13 – Regrets are Wasted Effort

"You're sure about this?" Master Amon asked.

Yamato turned slightly from his freshly packed bag. As a cultivator he could go for a very long time without food or water. Even so, only a fool would go with none at all.

Two jugs of purified water, bundles of hand-rolled onigiri and strips of dried meat. None of it was glamorous but he was far past the point of caring for glamour.

"Someone has to," said Yamato. "And you're a busy man. Besides the fact that you clearly don't like getting involved in violence if you can help it."

The westerner worked his broad jaw, fingers running over the coarse surface of his jaw. "I don't, it's true. Still, you could leave it to the soldiers. They're probably able to handle bandits well enough."

"Maybe. But... I still want to be the one to do this." He sighed, closing his good eye. "Do you remember when you first snuck up to Mount Gruai? You were looking for a lotus flower."

"I recall," the taller man said.

"You asked me what the point of my cultivation was. Why I sought strength. Truth is, I didn't have an answer at the time. I did it because... it was the world I was raised in. It's what was expected of me. But that's not good enough of an answer."

Yamato raised his hands, clenching them a few times. He still didn't trust himself with a sword, for more than one reason. But his hands were lethal weapons in their own right. Enough to deal with some bandit scum.

"Guang, the healer, had a point when he said the Snake Flower would not have involved themselves in helping that poor man and his wife. I don't think any sect would." Being frank, they probably would have sped up the man's death over some perceived slight, or just because they found the bloody wagon unsightly. "And that's wrong. Cultivators, sects, we should not live that way. Small wonder nobody here cared when the Snake Flower were wiped out. I can hardly blame them," he said.

Hells, he was one of the reasons why people disliked his sect. In the past he'd never cared what mortals thought. Living among them, he understood what a boar he'd been.

"Having power for the sake of power did me no good. And Lady Mikan had a point when she said I should strive to be a better man now. Using the power I have, such that it is, to help people."

Amon raised a brow. "Acting as a hero?" The scepticism in his voice was hard to miss. And not unjustified, Yamato noted.

"I don't need fame or the like," Yamato replied. "But I want to try and help people if I can."

The older man seemed to consider this. Then he shrugged. "It's your time, do as you please with it. Just try not to get yourself killed out there."

"Wow. Is that concern I hear in your voice?" Yamato kept his voice flat, but inwardly... he was glad. Someone who actually cared for him, even if only a bit, even if he didn't deserve it.

"Try not to get a swelled head over it," Amon replied flatly.

"I shall accompany my junior too." Yamato glanced down to see Smoke sauntering in. "These bandits may be numerous, and I am eager for a chance to sharpen my claws."

Amon peered down at his hellcat. "Aye? And you're not just looking for an excuse to get away from Ash?"

Smoke tilted his head up snootily, in the grips of some kind of feline teenage obstinance. Or perhaps he was just acting how every cat acted all the time.

"I don't know what you mean," the hellcat replied.

Sighing, Amon shifted his eyes to Yamato. "And you're fine with company? I suppose its's better than either of you going off alone."

"I have no qualms," Yamato said. The cat was a decently strong spirit beast, that much was obvious even at a glance. And going solo was the path of the arrogant man. A path he wanted to avoid treading again if he could help it.

"Splendid." Smoke grinned, flashing those terrifyingly long fangs of his. "They shall sing songs of our exploits."

Amon rolled his eyes. "Punishment from the gods, no doubt. Smoke, pack some provisions of your own too, just in case." Then he turned and left.

I suppose I couldn't fault Yamato for trying to find some measure of redemption. I'd filled so many graveyards that I couldn't walk that same path. And, ideally, a little bit of heroism would make him less of a mope.

I had my own aspirations to follow in the meantime, though working up the nerve to follow them had not been easy.

Yomi was waiting in the kitchen for me. As was Mikan, at my request. The former assassin had been engaging the shopkeeper's daughter in conversation, audible even as I approached.

"I suppose it's about seeking... peace," Yomi said, her voice partially muffled by the door. I paused to listen in, against my better judgement.

"Peace?" Mikan asked.

"Right. I lived a pretty violent life. Can't say I regret any of it. Regrets are wasted energy. Still... living years as an assassin, then years as a bounty hunter? Thankless work. A miserable life too."

"I can imagine," Mikan said. "So being an innkeep is a way to... help people?"

Yomi grunted. "Guess that's part of it. But really, any job that doesn't involve bloodletting is a step up for me."

I'd never really stopped to consider how odd our little group was before. An ex-assassin, a shattered young master, a talking hellcat and possibly a talking jackal... and me, the monster in human skin.

Difference was Yamato and Yomi could bare their scars to the world, tell others who they had been. I doubted I ever could.

I pushed into the kitchen and the two women looked up at my approach. "Ah, Master Amon. I... heard about the incident the other night. I'm worry you had to... witness such a thing," Mikan said.

"I'm no stranger to death. Only one you ought feel sorry for are the two unfortunate bastards who died at the inn." The bodies had been taken away and the commons had been scrubbed thoroughly, and the guests hadn't seemed too bothered. Death, one merchant had told me, was sadly not uncommon at roadside inns.

"Well, that aside," Yomi said, leaning on the nearest counter. "What's this all about?"

I was... admittedly a little embarrassed to even consider asking any of this. I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck as I stared down at the floor. "Ramen," I eventually murmured.

"Ramen?" Mikan repeated, blinking.

"What about it?" Yomi asked.

"I... had some, on the road once. It was really good. I'd... like to learn how to make it. The noodles, the broth... all of it." It wasn't much of a dream but it was still a dream. To be a man who could create, could feed people, to be able to do something I found interesting.

The two women exchanged a glance. "Well," said Yomi, "I know how it's made."

"But I'm no cook," Mikan said, holding up her hands.

"Maybe not. But I'm sure you can supply the ingredients." I took in a breath through my nose to calm myself. I already felt like a damn fool. "I want... to be able to make it for myself. To be as skilled as that cook."

"It's a humble ambition," Yomi said, tapping her chin as if deep in thought. "But I reckon we can make a proper ramen cook out of you, Amon." She grinned, flashing me a playful wink. "Just leave it to Sensei Yomi to be your guide."