”No,” I said truthfully.
”Yet it is not beyond you to be a competent soldier. Do you wish to learn this?”
I thought of the boy's dulled eyes, how quickly his blood had soaked the ground. I thought of my companion, the greatest warrior of his generation. I thought of those who would take him from me if they could.
”No,” I said.
And that was the end of our lessons in soldiery.
The young noble laid down his book and made for the upper deck. The crew were scurrying this way and that, securing the lines that would be used to pull his ship into place. They worked effortlessly around him as he slowly made his way towards the ship’s prow. They had become used to his slow, inattentive pace on the passages he had made before.
Anyone looking from the shoreline would see a fine luxury trading vessel pulling into port. Emblazoned on its stringently maintained white hull were the words Futoji Warai. Years ago, Kinsue had almost been killed due to the then-captain of the Warai. He had since taken some small pleasure in adding the vessel to his small trading fleet. It made a fine ship to use for such events, clear as it was that it had been expensive to acquire. Kinsue’s partners would be reminded that the Karagata did not need their business to stay afloat.
His thoughts drifted to the shinobi he expected to meet upon arriving at the estate. The noble had submitted a request for additional protection during the proceedings; standard procedure for this kind of journey. Kinsue imagined he would find a pair of ambitious genin, eager to make the acquaintance of the legendary Shinjiro’s cousin. Or perhaps, it would be older shinobi who had long since given up their dreams of ascending beyond chuunin. Anything more would be a waste of Kirigakure’s most precious resource, the men and women of conviction that gave it its pre-eminence.
Someone called his name, interrupting Kinsue’s thoughts, and he turned from the view of the shoreline. His aide stood behind him, papers in hand. Final details that needed to be squared off before their arrival. He allowed himself to be led away off the deck, the hurried words of the bean counter washing over him.
In the end, the day was just like so many others had been. Like so many others would be again.
OOC Note: The book extract is The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller (slightly paraphrased).