Blood Hunter

Austin pulled the katana out of the sheath just to see how the blade looked. That’s when the blade emitted a greenish glow, blinding him for a few minutes. Then a ghastly figure materialised.

He should have listened to the old man last week. Austin was at a flea market looking for a bargain deal to decorate his wall.

He paused when he saw a Japanese old man selling a beautiful katana.

“How much is that?” Austin asked, instantly drawn to it. He watched many old samurai movies and anime. The old man was wearing a colourful men’s kimono with wide sleeves. 

He looked up at Austin and said, “$2000.”

Austin was taken aback. “$2000?”

“Yes,” the old man replied. “It is a cursed sword belonging to a famous samurai named Morikano.”

Austin bit his lips. He worked as a clerk in a supermarket and $2000 was one month’s salary. Rent was tough too with the crazy landlord breathing down his neck. Should he splurge on this cursed sword? Logic told him no, but the sword called out to him strangely.

“$1500?” Austin suggested.

The old man shook his head firmly. “How old are you, boy?”

“I’m 22 years old sir.”

“Interesting,” the old man said, then sighed loudly. He rubbed his stubble on his chin. “Fine, $1800.”

Austin laughed and said, “Deal!” He ran off to withdraw the cash and came back to pay the old man.

The old man offered the sword to Austin with both hands as a sign of respect for the blade. Austin took it but the old man didn’t release his grasp.

He gave Austin a foreboding look. “Boy, do not pull out the sword or bad things will happen.”

“Bad things?” Austin asked, feeling a bit of trepidation.

The old man smiled grimly as he knelt down again with his feet tucked underneath him. “Don’t pull out the sword. Remember!”

Austin nodded but a week went by and he wondered if the old man tricked him. Maybe the blade was rusted or even made of cheap plastic. He had to make sure.

But as he withdrew it and the green glow from the blade engulfed his one-room flat, a ghostly figure appeared.

Austin felt his bowels loosen in primal fear. The old man wasn’t kidding. 

Itw was a young clean-shaven Japanese man dressed in red-plated armour with a chomage shaved forehead haircut. 

“What on earth?” Austin thought. His hands were trembling violently as he tried to keep the sword back into the sheath.

“Stop!”the Japanese samurai said in perfect English. “If you keep it, you will die.”

“Who are you?” Austin said, lips quivering. 

“I am Morikano, a samurai of the Hyuga clan. That is my sword Blood Hunter,” Morikano said. “Once it is taken out, blood must be spilled. That is the curse.”

“Are you serious? Can I just cut my hand off?” Austin pulled out the katana and observed the long curved blade. It was a work of expert craftsmanship. He read that swords were 16-times folded steel to make it extremely hard. It was calling out for blood. No wonder the old man warned him not to pull it out.

“No,” Morikano said. “Once you take out the Blood Hunter sword, you must kill someone before you keep it back. If you don’t keep it back, you will increasingly feel the urge to commit harakiri.”

Harakiri was a Japanese ritual suicide. “That’s crazy,” Austin screamed. “I’m not going to kill anyone.”

“That is the way of the sword. You kill or be killed.” Morikano was about Austin’s height of six feet. He had a wound on his neck as if his head was chopped off.

“How did you die?” Austin asked.

“I was attacked by a bunch of cowards from the Isahi clan and my head was chopped off. You must avenge me!”

Austin thought of the gruesome act and shivered. “How old were you?”

“22 years old.”

The old man gave Austin the discount when he said he was the same age. He didn’t understand why. Was he a reincarnation of Morikano in a different time?

“So I need to kill someone?”

“Yes, or you will kill yourself as a choice.”

Austin didn’t mind that but knew he didn’t have the guts to kill himself. Either harakiri or murder - terrible options.

“What is the way of the samurai?” Austin asked. “Who do you decide to kill?”

“An enemy or someone who agrees to a duel to the death,” Morikano answered. “That is the way.”

Austin scratched his head to think of the most despicable person who deserved to die but couldn’t think of anyone. Meanwhile, the blade was calling out for blood. Austin fought the urge to plunge the blade into his own stomach and drag it sideways. 

Just then, there was loud banging on the door.

“Pay rent or you’re out!” the landlord, John, yelled from outside. His frail door was almost broken down by the pounding fists.

“Coming,” Austin said. He cursed upon realising after buying the sword, he couldn't make the rent. Poor planning. He was definitely going to be evicted for real now.

“Does that person deserve death?” Morikano asked calmly. “He doesn’t sound pleased with you.”
“He’s my landlord.”

“Lord? Then he must be respected and obeyed.”

“Yeah, but I know he does bad stuff to kids in secret.”

Morikano burned with anger. “That dog deserves to die!”

Austin rationalised to himself as he opened the door with one hand. The other hand held the sword.

John’s fat frame appeared outside, smoking a cigarette. He was holding a metal rod and tapping it on the ground. “Pay up boy.”

“Please give me three more days. I’ll get it for you.” Austin begged. 

“Samurai don’t beg!” Morikano said from behind. 

Austin turned around and said, “Shut up!”

John said, “Who're you talking to? Some prostitute inside? But I don’t see nobody.”

Austin didn’t know how to reply. “Please, three more days before I get my next paycheck.” Begging was the least of his worries. He felt the sword’s bloodlust getting stronger. 

“Not this time,” John said, heaving up the bar menacingly. “Rules say you can’t house prostitutes in there!” 

The mental torment in Austin’s mind grew and was almost at breaking point now. Either kill or be killed. 

John yelled, “Are you listening to me?” He raised the bar above his head and swung it straight at Austin’s jaw.

Austin reacted and instinctively grabbed the sword handle firmly with both hands and stabbed John in the stomach with an upward stroke. The sharp blade went in and out of the back.

John’s cigarette dropped as blood poured out the wound. Austin twisted the sword and sensed that the sword was feeding on the blood. John let out a guttural croak.

“The Blood Hunter is satisfied now,” Morikano. “Treat it as a person.”

Austin pulled the sword out and John’s body collapsed on the floor in a pool of blood. How was Austin going to explain this? He had to run.

“That was bad fencing skill,” Morikano commented. “But the blade was good.”

“What do I do now? I've become a murderer!” Austin muttered in shock. John’s innards were spilling out on the sticky ground.

“You must go the way of the samurai,” Morikano said. “Always moving. Never settling down. That is your future just like me.”

Austin wiped the blood stained sword blade with an old shirt and kept the sword back into the sheath. 

The moment it locked into place, Morikano disappeared.

Austin knew the road ahead would be tough and perilous. He slung the sword across his shoulder and packed up his meagre belongings into a bag. He took one last look at his house and closed the door.