CHICHI DESCENDED from the sky with her usual clamor, her agitation palpable in the air. "He's evil, truly evil," she repeated urgently, her wings fluttering anxiously. The master approached her, offering a cup of water to soothe her distress.

"What's happening, Chichi? Tell me," he implored.

"The shore, it's surrounded," Chichi exclaimed, her voice fraught with concern.

The master's brow furrowed. "Expected, but why the alarm?"

Chichi's response was chilling. "They've trapped civilians, using them as human shields. Many of your kin are there, bound in chains."

"Human shields?" The master's shock was evident; such despicable tactics were beyond the pale, even for Misuki.

"Yes," Chichi affirmed, her voice trembling with outrage. "Misuki has descended into savagery. I couldn't believe my eyes."

Kishira's tears flowed freely, a torrent of helplessness and anguish. "How dare he?" she cried. "He's forcing us into an impossible choice: to slay our loved ones or to surrender."

Kasaki watched her in silence. Everyone else looked at each other. She was right. It was immoral to kill a hostage. What were they going to do now?

Mikono stood firm, his demeanor resolute as he addressed the group. "So what?" His words hung heavy in the air, drawing the attention of all present.

Kishira's anger flared. "What did you say?" she demanded, her voice sharp with frustration.

"I said, 'so what?'" Mikono replied with a nonchalant shrug. "That won't deter me from giving my all in battle. My own father is held captive by Misuki's forces, but if he stands in the path between my sword and my enemy, I won't hesitate to act."

Swiftly, Kishira brandished her sword, pressing it against Mikono's neck. Tinoue and Master Ohnitto intervened, preventing her from escalating the confrontation.

Mikono's smile was unwavering. "That's it," he affirmed. "This is war. There's no room for weakness. We're here to emerge victorious or to meet our end. There's no middle ground. I know my father would understand. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good, for the future generations. We must press forward, despite the enemy's underhanded tactics. Perhaps our resilience will catch Misuki off guard, giving us a fighting chance against him."

"However unconventional Mikono's approach may seem," the master began, his tone thoughtful yet resolute, "there's truth in his words. We can't allow sentimentality to cloud our judgment. Surrendering now would mean certain death for us all, and a bleak future for our loved ones and the generations to come. We must be willing to make any sacrifice for the chance to reclaim our freedom."

Kinsu nodded in agreement, his voice firm with determination. "The master speaks the truth. My own brother is among those held captive by Misuki's forces, likely to be used as a pawn in their vile games. But I refuse to let fear paralyze me. We must stand firm and press on."

A wave of unity washed over the assembled samurai, a shared understanding settling among them.

Kishira turned to Kasaki, her eyes searching for guidance. Kasaki met her gaze with a reassuring smile, his grip on her hand firm and comforting. "We'll find a way through this," he assured her softly, his voice filled with quiet confidence.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

***

As Ikaru entered Misuki’s office, he felt an ominous tension in the air, palpable even before he caught sight of his boss. Misuki sat in his chair, wreathed in a cloud of smoke from his cigar, his features obscured in the haze.

“Speak,” Misuki commanded, his voice low and controlled.

Ikaru hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts before responding. “Your highness,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “the battle was initially in our favor. But then... there was this samurai. A mere kid, but unlike any warrior I've ever seen. He cut through our jutsu dragons like they were paper, and he even defeated Kriken, our sole infector who held the most #BG power among us. It's worth noting that this young warrior not only vanquished us but also absorbed the vast reservoir of #BG that Kriken possessed." Misuki's brow furrowed in interest as Ikaru continued. “This samurai seemed untouchable, impervious to our attacks. He single-handedly turned the tide of battle, even shielding himself and a fellow female warrior from a torrent of arrows with a jutsu technique unlike anything I've witnessed before. It was as if he possessed a power beyond our understanding.”

“I see,” Misuki murmured, considering the implications of this revelation. “Bring Zizu to me. There's something I have in mind for this... special warrior.”

When Ikaru escorted Zizu into Misuki's office, he braced himself for dismissal, but instead, Misuki instructed him to stay.

"Do you recall that young warrior vividly, Ikaru?" Misuki inquired.

"Absolutely," Ikaru affirmed.

"Good. Then I need you to paint a picture of him for Zizu. And you, Zizu, find a way to recreate a portrait of this warrior based on Ikaru's description," Misuki commanded.

Zizu nodded in understanding.

"May I inquire about the purpose behind this, your highness?" Zizu ventured cautiously.

Misuki's sigh hung heavy in the air, a portent of the impending revelation. He remembered that Zizu remained in the dark regarding the battlefield events.

"This young samurai," Misuki began, his voice laced with a blend of admiration and resentment, "was the architect of our downfall, according to Ikaru's accounts. He displayed a formidable strength, dispatching Kriken—whom I entrusted with an immense amount of #BG power—to his demise. Now, this warrior holds all that power within him, having absorbed it from Kriken."

Misuki paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. "So, Zizu, I need you to recreate this warrior, a portrait of him, something. I intend to show his likeness to my slaves, to ascertain if he has any familial ties among them. I require leverage," he concluded, his tone hinting at the ruthless measures he was prepared to employ.

"Oh, I see now. Well, there is another method. One that’s more effective. Ikaru, please, take a seat,” Zizu said, gesturing towards a chair with a flick of his hand. Ikaru glanced at Misuki, a hint of suspicion flickering in his eyes, but a silent nod from Misuki compelled him to comply.

With a brief apology, Zizu excused himself and swiftly returned with a crystal ball cradled in his hands. Placing it on the table with care, he uttered incomprehensible incantations, his eyes closed in concentration as he rested his hand on Ikaru’s head.

“Go ahead now,” Zizu instructed. “Describe this young warrior.”

As Ikaru began recounting Isaki's battlefield heroics, the crystal ball shimmered to life, projecting an ethereal tableau that mirrored Ikaru’s words. Within its depths, the trio witnessed Kasaki's valiant struggle, his movements captured in exquisite detail as he fought fiercely and shielded Kishira from the onslaught of arrows. The miniature figures danced and clashed with remarkable precision, a vivid reflection of the battlefield.

“How can you recreate it so precisely? That’s exactly what I saw, that’s the exact movements of the kid, and that’s how it happened in battle,” Ikaru exclaimed, his astonishment palpable.

“I’m not recreating it, you are,” Zizu retorted, his tone dripping with arrogance as he reveled in his perceived superiority and usefulness to Misuki. “This ball merely reveals true memories; I am merely the conduit.”

Removing his hand from Ikaru's head, Zizu watched as the crystal ball reverted to its translucent state.

“What do you have in mind, your highness?” he inquired, his demeanor oozing with self-assuredness.

“Well, now that you know how the young samurai looks, can you conjure an image of him for me?” Misuki requested, his eyes glinting with malice. “I wish to dispatch my guards to ascertain if he has any familial ties among my slaves.”

“There is a more effective method,” Zizu declared, a sinister smile curling his lips.