his name. Success had brought troubles that he had not even imagined or knew about until he met a familiar individual appeared in his wanderings. While camped one night a traveling monk came upon them just off the road. Though not a religious man Kenshiro always respected monks and other men of faith as his mother had taught him. "Come warm yourself by the fire and share in our food. We have plenty good monk. Here sit by me if you like." Kenshiro said with a warm smile. The monk's face was hidden by a large straw hat and he leaned on an old staff. Bowing the monk said, "I thank you for your kindness but I am on an errand. I seek a man named Kenshiro. I have a private message for him."

"I am Kenshiro." Kenshiro said. Motioning for the monk to follow he led him away so they could talk privately. "What is your message sir?" Kenshiro asked. Lifting away the hat and revealing himself Sato said, "The message is a warning my friend. I have come to tell you all this fame you have earned has a price."

"What price?" Kenshiro asked surprised to see Sato here especially dressed like this. "Daimyos across Japan are already talking about you. Two clans in particular will seek you out. A time of great trouble is coming to you. You must decide your path now for it will be the difference between life and death." Sato replied. "What of Uriko? Does this time of trouble include her? Will she be in danger?" Kenshiro asked.

"If you chose the wrong path perhaps she will. I cannot tell you more. I am sorry Kenshiro I am bending the rules by telling you this much." Sato said it was evident from his face that he was truly conflicted. "Why couldn't you tell me?" Kenshiro asked. With a solemn face Sato answered, "I am your guide throughout each of these lives. I am only suppose to warn you about danger if you truly need it or ask for it, but I cannot give specifics. What's more I also am not supposed to speak of the destiny of those around you, for it may affect how you react. The rules are in place so we do not cheat and save you when you could not save yourself. By hinting at danger we remove most of that possibility, because you have to decide what to do with the information." Thanking Sato for the warning Kenshiro's thoughts turned inward. He would not bow down to any daimyo that did not deserve it even if it meant his death. If it came down to it he would make his last moments something to be remembered. They would talk of his fall throughout the ages, but while he could face his own death with courage he had one weakness: Uriko. To him her life meant more than his own. He could not ask her to risk her life as he would. She was a simple woman who would have married him even if they were both peasants, but he was now a warrior in their culture which made him different. It was time he took his place among the other fighting men. He would show these samurai what he was made. His goal set he now turned to the unhappy consequence of his decision.

Returning to the town of his beloved Uriko he headed to her employer and bought her contract. Next he bought her a good house where she could live in. It was a fine house and was large enough for any of her needs. Finishing his preparations he went to be with Uriko one more night. Entering her room she greeted him unaware of what was happening. Kenshiro had noticed she had grown plumper since they last met but he did not care. She was still as attractive in his eyes. They pillowed one last time. Kenshiro gave her his full attention cherishing every moment. The following morning as she slept, he left her a letter detailing much of what had transpired leaving out only details she would not understand. Kissing her lips one last time he left mounting his horse and riding off.

Uriko awoke moments later and read the letter which said, "My love,

I cannot explain all that has happened to me for you would not understand. Instead I will tell you what happened when traveling home to you this last time. I met a familiar seer who has been my guide in this life. He spoke of a time where you could suffer from any mistake I might make in judgment and perhaps even die as a result. You are worth too much to me to allow that to happen, so I must go. I have bought your contract, it is lying folded in this envelope. I have also bought you a house where you can live comfortably. Once there you will find money stashed in cabinets and beneath the bed. It is all I have left. Take it and be happy. Find a man worthy of you love for I am not him farewell.