Night Raid (3)
Miyake Shinji opened his eyes in the dark.
There was quite a commotion outside—hurried footsteps, voices calling out to one another.
Listening for a moment, he could make a rough guess at what was happening.
Power outage?
He stayed on the cot and stared up at the ceiling.
Of all things, a blackout. Just thinking about how much that damn American would start screaming in the morning made his head throb.
Goddamn it.
It had already been a month since he’d been stuck shadowing Bowman to protect him.
He tolerated it because Bowman was one of the organization’s important clients, but the man was infuriatingly sensitive.
He changed residences once a month, and even then he shifted sleeping arrangements every time, making everything a nuisance.
If it hadn’t been an order, Miyake would’ve already sewn the bastard’s mouth shut.
How long had it been like this?
He’d thought the power would come back on soon, but there was still no sign of it.
He picked up his phone. The screen lit up, but the antenna icon was empty.
The entire communications network had gone down.
This is...
Miyake’s eyes sharpened.
Until just a moment ago, he’d heard people moving around in the hallway—his men checking the situation, their voices carrying back and forth.
But now it was silent. Too silent.
Something was wrong.
The thought had barely crossed his mind before he was already on his feet.
Then, with practiced ease, he reached for the katana resting at one side of the room.
Srrrk.
The blade slid from the sheath.
Light from his phone traced the knife-sharp edge of the steel.
Seeing it calmed him a little.
“Hoo.”
He exhaled softly and switched off the phone light.
In darkness like this, the first one to go carrying a glow in his hand would be hunted down first.
Miyake knew that well.
***
The hallway was pitch-black, with not even a sliver of light.
Miyake slid a hand along the wall and moved forward carefully.
He was headed toward the inner room. Checking Bowman’s quarters came first.
And then—
As expected, something was moving near the inner room.
A human silhouette.
Not very tall, with a thin build.
Its face was completely hidden beneath a black balaclava.
Face, hands, body—everything was wrapped up tight, making even the person’s gender impossible to tell.
One thing was certain, though: he’d never seen this bastard before.
And obviously, it was even less likely to be a guest.
“...A rat, huh.”
Miyake didn’t hesitate.
He strode toward the figure with his blade in hand.
“Haah.”
His first strike was a vertical cut from above.
He meant to split the thing from shoulder to chest.
It didn’t matter if it didn’t die instantly. He could question its identity after that.
“Hup!”
A simple, fast, no-frills slash—the kind he’d performed thousands, tens of thousands of times.
Whoosh!
The blade cut through the air.
The figure stepped back and evaded it.
Miyake twisted his wrist naturally, flowing from the downward strike into a side slip and thrust, then immediately into a reverse cut.
Swish! Clang!
The figure had already drawn a short knife and deflected the edge, letting the blade slide off to the side.
It hadn’t blocked head-on, but had redirected the path of the katana and sent it astray.
Not bad.
The figure gave ground by another half-step.
It was a distance just beyond the tip of Miyake’s blade.
He closed it with a step and swung sideways.
“Hah.”
The figure ducked its upper body and slipped beneath the blade.
Even with its waist folded nearly ninety degrees, the movement looked effortless.
Immediately after came another thrust.
This time the figure pushed the back edge of Miyake’s sword upward with its short blade and let the attack flow outward.
Miyake’s eyes narrowed.
After several more exchanges, he was finally certain. This was no ordinary opponent.
Each time the figure retreated a fraction, there was clear calculation and intent behind the spacing.
It read the sword’s reach exactly, while moving naturally enough to avoid being driven into the wall.
...!
At some point, Miyake realized something.
He’d thought he was the one pressuring the other man, but in fact he’d been led deeper and deeper into the narrow corridor.
The katana’s long reach was becoming a hindrance in a hallway this tight.
So you know how to fight.
And then it happened.
Something flew out of the darkness.
Miyake reflexively raised his arm to block.
Thunk!
Something struck his forearm at the same instant pain shot through it.
A steel needle. Thick enough that it was closer to an awl than a needle.
He gritted his teeth against the stinging pain surging up from his arm.
“You damn bastard... trying to play ninja?”
There were all kinds of crazy bastards out there, but throwing hidden weapons in this day and age?
He muttered the words in a mocking tone, but his tension climbed sharply.
This was a trickier, more dangerous opponent than he’d expected.
Get closer.
Until now, he’d relied entirely on his long reach, but now the situation had reversed.
Before the man could fire another hidden weapon, Miyake darted in and closed the gap.
Once again, thrusting, slashing, and blocking flowed together like water.
“Kh...”
The steel needle embedded in his forearm kept sending sharp waves of pain through his body.
Enduring it, Miyake pressed his opponent with the cramped space itself turned to his advantage.
Without question, this was the best fighter he’d faced since he first picked up a sword.
And just as he thought that—
He felt something prickling up the back of his neck.
Interesting.
If he misstepped even once, flesh would tear and blood would spray.
A desperate duel of blades, both men reading each other and gambling their throats on every swing.
He could feel the corners of his mouth stretching wide.
“All right... let’s see you kill me, and I’ll kill you.”
With that mutter, he drove in even deeper.
This time the other man didn’t evade either, but came forward aggressively.
Now!
At the tips of his fingers as he swung, a definite sensation ran through him.
The horrifying feel of steel slicing skin. A line of blood tracing the blade’s path.
Slash!
Blood sprayed onto the fusuma to the side.
Even in the dark, it was vivid enough to see.
***
I’d moved to dodge the sword, but my shoulder still got nicked.
I could feel blood running. Pain like a burn spread from my arm.
“Tss...”
Of course, that crazy samurai bastard wasn’t unharmed either.
As I slipped his blade aside and came in from the flank, I’d opened a long cut across his ribs.
Even while he was getting sliced open, he swung at me again.
What a stubborn bastard.
The pain in my shoulder spread in sharp pulses, but thankfully it wasn’t affecting my movement.
I adjusted my grip on the tactical knife in my left hand and steadied my breathing.
“Hoo...”
I could feel him clutching his side and trying to reset his stance.
In that brief instant when Miyake’s attention faltered, I lowered my center of gravity and brought my body close to the floor.
I narrowed my breathing to the absolute limit and erased my presence itself.
The force in my inner energy flowed down through the soles of my feet and seeped into the floor, silencing even my footsteps.
Then I slipped through the half-broken gap in the fusuma like a shadow.
“...!”
At the same time, I felt his breathing shudder sharply.
He’d realized I’d disappeared from sight.
Swish—
He began to move, very cautiously.
Katana extended in front of him, he probed the darkness little by little.
He was clearly on edge now.
From just beyond the fusuma, I sharpened all my senses and read the man’s presence.
His rough breathing. Where his feet touched the floor. Even the span of his steps and the faint rustle of his clothes.
Compared to a man who could rely only on his eyes in this darkness, I had a massive advantage.
Swish...
I felt him shift just ahead of me.
One step to the left. The moment he did, I shoved the fusuma open.
Rrrrrrip!
Miyake swung reflexively at the sound of the sliding door.
But I was already gone from that spot.
And instead—
Fwish!
A steel needle shot from the fingertips of my right hand.
It buried itself dead-center in Miyake’s thigh.
“Kh.”
His leg jerked and his stance broke.
In that opening, I whipped the knife forward fast. The target was the ribs again.
Miyake thrust out his left forearm without hesitation to intercept the blade.
Thunk.
Even then, he gritted his teeth and swung horizontally.
I immediately retreated and avoided it. The tip of the blade skimmed past the front of my chest by a hair.
“Kaha!”
Even while limping, he brought the katana back around and chopped downward.
I rolled and slid across the tatami to the side.
The sword struck the floor with a heavy crash.
Thud!
Maybe from the wound, a short groan shook his body.
Now he couldn’t properly use his left arm anymore either.
What a relentless bastard.
Even so, he still didn’t give up.
Instead, he switched his grip and started swinging one-handed.
Even with only one arm, the arc stayed steady and the tip didn’t waver.
Slash!
There was no reason to take that head-on.
I slipped lightly aside and let the blade miss, and it buried itself in the fusuma frame.
The instant he tensed his wrist to wrench the sword free—
Whip.
I flicked another steel needle.
It stuck cleanly into Miyake’s wrist.
“...Ggh.”
His hand trembled violently and dropped the katana.
Finally.
Clang.
Only then did I let out a breath and get a proper look at him.
He was an absolute wreck.
Steel needles had embedded themselves in his right forearm and wrist, while his left arm had been slashed so badly it was hanging open enough to show bone.
His side was cut long and deep, blood flowing freely, and a steel needle had pierced his thigh, leaving him limping.
On top of that, there were cuts from my knife all over him.
“Hh...”
And yet his eyes were still alive.
His face showed no sign of surrender.
“Aaaaaah!”
Dragging the arm and leg that barely worked at all, he charged straight at me.
It looked like he meant to latch onto me with his least-bad arm and roll to the floor if he had to.
He really was, truly, a disgusting bastard.
“Tch...”
I clicked my tongue and stepped half a pace to the side as he rushed in.
Then I got behind him as he overbalanced and lurched forward.
With the handle of my knife, I smashed the back of his head.
Thud!
Miyake’s head snapped forward.
Even then, he dropped to one knee and tried to brace himself with one hand.
Once more.
Wham!
His body went face-first to the floor.
This time, there was no response at all.
“...Hoo.”
I let out a long breath and clutched my shoulder wound with my hand.
Blood had soaked through between my fingers. Suddenly, a hot sting flared from my side as well.
It had only been a light graze before, but now that I looked, it was bleeding more than I’d expected.
First I should get outside and meet up with Elena.
I could only hope she or Ryan had found Bowman.
Just as I was turning to leave—
Click.
Behind me, I heard the sound of metal being released.
A jolt of gooseflesh ran from the base of my spine.
I froze in place.
***
I turned slowly.
At the far end of the corridor stood a yakuza.
He must have come running after hearing the noise from my fight with Miyake, because his face was twisted into a savage scowl.
His hand was stiff with tension.
And in that hand was a black pistol.
Even in the dark, the muzzle was unmistakable.
“Ugoqunjane, kora!”
The bastard barked something rough in Japanese.
I didn’t understand a single word, but I had a pretty good idea what he meant.
Don’t move.
My mind raced.
The distance between me and the yakuza aiming a pistol at me was about five meters.
I could throw myself sideways and launch steel needles.
The moment I started gathering inner force at my fingertips and moving my body—
Thunk!
“Kuh...”
A razor-sharp sound like air being torn apart rang out, followed by a short metallic crack.
Then the yakuza pitched forward and collapsed.
I turned my gaze toward the direction of the shot.
At the far end of the opposite corridor, leaning beside the doorway, stood the silhouette of a large man.
Ryan.
He was scanning the area with a suppressed pistol raised.
And then I felt his attention shift past me.
To Miyake lying on the floor, and the katana beside him.
To the blood and sword cuts left across the tatami and fusuma.
And to me, wearing a balaclava, holding a knife in one hand and a steel needle in the other.
Whistle.
He gave a low whistle.
Then he broke into that familiar, sly grin and spoke.
“You don’t need to thank me.”
He lowered the gun he’d been aiming with and walked over to me.
After checking the yakuza who’d fallen from the bullet, he added in an easy voice, “And welcome to the modern age, ninja boy.”