The fear was quickly replaced with rage. Mitikori reached down slowly. He pried the ropes off, cutting the loose cords with a spare kunai. No word from Yoshida. Mitikori knew why. As the Ronshin flipped the young man onto his side, Mitikori realized Hiroshi was awake. Gagged at the mouth. The yokai hunter’s black eyes narrowed to a slit at the white cloth stuck into the boy’s mouth. Sarugami weren’t usually bothered by noise. The kunai finished cutting the rope and Mitikori stood up without a sound. He turned on his heel and hauled himself out from the pit. 

“Wait sir!” The young prince’s voice came from behind him. Yoshida was gone. As expected. One wasted kunai. Mitikori began to curse silently as his feet reached the top of the pit. The upheaved earth was soft. Freshly aerated It clung to the edges of the Ronshin’s hakama. Just as the weight of finding the emperor’s son stuck to Mitikori’s mind. “Mitikori-sama, please wait!” The boy cried again. The Ronshin was halfway to his pack. Despite himself, words seemed to spring forth, 

“It’s quite alright, Hiroshi. I saved your life, and I’ll be on my way now.” 

“Mitikori-sama, I must repay you for saving a divine’s life.” 

“You’re not divine. Your father is just a power hungry madman,” Mitikori shouted. The anger was getting the best of him. Better to try to regain his composure and leave as quickly as possible. The Ronshin began to swing his pack and cloak on, when he realized he was far from alone. Royal guards began to emerge from the trees. They held katanas and naginatas at the ready. It seemed Emperor Amagawa did not expect his old friend to come willingly. Mitikori unsheathed Kurohada. Mitikori let his cloak slide off his right shoulder. The heavy pack clattered on the ground, but not before Mitikori slipped a few fireworks into his sleeves. As well as the poison for his kunai. 

“Mitikori-sama,” The young king-to-be fell before the Ronshin. His face was pressed against the mountain dirt. Mitikori noted again how young he looked. Unnaturally so. By autumn, he would be well into his twenty-third year, yet the boy looked no older than fourteen. “I must repay this life debt. Allow me to humbly offer you anything you would desire.” 

“No need. My only desire now is to be off this mountain as far away from imperial company as possible.” 

“I bear gifts of whatever you could want, even my half sisters, should you desire.” Mitikori was becoming increasingly aware of the closing guards. They wore face masks of the imperial seal. Black cloth covered their arms and legs, so no skin showed. The dry clouds suffocated the light from the mountain clearing. 

Behind the main guard were the riflemen. Not the plucky young soldiers Mitikori had seen in Aoyama. These were sharpshooters. Their flint-lock guns were sturdier, made from black iron. Mitikori watched them appear from the wreckage of the village. 

“You speak of gifts, princeling, but all I see are guns. You would offer me koban in one hand with a knife in the other?” 

“You must accept Mitikori-sama. I would offer you anything you desire first, but if you will not, we have no choice.” 

“Where is Haruki?” 

“Here Kotoba,” The grand emperor of Tokiwa’s voice carried a heavy weight to it. Even when he spoke calmly or naturally, his gravitas always commanded the scene, no matter how much Mitikori hated his words. 

Haruki Amagawa egressed from the wall of his black-guard samurai. He wore long emerald robes embossed with gold and black onyx. His long hair was dyed white like the snow of Yukieizan. It was held back by a plethora of pins and combs, all of which reflected the Tokiwa dynasty's black or emerald colors. His robes had long sleeves that ran down to his knees. At least that meant he likely couldn’t fight well. Mitikori knew of his old rival’s famed skill with the blade, but unless he had brought tasuki to tie his sleeves back, the Ronshin would win by wrapping him up with his own robes. Mitikori began to circle the emperor. He kept Kurohada at the ready, but looking at his odds, talking his way out was probably a wiser choice. 

“So this wasn’t an onikuma? Just an emperor and his riflemen? What did the yokai village mean to you?” The deep claw marks and thrown wood seemed to indicate a being of extraordinary strength, but Mitikori knew the power of forced labor. 

“No onikuma did this. I sent Yoshida to check personally.” Amagawa’s voice was tense. His usual charm was restrained, replaced instead with silky command. 

“Why the charades? I never knew you to be a fan of theater.” Mitikori’s voice, on the other hand, was rough and low, like that of a criminal who knew he was caught. 

“Yoshida is an expert, but I wanted you to see this destruction with your own eyes. In your heart, you know that no onikuma could create this total obliteration. For even the great beast itself was slain without a second chance.” Mitikori’s eyes narrowed. A long wooden cart bearing the great corpse of a giant onikuma was wheeled out into the remnants of the village square. Its body was similar to the other corpses. Maimed and abandoned. No meat was taken. No trophy of fur or claws. Just a deep gash through its neck. Swift. Bloody. Inescapable. 

“So then it was you? What? Some new kind of black powder weapon? Instead of shooting rocks, it swings blades?” Mitikori held his ground against the emperor. The divine didn’t believe their lies counted as sin. After all, why should a god care about truth for the living? 

Hiroshi was still prostrate before the monster hunter. He hadn’t lifted his head to look at the Ronshin since he began speaking. Unbefitting of the new daimyo. 

“This was not my doing Kotoba. What business would I have with some yokai village in the far north?” 

“I don’t know!” Mitikori shouted. His boiling rage surged out. “I don’t know why you are here. I don’t know why your son is lying before me like a peasant. I don't know why you sent Yoshida. That’s the way it always is with you, Amagawa. I never know!” Amagawa bowed slightly. He couldn’t allow his head to dip too far, but the gesture showed he was at least willing to admit his faults. Mitikori began to calm his breathing. 

“This was the work of a yokai. It came from lands afar and in its first night here it murdered an umi bōzu, this onikuma and an entire village of yokai. It didn’t eat them or take a prize. Then the next night, it murdered an entire village of hunters without them even waking. Finally, on the third day, it came to the first palace on Yukieizan and killed Hiroshi. Before you now is Ryoma. My eldest son is dead. He never even got a chance to reach his blade.” Mitikori looked down at the boy. Tears had begun to drip onto the ground. 

“Ryoma?” Mitikori knelt down to the young boy. His tears were barely hidden by his downturned face. He wore the robes of his brother only as a thin disguise. His thin body couldn’t fill the much larger clothes. 

“This beast is unstoppable. My head hunter, Lady Kagemitsu Takeda, said she fired on it, but the beast simply shrugged off the black iron. I do not believe it can be killed as it doesn't even bleed.” 

“Then what would I do?” 

“You have long hunted yokai, but during that time, you have studied them as well. I seek your prowess in finding the great dragon Ryūakuryō. I must attain its immortality.”