In the year 1867, the feudalistic era of Japan came to a close after the violent uprising conducted by Okubo Toshimichi put an end to the Tokugawa shogunate. Power was restored to the emperor, the man called Meiji, and even though he posed as little more than a national symbol (wherein the true power laid in the hands of the genro, the elder statesmen), it seemed as if the oppressive time of the shogun was over, and true government could begin under the guidance of an Imperial figurehead. Japan was allowed a sigh of relief from the slaughter and the smoke; whether the people appreciated the change or not was uncertain.

Suppressing the feudal lords, and forging a national army and economy, Okubo and Meiji transformed Japan from a backwater country into an industrial world player. The courageous bureaucrats, with bulldoggedness, iron will, and patience, wrenched control from the feudal lords in a brief but bloody revolution, organizing it to stand up to the Western lines. Many people welcomed this change, many felt apathetic and simply carried on with their lives, but there were a few people so adamant against removing themselves from their former lives that they would go so far as to assassinate the key players of the revolution.

And a few of these stubborn people had their deadly sights set on the Imperialist's most merciless weapon, the man-slayer called Himura. Even then, even as Japan was just recently breathing in the clean air of peace, plans were already being made to overthrow the emperor's dogs and the bureaucrats who had turned the country upside-down……

Dual Samurai

By Al Kristopher

1: Wanderer Turned Fugitive--Battousai Is Hunted!

Early one March day, in the year 1870, three years after the Meiji Revolution came to an end, a foreign ship could be spotted puttering into a port, parting the choppy waves and yawning its horn as it announced its arrival. The fishermen gathered around the port, most of them ignorant to the vessel or else looking on without interest, yawned and picked their teeth clean as they drudged off towards their ships to rake in their catches. It was a slow, dreary day, moist and muggy from the warmth of the sun striking the turquoise sea. Gulls cawed overhead, some diving down to steal smaller bites of fish, some causing annoyances as they flew or hopped too close to the fishermen. A young boy could be seen, chasing a gull playfully as he waited for his father to finish purchasing his very first rod.

Few people took notice of the crew of the boat pulling into the harbor. None of them were even remotely Asian, least of all Japanese, but they didn't appear to be traders either. A person with high dignity would not have been docking into that foggy wharf for any reason at all, and tourism was largely discouraged because of the tiny droplets of bad blood that were still trickling down in a few places. Yet nobody seemed to care, or to devote any of their time and thought to the circumstances of the boat. It was just there, that was all, and they needed to be out at sea as well, they soon realized.

The ship slowly docked into the harbor, coming to a halt as the gangplank lowered. There was nobody there to greet any of the passengers, so they had to step out and find their own way into the country. Many of them were taller than the short Japanese men hanging around the pier, and all of them were dressed very well, in distinguished clothes sewn from a pricey tailor's hands. Their grasp of the Japanese language was almost not there at all, since they had all come from the United Kingdom, but they had no problems hiring an interpreter. One of their number, tall and thin like a lamppost, emerged out of the crowd and sniffed at the air.

"So, this is Japan…" He said nothing else, and adjusted his derby, monocle, and cane for a walk. He made certain that he did not distance himself from the main group, who was first looking around for somebody who understood their language, and second for a diner that suited their tastes, so to speak. The thin man knew the Oriental language very well, and did not care for its food, but made sure to keep that information to himself. He was trying very hard to make sure that he was concealed and hidden, and that he did not stand out at all--and his colleagues, all two dozen of them, were helping him magnificently.

Another man, however, was not so easy to conceal. The fishermen, children, sailors, and traders scattered around the dock jerked to attention as they saw this man walk across the docks, and scrambled out of the way, as if he were a lumbering elephant. This was a very tall and muscular man, dwarfing the Japanese by at least twelve inches, with hair as wild and red as a bonfire that snaked down his back in a barely-contained tail. He had a bushy reddish mustache, and even his skin had a fiery tint to it.

He was dressed in a brown button-down tunic with a belt that kept his tough earthy trousers hooked on tight. A flowing green mantle hung over his shoulders, waving gently as he walked across the dock towards his destination. As if his size and his burning stare did not persuade the people to flee from him, an enormous double-edged iron broadsword could be seen resting in a sheath along his backside. The weapon was about as long as a ten year-old child and as wide as a fully-grown man's fist--obviously heavy, but the large man didn't seem burdened by it at all.

The thin man and the tall man each kept a distance from each other and separated without exchanging any words, one going in one direction and the other towards his own. They saw each other for only a split second, but understood that they had both arrived in Japan safely, and would get to work immediately. Nobody else knew what was going on, except to say that anyone who got in the way of the larger man would be in trouble, and the small crowd of English visitors would experience trouble on their own in the "new" country.

Either way, they had no idea of what was about to happen.

---------------

To the peaceful violet eyes of Kenshin Himura, the world was a beautiful place. For the first time in a very long while, he felt as if he could really breathe and walk without having to keep his hand on his sword all the time. After the Meiji Revolution ended, Himura slipped into obscurity and tried his best to keep his identity a secret and his past a forgotten memory. No longer was he a butcher of men, but a simple traveler who only wanted peace--the peace of walking through a forest and hearing nothing save the song of birds.

He much preferred birds and brooks over screams and the deluge of blood. Birds had a much more melodious tune, that they did, a song impossible to duplicate even by the best human musicians. The brooks that ran through the forests, calm and clear enough to drink out of, were silent and smooth, a sense of purity bubbling in them and a sense of profound metaphorical thought. It was their waters, he knew, that washed the land clean of blood, sweeping all the vermilion horrors away to make room for new life. Even the path itself, dusty and unkempt as it was, seemed beautiful and utterly innocent when compared to the bloodstained roads of Kyoto and Tokyo.

The peace of the woods didn't last long, as Kenshin soon found his wandering self wandering out of the forest and into a small town. Since there was still a jingle in his pouch, he could afford to stop and eat something before continuing on his way. He was independent enough to get by on hunting, but there was something about having a meal cooked for him that made his hunger die and the warmth inside his soul grow warmer still.

Standing out slightly due to his gi and his hair, Kenshin walked down the dusty path of the town, seeing people walking around quietly, children playing, old folks laughing, and merry merchants exchanging stories. He couldn't help but smile at just how peaceful things had gotten over the past three years (regardless of the size of the town), and how peaceful he wanted things to stay. Pretty soon, he hoped with no offense, even the police would be out of a job.

Finding a restaurant, Kenshin walked over to it and ducked inside, finding a merry establishment where people's laughter and joy swelled up even more. A beaming young man was playing a happy tune on his violin, a small cache of money already inside a small pot before him. Kenshin spared him a single coin and sat down to be served. Suddenly, just as he was getting comfortable, a large shadow overcame him, the body easily towering over his skinny frame.

"Himura!" growled the figure in front of him, a mean-looking stony-faced older man. "What did I tell you before, Himura?! Your money's not welcome here!"

"Oh?" Kenshin gave the burly man an innocent look, but in three seconds, it was mirrored by a smile of happiness.

"Yes. You get your meals for free from now on! How else do you think I can repay you after you saved my daughter from the river?"

"Oh, that's quite unnecessary!" he assured him with a bright smile. "I was just doing what anyone else would do, that I did. Really, you don't have to!"

"But I insist!" replied the burly man, giving Kenshin a pat on the back that nearly sent him plummeting to the floor. "Please, it's my honor! And besides, you're so scrawny! You must not be eating very well! You just sit here, my dear friend, and I'll make sure you're given more than you can possibly eat!"

"But… that's really not…"

"Oh, nonsense!" bellowed the large man merrily, waving at Kenshin as he walked away to the kitchen. "Now you just wait right there, Kenshin! If you even dare to refuse my offer, I'm going to be very insulted!" He gave Himura one more smile before ducking into the kitchen, leaving the wandering swordsman to smile sheepishly.

"Oh my, we can't have that now, no sir!" Keeping his smile, Kenshin allowed himself a rare chance to rest from his travels, reclining against the wall and staring at his table emptily. He allowed his mind to wander free, his thoughts to pass as they liked, his soul to wash over with calm and tranquility. It had been a terrible storm of a revolution, where the streets were flooded with crimson life, but now things were quiet, peaceful, calm, happy. Kenshin wished that it could go on forever, but since he knew that such wishing was fanciful, he kept his sword still, a reverse blade for a reverse society.

After soaking in the violin music and the chatter of the people for ten more minutes, Himura was rewarded with a big steaming bowl of noodles, and more plates with sushi, shitake, sashimi, eggs, salmon, duck, pork, and anything else he could possibly dream of. His eyes bulged wide open as he saw just how generous his "friend" was, and let out an overwhelmed squeal as he was nearly buried with food.

"There!" shouted the burly man with a smile. "That ought to do as an appetizer!!"

"Appetizer?" moaned Kenshin. The burly man let out a big laugh.

"Yes, sir! Nothing's too good for the man who rescued my daughter! Please, Kenshin, if you need anything else, just tell me!"

"Oh, that I will!" he assured him with a smile. The burly man laughed and left Himura to his mountain of food, of which he studied with a quiet smile. He knew he could never eat so much, let alone so much if it was for free, so he only selected a few small items that would sustain him. Then again, he felt that he would insult his host if he didn't eat more, so he planned to ask for a means to take the food with him as he continued on his aimless journey.

"I almost forgot!" exclaimed a young woman suddenly as she burst in unannounced (poor Kenshin nearly gagged on his squid as he was taken by surprise). "We didn't give you a drink, did we? I hope you like oolong tea!"

"Oh, that I do, yes indeed!" Kenshin took the warm cup from the hostess, thanked her, and brought it to his mouth. Suddenly, a sneeze came to his nose, and he quickly jerked the tea away as he blasted towards a safe direction. A few droplets fell to the floor, but that couldn't have been helped.

"Oh, excuse me!" he smiled to himself. Kenshin was about to clear his throat with a gulp of the tea, when he noticed a fly hovering towards the droplet he had spilled. He curiously watched the small bug approach the puddle and splash in it with its legs, tasting the warm liquid slowly.

"Oh, I see you like oolong tea as well!" he noticed. Suddenly, to his surprise, the fly twitched violently before tumbling over on its back, its legs folded and its wings still. Kenshin's eyes widened as he looked at the dead fly, wondering just how potent that tea was. He secretly dumped the rest of his cup in a nearby bonsai, and watched studiously as the plant drank up the liquid. To his amazement and horror, the plant turned brown and wilted right before his very eyes.

"What the… Poison?" His breath sharply held inside his lungs, Kenshin hastily poked outside his private booth and scanned across the restaurant for any signs of other people suffering from the poison. His blood turned into icy daggers as he saw a group of men laughing and gulping down oolong tea, but even after several heart-stopping moments of watching them drink and eat normally, they didn't seem to faint or even cough. Kenshin sighed with relief, and concluded that only his cup had been targeted.

He then looked back at his now-empty cup, a trace of tea still on the bottom edge. Carefully, he dipped his finger into the remains of the liquid, holding it close to his nose. It had no odor to it at all, save for the scent of leaves from the oolong plant, and he dared not put a drop on his tongue for fear of its potency. He glanced to his side, wanting to alert his enthusiastic host and to interrogate the woman who brought the tea to him, but he reasoned that it would cause too much of an uproar.

"…An assassin?" he guessed, whispering to himself. Slowly, Kenshin rose up from his meal, his hunger now utterly destroyed by the tension and the sudden scare it brought to him. He wanted to at least excuse himself from his host and thank him for his meal, even though he would probably hurt the large but harmless man.

"Oh, Kenshin! Don't tell me you want seconds already!" he chuckled as he spotted the swordsman entering in the kitchen. Kenshin was not in the mood to return his smile. His purple eyes expressed his desires--to find out who had drugged his tea and why they wanted to kill him, and how they knew precisely where he was and which cup he was using--and they helped speak to the big man when his words alone failed.

"No, thank you," he said in a very serious voice. "I just remembered that I have somewhere very urgent I need to be, that I do. I'm grateful for your generosity, that I am, but I need to leave. Please forgive my urgency."

"Huh? But you just barely got here!"

"Please," begged Kenshin, his expressive eyes telling the story for him. "I need to go. It's an extremely important affair of business for me, that it is, and I cannot stay even to be with friends, that I can't. Forgive me." He bowed, and to the disappointment of his host, he left just as quietly as he came in. The burly man sighed, and decided to recall all the food that Kenshin had not eaten. The wanderer would most certainly appreciate his meal more, figured the host, if it was given to people who truly needed it.

-----

Silently, carefully, Kenshin walked down the street of the small town, his mind brewing about the recent turn of events, a frightening situation he had barely gotten out of. There were many questions but no answers concerning the failed assassination, especially considering just how professional the killer truly was. Any other assassin would have poisoned everyone else who drank the tea along with Kenshin, but this one was so precise that he (or she) had been able to pinpoint the very restaurant--nay, the very cup itself that Himura had used. Very few would have that skill or knowledge, but knowing this didn't help the former Battousai at all.

He came up with the theory that it might have been one of the former shogunate, learning of his whereabouts and striking out at him in an attempt to fulfill some ludicrous fancy of revenge. This was possible but not likely, as they would have made the mistake of killing innocents in order to affect him. The poison itself might have been iocane, an odorless and tasteless powder that dissolved instantly into liquid, but as this was rare to come by and not many people could carry around packets of it so easily, it only posed more questions.

Just as Himura was stirring the thoughts around in his head like a cauldron, he could feel a sharp stinging sensation on the very tip of his shoulder. A whistling sound pierced his ear, and what felt like a throwing knife barely grazed past him, cutting his kimono and making a tiny scar on his skin. Kenshin had no time to move or counter, so quick and surprising had the attack been, so he simply froze and stared at the knife that had found itself stuck in the ground.

Slowly, he calmed himself and regained his composure. First he glanced to the side out of the corner of his eye, then he craned his head around just so, then he whirled around sternly, his hand on the hilt of his sword. But nothing was behind him or above him except for a cloud of dark smoke. He kept staring everywhere around him, meticulously searching the entire area for the knife-thrower, but he saw nothing except people, a few of them staring right back at him. The angle of the throw indicated that he had to have been attacked from above, but nothing was there.

A second knife suddenly plunged directly next to his right foot, a whisker away from cutting the skin. Kenshin's heart raced as death and injury taunted him again, and he whirled around to face the menace. Yet there was nothing behind him either, except the distant forest and a second cloud of smoke. His senses indicated no threat at all, save for the stinging smell of the cloud, but he kept his guard up very high since he had been threatened twice without any warning.

"Who is there?" he demanded firmly. "Show yourself!" Nobody called out at him, of course, as the entire town was very quiet and nobody else knew that he was being targeted. Kenshin slowly looked around him, making sure he spared no detail in his thorough search. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, and his time spent in the Revolution had made his eyes keen to danger.

"Himura…" A haunting voice groaned out to him from behind, and as Kenshin gasped and turned around, he finally saw his assailant, or at least the one he guessed to be his assailant. He appeared to be more demon than human, covered completely in black clothes from his boots to his jacket. His skin was so dark that it was black, and his eyes burned back with a hellish light. His head, though, was painted an eerie white, like a skull's, making him resemble the very angel of death, right down to the frightening leer.

"Who are you?" whispered Kenshin, his hand clutching the hilt of his sword. The creature before him grinned, showing off rows of malicious teeth as he took a mute step towards him.

"My name is Fumus Adhvanit, one of the three most skilled assassins in this entire world. I have traveled here all the way from the pit of Hell, you could say, for the one sole purpose of finding the legendary Hitokiri Battousai, slayer of men. From the description given to me, I would say that you are he."

"No, you are mistaken," replied Kenshin firmly. "I am no slayer of men. I am just a wandering swordsman, Kenshin Himura, and I have no reason to fight you, whoever you are." The man in black chuckled darkly, crossing his arms and keeping his gaze smoldering against Kenshin's.

"It doesn't matter. You were once the slayer, of that I am certain, and that's good enough for me."

"Are you the man who tried to kill me in the restaurant?" he asked at length. The man in black shook his head.

"No, it was not. It seems, Himura, that you now have two assassins on your tail, and if my guess is correct, this other one is just as deadly as I am." Kenshin clenched his teeth in anger, snorting out steam as he glowered at the man in black, who suddenly appeared very amused. "I've been wondering, though, ever since I arrived here: if I killed you, would that not make me the Slayer of slayers? Hahahaha… it's an interesting thought."

"I have no quarrel with you, whoever you are," repeated Kenshin slowly, taking a single step backwards. "I have never met you and I have no reason to fight you. Why did you come all this way to kill me for? Was it because I participated in the Meiji Revolution?"

"I honestly don't care who you are or what you did," shrugged the creature in black--he could hardly be called a man at all. "All I know is that I will be paid handsomely if I slaughter you. My only purpose for coming here, Kenshin Himura, was to kill you, and nothing else. I wonder if you could best a man who is that focused…? Can you really hope to defeat a devil such as myself, a literal killing machine who has never failed before, and who pursues their prey across the oceans and the countries of the world and beyond? I would like to see it happen."

For a very long time, Kenshin and the man in black stared each other down, one smiling cruelly and the other bearing a mask of perfect concentration. The wind tickled through Himura's red hair, making it dance like a bonfire in the peaceful air. An aura of wickedness and evil, however, blew around the assassin, a man so mysterious and "concealed" that even Kenshin was wary of him. This was no man, no ordinary man at least; one who could evade Himura's stare while executing a perfect attack from any angle was definitely unique.

That attack… Kenshin glared back at the man and finally spoke to him.

"If you wanted to kill me, why didn't you do it before? You wasted two chances."

"Perhaps… but it would have been too easy," he gloated. "Himura, I rarely extend mercy to my prey, but you seem to be one of which I would gladly make exception for. There would be no thrill of the hunt until you knew that I was in pursuit of you--and besides, if we fought here, I might accidentally kill somebody I was not supposed to. I was asked to execute you, Himura, and it is very poor if an assassin goes outside of the barriers put around them. Consider this your last warning, slayer of men. When we meet again, you will quickly find yourself sailing down the river Styx. Farewell!"

Fumus immediately leaped away from Kenshin, his bounds as impressive as a flea's as he sailed from the ground to the rooftops. His speed was remarkable, and in a flash, the dark trail he left had been lost. Kenshin stood there for a long time, watching the trail go away and his enemy vanish, and took a deep breath as the smothering blanket of evil was lifted out of his face, replaced by the wide open atmosphere of peace.

It would not last long. If the man in black had any truth to what he was saying, Kenshin could expect to be targeted again, from two different directions, and by two very lethal and precise killers who were levels above and beyond the greatest ninja or secret spy. He was not sure whether he could handle one, let alone both of them, and although he was safe for the moment, he could not afford to let his guard fall so much, as it had earlier that day. With a sigh, Kenshin turned back around and went into the forest again. He decided that he would need some help if he were to stay alive…