The boy nodded slowly. Then he crawled closer and fell asleep with his head against Kenshin’s leg.
The rain stopped. The fire dimmed. Kenshin stared at the boy for a long, strange moment. Then he did something he had not done in fifteen years: he smiled. It felt like breaking a rusted lock. ochimusha
“No.”
The boy wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Are you a bandit?” The boy nodded slowly
Kenshin picked up his sword. The chipped edge caught the firelight. “I have not used this blade in anger since the day I shamed it. Tomorrow, before we go, we will find your village. We will find the bandits.” He turned the blade so the edge faced him, then turned it away. “A fallen warrior cannot reclaim his lord. But he can protect one child. That is not redemption. It is simply… what is left.” The fire dimmed
One autumn evening, rain fell in gray sheets. Kenshin found shelter in an abandoned shrine to Hachiman, god of war. The wooden statue’s face had rotted away, leaving only a serene, blank expression. He built a small fire and stared into it.
Perhaps that was enough.