"The state of this temple is as the state of the road that you must follow. Despite apparent good intentions, very few wish to see you succeed." Momochi counselled as he unwrapped Gengyo's bandaged hands. His actions from the previous day had merely been for show, and in truth he should have dodged that strike.
His hands were bruised and battered from where the wood of his spear shaft had slammed against the bone, and tore against muscle.
"I understand that. I will be fighting Kuraka soon enough, and then the state will return to what it was before." Gengyo replied calmly.
"Are you truly ready?" The old monk asked seriously, holding his gaze. Soroko and Kitajo were also present, and they were as intune with the conversation as the two participants.
He let out a sigh as he ran a finger over the bruised tissue. Nothing was perfect. Nothing could ever reach that perfect state. No matter how strong he became, he would never be invincible. There would always be a weakness that someone might exploit. There were parts of himself that he did not like, and parts that let him down. He had made his fair share of mistakes.
The realization of that should have brought him low down to his knees. It should have delivered a mission – a cause. To find someone worthy enough to rule over Japan. A good man, with a pure heart, without fault of unpolished edge. But in truth, that person did not exist, and he never would. More than that – even if such a man did exist, he would be unable to confront evil. He could not fight against it.
"I've always known that strength was to be found in becoming a monster. If I looked at that part of myself, and understand just what extent I was willing to go, all the awful things I was willing to comit… I knew that I might respect myself a little bit more. But nothing is ever so simple. Balance is required in all things. In my heart, and in the world around me."
"Momochi-sensei, Soroko-sensei. Thank you for your tutelage. You have helped me understand what type of man I am. It always bothered me that I did not feel a connection to the people – that I did not share in their love for drink, and the party. But that is what seperates me. That, and this anger I have. Happiness? It's a foolish pursuit. I feel that I would rather feel my anger more often than happiness. Anger, I feel, is vector, whereas happiness is scalar."
"In anger, I can find direction, and continue to move forward. I have the heart of a general, perhaps even a king. I seek to find order in the fields of chaos, and in this realization, in accepting who and what I truly am, I have no doubt that I am ready."
He spoke passionately, fervently. He did not need to search for words, for the words were always present. It was an understanding that he had come to – an understanding of himself. He knew that now, more than any other time in his life, he was ready.
The two monks shared a wistful smile, and nodded.
"Aye. You have found your heart lad. Be true to it, for not many men can ever reach the state in which you now inhabit." Soroko stated.
They stood underground once more. Though this time they were not inside the chamber of fire, where Gengyo had found and spoken to his inhabitants. Instead, they were elsewhere. This room was a good deal brighter, with beautiful bronze mirrors reflecting the noon sunlight underground towards where they stood.
A hole in the rock let out a steady stream of pure water in a stone pool. This little pool was bordered by stone steps, encompassing one side of the room. With each fresh droplet of liquid, the water overflowed slightly, and trickled down the stone steps, lightly coating them in the crystal clear liquid.
High above a golden dragon was trapped, forcing its way out of the rocky stone wall. It was ferocious in its appearance and looked truly angry. And it was no wonder – its tail was quite clearly trapped. From its mouth the occasional droplet of water fell, as though it was salivating, and in that wide-open jaw, sat a scroll, encased in a marble box, and plated with gold. The whole thing was the result of the most painstaking craftsmanship, and their job had truly been done well, as it looked ready to come alive at any point.
"But do not forget, your way is not the way for all others. Each man has his own heart, and his own emotion that he finds strength in. Perhaps there might be a man who rather than anger, finds his direction from happiness, no? And I think it is fitting, what you have told us. Your heart has truly been spoken. A general – a king – that you are, that you have always been. But it is only now that your power has come to the fore, after you accepted the existence of your true subjects – those that exist inside your heart. No matter how twisted and savaged a man is, he might one day be a man of your land. You ought to treat him as the rest." Soroko continued.
"My old friend speaks truly. There are many men who aim for the same heights as you, yet once they achieve them, the only coat they wear is that of misery. Each man has his purpose, and it does not fall to us mortals to judge the weight or significance of one as compared to another."
Kitajo listened to their conversation intently. He could feel the wisdom of their words swirling within his body, and from each statement they made, he felt a new understanding. 'Each man has his purpose,' they had said, and each purpose is equal. Whilst he could not entirely believe that last line – for surely a king was more grand than a samurai – he attempted to, with all his heart. He felt as though he understood his own purpose, a little. And that was to stand beside his master's side, and become one of the pillars that would support him as he went about his campaign.
"And here we stand, in the hall of the dragon – the embodiment of wrath. Encased up there, is the Lone Dragon's Judgement. It's a hidden level technique, quite obviously, and from time to time we have given it to monks and allowed them to contemplate and replicate it's contents, but they have all returned unable, just as we both have." Momochi explained.
"And now it is me who has been granted this opportunity… Ah, a dragon. What beautiful craftsmenship. Though I fear I am no dragon. I do not have the nobility that such creatures embody. I think I am more akin to a silverback gorilla. Primitive, and brutish." Gengyo stated, though without a hint of self-deprecation. In fact, he stated so with pride, for that was indeed who he was.
"Primitive?" Soroko questioned, raising his eyebrows in surprise. It was the very last word he would use to describe the man. He did not lose them with his mention of the silverback gorilla – they were well read men.
"Indeed. That is where I have lost myself. With the tools that I've been given, I have thrown myself towards discovery, but I have neglected that primitive side of me, he who lends me rage. And really, I identify with him the most. But, enough. How will we reach the scroll?"
The dragon's mouth was rather high up – at least serval metres. It was impossible to simply reach up and grab it with one's hands, or perhaps, even jump.
In response to his question, Soroko merely smiled. "You speak of the tools that you've been given, but it seems you've already forgotten what tools you've been granted here. You do not need to move towards the scroll. It will suffice to simply bring the scroll towards you."
"…Strike of the thunder king?" He asked hesitantly with a raised eyebrow. Of course, such a strike was capable of moving the scroll, but it was also capable of moving everything else as well.
But that was all the guidance they would give him, for in response to his question, they both merely looked towards one another and shrugged. But it was enough. They did not reproach him for his suggestion of the strike of the thunder king, so perhaps it was not so inappropriate.
"Heh, do you reckon I'll be able to reach it, Kitajo?" He asked his comrade with a light laugh, picturing the absolute worst that could happen. By his estimation, it was not impossible to collapse this entire room.
"Definitely." Kitajo responded with the utmost seriousness – there was no doubt in his mind.
And so Gengyo assumed the stance slowly, and delicately, as he began to spin round, and focus all the air towards a single point. But as he did this – unlike before – he made a distinct effort to hold back slightly. He only needed a slight gust in order to remove the light cylinder.
He moved as though he had practised such a movement thousands of times, and the air that was lucky enough to escape his vortex fled outwards, lightly brushing against their faces.
And then, with a single order from his palms, the pressurized gas flew upwards, just barely making contact with the scroll. It seemed to be too light, however, as it only pushed it a little ways, leaving it teetering on the edge.
Holding back his tut, Gengyo slowly retired from his stance, and moved over to inspect the distance, just in time for the precariously placed scroll to tip off the edge, and plumate down into his hand. He barely needed to move. It simply fell into his open palms, as if it was always meant to be there.
He turned back to look at his comrades, scroll in hand.
"That – that was really smooth," Kitajo said with a shake of his head. To an observer, it likely looked as though the whole thing was meant to happen that way.
"Eh, you think so?" He responded doubtfully, as he attempted to hand over the scroll to Momochi.
"What are you giving it to me for? It's your scroll now." The old man rebuked him, stepping away.
"Eh…" He complained, slightly disappointed. He had hoped that the monks would be able to give him some guidance on how to interpret it, but seeing as they were now out into the stone corridor – closing the heavy metal doors behind them, with Kitajo in tow – such a thing seemed unlikely.