There is blood everywhere. The castle grounds are covered in it, the air is filled with its copper tang, and it stains his boots. The last remnants of the Toyotomi forces, those men that had gone into battle knowing they were going to die. Most people could not step into such a place easily. Even the Tokugawa, they who had caused the bloodshed, had left as quickly as they could. They had been uneasy staying in a place stained so red, a place where they could feel the restless spirits of their enemies howling with sorrow, and perhaps feared deep within that the soul of Sanada Yukimura might somehow stop their hearts and carry them to grave with him.
But Kojiro sees and feels none of this. He is immune to it, for he does not care. Only one person ever mattered to him, and only that one's death could affect him in any great way. Staring down, he watches the blood pool underneath Musashi's body, and this is the only blood he can see and smell.
It should have been the greatest moment of Kojiro's life. For so many years his one desire had been to take Musashi's life, to grant him the beautiful death he deserved. Every time their blades had locked he'd felt the greatest kind of euphoria, a heady rush that filled him from head to toe, and known a lingering joy in the days afterwards as he dwelled over every single detail of the fight. The thought of finally sliding his long blade between his rival's ribs was one that invaded his dreams, an image of something of such profound beauty to him that it had kept him eager even after losing the duel at Ganryujima. Lusting for blood, wanting Musashi at his feet unmoving, he'd found him again and they'd fought once more.
He'd won this time, won because Musashi could not bring himself to kill Kojiro off.
But there was no joy. No happiness, no feeling of success. He was feeling emotions that he'd never encountered before, ones that he did not understand. They told him that he had done something wrong, that this death was not one to be celebrated, and that made no sense to him.
Musashi was dead. Drying Pole had split his flesh and skewered his heart, severing soul from body. But that meant he was gone. Out of reach. Some part of Kojiro had never registered that beforehand, not brought up the question of what would happen after he fulfilled his one desire.
Gone...
There was no beauty in that. No beauty left in his life if Musashi wasn't in it. There was nobody else who could challenge him like he had, nobody else who could make him feel that sense of joy. No other was worthy.
Kojiro realised his cheeks felt wet. Tears? He'd not noticed he was crying, having been too wrapped up in trying to work things out in his head. They'd come without his permission, reacting to the new emotions that he wished he'd never had to feel. Was this sorrow? Regret? No... it was both, wound up tightly together and taking root deep inside his chest. He didn't like them at all. They made him feel weak.
Killing Musashi had done this, made him feel this weakness, when he'd thought it would make him feel strong.
What had he done?
These horrible feelings were right. This was not a death to be celebrated. Kojiro fell to his knees and dropped his sword. It had lost all meaning to him now. All he wanted was to bring a life back, something that no man or blade could do. Instead he was left with his own life, which was barren and worthless, and a broken soul.