A/N : To my faithful reviewers.

Kindly beated by Scarred Sword Heart.

Many faces, One soul

Chapter 5

The trip back to the headquarters was uneventful. Kenshin had remained for a little while near the abandoned house, hidden in the dark, to check if someone else was expected here tonight. Seeing nothing, he had left via the rooftops. Now, as Okami-san's inn was in sight, he questioned himself about how he should approach Katsura-san for his report.

The event of the previous hours had told him he was not certain to make his way without someone attempting to arrest him and ask him why a kid had business with the Choshu's leader. Not feeling in mood to have to explain himself, he chose the easier way, by sneaking in.

It will be a good test of how the inn is currently protected.

The moon was crescent and had risen high in the starry sky. It cast a faint, sharp silvery glow, outlining roofs and walls while creating deep shadows beneath. Casting his ki-sense forward, Kenshin spotted seven guards, placed in order to leave no blind spot all around the inn. By what he could detect in their auras, they seemed to be satisfactorily aware and vigilant.

Yet, Kenshin saw a path, through the sinuous back alleyway behind the tea garden; it was small and tricky, but passable nonetheless for someone skilled.

I guess I'll have to discuss those issues with Hitsuya-san.

Kenshin could say he was getting along rather well with Katsura-san's second-in-command here in Kyoto. The man lacked imagination and was a bit too orthodox in his strategies, but he was hardworking, reliable, and was gifted by a very solid practical mind. He was not the kind to judge someone solely on rumors, and seemed to be a good judge of characters. His straightforwardness had been very welcomed after Iizuka's betrayal.

The young swordsman flattened himself against a wall, carefully concealed under an overhang. Roofs were a bit less watched, in spite of many sentinels staying in high places. They were watching the streets, where there was a higher probability a threat would come.

Gathering a dislodged tile, Kenshin deftly assessed its weight, before throwing it at a pile of shovels and tools settled in a corner. The crashing sound that followed shattered the velvety quiet of the nightly atmosphere, and drew the attention of the watchmen. The former redhead backed a little before dashing forward. At the edge of the roof, he jumped smoothly, briefly illuminated by the moonlight before reaching the safe cloak of shadows across the other side of the street. He landed almost soundlessly on the dirt and stilled. Sensing no sign that he had been detected, he exhaled slowly.

Nearer of his objective, and having sharpened sentinels' vigilance, Kenshin could not afford to make any mistakes. He waited, with the sheer patience taught by countless hours spent on the hunt, first in the midst of the wilderness among mountain trees and high cliffs, then in the unforgiving maze of the city of Kyoto.

Counting his calm, steady heartbeats, the young man was entirely relying on his senses. The alertness provided by action made feel himself more alive. He was not very keen to spend hours musing about his fate, his mistakes and the bloody path he had been following since he was fourteen. When he was outside, in the darkness, he knew always where to go and what to do. Each time, he slipped easily in a clinical, cold mental state which allowed for neither hesitation nor second thought.

While he was never eager to take a life, he had always liked the thrill, the feel of completeness when he put the full range of his skill to use. His agonizing soul was silenced for a time, buried under the heavy weight of duty and survival.

Being honest with himself, Kenshin knew that it was part of his current balance. He could not think without an ambiguous feeling about the time when all of this would end. While he looked forward to the end of the war, he had trouble picturing himself living in peaceful times. Everything he had always known was related to death.

The few oblivious months spent in Otsu had shown him small bits of what a normal, happy life could be, but the horrific conclusion of this particular time had swamped with overwhelming anguish what had could have been sweet memories.

It took the faint feathery rustle of a night bird taking flight to make him decide to move. Staying enveloped by shadows, he cautiously followed the high wall encircling the garden of the inn until the corner edge, where stood an ancient, twisted yew tree. One of its branches hovered slightly over the wall, and while its height was not a problem for Kenshin, the tree allowed him to jump while remaining concealed in the dark.

In the air, Kenshin put his hands over the tiled wall, and in one graceful motion, he swung his body before landing silently in a crouch on the damp grass.

I'm in, he thought, a bit smug, as he swiped his hands on his hakama. No one was in the garden at this hour, but few shojis were open to let in the night breeze. Kenshin stood casually, and strolled toward the main building. Near the covered path, he paused, assessing his environment to detect potential witnesses, and then leaped up.

The shoji of Katsura-san's room were closed, but the young man could see the flickering opalescence of a candle light through the washi paper. He could hear a muffled conversation between two men, yet could perceive only the strong, familiar ki of the Choshu's leader in the room. This fact could mean only one thing.

Frowning, he knocked sharply against the wooden frame, interrupting the conversation. Then, a deep, rich voice rose distinctly: "Ah! I believe we now know where the lad is, even if we can wonder why he doesn't use the door, like everyone else."

The shoji was thrown open, and Kenshin found himself in front of Mutou's delighted face. "Are you lost, kid? Or maybe you're just too shy to show yourself?" He flashed a lopsided smile that wrinkled the corner of his eyes.

Kenshin couldn't help but glare at him. This man enjoyed teasing him too much. The young man merely shrugged, not gracing the old man an answer, and slipped into the dimly lit room. Katsura-san was comfortably settled cross-legged near the low table, his head turned toward them. His dark, intelligent gaze surveyed Kenshin's figure, undoubtedly appraising the change. Finally, a small, genuine smile creased his face.

"I understand better now how he had managed such a feat, Mutou-san." Katsura tilted his head. "You seem somehow much younger than you really are, Kenshin."

"I believe it is part of the deception, Katsura-san."

Mutou, after sliding back the shoji, sat with decisiveness, billowing the large folds of his sleeves in theatrical gestures. "True, true, the kid is an acceptable learner, and with my outstanding teaching skill, I think he will be ready by the end of the next day."

"That is good news. I will arrange the meeting tomorrow night, then." Katsura's gaze met Kenshin's eyes. "You have something to report, I believe."

Kenshin nodded. He had settled himself near the corner, out of habit, where he could see the entire room as well as the two exits.

"Earlier, I was in the common room with other patriots. Out of certain circumstances, your name had been pronounced, along with a few clues that you were probably frequenting this inn. Immediately after, a man, posing as a traveler, left the building. I decided to follow him. He was a Shinsengumi spy, working for Hijikata." Kenshin paused and fisted his hand slowly over his knees. "I killed three men, but there are others, apparently patrolling Kyoto's rest places undercover."

Silence filled the room. Katsura-san moved to pour himself a cup of tea, thoughtfulness creeping upon the firm set of his mouth. Kenshin strongly suspected that drink was something which helped his leader to think. Mutou seemed to not pay attention, apparently concerned by his fingernails. But Kenshin knew better than to take appearance for granted.

"The time to reveal ourselves in plain light has yet to come. It will be soon, but not now. We need to remain careful. Yagami-san and his family have to be secured before I can leave for Satsuma with Ryoma-san to negotiate the alliance." The words were rolling smoothly and firmly off Katsura's tongue, like the good politician he was. "This last event tell us this is no time for hesitancy and excessive cautioun anymore. Kenshin, I believe when you have completed your mission successfully, we will be finally able to make the moves that will allow us to overthrow the Bakufu."

"Thank you, I feel like someone quite important now," said the young swordsman drily.

"Indeed, I believe in you and I know you will not let anything happen to Yagami-san," nodded back Katsura-san, unruffled. "It's a matter of few days. You will pose like a new addition of his personal guard. Meanwhile, a team will be sent to rescue his wife and two daughters. As soon as they are safe and secure, we will let you know, and you will bring us Yagami-san."

"Easy," interjected Mutou's flippant voice.

"Mutou-san will be our liaison; you will rely on him to get information from our side."

Kenshin frowned, and then purposely let a loud, irritated sigh escape.

"Okay, I think I can endure the old man few more days. After all, keeping myself unknown will require a certain amount of self-control."

Mutou grinned widely. "I'm very fond of you too, kid."

Kenshin felt his facial muscles twitch. I will not glare at him, it's most likely what he's waiting for, he told himself.

"The head of Yagami-san's guards, Mashiba Kazuo-san, is loyal to him," resumed Katsura-san, unfazed. "It's him whom you will meet tomorrow. Only he and Yagami-san know that you are an Ishin Shishi warrior. However, I have not told them who you really are. I simply let them know that you are one of our best."

Mutou snorted. Kenshin glared at him.

"You have all day tomorrow to complete your training under Mutou-san. Report to me at the end of the afternoon."

"Understood." Kenshin paused, waiting few seconds, before rising on his feet. "Is that all?"

Katsura-san nodded with a smile.

"I'm leaving then." Kenshin bowed curtly, and made his way toward the shoji.

"That's not the door, boy."

Kenshin didn't respond, gathering his sandals which he had left out of the room. "Ah, back to prowling over the roof like a kitty?"

The young swordsman hit the wood with the tip of his feet to adjust the sandals with more force than necessary. He turned and grabbed the edge of the shoji, sliding it with an angry motion. Before closing it completely, he poked his head through the opening and said: "Don't talk to me, old man."

He shut the shoji, and headed toward his room through the roof. Few steps later, he picked up Katsura-san's fading voice saying, full of wonder: "Maybe you'd better not antagonize Himura-kun like that, Mutou-san; that surely is not good for your health."

Kenshin was sure he heard faint laughter ensuing.

Golden dust was swirling in a lazy whirlpool in the sharp morning light that peeked a few rays through the dark abandoned house. Flies buzzed, drawn by the unexpected feast provided by the dawn. Three corpses were sprawled in a large pool of blood. Its coppery scent had a strong hold over the heavy atmosphere. Two men were spread eagle on their back, almost cut in half by a profound slash running right under their ribcage. The third man was curled in a deep, motionless bow, forehead against the floor, as if he were nursing a violent stomachache.

Which was surely the case just before he died, Saito speculated inwardly.

Across the south wall, near the third body, was sketched a long, almost artistic arc of blood spots.

"One strike, three dead," rang the always cheerful voice of the captain of the Shisengumi's first division.

Saito nodded; he had reached at the same conclusion in a single glance.

Crouching, Okita-kun dipped two fingers in the outer rim of the blood pool, assessing its level of dryness.

"It occurred last night."

Saito rubbed his chin, thoughtful; something wasn't right.

"That doesn't resemble to the Battousai," he said, bluntly.

"Much more like the hitokiri he was two years ago," agreed Okita-kun, on his heels. "I wonder what happened that pushed him to execute those men like that. It's like he had hunted them down."

Saitou's scowl deepened. Battousai was usually involved in escorts or protecting missions. It had been years since the Shinsengumi had had evidence of one of his assassinations. The layout of this crime scene didn't fit at all with what they knew of the main asset of the Choshu Clan. Such a change in his behavior sounded odd. Almost…reckless.

"Maybe he's gone nuts," Okita-kun mused aloud.

Saito grunted, before replying: "I want to know what the rebels are up to."

Okita-kun was trying to collect some clues, but the half-hearted way he conducted his search told Saito that there wasn't much more to learn about the situation.

"These men were part of Hijikata-san's network," said Okita, wiping his hand with a no longer white tissue. "Something about checking the inns all over Kyoto to gather information about Choshu's hideouts, I think. Maybe one stumbled upon something interesting."

"Hm, I'll go ask Hijikata if he has a precise schedule for his agents… with areas of interest and such stuff." Saitou let his lips stretch in a smirk. "Since this elicited such a reaction from the Battousai, I think it will definitely be worth my time."

Kenshin could not decipher why it was so infuriating to interact with Mutou. He had the time to think about it last night. He was not usually easily thrown off-guard. With his ability to read ki, he could generally analyze emotions and relate them to motivation. He felt like speaking with Mutou was like walking blindfolded in an unfriendly land. He didn't trust the old man. He had paid the price of trusting a sneaky bastard once before, and was not keen to renew the experience.

Not without a small amount of self-honesty, he could understand that he had an unfair advantage over others, and when he had lost it, he had not taken it well. But whatever, Mutou could have been a nice mysterious elder with deep wisdom. Instead, he was an exasperating man, knowing too well how to anger Kenshin. And the ex-hitokiri was not foolish enough to believe that there was not a defined purpose beneath Mutou's behavior.

The way the ninja constantly pushed the young warrior over the edge reminded him uncomfortably of Hiko's tutelage.

"What are you doing? You think it's the creased butt of my old grandmother you're trying to cover?" Mutou smacked the back of Kenshin's head with his fan; causing the small pot of powder the young man was holding to spill part of its contents all over his hand. "Subtlety is not your forte, isn't it?"

Kenshin's knuckles tightened around the ebony handle of the brush. Maybe I could shove it down his throat and say it was an unfortunate accident?

"Don't hit me like that. It'll lead nowhere," he said, between gritted teeth.

"Don't talk back, brat." That was followed by another expected strike, which was narrowly dodged.

Or maybe that it was a fortunate accident?

They had been practicing Kenshin's make up for hours since morning. It was much trickier than he had first thought. To conceal half his scar without a mark was a precise process, and Kenshin had to be able to do it perfectly, rapidly and in a dark room.

First, there was the application all over his face of a smooth colored lotion emitting a faint, yet pleasant, herbal odor, and whose purpose was to unify his complexion. On his cheek, he had to add a thicker paste over the red scar running from under the inner corner of his eye to the line of his jaw.

This one was Tomoe's legacy.

It felt strange to erase it like that, with mere make up, like it had never truly happened. But the stigma was not only on his skin, and would never disappear, because it had been carved in the bleeding stone of his heart.

"You let your mind wander too much, baka. Pay attention or you will suffer the consequence!" Mutou's voice was lined by a chided tone.

Kenshin frowned and grabbed the smaller brush to apply the final touch. A few soft brush strokes of a mineral powder well applied, and there remained only a faint red line on his left cheek. He tilted his head back slightly to take a better overall look in the small round mirror.

"My butcher of a grandfather could have done it way better than you, and he had only three fingers to rely on!" Mutou threw him a wet tissue. "Wipe it all and do it again."

"Why, again? It seems okay to me!" snapped back Kenshin. "This is girly crap anyway!"

"Do it!"

"And I don't care about your bloody relatives!"

Mutou's stern features morphed into a scandalized face. "They are esteemed deceased people!" He swung his fan, trying again to slap Kenshin with it. The young man leapt on his feet and kicked away the makeup small case before reaching the shoji.

"I need a break; I'll be back soon. Make yourself at home, and don't forget to drown yourself in the bucket," said Kenshin with an agreeable tone as he strode off under the afternoon sun.

"Youth these days," came the sour, muttered reply.

Kenshin wrapped the small bundle in Tomoe's shawl. It included, among few other things, a small box containing vials, pots and brushes. He had removed the dark blue Choshu's uniform to replace it by a deep charcoal gi. The garment was simple, but made with a fabric of good quality betraying low noble origins. His tattered hakama had been replaced as well, and this one was few shades darker than the previous one. Kenshin slid his daisho in his obi, and put on his wrist guards.

Hitsuya-san was waiting for him outside. He would introduce Kenshin to Mashiba-san, somewhere in Kyoto. The meeting with Katsura-san had gone well –outside expected skirmishes with Mutou–, and they had discussed a few remaining details. Katsura-san had wished him good luck, with faint tensed wrinkles over his features betraying his concern.

Kenshin would soon have to slip fully into the false persona he had been rehearsing all day, along makeup training and calling the old man many names. He thought he had a fairly strong understanding of Kimura's character, and admitted begrudgingly that it was partly thanks to Mutou.

The sun had nearly sunk behind the horizon, and its last rays set clouds aflame with fiery reds and bright orange hues.

Tomorrow would be an entirely new day.

Tomorrow he would pose as a Bakufu soldier.

A/N: Maybe Kenshin would appear a bit OOC in this chapter to you. I would like to explain myself on why I characterize him like that.

To me, Kenshin has a fiery temper, tightly reigned in his 28 years old persona. Only this kind of temper could have lead him leaving Hiko behind to go fight. Here, he his still a teenager, barely seventeen, and like every teenagers, he doesn't like it when he isn't taken seriously... I don't know if it makes sense to you, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway ^^