The capital of the Land of Iron rose from the mountains like a fortress carved from stone and ice. Kamizuru Ishikawa stood at the gates and looked up at the walls that surrounded the inner city. Guard towers punctuated the perimeter at regular intervals and samurai watched from their posts with hands resting on sword hilts.
Ishikawa had traveled for three days to reach this place. His escort consisted of twelve shinobi who maintained a defensive formation around him as they approached the main gate. The journey had been uneventful but the anger in his chest had grown with every kilometer closer to the capital.
The Kamizuru Clan was losing camps at an alarming rate. Two hundred and sixteen dead in less than three weeks. The remaining four camps had consolidated their forces under Ishikawa's order.
Ishikawa was yet to know who this attacker was. But he strongly believes that it's someone from the Land of Iron. And it was happening on Land of Iron soil.
The Daimyo had broken his word. And Ishikawa wasn't going to stand it.
The gates opened and a figure emerged to meet them. The man was tall with black hair tied back in a traditional topknot. He wore formal samurai armor that bore the crest of the current Mifune. His face was young and stern, and his eyes held a measure of acknowledgment as he approached.
"Kamizuru Ishikawa," the man said. His voice carried the formal tone of official greeting. "I am the current Mifune, Okisuke. The Daimyo has been expecting you."
Ishikawa gave a brief nod. "Okisuke. Take me to Shinji."
Okisuke's expression tightened slightly at the informal address but he turned and gestured toward the inner city. "Follow me."
They passed through the gates and entered the capital proper. The streets were wide and clean with buildings constructed from stone and heavy timber. Samurai patrolled in organized units and civilians moved between shops and residences with the orderly efficiency that characterized everything in the Land of Iron.
Ishikawa had visited the capital twice before during the initial negotiations. The Land of Iron maintained strict neutrality in conflicts and that neutrality was enforced by the samurai who lived here. Thousands of them trained in the traditional arts and maintained a military force. No single shinobi clan could withstand that sheer number.
But Ishikawa knew how to deal with them. They might've the number, but their collective strength isn't enough to scare away Ishikawa.
They walked through the streets in silence. Okisuke led the way with steady steps and the escort of twelve Kamizuru shinobi followed behind Ishikawa with their hands near weapon pouches. The tension was obvious to anyone watching but no one challenged their passage.
The palace rose ahead of them on a hill that overlooked the rest of the capital. The structure was massive with multiple wings and towers connected by covered walkways. Guards stood at every entrance and their armor gleamed in the afternoon sun.
Okisuke led them up the main approach and through the palace gates. More guards watched from their posts but none moved to intercept. The Mifune's presence was authorization enough.
They entered the main building and walked through corridors lined with tapestries and weapons displays. Ishikawa barely glanced at them. He had no interest in the Land of Iron's martial heritage when his people were being butchered.
Okisuke stopped before a set of ornate doors and turned to face Ishikawa. "The Daimyo will see you. Your escort cannot enter with you."
Ishikawa nodded. "That's okay."
He signaled to his shinobi and they took positions along the corridor. The doors opened and Ishikawa stepped inside alone.
---
The audience chamber was spacious with high ceilings and windows that allowed light to flood the interior. Tapestries hung on the walls and depicted scenes from the Land of Iron's history. At the far end of the room a raised platform held a simple throne where the Daimyo, Shinji sat in formal robes.
Ishikawa walked forward without waiting for permission or invitation. He stopped five meters from the platform and met Shinji's eyes directly. The Daimyo was in his mid-forties.
"Shinji," Ishikawa said. He didn't use any honorific or title. "We need to talk about your failure to honor our agreement."
Shinji's eyebrows rose slightly. "Failure? That's an interesting way to begin this conversation."
"Two hundred and sixteen of my people are dead. Twelve camps destroyed in three weeks. All of this happening on your soil." Ishikawa's voice was hard and cold.
"The agreement specified that the Kamizuru Clan would establish a presence in the region and operate within our laws. It did not include provisions for the Land of Iron to protect you from every threat you might encounter."
"Don't play word games with me." Ishikawa took a step closer to the platform. "I have done my investigation. It's the work of someone from your side."
Shinji stood and walked down from the platform. He moved with casual confidence and stopped at eye level with Ishikawa. "Your people are dying because you are weak. You're the mighty leader of the Kamizuru Clan. You wish to establish a nation controlled by your clan. So you should have enough strength to back your ambitions."
Ishikawa's hands clenched into fists. "Don't test my patience."
"I am not testing it." Shinji's expression remained calm. "I merely asking, are you unable to deal with the enemy?"
---
The night deepened and the temperature dropped several degrees. Suzumebachi stood in the center of the camp and activated his chakra-sensing technique. The familiar sensation spread outward from his body in expanding waves that covered the entire defensive perimeter.
One hundred and sixty-eight signatures glowed in his awareness. The shinobi were arranged in their assigned positions and maintained their formations with discipline that showed proper training. The outer ring sensors watched the darkness beyond the firelight. The middle ring held the trap formations ready to activate. The inner ring waited with weapons drawn and techniques prepared.
Everything was ready.
The sensation of being watched had grown stronger over the past hour. The air felt heavier and the darkness beyond the fires seemed to press against the light with physical weight. Something was coming and it would arrive soon.
"Movement on the eastern perimeter!" one of the sensors shouted.
Suzumebachi's attention snapped in that direction. His chakra-sensing detected a new signature approaching from the forest. The presence was massive and overwhelming in a way that reminded him of Kamizuru Ishikawa. But it felt wrong somehow. It felt distorted and inhuman in ways that defied his years of experience.
"All teams prepare for engagement!" Jibachi called out from the eastern defensive line. His voice carried across the camp and shinobi shifted into combat stances. "Enemy approaching from the east!"
The signature continued forward at a steady walking pace. There was no attempt at stealth or concealment. Whoever was approaching wanted them to know he was coming.
Suzumebachi studied the approaching presence with the calm focus. The chakra reserves were impressive. It was far more than his own. But it was still finite. That meant the enemy could be worn down through sustained engagement. The distortion in the signature was concerning but not unprecedented. He had faced enemies with unusual chakra signatures before.
A figure emerged from the darkness and walked into the illuminated area with calm, measured steps. The man was tall and wore purple-and-black patterned robes over hakama pants. Long black hair with red tips fell past his shoulders and was tied back in a ponytail. But what drew every eye in the camp were the six eyes arranged in three pairs across his face.
The top pair replaced where eyebrows should be. The middle pair bore markings that looked like kanji characters. The bottom pair sat at normal eye level. All six eyes had yellow irises with red sclera and studied the camp with an expression of cold interest.
Red flame-like markings spread across the left side of his face and down his neck in patterns that looked like they had been burned into his skin.
The man's hand rested on a sword at his waist. The blade's scabbard looked wrong somehow. It seemed to be made of flesh rather than metal and had eyes embedded in its surface that blinked occasionally.
"Kokushibo," someone whispered. The name spread through the camp in hushed voices that carried fear and recognition.
The six-eyed man stopped thirty meters from the outer defensive line. He tilted his head slightly as if considering the name and then his expression shifted into something that might have been amusement.
"Kokushibo," the man said. His voice was slow and emphatic with each word carefully enunciated. "It should mean Black Death Eye, right? I was not aware that I had earned such a title. How interesting."
He smiled and the expression looked wrong on his inhuman face. The six eyes gleamed in the firelight and reflected the flames in their yellow irises.
"I like it," Kokushibo said. "The name suits me well."