One Man
By Rich Wulf

The Year 1127 by the Isawa Calender (The Clan Wars)

Toturi looked out at the jagged expanse of Beiden Pass, his sharp eyes picking out every turn in the terrain that might grant his enemy advantage, every shadow in the pass where he might conceal a unit of archers or reserve shugenja. For days, he had known this conflict was approaching. He kept contructing endless strategies in his mind, countless contingencies for whatever plans Kisada might release against him. Now that he was here, now that battle was about to be joined, all of that was wiped from his away. "No plan survives contact with the enemy," was an old Akodo axiom, and as he maneuvered his troops into position he found it true today.

"Toturi-sama?" said a quiet voice behind him.

Toturi turned. A small boy in ill-fitting armor stood awaiting his attention. Toturi remembered the boy, the young ronin that dared to compete at the Topaz Championship a few years ago. "It was a pass like this one, Toku," Toturi said. "One thousand years ago my ancestor, Akodo, faced an army like the one we face now ... With a mighty roar, the mountains held their breath and he brought the pass down upon himself and his enemy rather than face defeat."

"Then, with all respect to your glorious ancestor, let us all hope we fare better than Akodo did," Toku said with a smile.

Toturi laughed despite himself. "Yes Toku, let's hope so. What news do you bring?"

"We have completed the sashimono for the officers, as you requested," Toku said nervously. He held out a long wooden shaft, wrapped in silk. Toku let the banner unfurl with a snap on the mountain wind, revealing the symbol of a fierce wolf. "I hope the symbol meets with your approval, Toturi-sama."

"It does, Toku," Toturi said, bowing his head in gratitude. "Arigato. But you need not call me Lord Toturi. I am the same as any of you."

"No Toturi-sama," Toku replied, shaking his head quickly. "You are a leader. You are the only one who will stand against Kisada. You are a hero. With you in command of our troops, how can we fail?"

Toturi laughed. "You seem very confident, Toku-san," Toturi said with a sad voice. "Eager to be a hero. I was like you, once."

Toku smiled. "You still can, be Toturi-sama."

The Year 1165 by the Isawa Calender (Present Day)

For days now he had followed this army of samurai as the made their way north through the Mountains of the Phoenix. He had been able to remain just out of sight while keeping even pace with them.They moved quite swiftly for so large a force, never pausing for more than a few hours to rest and replenish their supplies. Their soldiers where accustomed to such harsh terrain. Most were Dragon Clan, at home in such an environment. The rest were the most elite members of the Imperial Legions, quite adept at handling even the harshest situations. He shivered in his armor as he picked his way through the snow-covered pass. He had been trained for such hardship as well, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. He wished he had listened to his mother, and brought another blanket along.

Given the talent of the soldiers he followed, he should have known that he could not follow them forever without being noticed. The young bushi considered this as he felt the cold edge of steel across the back of his neck. He slowly lifted his hands in surrender.

"I mean no harm," he said, trying his best not to sound afraid. "I am Toturi Kyoji, Taisa in the First Legion."

"Fool boy," spat a gruff voice. The blade moved away, followed by the harsh snap of a katana sliding back into it's saya. "Does your father know you are here?"

"No," Kyoji answered, lowering his hands and turning around with a weak smile. A tall samurai, ith gaunt, weathered features stood before him, looking down with a sever frown. He wore a deep brown kimono, a symbol of a wolf on his right arm, to guide his sword. "Konnichiwa, General Saigorei," Kyoji said, sheepishly greeting his superior.

"You were supposed to be on your way to Toshi Ranbo," the old samurai growled. "Didn't your father give you a message for the Emperor?"

Kyoji nodded. “I gave the message to a shisha in Nanashi Mura. It will be delivered.”

“You shirked your duty on another?” Saigorei asked.

“Not at all,” Kyoji replied, straightening a bit. “I am an officer in the Imperial Legions. The shisha are the Emperor's heralds and messengers. Had there been a shisha available to deliver my father's message I am certain he would have relied upon their greater capability to do so. I merely gave the message to the one whose duty it was to deliver it, then returned here where my own duty lies.”

“A very good answer,” Saigorei replied. “Though it sounds +ike you have been reciting it. If that is true, then why did you not report to your father? Why do you follow our troops like a shadow?”

Kyoji did not answer.

“Because you are afraid your father will find another safe ‘mission' for you?” Saigorei asked.

“Will you tell him I have returned?” Kyoji asked, shoulders slumping slightly.

“Follow me, Kyoji,” Saigorei said. “Your father is coordinating information with the Dragon commanders. We should wait a bit before we disturb him.” Saigorei turned and walked back toward the camp. Kyoji silently followed.

The two samurai sat around a small campfire, the tiny light walled all around with the deep blackness of nighttime in the mountains. Saigorei lifted two bowls from the earth and filled one with rice from the steaming pot over the fire, handing it to Kyoji. Kyoji took it gratefully and held it with both hands, warming his freezing fingers. Saigorel filled his own bowl and began eating, producing a pair of chopsticks tucked beside his sword. Kyoji drew out his own eating utensils in the same manner.

“Always keep what's important close at hand,” Saigorei said with a laugh. “Your father and I learned that trick from Dairya. I see he has taught you well.”

“I just wish he would have more faith in his teachings,” Kyoji mumbled.

“I have heard the pride in Toku's voice when he speaks of his children,” Saigorei replied. “Your father has the greatest faith in you.”

“Then why send me away?” Kyoji asked, irritation creeping into his voice. “I am an adult, a samurai. I am a Taisa in the First Legion. Yet when we discover an army of Bloodspeakers marching on the Phoenix, he sends me away on a minor errand. I am a child to him.”

Saigorei was silent a long time, pondering the young man's words over the crackle of the fire. The howl of a lonely wolf echoed across the mountains. “You know your father and I fought beside one another in our youth,” Saigorei said. “What has Toku told you of those times?”

Kyoji smiled suddenly. “Father has told me many stories about the days when he served Toturi,” he said.

“I wish I had been there to see them myself.”

Saigorei frowned, letting a load of rice fall back into his bowl. “I think history has granted Toku's stories shades of glory that were not always there,” he said. “Those were difficult times, Kyoji-san.

“Those were glorious times,” Kyoji said, smiling in excitement. “To fight at the Battle of Oblivion's Gate, to stand against Yogo junzo's armies, to watch the Legion of the Dead charge through Oblivion's Gate. You were beside my father for all those things. You were the Empire's greatest heroes. You cannot tell me you re~et being a part of history.”

“Perhaps I do,” Saigorei said in a tired void. “Your father has told you of all the good that we did, but has he told you the rest? So many old friends gone... Dairya, Hiroru, Akiyoshi, Hasame, Mikio, Sukune... Well, Sukune was already dead when he joined us but that's beside the point...”

“To die in battle is a samurai's duty,” Kyoji replied.

“Spoken with the immortality of youth,” Saigorei said, though his smile removed the sting from his words. “Wait until you have watched a few friends die. I think you will be less certain.”

“What are you saying Saigorel-sama?” Kyoji asked. “That I should fear death? That I should shy away from battle?”

“Not at all,” Saigorel replied. “If the cause is just, I can think of no more noble end. All I mean to say is that there is great tragedy in war... and not quite so much glory as the tales suggest.”

“What cause can be more just than this?” Kyoji replied. “These beasts caused the Rain of Blood. They left a stain on the heart of the Empire. What warrior could back away from this challenge, and yet call himself samurai?”

“You truly are your father's son,” Saigorei said in an annoyed voice. “You are as stubborn as he is.”

“Will you tell him I am here?” Kyoji asked.

“Why bother?” Saigorei asked. “He already knows.”

Kyoji blinked. The clank of armor sounded from the edge of darkness. A short, stocky old man stepped into the ring of firelight. His head was shaven in the manner of a monk, though he still wore the same thin moustache and short beard he had worn since his youth. He wore the full armor of a samurai, an elaborate helmet clutched under one arm. The symbol of the Monkey Clan was emblazoned on his left arm, closest to his heart.

“Father,” Kyoji said, rising and bowing deeply.. “Sit, Taisa,” Toku said curtly, referring to his son's formal rank. Toku strode forward with slow, deliberate steps, seating himself beside Saigorei, across from Kyoji. The young boy sat, as commanded. The three sat for a long time without speaking.

“Please do not send me away, father,” Kyoji finally said. “I can help. I can fight.”

“Tell me, Kyoji,” Toku said. “If we should both die in this battle, what will happen to your mother? What will become of her when she hears that her husband and eldest son both perished on the same day?”

“How much worse will she feel if the Bloodspeakers destroy the Empire, and I did not do all that was in my power to stop them?” Kyoji retorted.

“Do you think your presence here will make that great of a difference?” Toku asked in a pained voice.

“My father always taught me that one man always makes the difference,” Kyoji answered.

Saigorei chuckled again. Toku shot the old general an annoyed glance, then looked back at his son. “You are right, of course,” the old man said in a tired voice.

“Are you all right, father?” Kyoji asked. The old samurai offered a wan smile. “It's nothing,” he said. “I just can't help but think I should have retired years ago.”

“You did retire, ten years ago,” Saigorei said, “and again five years ago. It's your own fault you're too stubborn to stay in a monastery, Toku.”

Toku shrugged at his old friend. “Each time I imagine that my days of fighting are done, some new evil calls me back into battle,”

Saigorei laughed. “You just can't sit still, more like,” Saigorei replied.

Toku shrugged. “Better to die as I lived, I think,” he said, looking down at his thick, scarred hands. “Besides, these hands were never suited for origami.”

“Still the same old Toku,” Saigorei said. “No excuses. No complaints. Something needs to be done, you get up and do it.”

“If it's worth doing, it needs to be done,” Toku replied. “The Dragon think there's something powerful hidden in these mountains, and the Bloodspeakers are seeking it.”

“Such as?” Saigorei asked. “They don't know,” Toku replied.

Saigorei laughed. “Trust a Dragon to find a deeper meaning in everything, then refuse to explain it. If there was something so powerful in these mountains, wouldn't the Phoenix know about it already?”

“Maybe they already know,” Kyoji said. “The Phoenix guard their secrets closely. Perhaps they have some hidden temple or shrine in these mountains.”

Saigorei laughed again.

“Something amusing you general?” Toku asked, looking at him sharply.

“I was just thinking,” Saigorei mused. “Here we have a famous general, returned from solitude, leading a mixed band of soldiers on behalf of the Dragon Clan. We fight an army of black-hearted fiends in the heart of the mountains. You cannot tell me this does not feel familiar to you, Toku.”

“Beiden Pass?” Kyoji asked, eager to display his knowledge of the old legends.

Toku sighed. “Gather enough memories, and everything will look familiar to you, Saigorei.”

“True enough,” Saigorei replied, “but if I must be reminded of a battle... it may as well be a battle we won.”

“True enough,” Toku answered with a laugh.

A city.

They had expected to find that the Phoenix had hidden a shrine or temple, perhaps some old ruin here in the~mountalns, but when the sun rose the swirling snows parted and revealed an entire city nestled in the valley before them. The wails shone with magic. The architecture, all shooting spires and towering archways looked truly ancient. Kyoji was awed that somehow this place had survived for centuries without anyone's knowledge. But that was a mystery for another time — the Bloodspeakers were already at the walls.

“How could there be so many of them?” Mirumoto . Kenzo whispered, looking down at the forces they faced. “Their army Is three times the size of ours. How could so many Bloodspeakers hide among us?”

“Many were corrupted in the Rain of Blood,” Doji Midoru replied grimly. “Many more were simply killed by the rest, and now serve the Bloodspeakers as the undead.”

“I can sense powerful maho.” Tamori Tsukiro said with a frown. “Obviously it would take great power to raise an army such as we face, but I sense something darker underlies all this. Something ancient and evil leads this army. If we face their leader, we will perish.”

“So how do we win?” Midoru asked.

“We don't need to win,” Kyoji said hopefully. “We need only make for a weakness In their assault, fight our way through, and help the Phoenix defend their city.”

“I can see such a weakness,” Salgorei said with a nod. Their forces seem concentrated on the southern gates. If we circle the city and make a quick strike against the north, we may reach the walls before their command staff realizes what has happened.”

“You assume the Phoenix will open the gates for us, Kyoji-san,” Kenzo said darkly.

“Well, they would, wouldn't they?” Kyoji looked at Kenzo hopefully. “I mean, we are fellow samurai. We were sent by the Emperor!”

“And these Phoenix did not ask for our help,” Kenzo replied. “No doubt they would die to the last man before giving up their secrets.”

“Not all Phoenix are as foolhardy as you claim, Kenzo,” Toku replied.

“We shall see,” the Dragon said.

Kyoji looked at the rest of the offers. He looked at the organized ranks of Wolf Legion ronin, Dragon Clan samurai, and Imperial Legionnaires who followed them. He saw the doubt and uncertainty that they tried their best to hide. They were like him. They were afraid.

“What is your command, Lord Toku?” Saigorei asked.

Kyoji looked to his father. The old general was still looking intently at the valley below. When he turned to face his troops, his gaze was stem and focused. He stood confident, no longer seeming quite so old as he had a moment before.

“It does not matter,” he said in a clear voice.

A ripple of confusion passed through his troops.

“Father?” Kyoji asked quietly.

“I said it does not matter,” Toku repeated. “None of it matters. It does not matter if the Bloodspeakers outnumber us three to one or ten thousand to one. It does not matter if you must face your own father in the valley below. It does not matter if the Phoenix bar their gates, or if they rain fire upon us for discovering their secret city. There is no glory to be had here, fighting a battle in some secret valley days from civilization — and that does not matter!” Toku pointed to the valley. “I see the enemies of the Empire! I see samurai with ready swords prepared to face them! I see that justice must be done. And that is all that matters.” Toku's stern eyes scanned his officers, fixing upon each one.

When he looked at Kyoji, the young man drew his sword in salute. “For Rokugan!” he shouted

His fellow officers drew their swords and echoed his cry.

Kyoji had seen battle before, mostly daytime raids against bandit gangs, fighting beside his sister in the First Legion. His forces had always outclassed the enemy, and surrender came quickly. While there had often been violence, there had seldom been any danger.

It was nothing like this.

Kyoji swung his katana with both hands, hewing about him like a woodsman as the undead troops closed in. They were peasants, or had been once, their decaying forms clad in simple garments. Some held short spears or staves. Some merely clawed at him with jagged fingernails.

He buried his sword in the chest of one — it seized the blade in both hands, tangling the weapon in its body as it fell. Kyoji stumbled forward, thrown off-balance, and felt the heavy body of another attacker leap onto his shoulder. He drew his wakizashi with one hand and stabbed over his shoulder, burying the weapon in the second zombie's throat. It gave an unearthly cry that ended abruptly as Kyoji twisted the blade, severing the creature's head. A second stroke sliced his katana free from his first attacker and he rose with a blade in each hand.

“That's the way,” Mirumoto Kenzo chuckled, nodding at Kyoji as he cut down another of the undead creatures. “Now make for the wall!”

Kyoji nodded, following in the Dragon's wake. A raucous explosion sounded to his left as one of Tsukiro's potions exploded in brilliant green fire. He searched the chaos all around for any sign of his father. He saw the general's unmistakable back banner — marked with the symbols of the Monkey Clan and the Toturi Dynasty. Several soldiers stood in a ring around him, spears held out in a ring. Most were wounded, some could barely stand. A squad of Bloodspeaker cavalry on monstrous black steeds suddenly launched itself from the confusion, galloping toward the general. Toku stood at the north gates, waving his battle fan wildly in hopes that someone on the wall would see. A trio of red-robed shugenja appeared on the wall above the gates. Suddenly, brilliant green fire rained from the walls, enveloping the black riders.

The hidden city's gates opened.

“To the city!” Kyoji shouted, rallying whatever troops he could find. He continued slashing about with his katana, cutting down any Bloodspeaker minion who drew too close.

A handful of the undead creatures followed his troops as they passed through the gates, but were quickly cut down by jade fire from Phoenix shugenja and swift arrows from hidden Shiba archers. Kyoji charged through the gates and collapsed against a wall, gasping for breath. Outside, he saw that the gates were slowly grinding closed. The Bloodspeakers had begun to charge at the walls en masse, trying to breach the gates before they closed. Just outside the gates he saw a group of twenty Legionnaires, pinned down by a ring of shambling undead. “Hold the gates" he shouted. Without thinking, Kyoji surged to his feet and ran back through the gates. He realized, in the back of his mInd that he alone would make little difference when twenty samurai could not fight their way free. The Phoenix could not hold the gates for the sake of twenty men at the risk of hundreds more. He was probably only dooming himseff to be trapped beyond the walls. He pushed those thoughts aside, and fought.

“For Rokugan!” came a defiant cry and Kyoji was almost surprised when he realized he had been the one to shout it. The cry was echoed by those around him. A dozen samurai had followed him from the city, charging back to save their brethren.

Pressed between the twenty fighting their way free and Kyoji's reinforcements, the undead crumbled. Falling quickly into formation, Kyoji led his band back toward the walls. Arrows and jade fire rained over their heads as the Phoenix did their best to support them. More of Tsuklro's volatile potions erupted behind him, reducing undead soldiers to flaming cinders. The world erupted into bright explosions and chaos; Kyoji ceased paying attention to anythingtbeyond putting one foot in front of the other. Only when he heard the city's heavy gates clang shut did he dare look qp, finding with relief that he and his soldiers were safe inside.

Relief flooding through his body, Kyoji fell to his knees. Strong hands gripped his arms and held him upright. Looking up in surprise he saw the faces of the soldiers he had saved. Over the din of the battle they cheered his name.

Kyoji merely glanced around him, still stunned by what had happened. He caught a glimpse of his father, face exhausted yet still standing tall. Pride shone in the old man's eyes.

During his time in the Imperial City, Kyoji had seen the Phoenix Elemental Council before. He had never thought much of the Master of Air. He always felt a little distant in a distracted sort of a way. Here, today, standing in the Temple of Bishamon at the heart of the hidden city, he seemed a different man entirely. His orange kimono was stained with soot and blood. His face was hard and determined as he explained the truth to Toku and his officers.

“This city's name is Gisel Toshi,” Isawa Nakamuro explained. “The City of Sacrifice. It has remained hidden for centuries, the secret repository of the Phoenix Clan's darkest forbIdden knowledge.

“What sort of forbldden knowledge?” Mirumoto Kenzo asked,

“Magical artifacts that could neither be safely wielded nor safely destroyed,” Nakamuro said, looking at the Dragon meaningfully. “Journals containing dark magic, written by such madmen as Yori, Akuma, and Yajinden. This place is the Isawa family's deepest secret, known only to our highest ranking shugenja.”

“Yet I saw many guards outside,” Saigorel replied. “Some of them wore Shiba standards.”

Nakamuro nodded. “The samurai and peasants who dwell here have all sworn a vow — they will live and die within these walls, never venturing forth, all to protect the secrets that sleep here.”

“You are surprisingly forthcoming with secrets your clan has guarded for centuries,” Kenzo said.

“We do not hide the truth for our own sake but for yours,” Nakamuro replied. “If the Bloodspeakers had known of this place before... If they should gain access to that which lies hidden here...”

“A great deal of good your secrecy has done you, Phoenix,” Tamori Tsukiro replied. “Now we are all trapped here, outnumbered, with little hope of reinforcements, in a city that does not exist.”

“Fighting with each other gains nothing,” Toku said in a quiet voice. The old general knelt in the corner of the temple, his eyes half closed in meditation. Kyoji knew that look; his father was planning something.

“And what I have told you is not the worst of it,” Nakamuro continued. “The Bloodspeaker armies are led by a man named Yajinden. He is extraordinarily powerful, and as immortal as luchiban himself. He created many of the more dangerous items we house here.”

“Then perhaps he has come seeking what was once his,” Kyoji offered.

“That was my conclusion as well,” Nakamuro said uncomfortably. “But those are not my true fear. Once he arrived here, he no doubt sensed the power of the Black Scrolls that we hide here — artifacts that once imprisoned the essence of the Dark Kami, Fu Leng. If the Bloodspeakers should obtain those, the Rain of Blood will be a fond memory compared to what comes after.”

“So why not remove the Black Scrolls?” Toku asked. Nakamuro sighed. “It is not as easy as you suggest,” he replied. “I cannot use magic to remove the Scrolls from the city — they radiate an aura of corruption and would simply tear my soul from my body were I to try. There are a few escape tunnels that could bear the scrolls to safety, but that Is equally dangerous. Yajinden might sense that their power had left the city, and track it. It would be a suicide mission.”

“Kyoji, you sent word to Toshi Ranbo that the Bloodspeakers marched on the Phoenix lands,” Kenzo said. “How long before we might expect more troops to be dispatched?”

“We asked for no reinforcements,” Kyoji said. “It may take weeks... assuming they even find Gisei Toshi.”

“How long will the cIty walls hold?” Midoru asked.

Nakamuro was silent for several moments. “By my estimates, three more days.”

Toku looked at the Master of Air. “Nakamuro-sama,” he said. “I would like a map of this area, if you please.”

Two Shiba guards flanked the heavy steel door at the end of the cavern. They looked back at Kyoji and the others, waiting for the signal. The door would only remain open for a moment, long enough for them to ride through and flee through the mountain pass.

“Are you sure you are prepared for this General?” Midoru asked as they led their horses to the end of the cavern. The Crane looked back at Toku, his dark eyes impassive.

“Am I sure I am not too old for this, you mean?” Toku replied with a small smile. “I have defended this empire since I was old enough to hold a sword. I did not shy away from Yogo Junzo, Daigotsu, or the Steel Chrysanthemum. I will not stand aside today.”

“But perhaps it would be wiser for you to remain in Gisei Toshi, helping command the troops,” Kyoji said. “Nakamuro could use a soldier of your experience.”

Toku looked at his son evenly. “Kyoji,” he said, “I was wrong not to treat you like a samurai when I sent you away before. Show me the same respect now.”

“Hai, father,” Kyoji said, bowing his head respectfully.

Nakamuro appeared from deeper in the tunnel, followed by three Phoenix shugenja. Each held a small iron box cautiously with both hands. With great care, they lashed one box to each of their saddles.

“Only one of these boxes contains the Black Scrolls,” Nakamuro said. “For your own safety I will not tell you which. Do not touch or open the boxes until you arrive in Kyuden Isawa — though you are not shugenja their Taint is yet powerful enough to claim your soul. Bring them to Master Taeruko, she will keep them safe.”

“Carry the Fortunes, Master Nakamuro,” Toku said, bowing from the saddle. “I hope we may meet again, in this world or the next.”

“Arigato, General,” Nakamuro replied, a strange sadness in his voice. “The Phoenix cannot thank you enough.”

With that, the doors opened. A blast of snow and cold wind rushed inside, dousing the Shiba Torches. Toku gave a quiet signal and galloped out into the mountains, Midoru and Kyoji followed. The trio galloped along at a breakneck pace for several hours. The narrow pass loomed about them on either side, the walls easily a hundred feet high on either side. Kyoji had the distinct impression he was riding through a small chip on the face of the earth. As they drew further from Gisei Toshi, Toku signaled for them to slow their pace.

“It will do us no good to kill the horses before we see Kyuden Isawa,” the general said, slowing to a trot. “But should we not hurry as long as we can, father?” Kyoji asked. “If Yajinden should find us before the scrolls are delivered.”

Midoru chuckled. “Kyoji do you really believe it was ever our mission to escape Yajinden?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Kyoji asked, looking at the Crane curiously.

Midoru opened his mouth to answer, but Toku gestured curtly for silence, tilting his head to hear. Kyoji listened as well and could hear it, faintly. A rising scream, a horrible sound, building in the distance and slowly growing closer. Kyoji looked back in time to see a murky shadow build around the corner of the pass behind them. A bestial black horse galloped around the pass, bearing a tall, broad shouldered man with flowing white hair. His face was set in an expression of fierce and implacable hatred as he bore down toward them.

“Yajinden,” Midoru said, kicking his horse to a gallop. “Ride, Kyoji!”

Kyoji did not hesitate, but galloped along beside the Crane. It was several moments before he realized that his father was not beside them. He saw his father step from the saddle and reach into his kimono.

“What is he doing?” Kyoji shouted. “He's no match for Yajinden!”

“He doesn't have to be, fool!” Midoru cried. “Ride or all is lost!”

The old samurai looked back over his shoulder and smiled at his son. There was no sadness there. No fear. Only pride, and, as always, the burning light of hope.

Kyoji realized then what his father hoped to do. Gisei Toshi could not survive, not with Yajinden leading their forces. Yajinden could not be killed... but here, with the right plan, he could be stopped.

Toku drew his hand out from his kimono. Tamori Tsukiro's potion bottle glowed warmly, casting a faint radiance on the icy walls around them. Yajinden bore down on Toku, lifting his blacksmith's hammer high to end the old general's life. Toku lunged with a sudden surge of strength, hurling the bottle toward the Bloodspeaker.

Yajinden's eyes widened in sudden recognition of what was about to happen.

“One man always makes the difference,” Kyoji whispered. “Good bye, father.” The young samurai kicked his horse to a gallop and rode away as swiftly as he could.

Behind him, there was a sharp crack followed by intense silence. The mountains held their breath.

Then the mountain pass crumbled upon Toku and Yajinden.

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