Outside the towering walls of Gifu, nearly a thousand Martial Apprentices gathered in the crisp morning air. Men and women of all ages stood clad in matching black dougi embroidered with the crest of the flower, holding spears, swords, and bows while waiting for the signal to march.
Yet despite their uniform attire, a stark social divide split the ranks. The noble-born Martial Apprentices clustered in arrogant, self-contained circles, exchanging laughs while keeping the peasant-born and lesser-branch martial artists firmly on the periphery.
Regardless of status, however, every eye kept drifting toward the center of the square.
There stood Mikan Furutsu, the sole representative of the Iaiashin household.
Her long, vibrant orange hair was pulled back into a neat braid, throwing into contrast the deadly assortment of throwing knives at her waist and the spool of nearly invisible filament thread resting opposite them.
As the most powerful Martial Apprentice in the clan and the "girl" of primary heir, the Spear Saint Hideyoshi Toyotomi, her presence was unmissable. Though Hideyoshi was politically bound to marry Lady Oda, the daughter of the late head Nobunaga, which was causing a huge stir among the noble houses. Master Iaiashin's immense influence protected Mikan from overt harassment—at least under normal circumstances.
A small group of noble apprentices sauntered over, wearing practiced, condescending smiles.
"Ah, Lady Mikan," the lead noble began, bowing with exaggerated flare. "How remarkable it is for someone of such... humble origins to stand as the face of the Iaiashin household today. It truly proves that with enough fortune, even a peasant can walk beside giants without relying on inherited martial blood."
Mikan didn't blink.
Remembering Inyen's lesson on handling arrogant aristocrats, she let out a tired breath.
"You insult me," Mikan said flatly. "Must we duel to the death?"
The noble's smile instantly shattered. He paled, taking a panicked step backward. "I—I merely meant it as a compliment to your luck! Forgive me!"
A few of the surrounding noble apprentices quickly stepped forward, waving their hands in nervous haste to smooth over the tension.
"Ah, Lady Mikan, please! He was merely testing your spirit!" one noble offered with a strained, sweating smile. "A bit of lighthearted humor before war, nothing more! Surely there's no need to speak of duels to the death!"
"Indeed, indeed," another joined in, adjusting his noticeably pristine collar. "We all harbor the utmost reverence for the Matriarch's household. It was only a harmless joke among clan peers!"
Mikan didn't answer right away. She simply stared at them with flat, unbothered eyes, letting the suffocating silence force them to awkwardly trail off and retreat a few paces.
"Unless," Mikan added smoothly, her voice cutting through the air, "one of you would care to step up and take his place in an honorable duel to the death? Since you are all so eager to speak on his behalf."
The nobles stiffened, their nervous smiles instantly freezing on their faces. Not a single one dared to meet her eyes, hastily bowing their heads and stumbling backward into the crowd like scolded dogs.
The peasant-born and lesser-branch apprentices exchanged stunned, wide-eyed glances. For years, they had been forced to swallow the condescension and veiled insults of the high-born houses without raising their voices.
Seeing a girl from a simple background casually bring a crowd of arrogant aristocrats to their knees with a single cold question set a quiet spark through their ranks.
Power truly is the answer to all problems...
Before Mikan could turn away, another noble stepped forward, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his katana. "Pay them no mind, girl. Though one does wonder... yesterday's grand spectacle at the Steel Convergence... it felt remarkably convenient, didn't it? Almost as if the final bout was scripted to ensure the Iaiashin name retained its glory."
He phrased it carefully, slandering her victory without directly accusing Matriarch Iaiashin.
But Mikan stayed completely cool, keeping Hideyoshi's advice in mind: Never show weakness or kindness to those who insult you first.
It was why she wasn't her bubbly self. To these leeches, appearances are everything.
She had to create a cold, unshakeable persona, much like Hideyoshi.
The man reached up, lifting his silk bandana slightly to reveal a strangely shimmering eye. "I possess the inherited True Sight of my house. I see right through you. So how about this? A duel right here. When I win, I shall spare your life—instead, you will immediately marry into my house to save yourself from public dishonor."
The crowd murmured at the noble's arrogant proposition.
Did he have a death wish or do his eyes truly see something they don't?
Mikan's eyes narrowed slightly, realizing something.
He works for the noble faction opposing Hideyoshi. If she were forced into a marriage, Hideyoshi's political standing might take a direct blow... even if she was not his true fiancé.
The noble smirked, opening his mouth to goad her further, expecting her to hesitate.
"Alright," Mikan interrupted smoothly. "If I win, I take your honor and your life."
A wave of muted gasps rippled through the crowd. The surrounding Martial Apprentices tensed in sheer disbelief—had she really just gambled her entire future on a single duel?
Were they about to see something that would shake up the clan?
Across from her, the noble could barely contain the manic smirk spreading across his face. He had expected excuses, stuttering, or a desperate plea to rely on Matriarch Iaiashin's authority. He truly thought she was a fake, as his elders in the clan had told him.
To have her agree so effortlessly felt like an incredible stroke of divine luck.
To steal a prized jewel directly from the prodigious Spear Saint... what a glorious feeling, he thought, his heart pounding with triumph.
His family's influence within Sekigahara would skyrocket overnight. They would gain a legitimate thread of connection to the prestige of the Iaiashin household, all while dealing a humiliating, crippling blow to Hideyoshi Toyotomi's rising authority before the campaign even began.
He allowed his eyes to trail over Mikan's sharp, striking features and her long, vibrant orange braid. Not only was she a massive political trophy, but she was a stunning beauty in her own right—a prize fit for a noble house.
"A wise choice, Mikan," the noble declared loudly, his voice echoing across the square so every house head's aide could hear him call her first name.
He slowly drew his polished katana from its scabbard, the steel ringing sharply in the morning chill. "You preserve whatever little dignity your peasant blood holds by facing your fate like a true martial artist."
As he fell into a refined, high-guard stance, his mind was already wandering past the battle.
Now... how should I handle her? he pondered, adjusting his grip on the hilt. With my True Sight reading her movements, beating her wouldn't take more than three exchanges. But I must be careful not to mar that pretty face or break her limbs... it wouldn't do to present a battered bride to my patriarch before the marriage arrangements are sealed.
He smiled, his eyes narrowing as he focused on her posture. "Give it your all."
———
Shortly after, Senior Ephraim arrived alongside a dozen senior escorts, hovering near the grand gates to oversee the departure. Ephraim looked down at his calloused fist, remembering the terrifying aura of Moretsuna from the day before.
"How unlucky," Ephraim muttered with a heavy sigh. "A realm-locked dungeon... I was hoping for a way to unwind after fighting that monster."
Though having said that, he was already looking forward to sparring with the man again in the future.
Before he could ponder further, an aide hurried up, bowing frantically. "Sir! We have a problem!"
Ephraim frowned. "What is it?"
"We are missing one martial artist, my lord!"
"What? Whose Martial Apprentice is missing before we've even marched?"
"It's... a medium-high grade Martial Apprentice from one of the noble houses," the aide stammered, sweating bullets. "He was killed."
"Killed?!" Ephraim's eyes widened in disbelief. "Were we ambushed by enemy scouts?!"
"No, sir... it was a formal duel," the aide swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he leaned in close. "And... well, it was an the issue it that it was hardly a fight. The noble suffered sheer, utter humiliation before he died. His house head will definitely heard of this and make a massive uproar, demanding execution or public flogging for such dishonor..."
"What on earth?!" Ephraim growled, his face contorting with genuine outrage. "Who in their right mind pulls such a disrespectful stunt right outside the gate during an official military assembly?! Who did this?!"
The aide offered a strained, deeply uncomfortable cough. "Ahem... It was... the Iaiashin household's representative, sir."
Ephraim froze mid-rant.
A suffocating silence descended over the Senior's area. The anger completely drained from Ephraim's face, replaced by a single, prominent bead of cold sweat rolling down his temple as the terrifying image of his Master Iaiashin and champion Moretsuna flickered through his brain.
Ephraim cleared his throat loudly, his imposing stance instantly deflating.
"...Well," Ephraim declared flatly, crossing his arms and looking straight ahead. "It was an honorable duel. And he instigated it. End of topic."
He hastily adjusted his pauldrons, desperately pivoting away from the subject. "More importantly, we are down one head. Should we just grab a random apprentice off the city streets to fill the count?"
Before the aide could reply, another messenger whispered in his ear.
The aide's face lit up. "Ah, my lord! Great news! A rogue Martial Apprentice from the walls has already stepped into the ranks to replace him! Our count is complete!"
Ephraim let out a small laugh. "Lucky. Then we move!"
Leaping into the sky alongside the other Seniors, Ephraim signaled the army as the grand gates opened, beginning the march toward the meeting place and onward to the Severian Plateau.
———
As the thousand-strong force began moving, a wide, empty circle naturally formed in the middle of the march.
Every Martial gave Mikan massive space, steering completely clear of her. Mikan walked alone in the middle as if having a domain that pushed everyone away, letting out a soft sigh.
She knew she had to make an example of the noble, but she had to admit... she might have overdone it.
Instead of a quick, clean kill—she had stripped his defense, bound him with her invisible thread in a humiliating, exposed posture, shredded off all his clothes, and slowly choked him to death in front of everyone, no matter how much he begged for mercy.
She hadn't even bothered throwing a single dagger.
Pathetic weakling.
She eclipsed her peers as she was at the very peak of the Martial Apprentice realm, the only thing she was missing was the Squire procedure to become a Martial Squire, after all, she had already found her martial path and had since cultivated her style to its foundational maturity.
She was fortunate enough to still be a Martial Apprentice for this campaign, at least.
Not only could she bring the Iaiashin household and the Kinzoku clan glory—she was also looking forward to meeting a martial artist Merun had warned her multiple times of.
A man in Kandria called Rui Quarrier.
He was going to be there, her brother informed her in secret.
A quiet thrill buzzed beneath her skin. In truth, every muscle in her body was practically itching with excitement to test herself—to see just how far her skills could reach against a true opponent. To ground the sudden surge of bloodlust and calm her racing thoughts, her hand instinctively dropped to her hip.
Her fingers gently brushed against the cold metal of her throwing daggers and the spool of razor-thin filament thread resting beside them. Together, the paired weapons bore a single name: Portia.
Mikan glanced toward a nearby group of martial artists, and the moment her eyes swept over them, they instantly looked away, wiping cold sweat from their brows and picking up their pace.
Feeling the familiar weight of Portia beneath her palm helped settle her pulse.
Her mind drifted back to her brother, Merun. He rarely ever spoke of anyone with genuine caution, yet just that morning, after the Ki lesson, he had looked surprisingly tense—almost worried—about some foreign martial artist originating from another land.
It was a rare, very odd sight for that silly boy who usually treated everything like a game.
He really did change during their separation, huh?
BUMP.
Suddenly, someone forcefully collided with her shoulder, snapping her out of her thoughts. Mikan blinked in surprise—everyone had been keeping at least ten paces away from her.
She turned to look up. Standing beside her was a tall, broad-shouldered warrior carrying a massive greatsword wrapped in cloth across his back. He was clad in armor topped with a full zunari lacquered kabuto helmet, complete with an iron faceguard that completely hid his features.
A deep, muffled voice rumbled from behind the steel mask:
"Sorry. I joined in late."
Mikan tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing as she looked the armored man up and down.
Despite the heavy kabuto obscuring his face and his broad, imposing silhouette, there was a strangely familiar air about the way he held himself.
She raised a single orange brow. "Have we fought somewhere before?"
The helmeted man froze for a fraction of a second before clearing his throat with a stiff, muffled cough behind the steel faceguard.
"Ahem... maybe."