At noon, half a day from home, the exhausted army paused for lunch. As they marched, many of their wounded died. They had yet to go a night without a funeral. Their morale had sat low for days, only with the sight of Shigeto castle in the distance did their mood begin to pick up once more.

The sun had been beating down on them for days, unrelenting. The ground beneath their feet was all dry and cracked. It was with relief that they passed through forests, for the large canopies of leaves would give them a brief respite from the sun.

Gengyo sat away from his men, as he was taking to doing more and more lately, deep in thought. On his lap, there sat a package, wrapped thickly in cloth. A messenger had delivered it as they marched, alongside news from the castle. Whilst they'd been away warring, Takeshi and Morojo had been busy rebuilding their defences, amongst other things.

Oddly – for him at least – he found himself hesitating before he unwrapped it. There was something about gifts hidden inside paper and wrappings that he distrusted. Often, more time was spent wrapping a gift than in choosing it. It seemed like a form of compensation. If this is someone's severed arm or leg… From the shape, it seemed very likely that it could be a limb.

Irritated by his own imagination, he tore back the coverings. A sword, he recognised immediately, though that one word did not do it justice. The sheath alone had been given more attention than it ought to. Dark and polished wood, with a dragon of gold winding its way along the length, only revealing its head when it darted along the handle and out onto the pommel. Its jaws parted in a fearsome roar just above the leather wraps of the handle. The attention to detail was astounding.

Slowly, he drew it, worried that he might mar its perfection. Only then did he notice the red jewels used for the eyes as a ray of sunlight lit them up. It was perfectly balanced in his hands, and ever so light. He knew it would be deathly sharp as well, if it was crafted by who he thought. Along the blade, there were engraved a series of characters, and he read them out loud in a whisper.

"The Monk of Mikawa. For he who even tigers pose no threat."

He had to smile as he read it. The timid little blacksmith could be quite amusing at times. He could imagine the words slipping out of his mouth. He was rather fond of the man, for all his quirks. But The Monk of Mikawa? I hope that doesn't catch on.

He tried a few practise swings, and it cut through the air with greater ease than any weapon he had ever wielded. Takeshi's craftsmanship was something of legend. If he closed his eyes and swung, it did not take much imagination to feel like he was plunging a blade through into another dimension.

But the sword contained a greater meaning for him than merely a present. The gold and jewels that had been spared for its creation meant that the order he had left for Morojo and Takeshi had been completed. Shigeto castle was lavish beyond need, overrun with gold and jewels and rare vintages of all kinds. Whilst they warred, he had ordered it stripped. That alone was enough to finance much of what he intended, though control still needed to be established.

Through the utilising of messages, his presence could be felt across the land without him even having returned yet.

Against the dark knight sky, a horse thundered along a cobble road, panting heavily, globules of its saliva falling back against the boots of its rider and onto the brown fur of its side. The rider skidded to a halt just before the heavy wooden gates and the towering stone walls, inviting the immediate ire of the night's watch.

"WHO GOES THERE, AT THIS TIME OF NIGHT?" A guard shouted down, leaning out over the top of the wall, torch in hand, two bowmen by his side, ready to loose an arrow at the slightest provocation. They had been infiltrated once, with ease, and their commander lay dead for it. These Okazaki men were not about to let that failure repeat itself.

Through their tenseness, the messenger dug past the confines of his armour, deep into his kimono, withdrawing a scroll and holding it up towards the light, hoping that they would see it. "NEWS! THE WORD OF MIURA TADAKATA!"

That name was loaded. It bore an immense weight in their city. It was not something a man dared to utter lightly. The guard's aggression received, and he proceeded more cautiously, transitioning into respectful speech. "MIURA-DONO? THE MAN STILL LIVES?"

"THAT HE DOES! HE HAS SLAIN THE TIGER OF KAI AND LOOKS FOR THE SUPPORT OF YOUR GOVERNOR IN HIS FUTURE CAMPAIGNS!" The messenger shouted back up, proudly. He was a peasant that had fought at the front and had witnessed Gengyo seize victory with his own eyes. He had been so inspired by the spectacle that he had volunteered for the role of messenger, just so he could spread the news, despite the injuries that still bothered him in the saddle.

There was silence for a few moments as the guards muttered to one another. It was a matter to be handled delicately. They knew their governor would want to hear of this. Ever since they'd heard news of Imagawa's death, they'd been expecting a visit.

"OPEN THE GATES! HE BARES THE DAIMYO'S NEWS!" The guard shouted at last. The gate horses were reawakened and harnassed and following a stroke of the whip, they pulled with all their might. Those heavy slabs of wood creaked open, revealing the delicate light of the nighttime city. The messenger quietly urged his horse inside, making sure his scroll was within clear sight so as not to arouse unfounded suspicion.