Adventure of Miyamoto Mifune 1

Smoke, ale, and wet wool hang in the tavern room. The benches are half empty, the hearth low, and every eye keeps sliding to the back table where four mercenaries corner the owner and his daughter.

The tavern owner stands rigid behind the counter. His daughter is trapped beside him, one wrist caught in a mailed hand. The captain’s men are too still, too trained, their quiet matching soldiers more than cutpurses.

Miyamoto Mifune steps inside from the dusk-bright doorway. The room tightens around him. The mercenary leader breaks off, turning with a hunter’s reflex.

His cloak shifts. Beneath it, just for a breath, a familiar temple crest flashes on dark cloth, the mark of the order that trained Mifune and still wants him back.

The daughter twists free enough to gasp. The owner looks between Mifune and the mercenaries, as if hoping one danger will cancel the other.

Miyamoto Mifune rests his hand on the katana’s hilt and takes one measured step in. The floorboards creak under his weight, but he does not rush.

The captain’s men shift at once, narrowing their spacing around the owner and his daughter. The hidden crest is no longer hidden.

Mifune’s hand stops short of a full draw. The captain catches the hesitation, and his eyes flick instead to the brush tucked at Mifune’s side.

The threat hangs in the smoky air, but the captain’s left sleeve has slipped back far enough to show a waxed bundle sealed with the same temple mark, pinned to his belt.