Blackfeather Woods the assassin's road

A nihon-man? Shinjou lifted his head, bewildered—the stranger was gone. He had vanished like a specter, as if he had never been there at all. This was no ordinary man. For a moment, Shinjou could only stare, breath caught, too astonished to form a reply.

He stood firm, tail high, muscles coiled, poised to meet the coming assault.

Who asks? He had asked, his voice laced with a touch of almost youthful arrogance, like that of a fervent young warrior, restless despite his years. A practiced defiance masking the unease beneath. No one here knew him yet, so why not fashion himself into something bolder than he was? After all, a man becomes what he pretends to be, does he not?