Kazekiri awoke to the familiar face of Gintaro standing over him, glaring at him with a somber expression. Kaze sat up and stretched nonchalantly.

  “So how did it go?” he asked, feigning disinterest.

  “You should have been there,” his friend said sternly. “You owed it to him to say goodbye.”

  Kaze rose, walked to the side of the clearing, and relieved himself. When he was finished, he turned around and addressed Gintaro, who was still staring at him with a look of immense disappointment.

  “I am sorry, Gin-kun, but that’s just not my style. He should know how I feel.”

  Gintaro at first frowned, but then his face relaxed. “He said you’d say that.”

  “It was difficult,” Kaze admitted, “But it was necessary. Now we can forge our own destinies and not be ruled over by the dying Order. I find no fault in old Nakoto but for his undying faith in that useless religion.”

  Gintaro nodded but did not respond for several moments, as he pondered over this newfound freedom. After several moments, he asked, “So what now?”

  To this, Kaze grinned. “Come with me, my brother.” Kaze then led Gintaro away from the campsite and through the dense forest for several minutes. He could sense his comrade’s anxiety, his loss. He needed to lead him to some better path, or else how could he possibly lead others?

  After a few moments, they came to the edge of the forest. Kaze pushed over a branch, displaying the panorama before them. They were high upon a hill, and before them was a great expanse of flat land, bisected only by a small winding stream. On one side of the vista was a great host of samurai, teeming like black ants, and far across the way was another host, swarming like hornets. Both armies appeared equal in number. Both appeared to be preparing for combat.

  “There will soon be a great battle here,” Kaze said with audible excitement. “It is in battle where we must first make names for ourselves.”

  Gintaro stared out onto the field with suspicion. “So many. How will we be able to make a name for ourselves down there?”

  “Remember what I told you, Gintaro, deeds. Great deeds make a man. Right now, in this time of war, hardiness and swordsmanship are highly prized. And that is exactly what we are good at.”

  “We have been trained to destroy yomi, not men,” Gin countered.

  “Both have flesh, do they not? If one can be cut, so can the other. Besides, battles like this shape the future of these Islands. What has stamping out monsters in the dark ever done, other than earn us scorn? Let us use our skills to be something.”

  This drew a strong nod from Gintaro, who seemed to agree with this sentiment.

  “Now,” Kaze continued, “Let us pick a side.”

  To the left, that army displayed violet and bore the banners of the Shōgun, young Yoshimitsu Akira. To the right was the brown standard of the Buta, the renowned tribe of southern Nakashima.

  The Buta had shown their daring, or arrogance, in challenging the Shōgun to outright battle. This has not been the first time the Shōgun had been challenged, but this was the first time that young Akira had been challenged within his territory. The plain of Iwakuma sat about a week’s march west of the Shōgun’s holdings in Yoshimitsu Harbor, and the Old Capital was just a day or two march from there.

  The Buta had sacked one of Akira’s castles along the outskirts of his realm and now pushed eastwards. However, before they could advance, Yoshimitsu decided to rush out and meet his foes. There was a rumor that the ōgi Clan of Higashi-shima might sail northwards and reinforce the Buta on their path to Yoshimitsu City. While the ōgi were not known to have a great army, they did have excellent siege craft. If Yoshimitsu Castle were to fall, then the Old Capital would be ripe for the taking. The young Shōgun hoped to forestall his enemies before they could meet.

  “They say young Akira is a fool for rushing out,” Kaze observed. “If he had stayed in Yoshimitsu Castle, it could have been years before they got him to surrender.”

  “Yes but think of how many people live in Yoshimitsu City,” Gin replied. “It is second only to the Old Capital itself. All those people would suffer terribly.”

  Kaze laughed. “You might be too soft for war. Yet you are the best swordsman I know. Very well, I can already see whose side you are on. Let us join the young Shōgun and see what he is about.”

  With that, Kazekiri pushed past the branches and strode in the direction of the purple banners. Gin stared at his friend with a startled expression. “Now?” he cried out.

  “Yes, my brother. We must at least enlist, lest we be considered mercenaries.”

  It was not long before the two young men were spotted and taken into custody by the scouts of the Shōgun’s army. They were escorted into one of the tents in the encampment and then interrogated by one of the officers. The man who interrogated them was a seasoned military man with a pot belly and a blustery temper. His name was Kusakabe, and that was the only name he gave. He reprimanded the two young men harshly for, as he called it, “Waltzing up to a battlefield as if it were a child’s game of karuta.”

  “Do you expect me to believe you are not spies of the Buta clan?” he roared. “I would throw it away as rubbish, except that your backstory is so absurd, no Buta could contrive such a tale. You decided to join this army because you felt it would be interesting?”

  Gintaro looked upon Kusakabe with a kind of bemusement, while Kaze rolled his eyes in boredom.

  “The army of the Shōgun is free to join, is it not?” asked Kazekiri once he was afforded a moment to speak.

  “It was!” answered the officer. “But now we are on the verge of battle. How do we know you won’t defect or run off and spoil the morale of my troops?”

  “Kusakabe Taisho-san,” came a soft voice from the entrance to the tent.

  The officer whirled around and at once bowed low and held his position. “Akira-sama!” he cried.

  “Akira…” Kira murmured, and his eyes all of a sudden seemed to blaze with intense interest.

  At the entrance of the tent stood Yoshimitsu Akira, the great Shōgun of the Islands. He was a young man in his mid-twenties, which had garnered him the nickname ‘Young Akira.’ While it was debatable whether he actually was too young for the position, he carried himself as a man born into power and privilege, and those who saw him immediately knew he was of the highest nobility. His countenance seemed to be set in a fashion so that it appeared at the same time both intense and detached. He was also strikingly handsome, with smooth skin and straight black hair that had been pulled back and tied behind his head. His splendor contrasted with the sublime and angular beauty of Kazekiri, for Akira’s beauty was of a solid, regal kind. He was not particularly tall, but was lean and muscular, and held a majesty about him that seemed almost tangible. Furthermore, as it was nearing the time of battle, he had donned his magnificent armor, the silver mail of the Shōgun with a fine purple cape trailing behind him.

  His voice was soft but clear, and he was known for being direct so that none could mistake him. “Let those two do as they will,” he said to his officer. “If they wish to join us, have them swear fealty and then be properly equipped. They already have swords, which means they should be of some use to us, and we will need all we can get, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes, my lord!” Kusakabe rejoined, still holding his formal bow.

  Akira smiled, and this was a thing most exquisite. “By the way, Kusakabe-san, what are you doing here, of all places?”

  “My lord!” Kusakabe returned in a loud, booming voice. “I feel ill at ease sitting around by myself before a battle. I’d rather be scolding these youngsters or ordering others about.”

  Akira laughed. “Well, you were never the one to hide how you feel. That is what I respect about you most, Kusakabe-san. But in this heed me, if you would. Come to my tent, we shall prepare for this storm together.”

  Kusakabe bowed even lower if it were possible. “You honor me too much, my lord.”

  “You would honor me with your company. Once you finish with them, come join me in my tent.” Akira then set his piercing gaze upon the two young men in the background. “May the All-Kami watch over you both,” he said, before disappearing back into the chaotic camp environment.

  Kusakabe slowly rose again and then turned around. Both Gintaro and Kaze could tell that he would have liked to tear into them further, but he could not disobey his liege lord. “Very well!” the general cried. “On your knees! Now, swear that you will fight for House Yoshimitsu, the house of the one true Shōgun, to serve him and his family, as he wills, when he wills, for life or for death.”

  The two made their pledges and then were directed to the armorer to be outfitted. When they came to the armorer’s tent, they were greeted by a shaggy-haired man named Omoto. Unlike Kusakabe, Omoto greeted them with some semblance of respect and hurriedly set them up to be equipped. He handed Gin and Kaze their own munition armor, a kind of iron-plated armor that covered the chest and had skirt-like protection for the rear and thighs.

  “These won’t do,” Kaze said, after trying to move about in the heavy armor. “I cannot move like this.”

  Gintaro seconded this opinion, and they both removed the armor.

  “What?” Omoto cried, unable to understand how anyone would refuse extra protection. “You plan on running out to meet your foes in nothing but your nightgowns?”

  Both men were obstinate, so Omoto changed tactics. “You must at least change your kimono, or else how will anyone know you belong to the Shōgun?”

  This seemed reasonable enough, so Omoto was able to suit them in a dark purple kimono that signified that they were fighting for House Yoshimitsu. He also convinced them to wear armored armguards and shin guards, as these were relatively light and did not restrict their mobility. He at last offered them each yari spears, but they adamantly refused, reminding him of their own swords, which they kept tucked at their sides.

  Just as Omoto had about finished, a great booming of drums began to sound in the camp.

  “It is time!” Omoto said with excitement. “The Shōgun will advance! Get to your companies right away!” he urged them.

  “We do not have a company yet,” Kaze tried to explain, but Omoto was so beside himself that he disappeared into the back of the tent and did not return.

  Shrugging to each other, Kaze and Gin left the armorer’s tent and followed the hurrying soldiers to the front. Once gathered there, they did not have to wait long, for Kusakabe soon strode out in front of the great host and began to address them.

  “Listen, men!” he shouted, and as he was accustomed to barking orders, his voice easily stretched from one side of the line to the other. “The Shōgun has just received news of the treachery of the ōgi Clan. Even now, they are sailing and making plans to land at our rear. If this happens, we will be stuck between the hammer and the anvil, and you know what will come of it. Our best chance, so the Shōgun deems, is to strike now, hard and swift, at our enemy across the way. They have the advantage in terrain, as they have the high ground, and are fortified on either side by dense forestry. Your job is to advance and take the high ground, and allow the cavalry to follow behind and wipe them out. However, we must be wary. On the south side of their position, they occupy a ridge, and the gradient there is steep. No horse could climb it, but some hardy and courageous men on foot might.”

  He then turned to a section of soldiers where Gintaro and Kaze happened to be. “This company will be tasked with taking the ridge. But be warned, it will be well defended. It is likely that this position will contain many of their best warriors, and behind them, many archers looking to whittle down our host.” He seemed to stare directly at both young men in that moment, but neither of them could be sure. “This is the time when you must lay down your lives for the greater good. Remember the oaths you swore! This is our Shōgun; may his house endure forever!”

  This caused a great chorus of shouting from the Yoshimitsu host, several thousand strong.

  Kaze glanced at Gintaro, and his eyes gleamed. “This is our chance, brother. Let us take hold of our fate here and now. From here on out, there is no turning back.”

  Gintaro did not smile, but nodded, as his heart began to race.

  Suddenly, the enthusiastic shouts died out. The Shōgun himself had ridden up to the head of the army and sat atop a white horse which was also armored in shining silver. He raised his hand to get the attention of the army, and all hung on his every word.

  “Gentlemen!” he cried, and his voice was clear and pure. “This is a fine day. Yes, this is a fine day indeed. For today shall be the day that we put an end to this war. We will cleanse the Islands of this filth and wash it into the ocean. These arrogant fools dare to threaten House Yoshimitsu. They are the same as that insolent rabble who long ago threatened the House of the Emperor, or even those who threatened the Shinjin himself. However, our time is not yet over. Look about you. This is the greatest army the Islands have ever seen. Some of you have been with me a long time, some have just come here today. Either way, you shall fight knowing that you fight for the side of justice, and if you die, know that you die on the side of truth.”

  To this, an even greater cry rose from the host, as Akira unsheathed his glittering sword and galloped up and down the line, rousing all who saw him.

  Even Gin and Kaze could not help but get caught up in the thrill of the moment and raised their swords and cried, “For the Shōgun! For honor!”

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  Eventually, Akira raised his sword one last time and then left to join his mounted samurai in the rear. The host then began their final preparations, checking their weapons one last time and making sure their armor was fastened tightly. Some strapped large purple flags to their backs, with the emblem of the Shōgun flapping in the gentle breeze. Others took one last swig of sake or water from their flasks.

  When all was ready, the drums in the background boomed once again, signaling the advance.

  “Onwards!” cried one of the soldiers, somewhere amid the ranks. At that, the great host of men began to push forward.

  At first, the Yoshimitsu army marched in near lockstep, neither slowly nor quickly but simply inexorably. Both Gintaro and Kazekiri felt a surge of energy as they advanced in the midst of such a company. They had lived the past several years in the wilds, separated from others. Now they were a part of a great army, proverbial cogs in the wheel, and it made them feel both unsettled and ecstatic.

  Eventually, the army’s pace began to quicken. Cries from the opposite army echoed from ahead of them, and in response, the Yoshimitsu began to move unconsciously faster. Excitement mingled with the fear of death began to course through their veins. An unseen force began to draw them in, like magnetism, and from that moment on, none could stop what was to come.

  A hurried stride turned into a run, and then a run into a sprint. Both armies let loose a resounding cry as a clash grew more imminent.

  Kazekiri looked over at Gintaro, who had a wild grin on his face. They both could feel it. The thrill of battle was upon them.

  Then came the arrows.

  From the left portion of their vision, a cloud seemed to rise in the distance and then drew rapidly nearer. The onset was so sudden that it did not break the advance of the Yoshimitsu soldiers until the murderous barbs fell.

  “Archers!” one soldier screamed.

  “Continue the advance!” came the voice of another, probably an officer. “They’ll pick us apart otherwise!”

  Both Kaze and Gin were able to avoid the first volley, but only narrowly. Gin had deflected two arrows with his sword, and Kaze had one pierce his kimono near the thigh, but it did not contact his body. Once they knew they were all right, they continued to advance with the survivors. Already, many Yoshimitsu soldiers lay upon the ground and would never rise again.

  At about this time, the front of the Yoshimitsu line was bracing for the collision with the Buta host. Since the Buta had the advantage of the high ground, their line struck like a thunderbolt. They instantly began to push the Yoshimitsu backwards.

  “Don’t stop! Advance, you fools!” came the officer’s voice again, and this time Kaze recognized it to be Kusakabe. He was urging the men from the back of the line forward to bolster the fractured front. Gintaro and Kaze rushed ahead, where the chorus of metal on metal and the wailing of the fallen was the loudest. This was their first time in hand-to-hand combat with their fellow man, besides practice against their teacher or each other. It felt strange, but there was little time for reflection.

  Buta foot soldiers moved in towards them, stumbling and stabbing wildly. The well-trained youths smoothly dodged their misplaced attacks and smote them in the gaps of their armor. It was not long before they reached the very front, where the fighting was the most intense. They moved unfazed by the carnage around them and fought with great concentration, as they had been taught.

  Whether by the skill of the two young men or the reinforcements that soon arrived, the front line of the Yoshimitsu began to stabilize, and eventually it began to advance.

  “Now, the hill you fools, climb the hill!” Kusakabe’s voice rang through the noise.

  As foretold, there was a steep embankment to the left, on the top of which many of the archers stood, raining down arrows on the Yoshimitsu below.

  Kaze eyed Gintaro, and he instinctively understood, and both retreated and then ran towards the embankment, along with other desperate soldiers. However, once they reached the far left of the column, they soon realized that this task would be more difficult than they originally thought. While most of the archers were targeting the body of the Yoshimitsu host, others were stationed at the very edge of the embankment, shooting down at any soldier who dared to try to climb up.

  One brave soldier ventured forth, and he was instantly stuffed with three arrows. Another three rushed the embankment, only to be picked off one after the other. All the while, arrows continued to fly overhead and fall amongst the thinning Yoshimitsu army.

  “We have to take that hill!” Kaze shouted to Gin amidst the chaos.

  Gintaro nodded and then had an idea. “Let’s try this!” he cried, grabbing one of the fallen soldiers at his feet and heaving him over his shoulder. He used the dead body as a shield, knelt low to the ground to decrease the chance of being hit, and slowly made his way up the embankment. Kaze did the same, and two turtle-like figures zig-zagged their way up the steep hill. Other Yoshimitsu saw the success of the two men, but were largely unable to copy this strategy, for they were not hardy enough to carry the bodies of their fallen comrades.

  Eventually, the two young swordsmen made their way to the top of the embankment. A dozen arrows were stuffed into the bodies of men they had carried up, but the two had not completely avoided injury. Gintaro had been grazed by an arrow in the left arm, and Kaze had one skim his ear and right lower leg.

  The two were filled with anger as their injuries burned. As soon as they reached the top, they heaved aside their human shields and dashed forth. The pair then unsheathed their short swords, as they were taught, and cleaved away at the perimeter shooters before turning towards the archers in the center. The two moved so quickly, so sporadically, that it was difficult to know where they would strike next. Moreover, the archers were not fast nor skilled enough to make the shot at point-blank range, and so the two swordsmen began a slaughter so fierce that most of the archers eventually took up and fled. The ones that remained were caught up in the advance of the other Yoshimitsu warriors, who had climbed the embankment now that the defenses had been cleared.

  Once the hill had been taken, both Gintaro and Kazekiri took a moment to rest and take in the scene of the battle. The Yoshimitsu front was slowly pushing the Buta back, and the archers had dispersed from the area. However, what they did not know was that they were being carefully observed by the Great Buta himself, elder daimyō of the Buta clan, and he had already dispatched his own shock troops to retake the hill.

  A menacing horn call sounded from the rear of the Buta army, and two dozen fully armored samurai strode forth in tight formation. Their heavy armor clanked, and their heft shook the ground beneath them.

  At their coming, many of the Yoshimitsu were filled with fear and fled, but Kazekiri and Gintaro remained, and twirled their blades about, readying for the onslaught. Because of their bravery, many that might have fled remained, and that was well, for even two men could scarcely hope to take on two dozen of the Buta’s finest.

  “We cannot stand here and let them come to us,” Kaze thought, seeing the terror on the other soldiers’ faces. “Charge them!” he cried, as his wild voice lifted above the din. This was just enough to inspire the surrounding men onward, and the hosts clashed atop the embankment with such fury that all below were surprised and filled with awe.

  At the very front of the charge were the two apprentices of Nakoto Jinsai, and their advance was something to behold. Their terrible blades seemed to cut through the armor of the Buta as if it were grass. Blood spewed across the field in torrents, and eventually a red midst seemed to rise from the plain.

  Though many of the brave Yoshimitsu soldiers fell, the entirety of the Buta shock troops was destroyed, and both Gintaro and Kazekiri remained alive. It was difficult to tell if they were wounded or just covered in the blood of their enemies, but their open eyes roved back and forth, ready for anyone else who would challenge them.

  The challenge finally came as the Great Buta himself rode up on his horse, along with his brother, who many called the Red Tusk, for he was deadly in combat. Both warriors rode up with their personal bodyguards, but they did not permit them to fight.

  The two lords advanced several paces and then halted, studying their adversaries. “Who are you?” called the Great Buta, his deep voice rumbling like thunder. “Of what samurai house do you come from?”

  Gintaro glanced over at Kaze, for he had no lineage, but Kaze did. Kazekiri, however, did not declare himself yet. “We have no great lineage,” he returned from across the way. “We are merely humble servants of the Shōgun.”

  At this, the Great Buta seemed to laugh, but it sounded more like an echo of short grunts. “Peasants then? Has my house fallen so far that we will be defeated by mere peasants? In the bygone days, samurai and only samurai were allowed to be involved in combat. Now we fight against rabble, against chance, against nameless walls of flesh. The whole point of battle was to reveal the beauty of a glorious death. Now what has it come to?”

  “While it may be easy for a commander to expound on the beauty of a glorious death, I wonder what those who actually do the dying think?” Kaze returned, and this eloquence surprised Gintaro.

  “We are here, are we not?” the Red Tusk rejoined, sensing Kaze’s subtle insult. “We have not resorted to foul tricks or treachery, but we have come to do one-on-one combat. Ready yourselves!”

  Both the daimyō and his brother settled into fighting stances and drew out their blades. The Buta warriors were famous for fighting with nodachi, a kind of great sword, which required two hands to wield. Unlike the long swords of Gintaro and Kazekiri, the nodachi were much longer and heavier. The Great Buta, perhaps in his fifties, was still massive, standing two heads above even Gintaro, and the Red Tusk was no less great. With their power and range, they would be fearsome adversaries.

  In addition, both wore great heaps of bronze-plated armor, so that they seemed more like mountains than men. Every opening seemed to be guarded by the lavish plate, and the helms they donned both appeared monstrous and impenetrable. They were designed in the image of the Boar kami, with gleaming eyes and wicked tusks splayed outwards like spikes. The Great Buta’s helm bore the image of the Boar with a gaping mouth, while the Red Tusk’s was shut in a manner of controlled rage.

  Gintaro looked over at his friend and nodded, signaling that they were content with the matchup. Gintaro stood facing the Great Buta, while Kazekiri stood across from the Red Tusk. If they had spent any real time in the world, they might have been frightened, or at least intimidated. The daimyō and his brother had formidable reputations and were highly skilled swordsmen. But to these two young men, they were merely the next challenge, and they had not known defeat unless to each other or to their teacher. They stood their ground while all the remaining Yoshimitsu soldiers cowered away in fear.

  The battle still raged all around, and at this point, the sun was at its peak in the sky. The bronze armor of the Great Buta and the Red Tusk glinted in the brazen sunlight, as did the blades of Gintaro and Kazekiri.

  The Great Buta moved forward first, charging into battle with a throaty howl and lifted blade. The Red Tusk followed moments after. The two younger men had not fought against enemies with nodachi before. The closest they could recall was a battle against an oni chieftain who used a kanabō, a kind of giant spiked club. What they gleaned from that battle was one crucial thing: do not get hit.

  The Great Buta swung first, and the force of his attack seemed to singe the air in front of Gintaro, who sprang backwards just in time. The Red Tusk attacked next, this time diagonally, and it took Kaze all of his power to dodge the speedy blow.

  The young swordsmen were put on the defensive, and they did everything they could to avoid being hit. They knew that even one glancing blow from the powerful nodachi could be devastating. But as time went on, their hopes of finding an opening dwindled. The two Buta warriors moved tactically, never leaving room for an opening. If there was a moment of weakness, then one warrior would move to defend the other, eliminating any chance of a counterstrike.

  The young swordsmen were soon pushed back to the very edge of the ridge. They had yet to land a single attack on their foes. Both men were sweating profusely under the harsh sunlight above. Their limbs burned with exhaustion.

  “Gin-kun!” Kaze cried, and there was notable panic in his voice. “What should we do?”

  Gintaro did not see a single weakness in their opponents' defenses, especially because they used each other for cover. If they could be separated, however, they might stand a chance.

  Gintaro rolled to the side, just as the Great Buta slammed his nodachi down to crush him. This would have normally left a chance to swipe at his arms or even nape, but the Red Tusk was already in position to punish either of those strikes. Instead of getting up, Gintaro continued to roll to the left and then got up and resumed his fighting stance. This put the two Buta back-to-back, as Kaze anticipated his friend’s plan quickly and moved in the opposite direction.

  The Great Buta and his brother did not, at first, sense this subtle change in strategy, for their enemies had been pushed back as far as they could go, and it would have been natural for them to move in any direction they could. The Great Buta, confident in his prowess, charged forward, and Gintaro let him on for some time. He focused on defense until the two Buta were separated by a distance of several men. Then, he pivoted to offense.

  The nodachi was a fearsome weapon, but it did have its weaknesses. One was that if the attacker overextended, there would be an opening until he could return to his defensive position. This time, the Buta slashed sideways in a great arching motion. Gin ducked, rushed forward, and then jabbed at his thigh guard.

  The heavy armor was indeed thick and deflected most of Gin’s attack, but his consecrated blade was incredibly strong and sharp, and penetrated just enough to draw blood from the skin. The Buta roared from beneath his helm, and his veins seemed to swell along his hands and forearm.

  Meanwhile, Kazekiri landed two strikes on the Red Tusk, but neither had caused considerable damage. At that moment, both young men knew that there was a chance, and such hope gave them renewed energy. At the same time, the sudden resurgence of their young foes filled the Great Buta and his brother with dismay.

  “Are these boys kami?” the Great Buta wondered. “They look like children. Where has Akira been hiding such warriors?”

  From that point on, the battle between Nakoto’s young apprentices and the Buta raged on evenly. When one side seemed to gain momentum, the other would counterattack and gain a little ground. Those who were able to witness this duel were in awe, and if it were not for the battle roundabout, all might have been mesmerized by the skill displayed by the four great warriors.

  Not least of those who beheld this contest was Yoshimitsu Akira himself. Recognizing early that his infantry would have a dire time breaking the line of the Buta, he decided to bring his cavalry south, into the wooded forest, in hopes that he could flank his enemy. He was wise to do so, for the Yoshimitsu were unable to penetrate the Buta lines at any point in the battle thus far, but he was met with staunch opposition in the forest. The Great Buta, foreseeing that Akira might try to flank him, set up sentries and many wooden obstacles in the forest. Akira managed to lead his cavalry through and around such obstacles and fought off all resistance, but it came at the expense of valuable time.

  By the time he reached the forest’s edge near the embankment, the Buta were beginning to rout his precious army. However, what caught his eye and held his attention was the battle between Gintaro, Kazekiri, and the Buta high nobility.

  “Were those not the boys from this morning?” he wondered to himself. “Surely, they are no mere peasants. They fight like the Shinjin’s disciples. Will the All-Kami at last grant me favor in this endless war?”

  He gazed at them for some time, but once it appeared the Buta were gaining the upper hand, he looked back and called his men forth.

  “Yoshimitsu! House of the Shōgun! To battle! Ride out! Do not let up until you reach the other side! Then, turn and charge again!”

  He unsheathed his glittering sword, Kiseki, and then charged into the field of battle upon his white horse. In his left hand, he held his famous sword, but in his right hand, he held a great iron lance. He rode at top speed towards the Buta and his brother, who had finally gotten both Gintaro and Kaze on the ground and were preparing to make a final strike.

  Akira’s horse exploded forth with great haste and got him within throwing range. The Shōgun readied the lance, took aim, and then threw the bolt as hard and as far as his strength would allow. The distance was enough, and his aim was true, and just before the Great Buta could cut the fallen Gintaro in half, the lance struck directly within the open jaws of his massive boar helm. The giant warrior stopped immediately, dropped his nodachi, and then crumpled to the ground in a heap.

  At that time, turmoil exploded upon the field of battle, and many things happened at once. The onslaught of the cavalry of Akira was indeed well timed, for in the bloodlust to push the main body of the Yoshimitsu army into a rout, the Buta had neglected their flanks. The cavalry picked up speed and rode over the rear of the Buta as if they were but dandelions underfoot.

  The Yoshimitsu infantry, seeing the great charge of their leader before them, were inspired and redoubled their attack, pushing the Buta back into the second cavalry charge. By the time the cavalry had gone once over and back again, the Buta’s host was decimated, and they began to scatter in all directions. With the Great Buta dead, there was no strong leadership to rally them, and thus the battle ended with Yoshimitsu as the victor.

  The Red Tusk, who had stumbled over to his brother’s corpse once he had seen him fall, knelt over him in silence for some time. Both Gintaro and Kaze had recovered enough to fight once again but could not bring themselves to harm a man in grief. Within minutes, his bodyguards came and bore him and the body of the Great Buta away, and it was said that he returned to his domain without further injury. He became the new daimyō of the Buta clan, but for some years after, there was strife between him and the Great Buta’s son and heir, Futoro. So, it came to be that from that battle on, the Buta did not openly rebel against the Shōgun while Akira remained alive.

  As for Kazekiri and Gintaro, they were exhausted after their duel with the Buta lords and would have liked to find a soft patch of grass to lie down and rest. However, too many had witnessed their deeds, and a cry rose up from the Yoshimitsu army. “Kaminari Kyoudai! The Brothers of Thunder!” The call repeated and gained strength, and without thought, the two young men raised their swords, and all gave a great shout, enough to fill the entire battlefield. A throng of soldiers surrounded them, lifted them up, and carried them back to the camp as heroes.

  Two men watched this scene with intense interest. One was Yoshimitsu Akira, the other, and from much further away, was Nakoto Jinsai.