The road to Matsuo Town was anything but smooth.
The Land of Iron wasn't as prosperous as people imagined—at least, it still lagged behind the Five Great Nations by a noticeable margin.
Outside of the capital and a few noble districts, most roads were nothing more than dirt paths trampled flat by countless feet. Even the livestock—cattle and sheep left to graze—would nibble away the wild grass along the roadside until it was bare.
Yoriichi leaned lazily against the carriage window, bored, craning his head out.
"Where are we now?"
Taito stuck his head out to take a look. "Stone Bowl Mountain. Matsuo Town is just on the other side. We're already very close to the Land of Iron border…"
His tone sharpened.
"But I've heard this area hasn't been peaceful lately. Stay alert. And if we run into highwaymen, I'm not babysitting you."
Omisako nodded, then reached out to Yoriichi's smooth little cheeks, pinching them with satisfaction.
"Don't worry. Big sister will protect you when the time comes. Consider it payment for the grilled fish you gave me."
She blinked her big eyes at him.
Yoriichi blinked back with his round eyes.
Omisako still thought Yoriichi was just a harmless little kid who couldn't even wring a chicken's neck.
She had no idea that Taito's "babysitting" comment was actually aimed at her.
Samurai were different from shinobi.
A gifted shinobi could refine chakra at a very young age and develop terrifying combat instincts. Itachi could casually slice an attacker's throat at four and still remain calm. Kakashi graduated at six, became a chūnin at seven, and a jōnin at twelve—his talent was monstrous.
But all of that was built on chakra.
Without chakra, a child simply couldn't compete with an adult. Under normal growth and development, an adult's physical strength far surpassed a child's.
That was the samurai world.
They didn't use chakra the same as shinobi—only sword skill honed through years of grinding training. And Yoriichi was still tiny. He had only trained for a few years.
Even if Omisako assumed he'd been practicing since the womb, it would only add up to at most six years. Meanwhile, the samurai—whether fallen ronin or noble retainers—had trained for several times Yoriichi's age… sometimes ten times over.
So she didn't believe this child brought along "temporarily" had any real combat power.
At best, he'd swing a sword nearly as tall as himself behind them, hack wildly, and maybe finish off a wounded enemy.
Taito wore a meaningful smile.
This woman still hadn't realized just who the hell she was talking to.
—
"Boss! It's a merchant caravan!"
"Do we hit them, boss?!"
Kito Toshitaka's furrowed brows finally eased.
He was the leader of the bandits lurking on Stone Bowl Mountain—a ronin turned outlaw.
To him, the Land of Iron was a wretch of a country that only showed kindness to the rich and nobles, while the common folk felt no warmth at all. The poor lived their entire lives crushed beneath noble pressure. Land taxes choked farmers until they could barely breathe.
Kito Toshitaka had been born into a farming family. Four children. Parents with ruined backs from endless labor.
He would never forget that rainy night—when he went with his older brother to town to beg for medicine. Toshitaka had knelt, pleading with the doctor to sell them something to treat their father's injury.
"Get lost, you filthy brat!" the doctor shouted, swinging a broom. "Don't block my door with your bad luck!"
They were driven out.
His older brother still refused to give up. He slammed his head into the ground again and again, each thud carving itself into Toshitaka's young, ashamed heart.
"Please… I'll work to pay it back! Just… give us the medicine…"
His brother threw away his dignity. Blood seeped from his forehead, yet he still wouldn't rise. There was still a sliver of hope in his eyes.
"Fine. Wait here."
The doctor turned and went back inside, smiling without warmth. His brother burst into tears of gratitude, convinced they had met a kind person. Toshitaka laughed when his brother laughed, cried when his brother cried—
But what came wasn't medicine.
It was a blade.
Toshitaka would never forget the disbelief in his brother's eyes at the moment of death.
His brother clung to the doctor's leg, screaming for Toshitaka to run—
And the cold knife stabbed again and again through the boy's body, hot blood soaking into the earth.
Toshitaka didn't even remember how he escaped.
He stumbled home in a daze… only to be told his parents were dead.
They had died in agony.
After that night, Toshitaka never returned to the village.
He apprenticed himself to a ronin, learned swordsmanship, became a ronin himself. Years later, he killed the old bandit chief of Stone Bowl Mountain, slaughtered the man's entire family, and began demanding tolls from every caravan that passed.
Those who refused—killed.
Those who resisted—killed.
Nobles…
He didn't dare kill nobles.
Just like years ago, when his brother died in front of him like a stray dog in a street—
Toshitaka couldn't even summon the desire to resist that kind of power.
...
"What's their background?" he asked.
"Merchants. Not nobles." A subordinate gripped his sword eagerly. They'd followed Toshitaka for years. They knew his rules.
"Kill them," Toshitaka said coldly.
The order spread through every ear.
"Kill!"
An arrow struck the lead horse with perfect accuracy.
The chestnut-maned horse screamed, threw the old driver with missing teeth off the seat, and chaos exploded.
Dozens of bandits surged out from both sides of the road, surrounding the caravan tightly. Toshitaka stepped forward and chopped the horse's head clean off. Blood sprayed across his face.
He licked it.
No human scent.
"The bandits—!" the merchant guild leader screamed until his voice tore.
Several drivers grabbed clubs and stumbled out of the wagons, shaking as they faced the vicious bandits. Instinct screamed at them to run.
But run where?
The Land of Iron wasn't that big. If they fled, their reputation would be ruined. No caravan wanted a coward in its ranks.
Yoriichi heard everything outside.
In truth, he had sensed the dense killing intent long before they even closed in.
Not only him—
Taito had felt it too.
"Stay in the carriage. Don't move," Taito said, gripping Konkoe as he stepped out. "I'll go take a look."
"I'm going too," Omisako said, climbing out after him.
"No need. I can handle it alone," Taito snapped.
"This is my family's caravan," Omisako shot back, not yielding an inch. She pointed to the large Omi family crest inside the carriage.
So that's why…
Taito raised an eyebrow. Now he finally understood why such a modest caravan had hired so many capable samurai—and why a woman of only average strength had been included among them.
By the time they stepped out, the outside had already become a slaughterhouse.
Yoshitoki and Hirota Seichi were tearing through the bandits like two enraged bulls, unstoppable—cutting down anyone who dared come close. No one could withstand even a single exchange.
But the bandits were too many.
And there were hidden archers in the hills.
With multiple attackers swarming at once, even the two of them began to struggle to keep up.
Clang!
Yoshitoki's skin prickled.
He spun—
—and saw Taito behind him, Konkoe already withdrawn from a bandit's chest.
"Your awareness is slipping," Taito said coolly. "Those women in the pleasure district must be something else—making lone wolves forget their fangs."
"Bastard!" Yoshitoki cursed, then grinned. "A woman's embrace is comfortable. Any man who can spend three days in the pleasure district and still walk out on his own legs—that's a real man."
His smile widened.
"You've still got growing to do…"
"Women only block my path of training!" Taito snapped. "I'm going to become a samurai as strong—and as disciplined—as Mifune-sama! That's my bushidō!"