A few days later, Kanbe'e was awakened by a 'sound.'

  Scritch, scritch. It was the sound of earth being swept—rhythmic, yet tinged with a certain trepidation.

  That sound quietly scraped away at the heavy, subterranean air ruled by the silence of death, peeling it back like a thin layer of skin.

  Raising his heavy eyelids, he saw the girl from the previous day—the one who had only shown him her back—in the corner of the dirt dungeon.

  She was on her knees, silently and diligently sweeping the filth-stained floor with a small tool made of bundled bamboo. The winter morning sun, filtering through the gaps in the iron bars, turned the rising dust into particles of gold. Those grains of light granted her a sacred silhouette. To the mud-caked Kanbe'e, the sight was so otherworldly it seemed like a hallucination born of his clouded consciousness.

  "You again..."

  Kanbe'e’s withered voice echoed against the damp stone walls.

  The girl’s shoulders jolted, and she nearly dropped her broom. She bowed deeply and introduced herself in a trembling voice.

  "Y-yes... My name is... Fu-ji. I am the daughter of Matazaemon Kato..."

  "Matazaemon... Kato..."

  Kanbe'e traced the threads of his mud-stained memory. The image of a stalwart warrior guarding the watchtower of Arioka Castle surfaced. A sincere man who held Murashige’s trust.

  "Yes. My father... told me to attend to your needs from time to time..."

  Kanbe'e crawled forward, drawing closer to Fuji. His joints creaked, and his wasted limbs shrieked in protest.

  Because his mind was clearer than the day before, he could see her better. She was a girl with the innocence of youth still clinging to her. Yet, her eyes held a depth of compassion that seemed out of place in this hellish castle. It was less like pity and closer to the serenity of one who had accepted a great destiny.

  "You are young... How old are you?"

  "I am fourteen..."

  Fourteen... How could a mere girl, not even half his age, enter such a gruesome place without hesitation? This dungeon, filled with the stench of death and the poison of betrayal, was no place for an innocent soul to endure.

  Pierced by Kanbe'e’s sharp, unyielding gaze, Fuji reflexively reached for her collar. Her fingertips gripped a crude, hand-carved wooden cross—a cruz. Its corners were rounded from use, and it gave off a dull luster from the oils of her hands.

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  "Are you... one of those Kirishitans?"

  "Y-yes. Two years ago, I met one who preached the teachings of the West... and I was touched by the heart of Deus..."

  "Hmph. Deus, you say..."

  Kanbe'e let out a dry, rasping laugh from the back of his throat.

  Of what use were gods or buddhas who claimed omnipotence in this warring world? The bitter cold of this dungeon proved their uselessness with cruel certainty.

  "Why cling to such things? A girl like you, who knows nothing of the world..."

  Kanbe'e’s question held a sting. However, though Fuji lowered her eyes for a moment, when she looked up again, her gaze held a steadfast will.

  "I simply... could not help myself..."

  "What?"

  "Every time my father went to war, I... I always prayed. I prayed that if it meant our house would survive, some nameless father or child somewhere else could perish miserably. Living each day with such a hideous heart... it felt as if... I were bound in a dark dungeon where no light could reach..."

  Fuji’s voice trembled slightly. It was a confession of sin, an outpouring of her true feelings before Kanbe'e—the man who embodied 'Hell' itself.

  "But... Lord Deus said... 'Love even your enemies.' When I heard those words, it felt as if light had shone for the first time into the darkness I had locked inside my heart..."

  Kanbe'e was struck speechless.

  (Love even your enemies? Do you truly believe such sweet words can save this blood-soaked world of chaos?)

  Inside Kanbe'e’s chest, the black flame erupted once more. For one who had been betrayed and discarded, the word 'love' was nothing more than a poisonous insult.

  "Tell your Deus this."

  Kanbe'e tightened his grip on the iron bars. His knuckles turned white...

  "If he can save this Kanbe'e, I have no need for such sweet words. Tell him to grant me the ingenuity for revenge, right now. That is the only salvation I seek. If he cannot do that, then never grip that cross before me again."

  His words were no longer mere speech; they were a curse. Kanbe'e’s gaze turned into that of a beast, attempting to intimidate the girl.

  Yet, Fuji did not flinch. She took Kanbe'e’s naked hatred head-on and spoke with a quiet but undeniable strength.

  "I understand... However, Lord Kanbe'e, Deus sometimes shows us a 'path' more grueling than revenge. For me, in this darkness of Arioka... that path is to never let you die..."

  Fuji held out a steaming bowl from the tray she had brought.

  Kanbe'e stared at it in silence.

  At the edge of despair, his first touch of 'the warmth of another'...

  For Kanbe'e, who used ingenuity as a weapon and treated the hearts of others like chess pieces, the selfless devotion Fuji radiated was more incomprehensible—and more terrifying—than any military strategy.

  (Does she... pity me?)

  Kanbe'e snatched the bowl from her hands.

  The heat of the liquid seeping through his fingertips forced his frozen blood to circulate. That warmth was too sharp to be called 'love,' gouging into Kanbe'e’s heart; it was too raw and muddy to be called 'faith.'

  Yet, as he drained the liquid, Kanbe'e felt it clearly.

  The light and warmth Fuji brought were not meant to gently save his soul. They became a cold, powerful wedge—a shackle of revenge that bound him to this world, forcing him to survive even if he had to crawl through the very bottom of hell.

  Kanbe'e returned the bowl and turned his back.

  Listening to the sound of Fuji’s receding footsteps, he touched his own throat in the darkness. It was still pulsing... He was not permitted to end this hell called 'life.' The eyes of that girl had pronounced his sentence.

  Produced and written by a Japanese author, rooted in authentic Japanese history. Translated with the assistance of Gemini (AI).