Submission 2

Only the most delicate of sounds, like cherry blossoms landing in the grass, betrayed the footfalls of Norimitsu. He almost flew along the fine wooden floor towards his destination, his gaze shifting to and fro, penetrating the darkness of the corridors with a trained vision. Around the corner, he suddenly spotted the tell-tale bobbing lights from a hand-held lantern. When the guard carrying it had rounded the corner, Norimitsu was already concealed on a beam above the corridor, carefully shielding his eyes so that the light would not spoil his ability to see in the dark. He waited carefully for the sound of the guard to pass further down the hall.
Many poets had tried to capture the deadliness of this master of subterfuge in words; one had called him a Shadow, one who could disappear as soon as light was shed on him; another called him the Thunder, a sudden strike from the heavens that appeared out of nowhere and stole lives. A third had called him the Serpent, a devious cunning and cold-blooded malice, slithering through the darkness with poisonous fangs.
Certainly, he was the most feared man in all the realms of Japan; his own employer always communicated with him through a messenger, and he was showered in gifts and gold to ensure his loyalty. The enemies of his master were either terrified of him, or on their way to certain death. The latter was the case of the Daimyo of the Sagara clan, whose palace Norimitsu was currently sneaking around inside. He had already attempted a most subtle kill through poison, but had caused the death of the Daimyo’s cousin instead. Since then, despite the improved safety, Norimitsu had been prowling the palace corridors three nights, learning the exact layout of the place and the scheduled guard patrols. And tonight, after meticulous preparation, he was ready to strike with more force. He was ready to kill.
He arrived at the entrance to the Daimyo’s private quarters. The room where the Daimyo was asleep was just across a long, slim room devoid of any furniture. Its floor was of elegant woods and was brand new. Norimitsu knew he had only minutes to cross it before a guard would come by on patrol, but crossing the floor was a dangerous task; when he had tested it on his last nightly visit, a single step into the room had resulted in a deep, resonant noise to emanate from the floor. He had to be absolutely flawless in his movements if he were to cross the ‘singing floor’ without waking up the Sagara Daimyo or his guards.
Norimitsu laid down flat on the floor in front of the entrance, letting his eyes drink in every single detail of the floor. He laid silent for a minute and a half, concentrating on every single detail; Where did the planks of the floor merge, where did the polish reveal the wear the floor had already taken, and what routes would this enable him across it?
He got up, paced to the left wall of the room and cautiously moved onto the ‘singing floor’. It remained silent. He took three meticulously measured steps forward before leaving the left wall and moving in a diagonal movement towards the middle of the room. He held his breath for a second when the floor gave a tiny squeak, but it had been too low a sound; no-one stirred in the room ahead. He continued.
Arriving at the bedside of the Daimyo, Norimitsu reached down and unsheathed his short tanto weapon silently. The man was sleeping almost without noise, lying on his back. In the other end of the room, two bodyguards were asleep on more simple beds. With a single, delicate movement, Norimitsu moved the tanto blade across the throat of the leader of the Sagara clan; blood rippled out and a cough-like sound resulted. The guards stirred, but Norimitsu has already placed a small object on the floor and taken flight.
His steps on the way out caused the ‘singing floor’ to let out a series of wails, and the guards were now properly awoken. On the floor next to their dying master, a fuse was quickly burning down into a small, round object. The grenade exploded in a flood of light, stunning the men and blinding them completely to the darkness of the corridors.
Behind him, Norimitsu could hear the cries of the stunned guardsmen; he had replaced his tanto and instead drawn the longer combat wakisashi. When the first guard appeared from around a corner, Norimitsu did not hesitate to bring down the weapon with overwhelming force; the guard was thrown to the floor in a crimson dust-cloud. The assassin left the main corridor and made his way towards the southern façade of the building, where the palace shared the walls of the city. He ran along a small and deserted corridor. He passed through a room without noticing who slept in it and threw himself out of the window and onto a roof above the wall. Below him stood two sentries with torches.
Norimitsu quickly found two shuriken in his belt, sent one of them flying towards one of the sentries. The man cried out in pain and fell to his knees as the sharp object tore into his unprotected neck between the armour and the helmet. As the second sentry turned around, Norimitsu threw the remaining shuriken and was rewarded with a wail of agony as the sentry was struck in the eye; he dropped his torch and clasped his hands to his face, blinded by white-hot pain.
The assassin jumped onto the other sentry and continued over the crenellations and lowered himself from the wall. He climbed down swiftly and let himself drop the last couple of yards, rolling as he hit the ground. He sprinted across the plains towards the Chosokabe camp as more cried were heard from the walls. When the naptha bombs were finally thrown from the walls to illuminate the plains, the silent killer was far away.