He was a mere blade, donned by worth and praised by others. He stood by Nobukatsu’s side, watching his master ruthlessly acquire sanguine victory; after all, he would do anything for victory. Nobukatsu donned the title of an in incompetent-general, for his reckless deposition, yet the Wakizashi’s eyes glimmered at his master’s forte of combat. Wasn’t that what a warrior was? One whom retained strength, success, and power? Though unbeloved by others, he sought to regard his master otherwise—after all, blades were crafted with the intention of loyalty.
“....for Toyotomi Hideyori.”
Nobukatsu often spoke of them, about the airy rumors that circulated. It had comprised of suggestion, that Nobukatsu would be promoted to Soudaishou, if he were to serve under the Toyotomi clan. The Wakizashi quirks a smile, soft and gentle—happy that perhaps someone else also appreciated his master’s aptitudes. For once, he is undeniably happy.
He is but a bridge that affixes the two, like a thick ribbon choking the two in place. To verify his master’s loyalty, he will become a peace offering for the Toyotomi clan. A cocktail of sentiments stir from within—anxiety, loss, and fear. He is, after all, a blade, not a human; emotions do not suit him, and would strip him of his loyalty. But as his (previous) master whisks away, a choked cry streams from his conscience.
But he cannot be heard, for he is not human, but a sword; and swords, do not feel nor do they rebel.
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