As he left Nomi sitting at the table, he knew he should feel more smug, he hadn’t let the silver-haired man goad into conflict, but he didn’t. The whole scenario felt incomplete, like it wasn’t over. Where Nomi was concerned, that usually meant it wasn’t. He had left the noise of the tavern behind, for some reason, knowing that it would be the last time he would sit outside it. This kind of foresight, although not unusual for Jinratu, was not something he on which he liked to dwell or in which he put too much trust. More immediately, he knew he wouldn’t have much further to go before he found whoever it was that had sent his money back to him. The same people who had the boy. He needed to ensure the message had made its way to Ornestoro and that his D’ol Dathri informant would have good news for him in return.

He tilted his head towards the sun and allowed his eyes to close and a genuine smile cross his lip. Nomi was a silent as the best of them if he chose to be, he could hide his steps from the most discerning of ears, but what he couldn’t hide was that song. It was so subtle, almost as though the blade sighed in pleasure as the air slid past it, a coy chorus of steel in the wind. Jintaru knew it all too well. He had heard it often enough.

[color=orangered]“You know it’s bad luck to draw your sword and not have it taste blood, Yanimura?”[/color] Jintaru smiled, not turning around and not slowing his pace. He spied a clearing in the treeline off to his left, over a small hill. That’s where they would be. [color=orangered]“And if it’s my blood with which you want to stain your blade, it’ll have to wait…”[/color] He left the path and approached the hill. [color=orangered]“I have some other business to take care of first.”[/color] 

Once he had reached around one hundred yards from the hill, he stopped.

[color=orangered]“I believe you have something that belongs to me!”[/color] He called. 

On cue, a group of eight men emerged over the top of the hill and made their way down the other side. One of them had the boy in his clutches. They were all armed, melee mostly, barring one with a crossbow. They didn’t move in step or formation so they weren’t trained, certainly not  military.

[i][color=orangered]Bandits? Perhaps a gang from within the city? Maybe they saw the boy wandering through the streets and snatched him there. Doesn’t matter, this was only going to go one way.[/color][/i]

[color=6ecff6]“This boy here says you had more money for him. Way we figure it, you’ll probably pay us to make sure nothing nasty happens to him.” [/color]The man who spoke wasn’t holding the boy but he was clearly in charge, a big man, broad shouldered and tall. Tattoos traces jagged patterns across his arms and the part of his upper chest visible through the v-neck tunic he wore.

Jintaru looked at the boy in the talons of an emaciated, jittery looking member of the group. The lad looked frightened. He’d certainly have earned his wages today. Slowly, Jintaru reached into the fold of his tunic and withdrew his coin purse again. He held it up for the group to see before turning around. For the first time since leaving the tavern, he looked straight into the blind man’s face. Crouching down, he placed the purse behind him and turned back to the group.

[color=orangered]“In that purse is all the money I have. All you need to do is come and get it.”[/color] He lowered his head, eyes scanning the group for movement. Instead of speeding up, his heart rate slowed and a calm fell over him. It was in this moment that he was complete, the moment before combat. In these times he shook off all he was, all he had been and rid himself of anything he may become. His ego was washed away, his name with it, and he became a being of pure tension, longing for bloodshed. He kept enough back in order to speak to Nomi once more. “You asked me if I’d kept up with my training, Yanimura. You’re about to find out first hand. Feel free to jump in if you get bored.”

With that the group, with the exception of the one holding the boy, charged forward.

It was not until the first man was practically upon him that Jintaru acted. The fool had come at him, an axe raised high in both hands. [i][color=orangered]They weren’t trained at all.[/color][/i] Catching him on his off step, Jintaru stepped underneath the man’s arms and, in one motion, drew his blade and arced it upwards, severing the man’s hands at the wrists. Scarlet sprayed from the wounds and a scream leaped from his lips as the man’s momentum carried him forwards, realising far too late the error he had made. 

The second two arrived at the same time, and attack from the man to his left, deftly parried, he ducked under a horizontal strike from the one on his right. This time, as he rose from his crouch, he dragged the edge of his katana across the right man’s side before spinning and slashing downwards almost severing the his arm at the shoulder. Blood soaked the man’s clothes and began to seep into the dirt, taking his life with it. The sword fell from his hand and he fell to his knees. Another swift strike decapitated him. 

Jintaru barely blinked, the process of losing himself that had begun before the fight was now complete. His heartbeat was steady and rhythmic as the second of the two attackers rounded on him and charged, vaulting over the corpse of his companion. The attack came from Jinratu’s right, the man favoured his left hand. He blocked it, allowed the man to swing again. This time, angling his blade away, Jintaru upset the man’s balance causing him to stumble sideways under his own momentum. Lunging forward, Jintaru thrust his blade into the man’s gut, just above and to the right of his pelvis. He felt the brief resistance of his leather tabard, then the easy glide as fat, muscles and soft tissue yielded to the keen blade. Quickly, he pressed his weight down through his shoulders, forcing the sword down, smashing through th man’s pelvic bone and exiting at the left of his groin. The femoral artery vented crimson and viscera sough egress through the gaping would as he fell.

His gaze fell to the rest of the group. All of whom had decided to approach the shaven headed swordsman a little more carefully.