Mujihina walked a half step behind Mifune, his ears twitching at every sound. Mifune moved with the ease of an animal deeply attuned to the world around him. His straw sandals fell silent on the earth, his hands landed calmly as they climbed. Mujihina, by contrast, felt the nervous beat of his own heart against his ribs.
They walked for a few hours and as they rounded a final bend, a dojo emerged from the mist—a humble yet elegant structure of oak and stone, its curved roof mirroring the rise of the surrounding mountains. The mist covered its beams, making it seem less like a building and more a sacred site.
Mujihina paused before the entrance, his eyes sweeping over the wooden frame, the gently swaying shoji doors, the kanji carved above the lintel that read: "Mind. Body. Spirit."
Mifune noticed and waiting for him to prepare himself.
Mujihina felt his breath catch. This was it.
Together, they stepped through the doors. Inside, the dojo smelled of pine, tatami, and faintly of the oil used to maintain the weapons. Sunlight streamed through the half-open doors, laying pale gold stripes across the floor.
"My disciples, I have a new warrior to introduce."
Three warriors gathered inside, turning to face Mifune. They were all three or four years Mujihina's elders.
The first was a tiger warrior who stood arms folded, his massive striped frame casting a shadow that stretched to the edge of the mats. His golden eyes flicked toward Mujihina with measured intensity.
"This is Takashi Ryumaru. He is a very talented and disciplined warrior."
Beside him crouched a monkey warrior, who rocked forward and back on his heels, light brown fur bristling, eyes glinting with barely suppressed excitement.
"This is Haruto Saruyama. Despite his playfulness, he is an effective ally and always quick to act."
And seated calmly near the back was a massive young elephant warrior, whose peaceful expression belied his imposing form. His large hands rested easily on his knees, his eyes kind and unwavering.
"And this is Daiki Kawa. Daiki possesses a leader's instincts and a monk's calm. He tends to take the lead when I'm away."
Mifune stepped forward and lifted a hand. "My disciples! Today, I bring you someone who will train alongside us. Someone who, like you, has been through a great deal. I expect you to encourage and support him as you do each other."
He turned slightly, beckoning Mujihina forward. The young fox swallowed hard, his paws curling into fists at his sides, and stepped into the light.
"This is Mujihina Yashin."
Takashi gave a single, slow nod. His voice rumbled low. "If you can stand, you can learn. Don't fall behind."
Haruto bounded forward, grinning. "Relax, newbie! We'll make sure you have a little fun, too." He winked, then darted back before Takashi could swat him away.
Daiki inclined his head, his deep voice like the quiet roll of distant thunder. "Welcome, Mujihina. If you find yourself needing anything, don't hesitate to reach out. We're in this together." Daiki smiled as he concluded his piece.
Standing in the quiet heart of this sanctuary he felt something stir inside him—something warmer than his lonely life.
The disciples' training adapted Mujihina perfectly, incorporating him into each of the others' routine. They began to look at Mujihina as a friend while they taught him the basics.
One peaceful morning, the sun shone through the shoji screens of the dojo during the morning prayer. Outside, the hush of the wind stirred the bamboo groves. Inside, the disciples knelt in silent meditation, their swords resting across their laps like sleeping dragons.
Mujihina felt the coldness of the floor in his knees, grounding him as he listened to Mifune's voice.
"The way of the samurai is a path through both storm and stillness," Mifune intoned, his hands folded before him, his back straight. "To wield the blade without mastering the self is to carry a weapon you cannot control."
Mujihina's brow furrowed, his thoughts stirring. The presence of Reikoku, the night that haunted his dreams, pulsed faintly within his mind.
Takashi, Haruto, and Daiki sat nearby, their breathing controlled and measured. The bonds between the four had deepened through months of training. They were no longer merely students—they were friends.
Years passed and as they grew stronger, they grew closer. No longer young budding warriors, they have become powerful young samurai.
The disciples rose to their feet, their swords sliding free with a soft hiss. Under Mifune's watchful eye, they moved through the intricate dance of kata, their blades gleaming in the pale sunlight.
Takashi's strikes thundered with power, his muscles rippling with each cut. Haruto danced through the forms like a leaf on the wind, his feet barely whispering against the floor. Daiki's movements were steady as stone, each strike calculated and precise. Mujihina's form, though not yet perfected, had a fiery determination, his Kitsune flames slightly flickering faintly along the edge of his blade, as though the spirit within him yearned to break free.
As sweat beaded on their brows and the rhythm of steel on air filled the dojo, Mifune raised a hand. "Enough! Good work everyone, but today we test not just your strength, but your spirit." Mifune began walking toward the garden and the disciples followed.
They gathered beneath the ginkgo tree, its golden leaves drifting down around them like blessings from the heavens. Mifune's eyes swept over them, lingering on Mujihina.
"There is a legend," Mifune began, "of a warrior who faced not an opponent, but his own shadow. In every duel, his enemy mirrored his every move, every weakness reflected back a hundredfold. Only when the warrior embraced his own darkness did he prevail against it."
Reikoku stirred, as though roused by the mention. He was watching.
"What does it mean to embrace your darkness?" Mujihina sat curious and worried.
Mifune looked around at everyone, intense and serious.
"It means to understand that we all, even myself, have darkness inside of us. To embrace it is to use that darkness for good."
Mujihina pondered Mifune's answer, relating it to Reikoku. He then started considering, for the first time, that the yokai that massacred his clan may not be entirely evil.
The thought made his head spin, his stomach retch. He quickly moved over to the cliff nearer the dojo and began to vomit.
Mifune followed him, but the others remained under the ginkgo tree, observing with quiet respect.
"You carry a burden all your own," Mifune said softly. "The Kitsune clan...and something else..?"
Mujihina gathered himself before looking to Mifune, concerned by his realization.
"You didn't think it would go unnoticed did you?" Mifune asked with a tender but serious expression.
"Don't worry. I sensed it when I first encountered you in the forest. I knew you would have trouble and I knew you would need help. Tell me, what is it?"
Mujihina's fists tightened in frustration.
"Back at Heiwana…during the attack. Something came to me. He calls himself Reikoku."
Mujihina strains to try and summon Reikoku.
"I can't control it, he won't come out."
Mifune smiled faintly, a line of quiet sorrow in his eyes. "Then I'll give you my word. We will train and learn to help you control Reikoku. In the meantime, don't worry. It only serves to distract you from your progress."
Mujihina smiled. Mifune's words reminded him of his mother.
"Thank you, sensei." He felt profound gratitude as he bowed deeply.
The air was cool and the sky clear as the dojo rang with the clash of steel. The disciples began practicing the Fury of the Rising Sun. Mujihina's arms ached as he moved through the sequence—upward slash, downward arc, sweeping cut. Each motion required balance, timing, and focus, and yet, behind every strike, he felt the pulse of Reikoku pushing at the edge of his mind, urging him to abandon control. He had gotten harder to resist lately.
"Focus," Takashi advised between his own heavy strikes. "Power without restraint is nothing but destruction."
"Breathe," Haruto added with a grin, slipping through his kata like water. "The mind guides the blade."
"Feel the ground," Daiki murmured, his voice calm. "Let it anchor you."
Mujihina pressed on. Sweat blurred his vision, muscles trembled, but slowly—strike by strike, breath by breath—the technique began to settle into his bones.
As the sun settled below the horizon, Mifune called them together. "Each of you has learned the form," he said, his voice low and firm. "But now, you must make it yours. Embed your own unique individuality into the technique to create a weapon worthy of your namesake."
That night, as the others slept, Mujihina remained in the dojo courtyard. Alone under the pale moonlight, he moved through the kata once more. He felt Reikoku within him, restless and cold.
When his blade stilled, Mujihina spoke softly into the darkness. "I know you're there."
For a moment, only silence answered him. Then, faint as the wind in the trees, a whisper stirred in his mind. "You think you've grown stronger?
Mujihina's hands tightened on his sword. Reikoku engulfed him in an instant. He let out a deep sigh. As the moonlight glimmered on his blade, Reikoku lowered it to his side. His gaze drew to the training blade.
"I could slaughter you all with this single blade and you have the audacity to think you're getting stronger."
Reikoku performed the Fury Of The Rising Sun technique and in doing so unleashed a swirl of his blue flame into the air, illuminating the courtyard in a deep blue aura.
Around his neck, a charm began to glow. Emitting from it was a small blue string of energy that wrapped itself around Reikoku's neck, causing his form to flicker and fade. He walked over to the pond and peered at Mujihina through his own reflection.
"How long does that samurai expect this petty charm to restrain me?"
He dissolved away with the blue energy, leaving Mujihina to his own.
The trouble with Reikoku wasn't over, but he felt that he was in control.
Mujihina watched the last of Reikoku's essence fade in the reflection on the rippled waters. As he contemplated Reikoku's words, he made his way back inside to rest for the night.
Seasons passed as the disciples neared the end of their training. The wind whispered through the mountain pass, carrying the scent of wet stone and pine. Fog veiled the jagged terrain in a ghostly haze. Mifune walked ahead, his sword sheathed but ready. Behind him followed four figures—his disciples—their breaths quiet in the fog.
"This pass has been cursed for weeks," Mifune said without turning. "Travelers vanish. Merchants speak of something violent... something that leaves broken wagons behind."
"A yokai," Takashi murmured.
"I assume an Ippon-Datara," Mifune confirmed. "Massive. Brutal. A blacksmith's spirit twisted by rage."
Haruto tried to lighten the mood. He crouched down and scraped a crude stick figure in the dirt—one leg, a comically large club, and a sad frown. "That's what we're fighting?"
Daiki stifled a laugh, but Mifune's sharp glance silenced them. "Focus. That thing has killed before. It will kill again."
They moved forward, tension drawing their bodies taut. The canyon narrowed, and the mist thickened until even Mifune faded in the gloom. Suddenly, pebbles trickled from the rocky cliffs above.
Then it dropped.
A thunderous crash boomed as the Ippon-Datara landed in the path, nearly crushing Mifune beneath its leg. The yokai towered over them—hunched, muscled, its lone eye blazing through the haze. Its club, the size of a full-grown ox, swung low. Mifune vaulted over the strike, landed lightly on the yokai's head, then sprang back, landing beside his disciples.
"The test begins now!" he declared.
Haruto moved first, dashing around and pelting it with stones. "Hey! One-eye! Over here!"
It roared, swinging wild, its club smashing the landscape to rubble. Haruto danced away taunting, climbing onto its back. The beast snarled, quickly moving to grab him, but Takashi was already sprinting, low to the ground. He launched himself in a blur and struck the yokai in the chest with both paws, sending it staggering back.
Daiki didn't hesitate for a moment. His odachi gleamed as he charged forward and, with a guttural cry, brought the blade down from overhead in a perfect arc. The yokai tried to avoid the blow but had its leg split at the knee, cleaving away with a burst of blackened blood.
The Ippon-Datara screamed, falling sideways. Mifune and Mujihina, already airborne, descended like hawks. Twin swords met the yokai's glaring eye and drove deep into its skull.
The beast thrashed once, then burst into flames—unholy fire erupting from within its chest. Mifune landed and pulled Mujihina clear as the yokai released one final wail. Fire consumed its body, marking the rocks and casting long shadows across the stone.
The sounds of battle ceased.
Their breaths came heavy. The group stood surrounded by smoke, blood, and embers. Their clothes were singed, but they stood victorious.
Mifune knelt and whispered a short prayer. "May your soul return to the forge from which you came."
He rose and turned to his disciples. "Today, you fought with unity. You took on a challenge that plagued your people and overcame it. That is the mark of true warriors. I'm proud of you."
Takashi wiped his brow, a smile spreading across his face. "Well, what'd you expect from the disciples of a living legend?"
Haruto grinned. "And Sensei! That dodge? You've still got it!"
Mifune laughed. "This old sword isn't dull yet."
The levity faded when they noticed Daiki standing apart, eyes fixed on the scorched remains.
"Something wrong?" Mujihina asked, stepping close.
Daiki shook his head slowly. "The Ippon Datara...I wonder what he felt about his death…"
Moved, the group drew together in a silent prayer.
"We took a life today," Daiki said, eyes on Mifune.
His face was thoughtful. "How can we be sure that what we do is right?"
Mifune contemplated his question before finally facing him.
"We did not hunt the yokai," He started. "He hunted others. Had we left him to his way of life, more lives would be lost. There are situations where we must take life to save life. It is in these impossible choices that our resolve is tested. We each must stay true to ourselves, be it human, yokai, or other mortals."
Daiki's contemplation seemed to ease as he took in his sensei's words.
"I understand. There are some that live to destroy others. Being that someone like me would have to stand against. But that is simply who they are, they aren't wrong for that…It's the way of the world. The diving balance of light and dark."
Everyone stood for a moment, remembering their own history crossing paths with such entities. Reminiscing on the emotions caused by such things and their own inability to stop them.
A loud rumble broke the silence—Haruto's stomach.
"I don't know about you guys, but I need food. I'm dying over here!"
"I'll make us some udon noodles with beef when we return," Mifune offered, his smile worn but warm.
"Now that's a reward," Takashi said in a calm anticipation.
"I haven't been this hungry since our first sparring tournament," Daiki added.
Mujihina remained silent, chewing quietly.
Everyone turned to stare.
Haruto blinked. "Are you… already eating?"
Daiki: "Where did you even get food?"
Takashi: "Unbelievable."
Mifune laughed heartily. "Mujihina! Teaching the lesson of preparedness, are we?"
The disciples laughed before beginning their trek back to the dojo. Today they stood victorious against a monstrous foe, relieving Mifune's own worries about the future of the boys. As they traversed the evening forest, the bonds between them felt stronger than steel.
Later that night, the four samurai gathered in a circle around a softly crackling fire. The dojo stood just behind them, its sliding doors closed. The warmth of the flames painted their faces in an amber glow.
For a time, no one spoke.
Then Takashi shifted. His eyes reflected the firelight, but his mind was somewhere far away. He stared into the flames, lost in their dance.
"I was born in Tora no Yama," he said at last, quietly. "A village in the mountains of Kaminari Misaki. The thunder would echo through the cliffs during storm season—it was like living inside a drum. My father, Riku Ryumaru, was once a protector of our people. Respected. Feared. A warrior of honor." His voice weakened, then hardened. "But something happened. He turned. There are stories—that he betrayed our village, attacked our kin in a fit of madness… Some say he was twisted by rage, others claim he was cursed and became a demon."
The crackle of the fire punctuated his silence.
"The village exiled us. My mother, Hana, and I. We were forced to the edge of the valley, unwelcome and exiled. She did her best to raise me, but sickness took her when I was young. I buried her with my own hands." His voice grew rougher now. "I was alone in the mountains, hunting, until Mifune found me. He didn't say anything. He gave me a meal and told me if I had strength left, to stand. And I did. He brought me back to the dojo and I've been training with Haruto and Mifune since."
He finally looked away from the fire. "I train now to redeem the Ryumaru name. Every scar I earn, every lesson I master... It's all to prove I'm not the demon my father became. To prove that I walk a different path and that my family is not a family of demons."
Across the fire, Haruto was unusually still. He tugged his knees in toward his chest, resting his chin atop them.
"I don't remember where I'm from," he said. "I was little—real little—when Mifune found me. Lost, scared, not even a name to call myself. Everything before that's a blur. Sometimes, I think I see glimpses in dreams—flashes of faces, places—but nothing's ever clear. Mifune raised me. Taught me how to walk, to fight, to think." He looked up at the stars. "I guess I just wonder... Did someone lose me? Or did someone throw me away?"
The group went quiet again, the fire's light dancing in their wide eyes.
Daiki, the elephant yokai, sat upright, his great form unmoving but for a slow breath that came like a wave crashing deep within.
"In Magmara no Tani," he said, his voice rich and grounded. "A land of molten rivers and stone. My parents, Kenta and Yumi Kawa, are blacksmiths of Tsuchiake Village near the volcano's edge. They brought me to Mifune when I was still young. They told me that my destiny lay beyond that of the forge. That one day they'd return and I would share with them the magic of the lands that shaped me."
His gaze turned downward.
"But they never came back. No messages. No sign of what happened. Sometimes I think they chose to let me go. That maybe they didn't think I had the potential to be a good blacksmith. Either way, I train to be worthy of them. Of Tsuchiake. And when they do return, They will be proud."
Then all eyes turned toward Mujihina, who had said nothing until now.
He shifted slightly, the flamelight casting a gentle gleam on his fur.
"My family isn't a family of fighters," he began. "We were keepers of healing and tradition. My mother, Yuriko, wielded the Kitsune flames—a powerful healing magic. My father worked with the Kyubi no Yojin to defend and protect the village."
His voice darkened. "Then one night, they attacked. Oni. They burned Heiwana to the ground. I still don't understand it all... The spirits went silent. The land cried. My mother hid me in the forest to save me… That was the last time I saw her."
Mujihina's eyes shone with the flicker of the flame in his tears.
He inhaled, steadying his voice. "I train to be able to protect what I couldn't before… My family."
The fire popped. A gust of wind passed through the trees.
No one spoke for several moments.
In that silence, they shared more than their history. Each samurai understood their place in the other's lives.
Perched atop a weathered ridge, Mifune and his disciples sat in reflection. The crisp mountain air felt alive against the ridge.
Mifune broke the silence, "You've come far, my students," he began, his gaze moving to each of them. "Your swordsmanship has sharpened, yes—but what is most valuable is the growth within your hearts."
Mujihina, now seventeen, stared out over the valley. The once-wild fire in his eyes had refined into focused purpose.
Beside him, Takashi nodded solemnly. "We've come a long way," he said, his voice like thunder softened by reverence. "And there's still to learn. We'll keep getting stronger, always."
Haruto, unable to sit still for long, leaned forward with a mischievous grin. "We're practically legends now—the four samurai of Mifune."
Takashi scoffed, though amusement glimmered in his tone. "Legends are known, Haruto. Let's not crown ourselves just yet."
Haruto shrugged, playful. "Hey, someone's gotta start the story. Might as well be me."
Daiki, ever the gentle one, chuckled. "Then I suppose our first admirer is already among us."
Then Mujihina's expression shifted—his thoughts drifting, unbidden, to Heiwana Kitsune no Mura. The weight of Reikoku pressed on his chest. He turned to Mifune, voice steady but concerned.
"Sensei," he said, "No matter how far I grow, Reikoku remains. I can feel his presence more and more. He wants vengeance."
Mifune's eyes softened. He gazed skyward, where stars were beginning to pierce the twilight.
"Vengeance," he said quietly, "is a fire that consumes without warmth. It cannot restore what was lost. It cannot soothe the ache in your soul. What is better… is redemption—for yourself, for Reikoku and for those who can no longer speak for themselves. Does the charm keep him at bay?"
"It has," Mujihina started, "but I worry it won't last…it's troubling me, sensei."
In the silence that followed, something unspoken passed between master and student.
"I have been to your village," Mifune continued. "The elders believe your clan is tied to the divine Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess. That charm was obtained in the sacred realm of Terasareta Tengoku, the Illuminated Heaven.
Mujihina's breath caught. "You've been to Heiwana?" he asked, heart pounding.
Mifune nodded. "I have."
Mujihina narrowed his eyes, not with anger, but with a storm of questions. "Amaterasu? You've known this all along? Why haven't you told me this before now?"
Mifune's voice was quiet but firm. "Because you were a young boy in mourning, healing. Had I told you before, there's a chance you'd have tried to get to Terasereta Tengoku on your own. A child could never make that journey."
His expression grew serious. "I am no sorcerer, that charm is the best I was able to enchant. Amaterasu could have a charm made for you capable of suppressing Reikoku, I'm sure of it."
The wind stirred the trees around them, carrying Mifune's words deep into Mujihina's spirit. His expression grew motivated.
"I understand, Sensei… How do I get to Terasereta Tengoku?"
Mifune placed a hand on his shoulder, warm and familiar. "I will fashion a map for you. Take the rest of the evening to prepare and rest. We'll go over everything in the morning."
Mifune watched as Mujihina and the others returned to the dojo, discussing the exciting journey ahead. Mifune stood proud and curious to see how his youngest disciple would handle such an insurmountable task.