Bare feet glide across the snow, a little clumsily the steps try to keep up, the weight of the body is sometimes swallowed by the depth of the blizzard.
A light, a spark of hope dances just ahead, surrounded by the howling northern winds, as it approaches the luminosity its existence takes shape. A man in simple robes, carrying with him a kind of rolled up cloth. The source of his now calm and cozy warmth comes from a small group of travelers. Sitting around the campfire, covered by a boulder and wailing.
- One more is among us. What are you waiting for? A formal request? Sit down wanderer. - said one of the men, closest to the rocks.
There were six of them, all men. Old and forgotten, their hands were thick, and their clothes had stains that only time could tell their story.
The Walker sat down, that which he carried was now resting on his lap. A dozen eyes were covering him with veiled questions, he felt uncomfortable, but that was the only place that had brought him warmth since he had headed towards his destination.
- What do you carry with you? Besides, of course, regrets? - said one of the men.
Nothing, said the Walker.
- We are all the same.
A strong blast from the blizzard swept away the small fire that held the place together.
- You still haven't told us what you carry with you.
Those six men, now standing, surround the walker, still seated.
- What I carry, you say? - does it refer to what is in my hands, or in my heart?
The storm had made it difficult to see those around him, and in his hand he brandished a sword, its curved blade and handle covered by a thin layer of ice.
- Samurai... - one of the men tried to speak, his throat was gushing blood.
Five were standing, their eyes were running all around, the walker was no longer within their reach.
Two blows were struck, the storm silenced for an instant.
And two of them went to the ground, their hands on their thorax and neck, in disbelief that death had come.
Those still standing, watch with terror the grotesque red art on the snow. One of them, the oldest, held a small dagger, which he kept hidden in his boot.
- Come out, damn you! Shizuoka find this wretch.
Another body goes to the ground, part of his face had been torn off, his body trembles, the last spasms of life fading away.
- Do you want money? Is that what you want? Has someone paid you? We already paid for our sins when we were banished and our swords taken away. - said the Old Man.
The storm now seems to calm down, the view of the place becomes clearer, the Walker walks towards the frightened man.
- Stay right there! Don't come any closer!
- I don't remember any acts of kindness when you invaded my house. - said the Walker.
- Are you Sato's son? Boy, that was a long time ago, I was just following orders.
- I give you one last order, I see you are a devout man.
- Anything, but let me go. - Tears were seen on the man's wrinkled face.
A blow was struck again, a sobbing sob was swallowed up by a flood of blood trickling from between the old man's lips. On his knees he went to the ground.
The Walker turned his back on him.
- I command that your soul be damned, for all your deeds!
The storm was raging again. The bodies were quickly covered, now eternalized in the memory of a single man.