All blades speak if you will hear them.
Tadaka saw what others couldn’t perceive. A hair on Ichiro’s nose. Ichirou’s panic. The anger of the young Crane was a familiar taste on his tounge. It had been a decade since he had last fought a Crane but he remembered. He remembered fury and death. But never pain
A look. A look and the Crane was done. A moment, a blink and he had been brought low. Tadaka would remember. He would steel his focus. Tadaka would not make this mistake.
These children fighting in the mud. It never rained in Tsuma but there was always mud. The tournament was a farce. An idiot-king demanding of his subjects.
Many years had passed since he sold himself to the Crane. (TRAITOR!) His soul still burned to wear the colors of the Mantis. He burned for Hoketuhime. But above all, he burned for War.
Peace had never been kind to Tadaka-san. Peace was killing him.The simple bastard on the throne galled him. He knew he could shatter this so-called empire in a week. He had taken the throne from the Usurper and his blade had brought low the Dark God.
But to what end? Tadaka had cast aside his aspirations for the Seat of Heaven at the Day of Thunder. The Little Man had shown him the path he walked, the path of Slaughter.
War was brewing again. He could feel it through the vibration of Eikoto. Tadaka would find the Enemy. He would find his War. He would see Hoketuhime in the feilds of Yomi. Blood would flow.