Hoshor Plains BLADE ARTS I

a slave. what kind, masa has a few guesses.

his visage softens, having caught a whiff of the man's unease. though dull gamboge eyes continue to scrutinize him. i see. i apologize for the suspicion. it is rare i am bowed down to. he looks beyond him now, catching the silhouettes of those frankly not much bigger than the man. no wonder they seek arrangements.

why do you stray from them? he returns to machiavelli with a question that tilts the samurai's brow. if it is curiosity of the territory, then i'll have to accompany you.