"Clang!..."
The October cold wind swept over the reeds by the Ezo River, carrying the chill from Extreme North Asia. Thousands of troops from both north and south stood off against each other, each backed by their respective fleets across the Great River. At this moment, with the crisp clash of drawn blades, the Samurai on both sides raised their weapons simultaneously, tensely watching the trade leader by the riverbank.
"Sen, I considered you a trustworthy trade partner... but your conduct this time suggests you don't wish for lasting trade with us!... To be frank, are you trying to rob me?!"
Zuwaro's eyes were icy, and the iron blade in his hand was even colder. The cold edge of the blade was pressed against Mori no Kiyoshi's neck, making him stiffen all over, his face showing fear. He glanced sideways at Zuwaro's visage, filled with intent to kill and indifference, realizing once again...
