The glowing white orb in Bankei's palm felt warm.
My heart began to beat faster. A deep longing stirred in my chest. When was the last time I felt it?
…Ah.
The boar. When it nearly killed me. That surge in my veins. That pressure beneath my skin.
So this was ki?
"Wait… does this mean you're part of the main family, Bankei?"
The old man nodded. The white sphere faded as he lowered himself to the ground.
"I was," he said. "Long ago."
He folded his hands into his sleeves. For a moment, he simply sat there, eyes lowered. When he spoke again, his voice carried no pride.
"I was one of their finest Martial Squires. The sacred Shadow Dragon Technique of the main family favored me. My body adapted quickly, it allowed my mind to remain clear in battle, making me a cut above the rest."
A faint breath escaped him.
"They praised me... and I believed them."
His gaze drifted toward the dim ceiling of the cell.
"I fought in many campaigns for Sekigahara representing our clan. Border disputes. Suppressions. Cleansings."
The last word lingered.
"I told myself we were preserving order. That strength justified our actions. Villages that resisted were examples. Those that complied were spared inconvenience."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"There was a boy once," he said quietly. "He stood in front of his mother with a farming sickle. He was shaking. I remember being annoyed."
The cell felt colder.
"I cut him down without thinking."
He closed his eyes.
"At the time, I felt nothing."
Silence stretched. I did not move.
"I continued to win," Bankei went on. "Battle after battle. My name carried weight. They started calling me "Demon Bankei". Other squires sought my approval. I was certain I had chosen the correct path."
His hand lifted and hovered over his chest.
"Then one day, I felt it. A sort of... hollowness."
His fingers pressed lightly against his robes.
"Each life I took fed it. Each cry I dismissed widened it. I could feel something inside me thinning."
His breathing grew heavier, though he remained seated.
"I realized I was becoming efficient at ending lives, but... somehow, I was getting weaker. Maybe not my body, but my spirit."
He let out a soft, tired laugh.
"There is always another war. There is always another enemy. We are trained to take before we are taught to understand."
His eyes opened again, steadier now.
"I feared that if I continued, there would be nothing left of me but the technique."
The faint scent of damp stone filled the pause between us.
"I didn't want to become a weak, hollow man."
His mouth curved slightly.
"I began visiting the Oni families' private library."
Not a trace of humor in his tone.
"I searched the old records. Medical scrolls. Notes from battlefield physicians. Marginalia written by scholars the clan considered irrelevant."
His hand lifted again, fingers tracing an invisible line in the air.
"The sacred Shadow Dragon art manipulates the flow within the body. We were taught to harden it, to sharpen it, to force it outward. But the same current can be guided differently."
The memory seemed to steady him.
"The first time I tried to use it to close a wound, I nearly collapsed. It requires patience. Precision. You must listen to another person's pulse as if it were your own."
His voice softened.
"I failed countless times. On my thousandth attempt, the bleeding slowed. The flesh began to knit. The man survived the night."
He inhaled slowly.
"When I looked inward after that… the hole had not grown."
His hand rested flat over his chest.
"It was still there. But it did not deepen."
Another quiet breath.
"I continued and eventually got better. I treated soldiers. Then peasants. Even animals."
There was no triumph in his expression. Only remembrance.
"The more I healed, the more I understood. The technique had never belonged solely to destruction. We had chosen to use it that way."
His eyes met mine briefly.
"For the first time in years, I slept without hearing the echoes of battle."
The warmth from earlier lingered in the air between us.
"When I looked within again, I no longer saw only a warrior standing over the fallen," he said. "I saw a man surrounded by those grateful for life."
His shoulders eased.
"The hole was not gone. It will never fully disappear. But it was no longer empty."
A long silence followed.
"I refused further campaigns," he said at last. "I chose to heal instead of fight. The clan called me blasphemous. They said I had betrayed the sacred purpose of the art."
His tone remained calm.
"Perhaps they are correct. I did betray it."
He looked at his hands, steady and open.
"I betrayed the version of it that only knew how to kill."
The faintest smile touched his face.
"I have no regrets about that."
He lifted his gaze, and for the first time since he began speaking, there was a quiet peace in his eyes.
"I cannot undo what I have done," he said. "But I can decide what these hands are used for now."
The warmth in my chest pulsed again.
Bankei closed his eyes briefly.
"If my life ends here, it will end having given more than it took."
Silence lingered in the cell.
He's using Ki to heal? was that even possible in DBZ?
"They put you in jail just for that?" Merun asked.
Bankei chuckled under his breath. "I forget you're a newcomer."
He shifted slightly against the wall.
"No. They did not imprison me for healing. Refusing to fight would have earned me punishment, perhaps exile. What sealed my fate was something else."
His gaze lowered.
"People talk. Martial Artists I treated returned home alive. Wounds that should have crippled them faded. Internal injuries mended. Their families were grateful."
His voice softened.
"They began calling me a saint."
Merun stayed quiet.
"Word spread beyond the battlefield. A healer from the main family who could perform miracles. Some began gathering outside the estate just to catch a glimpse. They whispered that the Shadow Dragon was merciful after all."
A faint smile crossed his face, tinged with regret.
"That was dangerous."
"For them?" Merun asked.
"For the clan."
Bankei folded his hands into his sleeves.
"The main family does not tolerate rival devotion. Their authority rests on the sanctity of the Dragon and the fear it commands. If faith shifts toward a man instead of the symbol, their power trembles."
He exhaled slowly.
"They moved quickly. My little following was dispersed. Those who spoke too loudly were corrected."
"Corrected," Merun repeated quietly.
"Yes."
Bankei's eyes dimmed.
"I was given a choice. Publicly confess to heresy and denounce my methods. Privately, I would serve as the main family's personal physician. I would teach them the restorative application of the technique. Only them."
Merun frowned. "That's hypocritical."
Bankei gave a small, knowing smile. "Nobility often is."
"I refused to kneel and call compassion a sin."
He rested his head lightly against the stone behind him.
"So here I am."
A thought struck Merun. "But… aren't you on death row?"
Bankei tilted his head slightly. "It is not exactly an execution."
"What is it?"
"A game."
Before Merun could respond, a heavy pressure rolled through the corridor. The air thickened. Guards shouted in alarm somewhere beyond the iron bars.
Bankei's eyes flicked upward for a fraction of a second.
Merun was already pressed against the ceiling beams.
Confident footsteps approached.
"Well now," a smooth voice echoed down the hall. "They said you were losing your mind, Bankei."
A tall man stepped into view. His long hair was slicked back, immaculate even in the damp prison air. His smile was easy, almost friendly.
Bankei did not look at him. He kept his eyes on the wall.
"Still ignoring me?" the man continued. "You could end all this. A proper bed. Fine meals. Women. Students. People to heal."
Bankei's expression did not change.
"By people, you mean trash nobles?" he said calmly.
The man's jaw tightened. "Watch your mouth."
Then the smile returned.
"We've prepared excellent opponents for you this time. Had a brief war with the Shinken Clan to secure them. You should be grateful. Do try to survive this round."
He turned to leave, laughter trailing behind him.
Just before he passed beyond sight, his voice lost its warmth.
"I'll leave that rat be. I don't know how a weakling slipped in, but he'd better make things interesting."
The footsteps faded.
Merun's pulse thundered in his ears.
He knew!
After several long seconds, Merun dropped from the ceiling, landing lightly. Sweat clung to his skin.
"Who the hell was that?"
"Master Mangūsu," Bankei replied. "One of the Martial Masters of the Oni Clan."
"You know him??"
"He was once a Squire under my supervision. He admired me."
Bankei's gaze lowered slightly.
"He believes I abandoned my strength. To him, submission would restore my honor."
Merun let out a slow breath. "What did he mean by surviving the next round?"
Bankei closed his eyes briefly.
"As I said, it is a game."
He opened them again, steady.
"Prisoners are matched against one another. Death battles. The survivors live another day until new batch is delivered. The clan lets the town watch. They wager. They celebrate."
Merun's jaw tightened.
"They call it purification," Bankei continued. "If I die, it proves the Dragon has judged me. If I live, it proves I am still useful."
"And if you keep winning?"
"Then the spectacle continues."
The cell fell quiet again.
"This is my execution," Bankei said softly. "Just stretched out for their entertainment."
Master Mangūsu looks like Yungoos in Pokemon.
Sorry for the late chapter, friends from overseas visited!