Chapter 46: Blood and Brotherhood
The western road was a ribbon of churned mud beneath the relentless drizzle, the scent of wet earth and decay thick in the chill air. A day and a night of relentless pursuit, guided by the faint, fading traces – the unique blend of jasmine and ozone that clung to Anne, the disturbed earth near the shrine crossroads, the heavier scent of unwashed men and fear – had led Giyu here. To the skeletal remains of a village, its charred timbers jutting like broken teeth against the bruised twilight sky. Ash, cold and gritty, coated everything, mingling with the mud underfoot. The silence was absolute, broken only by the drip-drip of rain from blackened rafters and the distant, mournful cry of a crow.
Then, cutting through the desolation like a knife: the coppery tang of fresh blood.
Giyu froze, every sense sharpening. He tracked the scent, moving with preternatural silence past collapsed walls and the hollow shells of homes. The stench intensified near a collapsed well, thick and cloying. And there, sprawled like a discarded doll in the mud and soot, lay a figure.
His breath hitched, a sound so foreign it startled him.
Anne.
Her once trendy off-shoulder top and knee-high socks were ripped, stained black with mud and crimson. Her long brown hair was matted with filth, obscuring her face. One leg was twisted unnaturally. Worst of all, her chest… ribs stood out starkly beneath torn fabric, the skin mottled purple and black. She was shuddering, a wet, rattling gasp escaping her lips as she choked, bright red blood bubbling at the corner of her mouth. Her large brown eyes, when they flickered open for a second, held only a haze of agony and fading awareness. She was drowning in her own blood.
He was at her side in an instant, dropping to his knees in the mire, uncaring of the filth. "Anne." His voice was a rasp, stripped bare. His hand, usually so steady, trembled as he brushed mud-caked strands of hair from her cold, ashen cheek. Her skin felt clammy, her breath a shallow, terrifying struggle. He saw the raw terror flash in her eyes before they fluttered shut again. Barely holding on. Hanging by a thread.
Attacked for supporting the Corps. Kagaya’s warning, Hiroto’s fear – it wasn’t just politics. It was this. Brutal, savage elimination. Foiling someone’s plans meant being left broken in the ashes.
A low, guttural curse echoed from the smoky gloom near the remains of a blacksmith’s forge. Three figures emerged, silhouetted against the fading light. Rough, hard-faced men, their clothes practical and stained, not palace finery. Mercenaries. One held a heavy cudgel, dark with something wet. Another gripped a short, brutal-looking sword. The third, taller, carried a cleaver. Their eyes, flat and predatory, locked onto Giyu kneeling over Anne.
"The Water Hashira," the one with the cleaver sneered. "Persistent bastard. Didn’t think you’d find the trash this fast."
Giyu didn’t rise immediately. His gaze swept the attackers, assessing, calculating angles and distances with cold precision. Anne gave another weak, wet cough beside him, a sound that twisted something deep in his chest. He couldn’t fight freely with her so vulnerable beside him. He needed to draw them away. Shield her.
He slowly, deliberately, stood up. Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash. The movement began as a deceptive ripple, his sword blurring out and back into its sheath almost too fast to see. The thin, pressurized arc of water sliced through the rain, catching the man with the cudgel across the knees. He screamed, collapsing forwards, his weapon clattering uselessly.
"Get him!" roared the cleaver-man, charging.
Giyu met the attack head-on. He flowed around the clumsy cleaver swing like water parting around a rock, his own blade flashing in Second Form: Water Wheel. The circular slash deflected the sword thrust from the second man and carved a deep gash across the cleaver-wielder’s chest. The man staggered back, bellowing.
The swordsman pressed, wild-eyed. Giyu parried with minimal effort, his movements economical, deadly. Fourth Form: Striking Tide. A rapid series of thrusts forced the swordsman back, off-balance. A shift in stance, Fifth Form: Blessed Rain After the Drought. A single, precise downward cut disarmed the man, sending his blade spinning into the mud. Giyu’s pommel slammed into his temple, dropping him like a stone.
The cleaver-man, clutching his bleeding chest, made a desperate lunge, not at Giyu, but towards the downed Anne. A feral snarl ripped from Giyu’s throat – a sound utterly alien to him. Sixth Form: Whirlpool. He spun, intercepting the man mid-lunge, his blade becoming a vortex of slashing force. Not a killing blow. Disabling. Tendons severed in the arm and leg. The man crashed down, howling, inches from Anne’s still form.
Giyu stood over them, breathing steady despite the fury pounding in his veins, his mismatched haori stark against the grim backdrop. The attackers were down, groaning in the mud: one unconscious, one crippled at the knees, one incapacitated nearby. Secured. For now.
He knelt swiftly beside Anne again. Her breathing was even shallower, more ragged. He needed to get her out. Now. Back to Hiroto. Back to healers. He slid one arm carefully under her knees, the other supporting her shattered back and ribs as gently as he could, trying not to jostle the terrible fractures. She whimpered, a tiny, broken sound that cut deeper than any demon’s claw. Her head lolled against his chest.
"G...Giyu...?" The whisper was barely audible, a breath against his sodden haori. Her eyes cracked open, glazed with pain and confusion.
"Quiet," he murmured, the word gruff but the underlying command gentle. He adjusted his hold, cradling her broken body against him, shielding her from the rain and the sight of her attackers. The warmth leaching from her was terrifying. He turned, intending to move swiftly back towards the road where he’d left his faster mount tethered.
A whirlwind of white hair and fury crashed through the blackened undergrowth on the other side of the ruined well. Sanemi Shinazugawa skidded to a halt, his sword already drawn and gleaming wickedly in the gloom, his scarred chest heaving beneath his open kimono. His usual sneer vanished instantly as his sharp eyes took in the scene: Giyu holding the horrifically injured Anne, the three men writhing or unconscious in the mud, the desolation.
"The hell?!" Sanemi’s voice was a shocked rasp, his gaze snapping from Anne’s battered form to the attackers, then back to Giyu. His knuckles whitened on his sword hilt, the blade instinctively sweeping the surrounding smoke-shrouded ruins for more threats. "Tomoka! What happened? Who did this?!"
Sanemi’s blade hovered, vibrating with barely leashed fury as his gaze raked Anne’s broken form. "Who did this?!" he snarled, the rain plastering his white hair to scarred temples.
Giyu’s voice cut through the downpour, flat and urgent. "Later. She’s dying." He shifted Anne carefully, her choked whimper tightening his jaw. "I carry her. You scout. Castle—immediate care." His mismatched haori darkened against her blood-soaked side as he rose. "Ambush risk high. Watch the smoke lines."
"Tch. Fine." Sanemi sheathed his sword with brutal finality, kicking the groaning cleaver-man hard enough to silence him. His eyes, sharp as shards of glass, scanned the skeletal ruins and swirling mist. "Move, Tomioka. I’ll gut anything that twitches." He melted into the charred remains ahead, a restless storm of white hair and tension.
The journey was agony. Rain lashed Giyu’s face as he navigated slippery paths, every jostle drawing a faint gasp from Anne. Her breath grew shallower, a fragile rhythm against his neck. He focused on the rhythm of Sanemi’s movements ahead – the sudden freeze behind a blackened beam, the sharp gesture towards an overgrown thicket that could hide archers, the low growl when a crow took flight too close. No words, just instinct and lethal efficiency clearing their path.
The castle gates materialized through the deluge like a mirage. Guards shouted challenges until Sanemi bellowed, "Open up, you marble-brained statues! It's the princess!" Recognition dawned. Panic followed. Bronze doors groaned inward.
Prince Kazuhiro stood framed in the grand hallway’s lamplight, porcelain teacup halfway to his lips. It shattered on marble. "Anne?" The color drained from his face again, faster than before. He stumbled forward as Giyu lowered her gently onto a woven stretcher summoned by frantic attendants. "Her ribs… the blood… What happened?" His voice cracked.
"Assassins. Diversion." Giyu’s answer was clipped, eyes tracking the healers swarming Anne. Her skin was waxen under the palace lights. "Western ruins. Sanemi secured the site." The Wind Hashira stood dripping just inside the threshold, arms crossed, scanning the opulent hall for threats within as meticulously as he had the ruins outside. "Someone inside gave the order," Sanemi added, voice like gravel. "Find them."
Hours crawled by in the antiseptic-scented infirmary wing. Giyu stood rigid by the door, a statue of mismatched green and red, ignoring the healers' murmurs about shattered bone and internal bleeding. Sanemi paced like a caged leopard, glowering at every passing servant. Kazuhiro sat hunched over Anne’s bedside, grip white on the sheets beside her bandaged hand.
Then her eyes snapped open. Not dazed, but blazing. "Corps," she rasped, voice raw but startlingly clear. She tried to push herself up, wincing violently. "Take me back. Now."
Kazuhiro shot to his feet. "Are you insane? You have three broken ribs! A punctured lung! You need weeks—"
"They tried to silence me because of the Corps!" Anne’s glare locked onto her brother, fierce despite her pallor. "They used the escort, Hiro! Palace guards! My hiding here endangers everyone!" She struggled against the hands gently restraining her. "The trainees… Kagaya… They need to know the vipers are here!"
Sanemi stopped pacing, a predatory gleam in his eye. "She’s got a point, Prince Fancy Robes. Cowering behind these pretty walls won’t smoke out who sent those thugs."
Giyu remained silent at the door, observing the fierce determination hardening Anne’s features. Bruises couldn’t mask it. Her gaze swept past her arguing brother and found his. A silent plea burned in her large, brown eyes, cutting through the pain. "Giyu," she whispered, the name a ragged breath. "Promise me."
The infirmary air hung thick with antiseptic and desperation. Anne’s plea, raw and ragged, echoed off the sterile walls."Promise me." Her large brown eyes, clouded with pain but blazing with fierce determination, locked onto Giyu’s impassive face. Kazuhiro hovered, frantic, Sanemi scowled near the door, but Anne saw only the Water Hashira.
Giyu felt the weight of her gaze like a physical pressure. Words, usually so sparse, felt lodged in his throat, thick and unfamiliar. He saw the shattered ribs beneath the bandages, the pallor of her tan skin, the terrifying fragility warring with her indomitable spirit. He saw the ruins, the blood in the mud, the fear in her eyes before they fluttered shut. He saw the vipers hiding behind palace smiles.He took a single step closer to the bed, the movement deliberate. His voice, when it came, was low, stripped of its usual flatness, carrying an intensity that made Kazuhiro pause mid-protest and Sanemi’s scowl deepen."Anne."Her name felt heavy, significant. "I will take you back."He held her gaze, refusing to let her look away."Not now. Not like this." He gestured minutely towards her bandaged torso, the gesture encompassing the terrifying fragility beneath."You are broken.Moving you now would kill you."
He leaned forward slightly, his mismatched haori brushing the edge of the bed. "But listen."His voice dropped, becoming almost intimate in the tense room. "The moment you are strong enough. The moment the healers say you can travel without tearing yourself apart."He paused, ensuring she absorbed each word. "And the moment we know, absolutely know, that we can handle whatever waits for us out there – whether it’s in the deepest forest, the darkest alley, or the heart of the Corps fortress itself." His glacial blue eyes hardened, reflecting the cold fury simmering beneath his calm. "The moment we are ready to crush any threat that dares show its face…" He took a breath, the promise settling like a vow. "That moment, Anne Kinomoto, I will personally carry you back to the Corps myself. You have my word."
Anne’s lips parted, a flicker of protest or perhaps gratitude warring with the pain.Her hand twitched weakly on the sheet. "Giyu…" she breathed, the sound barely audible. She tried to push herself up again, a spark of her usual defiance flaring. "But… the trainees… Kagaya… they need—"
The effort was too much.The spark guttered out. Her eyes, wide and fixed on his, suddenly lost focus.The fierce light dimmed, replaced by a glassy sheen. Her head lolled back onto the pillow, her body going utterly limp, the shallow, labored rhythm of her breathing the only sign of life. Unconsciousness claimed her, swift and absolute, silencing her before she could finish.
Kazuhiro gasped, lunging forward to grasp her limp hand."Anne!Healers!" His cry was strangled with panic. Sanemi pushed off the doorframe, his scowl replaced by sharp concern as he scanned her still form. The room erupted into hushed urgency as the healers descended, checking pulses, adjusting bandages, murmuring reassurances the prince clearly didn’t believe.
Giyu remained frozen for a heartbeat, his gaze fixed on Anne’s pale, still face. The echo of his own words – more than he’d spoken in weeks – hung heavy in the air.The promise felt like a stone in his chest. He straightened, the familiar mask of stoicism sliding back into place, but his knuckles were white where they gripped his sword hilt beneath his haori.
Kazuhiro finally tore his gaze from his sister, his face etched with exhaustion and lingering terror. He ran a trembling hand through his disheveled hair, the picture of aristocratic composure utterly shattered."She… she needs rest.Uninterrupted."His voice was hoarse. He looked at Giyu, then Sanemi, a flicker of reluctant acceptance in his eyes. "You both… you saved her.Brought her back."He swallowed hard."You’ll stay. Until she’s… stable.Until we know more."
He gestured vaguely towards the corridor beyond the infirmary door, his movements heavy with fatigue. "Rooms have been prepared.Adjacent wings.Guards posted." He didn’t offer comfort or platitudes; the horror of the betrayal within his own walls was too fresh."Follow me." He turned, his silk robes whispering against the polished floor, the vibrant indigo and silver seeming dulled by the grim atmosphere.
Sanemi shot Giyu a look that was equal parts suspicion and grudging acknowledgment of the necessity. He fell into step behind the prince without a word, his posture radiating restless energy even in the opulent hallway. Giyu took one last look at Anne’s still form, surrounded by the murmuring healers, then turned silently. His footsteps echoed Kazuhiro’s and Sanemi’s as they moved away from the sterile scent of medicine and blood, deeper into the gilded, watchful heart of the palace. The hunt was paused, but the vipers were still coiled somewhere in the shadows, and the weight of his promise to Anne anchored him to this glittering cage.