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There are only four principles of war Gorou follows. One, never involve civilians. Regardless of their opinion of the Shogunate, their protection comes first. Two, torture is off the table. It’s an unspoken line that no army crosses without severe consequences from their opposition. Weaken the enemy while limiting suffering. Three, People die. It’s only natural that with war comes death, and as a general, Gorou has learned not to get attached. And four, his body is the enemy's land. Any arrow can pierce him, sword can swipe him, element can sweep him off his feet.
Still, he is where he is knowing this; huddled inside a safe base on the edge of Watatsumi island with their Divine Priestess, discussing further battle plans and how they’ll advance on the Shogunate’s party stealthily.
It’s the typical troops Gorou’s commanding this bout removing the Arataki gang. Itto had agreed to assist Gorou simply as a friend as soon as he heard of their dwindling lack of military support which was fortunate, but also unfortunate. At any moment, Itto or one of his friends could be hurt or killed. A death so close to Gorou’s heart would be hard to stomach.
He tries to remember number three though and when Her Excellency asks for his reassurance on the tactic they’ve decided on, he nods.
Itto claps him on the shoulder, “We’ll be in and out, no sweat,” he grins. It’s amazing how happy he can be on a battlefield; he hasn’t seen what Gorou has.
“Yeah,” Gorou mumbles, faking a smile in return.
Kokomi runs her hand across the map, tracing the quickest path to enemy territory. She’s brainstorming, it’s a look Gorou has seen a multitude of times—especially at war. “Alright,” she claps, “let’s run through this one more time.”
A short trek to the Shogunate’s last known campground, sneaking, of course. Gorou will lead a small group— Itto, Kuki, and Officer Kaida—undercover to enemy territory. They keep things quick, but bide their time, steal medical supplies and weapons. If they have nothing to fight with and nothing to dress their wounds, they’re more likely to give in. The plan has its faults though; there’s a chance a military member could wake, or even worse, their supplies will be replenished the next morning. That’s why their goal is to steal as much as they can carry.
Stealth is a learned skill and in Gorou’s personal opinion, Itto is not stealthy. In the man’s defense, he can’t be stealthy. Not with his size or stature; all height and big muscles.
The small group sets off after—in Gorou’s case— a foggy discussion of the plan. They chat aimlessly for miles until Gorou’s able to pick up the sound of snores. Once they’re within a few miles of the camp, they lay low.
They brush through tall grass on their knees, weapons ready in case they’re spotted. Kuki is the best, so light on her feet that not even the natural crunch of leaves on feet can be heard.
“This’ll be easy,” Itto murmurs. It’s so low Gorou assumes Itto’s talking to himself. He looks to Gorou after a pause, as if the general has an answer to reassure him.
Confidence is key. “It will.”
Ito chuckles brightly, pausing in the brush to look at Gorou in disbelief. “You sound so sure?”
“You have to be. A bad attitude will get you killed,” Gorou says.
He pauses in the brush too, meeting Itto’s shiny eyes. Itto’s still pleased to be in this situation, a smile adorning his face. Somehow, he’s the same as always. It’s a comforting presence to have walking into a scary situation. Kuki has gone serious—though it’s hard to tell with the mask— and Kaida is in a similar, if not worse, state.
“Hm,” Itto continues on his way. They fall into silence again, crawling through the brush shoulder to shoulder. “You’re so serious.”
It’s then Gorou realizes Itto has never seen him this way before. When they’re in the city, trading jokes and gorging themselves on Narukami cuisine, Gorou is open and loose. Now, he’s strung like a guitar, tail pressed tight to his thighs and ears cast downward.
No joy can be found in war, Gorou has learned.
“Sorry,” he apologizes anyway, figuring Itto won’t understand.
Itto opens his mouth to respond, a look of confusion on his face. Before he can speak, their crawling comes to a sudden stop.
“There,” Kuki whispers. She points at the cluster of tents only a few feet away from them.
The fire lighting the enemy’s campsite is low and soft breathing can be heard from the safety of each tent. Someone is keeping a lookout on the outskirts of their camp, Gorou notes. His ear twitches at the soft rustle of the man’s feet, he fingers the sword at his hip.
“Keep low, holster your weapons,” Kuki says. She pushes her sword deeper into its sling.
Gorou nods. Though he’s leading, he can’t disagree with common sense.
He checks his bow, making sure it’s fastened tightly to his back. He has a sack full of arrows though, hopefully, no contact will occur. Still, he has plenty just in case.
“Kuki and I will head into the camp and observe the layout; Kaida and Itto, stay back and cover us if anything goes wrong.”
Kuki nods in agreement to Gorou’s plan— Kokomi’s, really— and pulls her hood over her head. Her face is obscured now, impossible to tell whose side she’s on. Gorou doesn’t have the same advantage, but he’s still smaller than both Kaida and Itto and therefore, much faster.
The two men don’t have any disagreements either. Kaida slips behind the nearest oak tree to get a good look at the camp.
Itto pauses, though, and places his broad hand on Gorou’s bare back, “Last week, when you bet me you could eat as much Dango as me. You were wrong.”
Gorou raises a brow, he’s not sure where Itto’s heading with this. “Yeah…”
“You got sick.”
“I did,” The memory is unpleasant, but still, Gorou smiles to himself. It had been a fun day. Running around Inazuma City and stopping at stall after stall to chat with the locals who all seemed to know Itto.
“You were in over your head,” Itto says, finally. He nods to the campground and Kuki, waiting patiently for Gorou to join her.
Gorou knows. He knows he’s not a ninja like Kuki, nor is he the stealthiest man alive, but risking it all is a part of war. Though it’s been a while since he’s suffered a life-altering injury, he’s prepared to take anything that comes at him.
Itto’s hand slides off Gorou’s tailbone, falling limp by his side once again. “I’ve got your back,” Itto says.
Gorou’s heard many men say the same and do the opposite, but today he feels Itto’s words resonate. Itto’s not Gorou’s subordinate, he’s his friend. He will make sure Gorou is safe and Gorou will return the favor.
With a nod, Gorou rises and joins Kuki, slinking in the shadows of Otogi trees.
“Ready?” Kuki whispers.
“As I’ll ever be. Scout the area, stay low, and make sure no one is awake— aside from their lookout, Kaida and Itto will take care of him.”
They split ways, Kuki going left and Gorou right. He stays low, as asked of his team, creeping around blue-pitched tents. They’re a deep blue, blending into the dark of the night sky. A low fire is crackling amid the camp, silhouetting the people sleeping inside their tents.
He ransacks a tote of bows first, cramming as many as possible into his full sack. Then, a sword; holstering it alongside a katana he finds. It’s quiet aside from the occasional rustle of blankets. A slight change in volume and Gorou finds himself jumping, holding frighteningly still until he’s sure no one is awake.
Though far off, he can still feel Itto and Kaida’s eyes on him, he can see Kuki, slipping in and out of the opposite tents. As far as backup goes, he’s safe.
There are a few sacks outside the second tent Gorou comes across, both empty. He’s starting to lose hope of any medical supplies, crossing his fingers Kuki has found the jackpot. He peers around, eyes combing the woods for any sign of the ninja. She’s rooting through a tote.
“Medical?” He mouths.
She shakes her head.
Damn.
There’s louder rustling.“You up?”
They freeze. Kuki’s eyes widen and before anyone exits the tents, Gorou drops to his stomach, motions down and Kuki follows suit.
There’s no response to the mystery man’s question, just the repeated shuffle of bodies. The man yawns; Gorou can see him silhouetted by the firelight, throwing his blanket off and rising from bed. Quickly, before the man steps out, Gorou scrambles to the other tent. He curls in on himself, squeezing into a small space between the empty crates and supply bags he searched already.
Gorou has no line of sight from where he is, a terrible position, really, but he knows Kuki has a better angle; as do Itto and Kaida. He breathes as steadily as he can.
The sound of a zipper is like gunfire in the silence. The man steps out of his tent and mumbles something unintelligible. His foot crunches on a twig, then the dirt, footsteps leading closer to Gorou. He hasn’t seen him, there’s no way.
A whistle cuts through the trees. The footsteps stop.
“The hell?” The man mutters. He recedes, heads the opposite way.
Gorou lets out a breath of relief, and silently thanks Kuki. Medical, medical. With the man’s attention elsewhere, Gorou takes the chance to fully observe the camp. He scooches out of his spot and surveys all of the tents. The man is wandering deeper into the woods, to a place where he’ll come across Itto and Kaida, Gorou hopes.
Yes. Down a few feet, hidden by the surrounding tents, is their pseudo-medical bay; a big red cross stricken across the flaps. Gorou makes for it, loops around the edges of the camp until he’s able to slip between the tent beside the medical bay and in through the fabric door.
It’s stocked. Wooden crates line up the edges of the tent, all full of different pills and salves. The left side is full of different bandages and gauze. They even have anesthetics and supplies for sutures.
They don’t deserve all this, but it’s easily accessible and can be replenished at the flick of the Shogunate’s finger. Watatsumi’s army is not as fortunate. They have to get medical supplies under the table and even now, the troops camping a few miles down— waiting for their return— don’t have simple drugs such as painkillers. They’re hard to acquire when coming from the enemy.
No matter. Their enemy's supply will be of good use. Gorou sifts through all their jars. Glaze Lily salve, Lizard Tail salve— both to treat wounds; Naku Weed, good for reducing inflammation. Gorou takes the largest jars he can find of the three and presses them into the safety of his pack along with as much gauze and bandages as he can fit. Itto and Kaida both have bags Gorou will have to go back for and fill, but for now, this is all he can manage.
He moves to head out, but a jar of capsules catches his eye. Onikabuto. It’s an extremely rare pain killer, but it’s also the best, the most rapid. He’ll just carry it this round, can’t take the gamble they’ll miss it.
Gorou hears them before they’re even close; the slow creep across the campsite, nearing the medical tent.
It’s a man if he had to guess, maybe the same from before. A swordsmen most likely, most of the Shogunate’s men are.
Gorou backs up into the tent's corner. Luring the man in and slipping out behind his back is the best option. No conflict and it’ll be quick. So Gorou waits.
The tent stirs and then slowly, the flap is flipped back. It’s a man, as Gorou predicted, hand perched on the hilt of his sword.
“Where are you?” He breathes.
The door. The door.
Gorou shuffles closer.
The jar shatters, the body clipping on the edge of a box. The Onikabuto capsules spill across the fabric floor and the man stares; shocked at first to see another human only a few feet away from him. A deer caught in his headlights.
He unsheathes his blade and Gorou reaches for his bow.
“Don’t even try it,” The man readies his weapon, points it at Gorou’s throat, “drop the bag and all is good.”
He’s right, of course. One yell will send at least twenty soldiers onto Gorou, but he furrows his brows and shakes his head. His people need this.
There’s no opening for Gorou to escape. He can’t even reach back for his bow. He shows no weakness, no fear, he feels nothing but an innate need to provide for his people, his family.
“Have it your way,” The man moves quickly, flicking his wrist and easily tearing into Gorou’s bare flesh.
And at first, it feels like nothing. The power of the swipe to Gorou means the man has a period in which he has to recover, creating enough time for Gorou to slip out of the tent and make for the woods.
Then, Gorou feels the blood.
It’s slipping out freely now. He can feel it running down his legs in rivers, nothing to stop it. He still has the medicine, he reminds himself, they’ve done half the job.
He’s on the ground then, against his will. Elbow pinning his cheek to the dirt as a different man divests him of his bag of stolen goods. There’s yelling distantly, the sound of people waking at the commotion.
It’s silent just a few seconds later, white noise buzzing through Gorou’s head. All he can feel is the wetness of the ground against his face, taste the salt of his tears and snot.
What he’s crying for, he can’t remember.
He feels like he’s floating. People’s voices echo, wave like the ocean.
He misses the ocean.
“I’ve got you.” Plays again and again. He forces his eyes open and sees Itto shrug his tailcoat off.
Kuki is off to the side, pacing left and right. And Kaida… Gorou’s not sure where he is.
“What..?”
“Shh,” Itto presses his hand into Gorou’s shoulder blades, as he had only minutes ago, urges Gorou to sit up.
It’s numb, his torso feels like pins and needles. His pants are warm, the top soaked through a murky red.
“I’m gonna wrap this around you.” And Itto does as said, hoists Gorou off the ground.
Heavy footsteps fall upon them. Then the sound of labored breathing. “We’re in the clear, let’s go.”
They walk fast. Faster back than there. Itto’s nails dig into his thigh. Reassuring to know Gorou can still feel below the waist. He wiggles his toes and hopes they’re moving. Itto’s warm, so warm. His broad shoulders stretch the length of Gorou’s upper body, the perfect size to curl up against.
Tired. The moon is too bright. Gorou lets his eyes slip closed, just to rest them.
Itto twitches his arm, jostles Gorou’s head. “Hey, you gotta stay awake.”
“Tired…”
“I know, believe me, I do, but we're almost there.” Itto smiles down at him, forced. The panic in his voice is palpable.
“It’ll be okay,” Gorou breathes the words, the sound barely rasping out of his mouth. His eyes fall again, though he tries his hardest not to let them. He knows falling asleep is the worst possible thing he could do with an injury like his; it means he’s slipping.
“Uh-uh,” Itto moves his arm harder this time and Gorou jolts back awake, “keep those pretty eyes open for me, will ya’?”
Gorou mumbles something incoherent, something he’s not even sure is words. He wants to. He wants to keep his eyes open for Itto so badly. To look up at Itto’s smile or his crinkled eyes, but again he slips under and this time he can’t seem to find the energy to pry his eyes open.
“Shit! Check his pulse. We’re nearly there.”
Gorou awakes to a blue light and the frantic murmuring of voices he knows but can’t pinpoint. His top is off, shoulders exposed.
“…Her Excellency has…”
“…too late…”
“Get me the suturing kit.” Gorou peels his eyes open.
“Gorou!” He’s being enveloped in a hug tight enough to make him ache all over. It’s Kokomi, of course, unshed tears in her eyes, “I’m so glad you’re awake.
They’re back at Stingray II’s pseudo base.
It’s with that realization comes the pain. His eyes are still watering, dribbling down his cheeks and splotching the pillowcase he’s resting on. It hurts like a million razors snagging his flesh repeatedly. It’s a writhing pain, one that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin.
Gorou feels like screaming. He opens his mouth, but the meekest sound bleats out. His voice is so hoarse. “Please,” he rasps, “please… hurts.” He lets out a pained groan. Loud enough for the crowd around him to still and share glances.
“Stay quiet, Gorou.” Kokomi smiles sadly, lays her hand on his shoulder.
Stingray II’s medic— Niiba— he thinks, pulls out a thread and needle, curved and pointy. Gorou’s had stitches; once as a pup for the tiniest of injuries, and an uncountable amount after becoming a general. But this…
Niiba threads it and pulls the black string taut. She’s a nice lady, Gorou knows, but when she says, “Hold him down,” with such conviction, more tears pool in his eyes.
Kokomi steps back in horror, “Hang in there,” she croaks as a man takes her place, pins him to the cot by his wrist.
Then his left hand is pinned by another, soon enough, both feet as well. He’s shaking ferociously now, the fear of what will come next and the pain forming a pit in his stomach.
“Let me go!” He rasps.
“General, please. Let us…”
“I’m your superior, unhand me!” He struggles with as much force as possible, which he can imagine—in his current state— isn’t much.
“Gag him, we need to do this quick.” Niiba turns to Kokomi, stricken with fear, “Your Excellency, if you need to leave…”
Left twists up the nearest rag, offers it to Gorou, who turns away in disgust. The man grabs him by the chin though, won’t take no as an answer.
It tastes like musk and sweat, possibly Gorou’s own.
“General, you need to hold still.” Another member of Stingray II voices. She scoops up a clean rag and passes it over Gorou.
“He’s losing too much blood. Already has.”
“Put pressure on the wound. We have to stitch it closed, now.”
The press of the rag is brutal. Every fiber of the cloth feels like nails tearing into his organs, reopening the wound. Gorou screams, let’s a string of curse words fly out and muffle themselves in his gag. HURTS. Every cell in his body feels like it’s screaming.
“We don’t have any anesthetics or painkillers at this base, so I’ll have to perform the sutures without.”
Not once has Gorou had stitches without painkillers of some form; something to numb the pain of a needle sticking into a flesh wound. Today, will be his first and hopefully last.
Niiba takes the rag from Gorou’s wound. “I’ll try to be quick, but you will have to endure the pain.”
Gorou digs his canines into the rag, feels the splitting of fabric beneath his teeth. Niiba raises the needle, like a chopping knife about to be brought down.
More tears leak uncontrollably down his face. Home. He wishes for nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep, to practice his archery, or to walk Inazuma City with Itto again.
Itto. That’s when he hears it. “I can’t go in?” Gorou jerks his head to the right, catches Itto’s big frame talking hushedly with two guards blocking the tent’s entrance. “What do you mean? I’m his friend.”
The needle pierces him. He bites his inner cheek, tastes metal, “Please,” it’s muffled, extremely so, but the sharp cry catches Itto’s attention.
They meet eyes, holding for so long Itto catches the next stitch, the clench of Gorou’s body as he’s torn open again.
The guards push Itto back again, urging him to walk away. He stays though, rooted to his spot in the grass. Eyes speaking volumes, reaching out to hold Gorou’s empty trembling hand.
I’ve got you.
Gorou passes out.