Adventure of Miyamoto Mifune 1

Temple Commander stands over the court stones in memory, one hand raised as if to halt an unseen line of men. His gaze is hard, fixed on the gate, and the dead temple seems to answer him with a hush.

Then Miyamoto Mifune stumbles into the courtyard. His wrist mark flares white-hot, and the air buckles around the old pillars. The hunted alley gives way to a place of incense ash and cracked flagstones.

The commander’s face flickers in spectral shards across the yard, repeated in the bronze-glow of fallen shields and broken helms. Echoes of his own last command rise from the stones, colder than breath.

Miyamoto Mifune catches himself, boots skidding on moss-slick stone. Above, on the roofline, Temple Hunters crowd the edge and hesitate at the sight below.

The spectral commander turns, not alive, not gone, and points toward Mifune as if ordering a fresh assault. The courtyard answers with the scrape of unseen blades and the creak of old war banners.

Miyamoto Mifune leaves Abandoned temple courtyard in Sashi behind and arrives at a large city.

The courtyard glare drops away, replaced by wet cobbles, soot-dark walls, and the crush of a city at dusk. Mifune lands in a narrow lane between shuttered shops, city noise pressing in on all sides.

His wrist mark still burns, but the flare dims under the grime of travel. A hanging sign creaks overhead, and a pair of watchmen at the lane mouth turn at the sudden disturbance.

Beyond the watchmen, the street opens toward taller roofs and a cluster of inns and fencing yards, where drawn swords are a common sight and a loud one. The hunters are nowhere in reach, but the city has noticed him.

Mifune stands in the middle of the lane, city damp on his boots and a duel-prone crowd just beyond the watchmen. Their hands hover near their clubs, waiting for his next move.