This was not going to be easy
Every step, Bolan turned his efforts to spotting new opportunities, discarding lost openings and chances as they fell behind.
That was how the Executioner had survived for so longânot by being a good shot, not by being strong, not by having the biggest guns. It was having a mind as sharp as a razor, constantly keeping it in motion, like a shark on the hunt, always awake, always sniffing for traces of weakness to pounce on.
Thatâs when he saw the red dot dance across the back of the man in the lead.
All men possess in their bodies a poison which acts upon serpents; and the human saliva, it is said, makes them take to flight, as though they had been touched with boiling water. The same substance, it is said, destroys them the moment it enters their throat.
âPliny the Elder, 23â79
Natural History
All men have the strength and ability to crush the serpents that torment them. When we speak for truth and justice, our words are poison to them and it destroys them as if they have been burned by acid. To the vipers who stalk the world, my efforts are to make sure that truth defeats them wherever they are found.
âMack Bolan
Doves broke from the treetops as the man in black raced among the trunks. His pursuers were fueled by a feral rage. The lone warrior reached for the gleaming silver weapon on his belt, but held it in its sheath as he broke through the tree line.
He slowly took out his katana, a long, graceful unveiling of gleaming metal. He walked toward the shore of the stagnant river, his wooden sandals scraping the smoothed river stones and gravel that rose from the edge of the water.
Enemy swordsmen raced to circle him and cut him off, but the man in black didnât make a run for it. He was in the water, six inches deep, the hem of his hakama soaking through. He spread his legs, keeping the tip of his sword at waist-height, both hands wrapping around the black cords on the handle.
He counted them. Eight men. He breathed deeply, resisting the urge to gulp air after the chase and battle with Zakojiâs guards. Instead, he relaxed.
âYou thought that you could bring death to me, intruder?â a voice called out from the tree line.
Zakoji appeared, dressed in black robes, a red serpent embroidered on the left side of his body. It was the Uwibami, a monsterous serpent that snatched men from horseback. It was the symbol of Zakojiâs army.
âI came here seeking work,â the man in black said. âHonest work.â
âThere can be no honest work for the henchman of the shogunate. Not the monster who reigns over these lands.â
The man in black was silent. He knew that to survive, he had to be still, to sense his enemies before they even moved. Sensing that brief flash of lethal hostility had saved the warrior more than once.
With the rustle of fabric, the black-clad warrior did a quarter turn, his sword point drawing an arc that went from pointing directly in front of him to sticking out behind him like the tail of some massive scorpion. The attacking swordsman took a second step, but he was already dying before the warrior reversed his blade and sliced it across the cultistâs face.
He dipped the tip of his sword into the water, letting the blood run off the hammered steel.