A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

As they opened the gates of the Menryo-ji temple, a gust of warm air hit them, and a scene that belonged to another world was revealed.

Monks of all ages, from the youngest boys, to the oldest men. And each armed with a wooden polearm, with a spherical weight at one end to imitate the weight of a spear point.

And they trained with the utmost discipline, entirely in time with one another, as they let loose the various stances of the form that they were practising. It was an incredibly complicated display, and one that Gengyo could not dissect too much, despite the amount of spear training he had undergone.

A spritely pair of youths duelled each other aggressively off to one side, though both had a smile on their faces, as though this was the one thing they truly wished to be doing.

It took a long time for anyone to realize that they were there – the monks were people of the utmost discipline, and no matter what was going on around them, they were trained to focus entirely on the task.

But as the elderly monk – who was leading the display – stopped dead, staring towards them, then the others soon followed. It was quite a feat to break these monks out of their concentration, yet the mere appearance of two outsiders was enough to do that.

Momochi walked ahead of them, with a peaceful smile on his face, and his hands behind his back, whilst the two pupils guarded them on either side, spears ready and willing to take their lives for the smallest of reasons.

Slowly but surely the entire congregation of monks turned their way, as the youth stared at them with a profound curiosity, and the older monks were having difficultly hiding their hositility.

"...Momochi."

Came an old rasping voice from near their ear, as a tall, slender monk exited the building next to them, and stood in front, barring their path.

"Master Kuraka."

Momochi responded evenly, his smile not wavering in the least, even as he bore the full weight of all their stares.

Gengyo looked toward Kitajo uncomfortably – it was rather easy to tell that they were not welcome. Nor did he even wish to be there. But the way things were going, not only would he have to stay, he would be doing so as a deadman, for those other monks certainly wished to see his head struck from his shoulders.

The other old monk who had been leading the training walked over, his thick eyesbrows hanging low, threatening to impair his vision. As he walked, the other monks made a point to respectfully clear his path. This told Gengyo one thing: he was a man of position.

"Master Soroko."

Momochi noted, with a light dip of his head.

The two men stared at him for a time, before they glanced behind him, and evaluated Gengyo and Kitajo. Both men had blood soiling their clothes from the recent fight that they had been involved in. They were the very image of impurity.

Yet they did not wither under the immense pressure exerted upon them. They stood, and stared back strongly, without flinching. Of course they wished to escape this place alive, but if they had to die, they would not die having lost their pride.

A deep sigh came from Soroko, as he looked over them, and shook his head. Kuraka, on the other hand, was seething, looking as though he wished to remove the two impure men immediately. But interestingly, the stare he shot Momochi contained a similar amount of aggression as the one he shot them.

"Explain yourself, Momochi."

Soroko spoke in a weary voice, as though this was the last thing he wished to deal with.

"These two young men defiled our holy steps."

Came the level headed reply of Momochi, who did not cower in the least.

"We realize that, Momochi. We too sensed it. And you know we did. Answer the damn question!"

Kuraka hissed.

"Mm, I apologise. This old mind of mine... haha."

He responded with a light chuckle. There were few people that did not like Momochi. His disposition was mild, and he was easy to get along with, but Kuraka was eternally irritated by his carefree mannerisms.

But he was forced to grind his teeth and wait for the monk to explain himself, for Soroko was already shooting him a sideways glance; it would not do for the masters to disgrace themselves by fighting in front of the pupils.

"Please, Momochi, explain your thoughts to us."

At Soroko’s calm persuading, Momochi was only too happy to enlighten them.

"These men committed a crime against our holy order, that is true. But in killing them, we do not restore the balance – instead, we tip the scales further down."

Gengyo frowned heavily. He could not understand Momochi’s manner of speech. He was certainly condemning them, but at the same time, he was coming to their defence. He could not understand it. There was nothing he had done for the man to act as such.

"And so, you allow them to live? Not only that, you dare to bring such impure creatures up the steps of our holy order, and through our gates, allowing them to spread their corruption as they will? You dare to go against our founding father’s decree?"

Kuraka asked threateningly, painting Momochi in the worst light possible.

"No, I merely aim for what our founding father gave his life to achieve: balance."

"...How?"

The tall elderly monk asked, once more seeking a more direct answer. But instead, Momochi turned his head, and spoke to Soroko.

"Soroko-sensei, my thinking is this: two men were sent to death upon our steps, causing darkness to enter our light. Their killers – these two before you – are undoubtably men of the dark. But if we can convert them, and show them the error of their ways, then we can wash out the stains that they have caused, and we can make our order stronger for it."

Soroko squinted at him, trying to see the truth past his words, but faced with Momochi’s unwavering smile, it was impossible to criticise him for long. His argument was based on the purest of logic, the sort that they were taught to apply to every element of their decisions.