The crossroads lay in morning shadow, four paths carved into Tsushima's bones by centuries of travelers. Stone markers weathered smooth bore distances to villages that might no longer exist. Jin's horse shifted beneath him, eager to move but uncertain which direction held purpose.
Katsuo sat motionless on his own mount twenty paces away. His scarred face revealed nothing as he studied the northern trail that wound into mountain forests. Dense pine and oak promised concealment. Places where a man could disappear completely.
"Hiyoshi village still has forty families," Jin said. "Good defensive position. They'll listen if we approach correctly."
"They'll listen to you." Katsuo's voice carried no inflection. "The Ghost has a reputation for mercy. They'll trust that."
The words stung because they were accurate. Jin had cultivated that reputation deliberately—the protector who saved without destroying. People believed in the Ghost because they needed hope.
"What about you?"
Katsuo's smile held winter. "I'll do what I do best. Gather information. Remove obstacles." His hand rested on his sword hilt with casual familiarity. "The mountains have secrets. I'll find them."
A hawk circled overhead, hunting rodents in the tall grass. Patient. Methodical. Deadly when it struck.
"We could coordinate," Jin offered. "Share intelligence. Combine our efforts."
"To what end?" Katsuo turned in his saddle, met Jin's eyes directly. "You want to inspire them. I want to terrify them. Oil and water."
Jin's horse took a step toward the southern path without command. The animal sensed his rider's intention before Jin acknowledged it himself.
"The convoy yesterday—"
"Worked exactly as intended." Katsuo's voice cut clean. "Supplies captured. Intelligence secured. Enemy strength reduced. Mission accomplished."
"The boy didn't need to die."
"The boy chose his employer poorly." Katsuo gathered his reins. "I won't apologize for efficiency."
Jin studied the man who'd saved his life, fought beside him, shared the weight of impossible choices. The scar across Katsuo's chest caught morning light—three parallel lines marking him as traitor to his former lord. Punishment for refusing to execute prisoners' families.
A man who'd once chosen mercy. Now choosing its opposite with the same conviction.
"We're fighting the same war," Jin said.
"No. We're fighting in the same war." Katsuo's horse stepped sideways, eager for movement. "Different targets. Different methods. Different definitions of victory."
The hawk dove, struck something in the grass with surgical precision. When it rose, small prey dangled from its talons.
"When will I see you again?"
Katsuo considered this question with the same calculation he applied to everything else. "When our paths cross. Or when one of us eliminates the need for the other."
Neither man moved. The moment stretched like bowstring tension—ready to snap, send arrows flying in opposite directions.
"The Mongols aren't our only enemy," Jin said carefully.
"I know." Katsuo's eyes held depths Jin couldn't read. "Lord Shimizu taught me to recognize all forms of betrayal. Including my own."
Jin's hand found his katana's grip. Not threatening—just needing the familiar weight of honest steel. "What does that mean?"
"It means I'll do whatever Tsushima requires. Even if Tsushima ends up hating me for it." Katsuo turned his horse toward the northern trail. "You'll try to save everyone. I'll save whoever can be saved. We'll see which philosophy survives contact with reality."
The scarred rōnin spurred his mount forward. Jin watched him disappear into forest shadows, swallowed by pine and possibility. No farewell. No backward glance. Professional departure from a temporary partnership.
Jin sat alone at the crossroads, feeling the absence like phantom pain. His reflection wavered in a roadside puddle—distorted by surface tension, recognizable but changed. The face of a man who'd learned to sharpen more than swords.
His horse turned south without command, drawn by some equine instinct toward human habitation. Toward Hiyoshi village and the families who'd need convincing. Who'd need inspiration more than intimidation.
Behind him, branches whispered secrets to the morning wind. Ahead lay the careful work of building hope from desperation.
Jin rode toward his chosen war, leaving the crossroads empty except for stone markers and memories. Somewhere in the mountains, Katsuo was already becoming legend—or nightmare.
The island held its breath, sensing the storm to come. Two samurai, two philosophies, two visions of salvation set loose on Tsushima's suffering earth.
Both believing themselves righteous.
Both probably wrong.
The crossroads waited for their next meeting, patient as stone, inevitable as winter.