The impromptu temple was one of many that had sprung up in the area surrounding the Test of the Emerald Champion, placed there by devoted monks and shugenja who could not bear the thought of Rokugan’s faithful not having the option to pray in a proper temple of their choosing, regardless of what that might mean. To Mirumoto Narumi, it seemed somewhat ridiculous.

The kami were present in all things, after all, and as such the Fortunes were present in all things. What need had the pious for a temple? Devotion was all that mattered. Still, the scent of incense had always comforted the young woman, ever since she was a child, and so she stepped into the wooden doorway for a moment of quiet to center herself.

A large man stood in the center of the temple’s altar chamber. He had not knelt, and while his posture was rigid, there was an air of reverence about him that Narumi recognized at once. She smiled, but waited, not wanting to interrupt. After several minutes, the man turned as if to leave. The only sign of surprise was a slight tilt to his head. “Hello, Narumi-sama,” he said. “It is good to see you. I had heard you were in attendance.”

“Thank you Nagiken-san,” she said, bowing slightly. “I had hoped our paths would cross.” She smiled wryly. “Although preferably not only the field.”

Predictably, Kitsuki Nagiken did not smile. “That would be most unfortunate,” he said, “although I suppose it is still possible. I assume you will be competing in the tournament?”

“I will,” Narumi replied. “And I know better than to question whether or not you advanced as well.”

“I have been fortunate,” Nagiken said simply. “I have been training for an opportunity for years.”

“I remember. The last time I was home, I mentioned to the sensei at the Iron Mountain that you and I had crossed paths. They spoke of you with what I might call reverence. You are their favored student, I believe.”

”They are great and honorable men,” Nagiken said. “If there is anything about my duty as a justicar that I regret, it is that I am not able to visit the dojo with more regularity, to benefit from their ongoing guidance. But that is not my duty.”

”Where has your duty taken you?” Narumi asked. “Taikitsu Mura,” the justicar replied.

Narumi frowned. “I am not familiar with the name.”

“Few are.” He withdrew a scroll and held it out to Narumi. “It is a small but highly productive agricultural holding of the Crane, a few hours' ride from Toshi Ranbo. The Crane Champion ceded it to the Dragon upon the conclusion of our... recent unpleasantness. The transition to Dragon control has been relatively unremarkable, but Mirumoto Kei believed it prudent to have me on hand. She referred to it as “deterrent.”

Narumi smiled broadly. The Mirumoto daimyo was adept at diplomatic statements. Most would have referred to Nagiken as a master of death that terrified those around him into the strictest possible interpretation of the law. “I am sure you have been most efficient in that regard, my friend.”

”Perhaps,” Nagiken said, “but I hope for a more interesting assignment, and very soon.” He nodded toward the fields beyond. “At the very least, perhaps – I can impress those in power to offer me a position where I can benefit not only the Dragon, but others as well.”

Narumi nodded. “Of that, my friend, I have little doubt.” She bowed sharply. “Good fortunes to you, Nagiken-san.”

He returned the bow. “And to you, Narumi-sama.”

There was a fleeting glimpse of sunlight as someone entered the house. Sawao saw on the samurai’s face a familiar expression, and smiled. He gestured to the man, who stared at him blankly. Suspicion dawned on his face, much to Sawao’s expression, but he approached all the same. “I do not know you,” he said.

”No,” the old sensei replied. “Perhaps we can change that? Sit with me, please. Have a drink.”

”I do not drink sake,” the Lion warrior said.

”Nor do I,” Sawao said, “except of course when I do.” He chuckled at his joke. “All the same, I am merely having tea today. Will you join me?”

The Lion frowned and regarded the table mutely for a moment, then finally sat. “May I know the name of my host?”

”Isawa Sawao,” he replied.

”I know of you,” the Lion said. “The shugenja duelist. A sensei and priest, and I believe a former Amethyst Champion.”

Sawao raised his eyebrows. “More than most would know, it seems! Still, they are simply titles, all meaningless. Particularly the last one, especially now that the curse of the Amethyst Crown is broken. I am impressed all the same. Now, may I know your name?”

”Akodo Shigetoshi,” the man replied.

”Daimyo of the Akodo family,” Sawao said, inclining his head respectfully. “But of course you would know me. I am, after all, part of what you would consider a hostile force occupying a city on your border.”

”Naturally,” Shigetoshi said flatly.

”I am familiar with that insignia,” Sawao said, gesturing to the armband Shigetoshi wore, “but not why a Lion might wear it.”

”The Wolf Legion,” Shigetoshi said, gesturing to the stylized wolf’s head mon. “It was offered to me by a representative of their organization the first day of the tournament. It seems that after my involvement at the Battle of Toshi Ranbo, they wish to offer their service to the Lion Clan, and the Akodo specifically, on a permanent basis. I was of course deeply honored.”

”Of course! I take it from your demeanor, however, that you are no longer a contender for the Emerald Championship,” Sawao continued. “That much, at least, we have in common.”

”I failed,” Shigetoshi said.

”Your people are so quick to judge, both themselves and others,” Sawao said. “You never examine the larger picture. Destiny unfolds for each of us, and you have a different destiny. How do you know that destiny will not lead to even greater glory for your clan?”

”Destiny is for greater and wiser men than me to debate,” Shigetoshi said. “But you are mistaken about me. I am disappointed, yes, but I do not judge myself too harshly. I was defeated by Kakita Noritoshi.”

”Yet another thing we have in common,” Sawao said, saluting the Lion with his tea. “I have heard that one of Noritoshi’s students is to be appointed the commander of the Legion of the Sapphire Chrysanthemum. The Kakita are quite prodigious these days, it would seem.” He paused for a moment. “Your disappointment, then, is not at yourself?”

”I am disappointed with myself for losing a duel with Noritoshi-sama in the same way I would be disappointed with my son for losing a wrestling match with Hida Kisada.” Shigetoshi took a drought of tea. “My son is ten years old.”

Sawao laughed. “Well said,” he replied. “Let us then drink to the success of our opponent, then, and hope that he shall carry the day.”

”Indeed,” Shigetoshi said. “And if what I have seen today is any indication, then I will drink to the alliance of the Crane and the Lion, as I would prefer not to face Noritoshi-sama again any time soon.”

The two men laughed and drank tea into the late afternoon.

The statement seemed simple enough, and those few who had assembled to watch the duel between two ronin paid it little mind. The true effect could be read on the face of the man calling himself Iemitsu, however. His lip curled up in a dismissive snarl. “You have no idea what you are talking about,” he hissed.

”That much is true of us all on an alarmingly regular basis,” the ronin swordswoman Utegawa agreed. “It does not change the truth. You claim to be from Kudo, but you are not. You are a liar, and you hide something from the people conducting this most honorable of contests. That is unacceptable.”

Ietmitsu”s eyes narrowed. “You have made a mistake,” he said quietly.

”I think not. I spent several years studying in Kudo. I know its traditions, customs, accents... you have none of them. Have you passed through the village? Quite possibly. Lived there? Never.”

”That was not the mistake I was referring to,” Iemitsu said, his voice just above a whisper. “No, in that you are correct. Your mistake was in bringing it to my attention. I would have let you live, possibly even serve me, if you wished. I could always find a use for a woman, even a homely creature like you.” He clicked his tongue disdainfully. “No, now I must kill you, just to be certain.”

”That is your decision,” Utegawa said. She dropped effortlessly into her stance. “Come and take my life, if you can.”

Iemitsu likewise entered a dueling stance. Utegawa recognized it as a modified version of the Lion in Wait, an older style that was no longer in favor in many modern dojo. It was powerful and deadly, but had weaknesses. Unfortunately for many, because the style was so rarely seen, there were few who knew how to exploit them. That the alleged ronin had advanced so far in the tournament suggested that others had fallen prey to his archaic yet effective technique.

Fortunately for her, the Lion in Wait was among the styles Utegawa was familiar with. The mysterious ronin lunged forward with devastating speed, his blade clearly angled to take Utegawa’s head. The little woman moved deftly outside his strike zone and countered with a blow that, if it had landed, would have crippled her opponent while sparing his life. The big warrior spun away, however, and the strike glanced off of the armored plates covering his thigh.

The two dropped into a circling motion, eyeing one another warily. There was a murmur from the few onlookers, for it was rare for such duels to enter the skirmish stage. That it was occurring with two ronin, an unusual match in the first place, made it all the more interesting. If more than a dozen had shown up to watch their match, perhaps it might have even been a popular story to tell in court.

Utegawa pushed such thoughts from her mind, and countered another pair of strikes. Her technique was nearly flawless, but still the sheer force of the strikes caused her to be pushed involuntarily back a step each time. She waited, letting him push her farther and farther back, allowing him to grow overconfident in her impending defeat. Then, like a fool, he risked an overhead strike, possibly correct in that even if she blocked it, the force of it would cause a head wound that would end the contest.

She had no intention of permitting such a thing. Once her opponent lifted his blade, she ceased to limit herself and struck with her true speed. As she anticipated, the Lion in Wait style did not allow for rapid counter-defense, and her blade struck across the man’s abdomen. She felt the armored plates give way, and the gentle resistance that indicated she had struck flesh. She allowed her blow to carry through, and she spun several steps away before turning to face him again in a defensive stance. All in a matter of seconds. Iemitsu snarled in irritation and pain, bringing an arm to cover his bloodied midsection even as his armor fell away. Despite his attempts, she caught a glimpse of lesions covering his abdomen. She was not particularly surprised.

”You will suffer for this,” Iemitsu said simply. He could not attempt to attack her without revealing his secret to their onlookers, and so kept one hand covering his stomach as he stuck his blade into the earth with the other and retrieved the armored plates at his feet.

”Tell your Chuda masters that their days are limited,” Utegawa returned. “I will fulfill the oaths I made.”

”Hear my oath, then,” Iemitsu said. “I will lick your blood from my blade while you lay dying in the dirt.” He turned quickly and departed, no doubt eager to be far from the tournament grounds lest she choose to report his presence.

Utegawa made no effort to stop him. She wanted the Chuda to know that she was coming. She wanted them to know, in whatever small part, the fear and anxiety it had taken her years to drive from her spirit.

Her day was coming.

Akasha raised an eyebrow. “If you like.”

”Is it true what is said of you?” Bayushi Hisako asked. “They say that you are half-Naga, but then there are so many ludicrous rumors that circulate about your clan, and the Naga as a whole, that I typically dismiss them. The rumors regarding you, however, are remarkably tenacious and consistent.”

”Of course,” Akasha replied. She had long since become accustomed to such inquiries. “The rumors are not entirely true. I am human, yes, with something of the Naga’s communal mind as well. That is the source of my name. If it is a half-Naga you wish to see, however, then you will have to travel to the Dragon lands.”

”How curious,” Hisako said, completing her exercise and beginning to stretch before taking her position. ”A fascinating people, the Naga.”

”Indeed,” Akasha agreed. “I have answered your question, and now I pose one of my own.”

”Please,” Hisako said, her head inclined.

”I have heard rumors that the Bitter Lies Swordsmen are madmen and fools to a fault. You seem like neither, and yet I have heard that you are administrator of their dojo, and the wife of their master sensei, Bayushi Kwanchai.”

”I am honored to be a Bitter Lies sensei,” she answered, “and I am indeed married to the great hero Kwanchai. I think you can see, however, that the reputation of those who study the Bitter Lies style is greatly exaggerated.”

”So it seems. Perhaps I have been misinformed.” “Perhaps you have,” Hisako said. “A dojo is being created in the Imperial City, under the largesse of the newly appointed provincial daimyo Bayushi Tsimaru. Perhaps you can join us there at some point, and see for yourself the power our techniques command.”

”I would like that,” Akasha said. “Are you prepared to begin?”

”I am.”

The two women took their stances and faced one another. Hisako shifted her position, however, adopting a peculiar stance wherein her gaze was leveled at the ground at her feet. Akasha frowned at the oddity of it, but found her center and continued.

The minutes the two women faced one another seemed to drag on into hours. There was an occasional stirring among the impatient onlookers, but neither woman paid them any heed. They both focused on the task at hand, dwelling only on one another.

Without warning, both exploded into motion at the same time. Their movement was so rapid that many did not see it, and only a second after it began, it was over. Both women stood one step past the other, their backs to one another. For a moment, no one could say who won. Then a single lock of Akasha’s hair drifted idly to the ground.

”Oh for the Heavens” sake,” she muttered, staring at the lock. “Now I will have to endure another month of Chen pestering me to cut my hair.” She glanced over her shoulder at the Scorpion warrior. “My husband prefers it shorter.”

Hisako grinned. “Kwanchai prefers it long. Men are peculiar.”

”I have plumbed the depths of the Shinomen Mori, and seen creatures that I am certain no other mortal being has ever laid eyes upon,” Akasha observed. “None of them are as strange as men, I think.”

Hisako laughed before bowing. “Thank you for honoring me with the duel.”

”My pleasure,” Akasha said, bowing. “Congratulations on your victory. May the Fortunes grant you their blessings as the day continues.”