The man's laughter cracked through the chaos, sharp and bitter. "Justice!? You call this justice? Bombing our homes, slaughtering the innocent, disrespecting the honor of our people… THAT is your justice?"
Uruma's jaw tightened. Sweat beaded and slipped down his temple. "Don't talk back. Obey what you're told."
The man spat in return. "Oh, who do you think you are? Do you think you're above us? Do you think you can do whatever you please? Isn't the navy supposed to protect us? Then why bomb our very own country—the land we gave our lives to protect for centuries?"
Uruma's voice went cold. "Execute him. Nobody who defies the navy lives."
A flicker crossed his face — a thought sharp as steel. I have to take this sword to him for him to become an even greater swordsman. It's just a dead man's sword… why do these people risk their lives to guard it?
Twenty men stepped forward, shoulders squared in stubborn defiance. "If that's your wish, then execute all of us. But we will not let you have Shinkourai."
Uruma waved a gloved hand. "Leave them be. Claim Shinkourai and beat anyone who stands in your way."
The soldiers answered in a chilling chorus: "Yes, sir."
They moved like a tide of iron. People threw themselves in the way—hands grabbing at armor, faces upturned in disbelief—but the soldiers forced them aside with gloved fists and brutal shoves. THUD! THUD! Each collision sounded like a struck drum; roses in nearby stalls shuddered, petals scattering into dust. A child's small hand went limp and dropped a ribbon into the mud.
One of the men, breathless and bleeding, thought with aching grief: If Karyu were here, this would never have happened.
Uruma's eyes flash, hungry and resolute. "I want that sword at any cost."
Smoke curled around the ruined stalls, and the red of crushed roses stained the wet cobblestones as soldiers hauled forward toward the grave where Shinkourai lay—an ember of a nation's heart in the middle of a storm.