The snow had thinned over the stone courts of the Iron Capital. Spring crept in shyly, its breath visible in the chill morning air. Two figures stood in the training grounds of the palace, steel drawn, eyes steady: Takama Gin and Mifune, the Sword Saint of the Land of Iron.
Hinata and Kaito stood a respectful distance away, watching in silence. Even Kuro, lying at Hinata's side, kept her single eye locked on the two warriors.
Takama exhaled slowly, steam rising from his lips. His stance was low, his Breath of Fire coiling within him, waiting to burst.
Mifune, by contrast, stood relaxed, almost loose. His sword hand was light, drifting like silk in the wind. His body pulsed with the Breath of Mist, elusive and ephemeral.
They moved.
Takama struck first—a diagonal slash that blurred with explosive speed, the heat of his chakra compressing into a burst of flame. Mifune vanished, not backward, but sideways, letting the attack pass through his afterimage. His blade whispered against the air, finding a shallow cut on Takama's shoulder.
Again and again they clashed—fire roaring and mist dispersing. Takama's style was powerfully assertive, with bursts of searing strikes and surging footwork. Each motion radiated the pressure of heat restrained. Mifune, however, became harder to follow with every step. His footwork was circular, flowing like mist curling between mountain stones.
On the fifth clash, Takama unleashed a frontal barrage with four fire-infused cuts, each one exploding with kinetic recoil. But Mifune moved like he was made of wind—never fully there, countering with the back edge of his blade, turning strikes aside before vanishing into a final sidestep that placed his katana at Takama's neck.
Hinata gasped quietly.
Takama stepped back, breathing hard, then gave a bow. "You haven't lost a step."
Mifune smiled slightly. "You've gained more than one."
Then, with narrowed eyes: "You resolved the death-end of the technique, didn't you? The one that came from the body-forging technique."
Takama hesitated, then nodded. "I lived. That's all. Either I grew stronger, or I died."
Mifune chuckled. "That's the truth for all of us. But few survive the test. That's why most samurai never match the monsters born from the shinobi clans."
Hinata's hands trembled faintly at the thought. She looked at Kaito, who gave her a sideways glance that said: Your father may not be the strongest… but he never stops climbing.
Before more could be said, a messenger rushed into the courtyard.
"My lords! The Daimyō… Lord Akihiko Gin… has passed. In his sleep. The court is assembling!"
Silence fell.
Mifune's eyes narrowed. "I thought it was only fatigue… Damn."
Takama clenched his fists. Hinata lowered her head. The world shifted.
<<<< o >>>>
The court reconvened within the hour, shaken and uncertain. The body of the Daimyō had been taken to the inner shrine, and murmurs filled every corridor.
Then, chaos.
From the western arch, a blade gleamed in the light—an ambush.
A masked assassin lunged from among the servants toward Renga Gin, blade glinting with poisoned malice. Another shadow flickered from the rafters above, throwing needles toward the young heir.
Simultaneously, from the eastern side, another assassin emerged with blinding speed—targeting Tenshō Gin, the exiled son.
But before the first senbon could land, Jiren moved.
He stepped forward like a shadow sharpening—no wasted movement, no hesitation. With a flick of his wrist, a small fan of paper exploded outward, scattering wind-infused chakra and dispelling the senbon illusions. His free hand spun a chain with three crimson-tipped senbon, countering the real attack with precision and lethal force.
Hinata moved instinctively, stepping forward—only for Kaito to block her. "Stay behind me!"
The would-be assassin crumpled under a cloud of unfamiliar poison. Jiren stood unflinching, and with cold clarity, turned toward the court.
Many lords on that side stared. Some impressed, others wary.
Hinata saw it clearly—he knew it was coming. The way he had reacted… not surprised, not flinching. His soul had pulsed in silent anticipation, as though he had awaited his cue.
And yet, some in the room whispered in awe. "He protected Lord Tenshō with such mastery..."
Tenshō himself adjusted his robes calmly, offering Jiren a faint nod of appreciation. His expression was unreadable—was it genuine gratitude or the satisfaction of a gambit falling into place? Hinata couldn't tell, but she caught the brief flicker of calculation in his eyes."He protected Lord Tenshō with such mastery..."
Meanwhile, on the opposite side, Mifune moved.
The Breath of Mist was faster than thought. His form flickered through the air like a ripple across a lake. With one graceful motion, he drew his blade and cut the assassin mid-stride, a single line of blood blooming across the floor. His second move was a blur—parrying the poisoned needles with the flat of his blade.
A third attacker tried to escape. Mifune spun once, his katana flowing like fog in reverse, and struck the ninja across the back without killing him.
Three enemies. Three defeats. All in moments.
Guards flooded the chamber. The attackers were unmasked—rogue shinobi from Kumo and Kiri, marked by faint tattoos and missing headbands.
Renga, breathing hard, had a shallow cut on his side. Not deep, but enough to cause panic.
"He's been poisoned!" a healer shouted.
Takama rushed forward. "Get him to the shrine now!"
As the court exploded into activity, Hinata stood motionless. Her hands clenched. Her threads reach toward Renga, she feels the black threads around his soul remain, without moving forward. Feeling his soul flicker—but still hold. He would survive, for now.
Behind her, Mifune's expression hardened.
"No more hesitation," he said to Takama. "I will not take a side between your kin. But I will not let this country be torn apart by whispers and knives."
"What do you intend?" Takama asked.
Mifune's gaze turned to the assembled lords. "We form a neutral council. Until one proves worthy of the Iron Crown—not by blood, but by resolve. And until then, the Sword Saint watches the throne."
"Will you join me?"
The age of silence was over.
And the age of shadows… had begun.
<<<< o >>>>
Later that night, Hinata sat in quiet meditation, her fingertips barely brushing the floor of her chamber. The murmurs of the court still echoed in her thoughts—the awe toward Jiren, the dread of poisoned blades, the flicker of life still clinging to Renga's soul.
She had watched Jiren act.
He had moved like one who had studied the strike before it came. Not just reflex—certainty. His soul, to her perception, had not been surprised. It had been… prepared. Still. Cold.
He knew the attack was coming.
And yet, the others admired him. They compared his movements to Mifune's, and praised his mastery.
But Hinata could feel it. Beneath the surface of that soul was a whisper of something else. Something fractured and watching. Not Jiren alone.
She tightened her fists.
If the court would not see it, she would.
Although she still didn't know how to act on it