A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

Nakatane had his main unit join them, then, around late morning, he joined them himself, practising his duelling and raising his stamina amongst the rest. The ashigaru units struggled to keep up with the Special Forces unit from their lack of endurance, but within a couple of days, they started to make progress.

Their one on one fighting skill was showing good improvement as well, as from the repeated practise they started to get a good grasp of the basic techniques.

CLCK... CLCK CLCK

The sound of musket fire rang through the forest at various points through the days, as Matsudaira continued training his men also. To him, this campaign was just another step that would improve the forces under him, and so he cared not for all the whispers of victory that passed through camp.

Gengyo felt a little envious at the sound, as for a while he’d wanted to employ some matchlock units of his own, but had lacked the coin. But now he held more than enough coin, yet he did not have the opportunity to spend it.

He redirected Togashi’s stabbing strike off to the side, before stooping low, and aiming a strike of his own toward the man’s leg. Dodging the strike, Togashi lifted his leg and kicked out towards him. The unexpected nature of the attack would have rendered it a success against nearly all the opponents he was ever to face.

Yet, he had spent a good amount of time training with the young commander, and by now, the man was more than wise to his tricks, so instead of panicking as the leg came towards him, he instead drove in, seizing the opportunity where his opponent was off guard, and securing a firm strike on his torso.

"Ow..."

Togashi complained lightly, conceding the point.

"You’re getting better and better Miura-san."

He said approvingly. Their duels were more akin to chess matches now, as they were almost evenly matched in skill. And so, both men found their matches ever more enjoyable, knowing it could go either way.

The ashigaru unit that had gathered round to watch the tutorial clapped enthusiastically at the high-speed fight.

"Woh!"

Some gasped, impressed.

"As you see, fighting is not limited to the weapon held in your hands. Togashi-kun almost defeated me by using a kick to set me off guard. So when you fight with your spear, should the enemy grow close, instead of simply panicking and attempting to regain distance, kick out at him. Practise that now."

He instructed, as they filtered off in a line of pairs, holding their spears. One side resumed the role of someone who had slipped past the length of the spear, and was about to claim the other’s life. Whilst the other side attempted to defend themselves with kicks.

The Special Forces unit were engaged in duels of the sword. By now they needed no instruction. They knew better than anyone else where their weaknesses lay, and only through practice could they seek to rectify them.

Aritada and Yoritomo sparred seriously, circling each other, looking for the perfect strike, before lunging in, using the full length of their blade, attempting to secure the point. But that almost never worked. They were too even in regards to skill, and whatever strikes they tried would be blocked at least once.

Aritada’s lunge was countered brilliantly by Yoritomo, who redirected the blade away from his body, whilst continuing the downward motion, sliding his bokken down Aritada’s bokken, aiming for his hands.

Panicked by the assault on his fingers, Aritada dropped his weapon. But it had been instilled in him that a fight was never over until one of them was dead. So instead of claiming defeat, and conceding the point, he went low with speed, tackling his friend to the ground.

His arms were taken control of, so Yoritomo could not bring his weapon high enough to stab his assailant. Instead, he made the decision to free up his hands, and discard his weapon, before wrestling Aritada for the topmost position.

As it happens he could not secure it, however. Aritada had his shoulders firmly pinned to the ground, and he was unable to move at all. Had this been a battlefield, he would have punched Yoritomo until the only thing that filled his vision was his own blood. Both knew that, and so, he admitted defeat.

"Your win. 2-2 now. Let’s go!"

They had improved leaps and bounds since that first sparring session that Gengyo had seen all those weeks ago. And now, instead of fighting as children who practised the sword, or simply as swordsmen, they fought as warriors. They had accepted their units philosophy that a weapon was no more than a tool, and were able to do everything necessary to bring their opponent to his knees.

Jikouji and Nakatane were also gathered on this side, duelling alongside the rest of the men.

"Ha! You’ve grown slow, old man!"

Nakatane mocked, as lunged in, taking control of Jikouji’s sword with his own, and forcing him backwards.

"Pah! This is why you were such a poor student! You mistake speed for skill!"

Jikouji called back, easily untangling his sword, before sending a powerful strike against the wood of Nakatane’s weapon. It was a strike that held behind it the intention to kill – though it had been aimed at the weapon – and so it had a good deal of power. The vibration caused by such a blow was not insignificant, and it took a great deal of effort for the other man to maintain a hold upon his weapon.

As he was preoccupied with not dropping his sword, Jikouji’s blade made its way toward the flesh of Nakatane’s neck.

"Do you see? Skill defeats speed once more."

Jikouji said, a little too proudly.

"Hmph. Don’t get so ahead of yourself, old man. It’s only 3-2! I’m still in the lead!"

It was good for them to have someone to duel against. That was the case for almost everyone in the unit – they all had someone of similar skill, who they could pit their wits against, and fight to claim victory.

Yet there was one man that did not. And to duel him would basically be an act of violence against yourself. As such, very few people volunteered to be his partner, and he had to travel up the line, inflicting punishment on one man, before moving to the next.

Rokkaku bravely took a beating from Morohira before yielding.

"Good fight, Miura-san! It’s your win!"

He called out rapidly, as the bokken sailed toward his shoulder.

"Heh, alright. Good fight, Rokkaku!"

He said heartily, before muttering under his breath.

"10 down... 40 to go."

It was not even something that he had made up to stroke his own pride. In that morning, he had genuinely won duels against 10 different members of the Special Forces unit, and sought wins against the rest before the day ended.

There was one man he had been begging to fight for a good time – Togashi. But it had never happened, for Togashi was busy duelling Gengyo more often than not, and the young commander did not feel like slowing his progress by letting his sparring partner get bruised up by his own father.

In the end, Morohira almost always had to resort back to Masaatsu, who was more than happy to spar with him, despite the beating that he was bound to take.

"Hah! How was that?"

Morohira asked of Masaatsu, who was struggling to breathe after being winded by one of his opponent’s sudden punches.

"Surprising... lets... go... again."

He had spent more time duelling with Morohira than the rest, so Gengyo held a curiosity about what his brother’s true skill level was. He was able to defend against their fathers blows for a time, but he seemed unwilling to duel anyone but Morohira. Was that because he felt that fighting anyone else would be a waste of time, because he knew his skill to be higher? It was a good question.

On the battlefield, he was covered in blood just as much as anyone else, and Gengyo had never seen him return heavily wounded. But from that alone, it was difficult to judge his skill.

It was odd, though. Morohira wielded his weapon with the chaotic style of a bloodthirsty beast, and in training with him, one would expect for Masaatsu to do the same. But after their numerous bouts, the young man stuck more and more toward convention, wasting less and less movements. And the crazy thing was, it worked. There were times when he put even their father in a bad spot.

Kitajo was a similarly fierce little puppy. He had started to put some muscles on his arms, and so was no longer as skinny or frail as he once was. But he could still definitely be described as slender. He stood smaller than most of the unit, but he approached training with more than enough dedication to make up for his lack of physical power.

Now, after their weeks of practice, he was able to duel with some of the powerhouses like Sasaki quite confidently, winning a good amount of the time. He had learned that dealing with their strength head-on was foolish, and in watching Jikouji, he had understood the power of controlling an enemies blade rather than confronting it.

And so, as Sasaki swung toward him with an over-head strike, utilising all the power he held within his body, instead of seeking to block it, or to dodge it, he chose to control it. He stepped slightly out of the way of its path, before sending a strike of his own on top of the blade, putting into the wood far more force than his opponent’s arms were ready to handle, and rendering him off balance. Then he simply poked the big man’s chest with his bokken, and claimed victory.

It seemed lately that Gengyo no longer needed to pay much attention to the progress of his men, for they sought progress fiercely themselves. He more than understood their motivation to get stronger, but it still had caught him off guard to see all of them become so taken by learning the various martial arts.

Nevertheless, he was happy with their current state, though he knew there was still plenty of room for improvement. He only hoped that they were ready. Ready to face Oda, and ready to perform as he expected them. For when the battlefield came, it would be unlike anything they had faced yet. There would be no straightforward orders. No simple fight and win strategies. It would be chaos.

He would be asking much of them, he knew, but he dared not leave their role to someone else. It was far too important.

//Author’s Note

A little more laid back. Building up for the main event.