Translation: Word (Microsoft), there are probably errors in the masculine and feminine pronouns.
Chapter 8
The sun was just beginning to tint the horizon in orange and red tones when a sharp sound broke the tranquility of the morning. A piercing, almost annoying shriek echoed over the territories of the Chiba, Miura, and Uchima clans.
Each leader, minding his own business, looked up at the sky, frowning.
"Tsk! What an annoying sound!" muttered Chiba Takamasa, watching the peregrine falcon soar soar through the skies with a calculated flight.
"Since when have these birds been flying so close to our territories?" Miura Haruto asked one of his men, who shrugged, just as confused.
"I don't know, my lord. Maybe a stray falcon..."
"Hmph, I don't like it," Uchima Yoshinori growled, following him with her eyes. "Kill him if he gets too close."
None of them suspected that these peregrine falcons were not mere birds.
They were spies.
Meticulously trained by Senji, Hana, and Himari, these hawks had a clear mission: to investigate enemy territories, observe suspicious movements, and uncover hideouts of leaders who needed to be eliminated.
From the heights, where no samurai could reach them, the falcons kept watch. Sharp eyes, steady wings cutting through the wind, his presence was an extension of the Muramasa's will.
And in Nagoya's heart, Senji, Hana, and Himari watched with satisfaction as they received information from their faithful birds.
The hunt was just beginning.
A day later...
The rain fell incessantly, like a gray blanket that covered the vast expanse of the forest. The drops hit the wooden ceiling insistently, forming small puddles at the entrance of the house where Chiba Takamasa was reviewing the scrolls scattered on the table.
His brow was furrowed. I had been waiting for an hour for the storm to subside, but the sky was still dark, as if foreshadowing a misfortune.
Outside, the guards shared their discomfort.
"Damn rain..." muttered one, adjusting his armor.
"Yes... and the worst thing is that it doesn't stop making me feel... restless," replied another, rubbing his arms, as if a shiver had run through him.
The forest around the house was thick, the trees offered a natural cover that made the place a perfect hiding place. But even the densest vegetation couldn't stop the inevitable.
Thunder tore through the sky.
For an instant, the darkness dissipated with a white, electric flash.
And in that split second, a shadow appeared among the trees.
Something else was present.
The light faded, bringing darkness back to the forest.
The guards tensed. His eyes scanned the thicket, but there was nothing there anymore.
"Did you see that...?" one whispered, his voice heavy with doubt.
"Just... it was only lightning..." replied the other, though his hand reached for the handle of his sword almost instinctively.
Steps.
Not rushed. Not hesitant.
Firm, confident, unwavering.
The guards turned their heads toward the muddy road that connected the house to the thicket. A figure approached, holding a black wagasa.
In the dim light of the storm, his silhouette was silhouetted with an overwhelming presence. His pace was slow, unhurried... as if the rain did not affect him in the least.
The screech of the wagasa as it closed echoed with a sinister echo as the stranger dropped it to the ground. The guards swallowed hard.
"A-stop there!" shouted one, wielding his spear with trembling hands.
There was no response.
Senji Muramasa simply looked up.
Cold eyes. Deep. As if they were contemplating insignificant prey.
Hell had just arrived at the Chiba Clan's doorstep.
The storm raged over the Chiba Clan, but in another corner of the night, death loomed over the Miura Clan.
Thunder tore through the sky, and for an instant, its pale light cast a dark shadow on the soggy ground.
One of the guards saw her first.
His breath stopped in his throat.
With an instinctive gesture, he looked up at the roof of the Miura Clan's leader's large house.
There, in the incessant rain, a figure stood tall.
Hana Muramasa.
The black wagasa she held kept the water from soaking her hair, but her clothes fluttered in the icy breeze of the storm. The silhouette did not move. He didn't say anything. I was just there, watching.
A shiver ran through the guards.
They didn't know why, but they felt that presence pass through them, as if their souls had been seen... and marked for death.
"W-who...?" one stammered, his hand trembling on the hilt of his katana.
The answer did not come in words.
But in death.
While blood stained the night in the domains of the Chiba and Miura clans, another fate was sealed in the rain...
The Fujimoto Clan still didn't realize that their end had come.
Unlike the other clans, here the storm brought no echoes of war or shadows on the roof. There was no thunder announcing death, no spectral silhouettes watching from above. Only the rain... and the soft murmur of the wind.
The guards at the entrance to the main residence remained at their posts, without the uneasiness that plagued the other clans. Perhaps because they had not yet sensed the danger.
Or perhaps because death was already among them... and they didn't even know it.
One of the guards, his armor soaked, sighed wearily and adjusted his katana to his waist.
"What a damn night...", he murmured.
"Yes... but at least here he is calm," replied his partner.
The first nodded, but at that moment his face turned pale.
He realized something.
Too late.
The sound of the rain had changed.
There were no more footsteps on the muddy ground, no echoes of movement in the thicket.
The wind no longer blew with the same intensity.
Everything was in a strange silence... as if nature itself held its breath.
And then they saw it.
Standing in the middle of the cobblestone courtyard, holding a black wagasa gently, his dress impeccable despite the storm.
Himari Muramasa.
His expression did not reflect hatred or anger. Not even satisfaction.
Just peace of mind.
The tranquility of someone who already knew how it would all end.
The guards wanted to move. Raise their weapons. Shout a warning.
But they couldn't.
Because the instant his eyes met Himari's... they knew they were already dead.
The entrance of the Chiba Clan, guarded by two guards, was brutally destroyed. Their mangled bodies crashed to the cobblestone floor, fist-sized holes in their chests still dripping with blood. The scene was horrific. The guards in the courtyard instinctively backed away, feeling a chill run down their spine.
The sound of rain clattering against the stones was interrupted by the creak of shattered wood. Among the remains of the collapsed entrance, a figure advanced with a firm step. There was no hurry in his walk, nor did he hesitate. Just an overwhelming presence that made the hands of the men holding their katanas tremble.
Thunder lit up his face for an instant. There was no fear in his eyes, no trace of concern. Just cold determination and a killing intent that was in the air. The guards swallowed, feeling their swords weigh heavier than normal. But they had no choice.
One of them shouted, charging toward the shadow that had crossed the entrance. It was his last action in this life.
The guards broke his paralysis and lunged at him, katanas held high, screaming to drown out their own fear. But it was useless.
The first to attack could barely see Senji's movement before his own sword was deflected with a thud. The blade, guided with monstrous precision, pierced the chest of his companion behind him. A gasp escaped the dying man's lips before collapsing onto the damp cobblestones, blood pouring out.
Another guard attempted a downward slash, but Senji, effortlessly naked, stopped it with the palm of his bare hand, breaking the attacker's wrist as easily as a child breaks a twig. The man fell to his knees, screaming in pain, but his scream was interrupted when Senji grabbed him by the face and smashed him to the ground with such force that the skull broke like a broken vessel.
The others hesitated, but did not have time to react. Senji was already upon them.
He moved among the guards like a living storm, deflecting each slash with a flick of his wrist, turning enemy swords against their own owners. One man threw a desperate thrust, but Senji turned his body with lethal grace, pushing the katana into the path of another guard. The blade pierced his throat, and a stream of hot blood mixed with the cold rain.
The cobbled path was covered with bodies. The blood formed scarlet rivulets that snaked through the cracks between the stones. The last survivors took a step back, finally realizing that they were not facing a man, but a monster. But it was too late.
Senji moved forward without stopping, his silhouette silhouetted against the light of the lightning. The rain washed the blood from his face, but not the brutality of his gaze. Each step brought him closer to his goal.
Chiba Takamasa was waiting for him at the end of the trail, and his fate sealed.
The rain pattered against Hana's black wagasa as it descended from the roof with the lightness of a leaf in the wind. His silhouette barely touched the ground when a metallic flash tore through the darkness.
A scream was drowned out in the storm.
The nearest guard didn't even feel the cut as his head separated from his body, rolling across the soggy ground. His blood mixed with the rain, darkening the stones beneath his feet.
The others reacted with an instant delay, and in a battle against Hana Muramasa, an instant was enough to die.
In a fluid motion, his katana spun in his hands, gliding between the defenses of two men who had barely drawn it. A clean, precise cut. One of them fell to his knees, his torso spread diagonally while the other barely had time to see his own hand come loose before a second blow opened his stomach from side to side.
The storm roared with another thunderclap, illuminating the macabre scene.
The last guard, paralyzed, backed away awkwardly, his katana slipping on his wet hands. He tried to scream, but his voice cracked in absolute terror.
Hana walked toward him as calmly as death approaches the damned.
The man tried a desperate slash.
It didn't matter.
With a single twist of her wrist, Hana deflected the blade with the flat part of her katana and, in the same motion, made an upward slash.
The guard's sword fell to the ground with a thud. His arm still held her.
The man staggered, pain barely registering in his mind before Hana stepped forward and pierced his heart with a firm thrust.
Silence.
Just the sound of rain.
Hana withdrew her sword in an elegant motion, letting the lifeless body collapse at her feet.
His gaze rose to the house.
Miura Haruto hadn't had a chance to escape.
He knew he would look for him in his room.
And soon, the storm would take his last breath.
The rain continued to fall heavily, dragging blood down the stone channels like crimson rivers in the spectral light of the storm.
From the darkness of the Fujimoto Clan's main house, a figure emerged with calm steps, slipping through the carnage with the indifference of one who had already determined the fate of everyone around him.
Himari Muramasa.
His kimono, spotless, had little trace of blood, save for a few small splatters on his sleeves, as if the slaughter that had taken place inside had not required the slightest effort on his part.
In his right hand, he held the head of Fujimoto Daizen, the leader of the clan, whose eyes still reflected the horror of his last moments. His mouth remained ajar, as if he had tried to utter his last words, without having had a chance to finish them.
Around him, the bodies of his men lay scattered on the cobblestones. Some without arms, others without legs, several matches in two as if they had been opened without resistance. The rain beat down on his remains, slowly washing away the scene of his brutality, but it could not erase the stench of death that permeated the air.
Himari advanced without haste, the weight of the head in her hand seemed insignificant compared to the sepulchral silence that surrounded her.
At the end of the road, the few paper lanterns that were still lit flickered in the breeze, casting distorted shadows on the wooden walls.
He didn't look back.
There was no need.
The Fujimoto Clan had ceased to exist.
❅──────✧❃✧──────❅•
The light from the lamps flickered softly in Oda Nobunaga's private room, casting elongated shadows on the tatami. The scent of incense mingled with a faint trace of stench, a subtle but undeniable presence.
In front of Nobunaga, lined up precisely on a crimson silk cloth, were the heads of the leaders who had dared to rise up against her. His empty eyes reflected the weight of his decisions and the inevitable outcome of their confrontation.
Sitting with a straight back and a serene expression, Nobunaga silently watched the macabre presentation. An instant later, a smile was drawn on his lips.
"Magnificent." His voice was soft, but full of satisfaction. "They have done an impeccable job, as always."
Before her, Senji, Hana, and Himari stood on their knees, their gazes steady, without pride or arrogance, only with the serenity of those who do their duty.
Nobunaga looked over the three Muramasa, as if memorizing the image of his faithful servants.
"There is no one else in this world who can give them orders," she continued, in a tone that brooked no question. "Just me. And you have shown, once again, why I trust you."
The room remained absolutely silent. In the corridors, Nobunaga's servants and generals waited, but none dared to get too close. They knew that the Muramasas answered to no one but their mistress.
Finally, Nobunaga took his sake glass and raised it slightly in recognition.
"Rest. The night has been long."
The flames of the lamps flickered, casting the shadow of the Muramasa on the walls. They were shadows that, over time, would become legends.
And with that, the storm of that night came to an end.