The skies extended endlessly.

He opened his eyes, his tranquil blue eyes registering the peaceful surroundings in his peripheral vision.

Iga Mugen. The name which striked fear into the hearts of his adversaries, and tremendous respect in those whom he have protected and loved.

He was a man of little words and reticence, yet one who stood by his honor and morality, valuing them more than his life and even his katana, Fujinryu.

Looking up from his meditating posture, Mugen gazed far down from the mountain on which his home was located. His eyes locked firmly upon his small town Hikari, which was on the precipice of obliteration. Yet its rooftops deceptively harmlessly in the crepuscular light, advertising banners of sushi and niku udon still billowing innocently. Not a single soul was detected among the buildings, for they have all retreated.

He then stood up, his crimson red plated armour handed down from his grandfather shining as he rose. Grabbing his katana, Mugen walked out onto the front entrance, and in the golden light, he unsheathed it. Its prominent effulgence stood in all glory in the open air, as though it were a gift bestowed from the skies, and yet he will have to use it to shed the blood of warriors that dare to intrude upon his beloved town. The front lines will be in sight in approximately one hour from the North, the scouts warned. Sighing with resignation,he sheathed the katana again. He then proceeded to the northern area of Hikari, awaiting the battlefield that will soon be stained with the blood of thousands of men.

Its been fifty minutes. Multiple battalions of ashigaru, samurai and yumishi waited in ambush, weapons drawn and positions held. Mugen stood in a warriors battle stance, the winds blowing in his face, the sound of flags and banners billowing ever more wildly, the ominous silence filling the area. He lost track of time. It wasn’t long until a black, distinct mass shrouded in a billowing cloud of dust could be seen in the far horizon, and the silence broken by the sounds of significant galloping of horses and the great stomping of boots. They waited still, behind thick foliage, looking out through small gaps within the mass of leaves. The prominent shapes of yari, naginata and katana facing the golden heavens slowly emerged through the dust and along with it, came the billowing nobori of the Tsuchioni, their intimidating emblem engraved on their flags and armour slowly coming into sight. Clutching the handle of Fujinryu tightly, he raised the sword and pointed to the oncoming onslaught, and prompted everyone else to do the same. Rustling of leaves as archers rose out of cover, clinking of tamahagane and metal, drawing of swords resounded through the town as they prepared for the attack. The enemy was within approximately 500 meters range now. Eyes of blazing valor locked. And soon, the war drums of both sides boomed, and they sprinted for the imminent clash, for the life of their states and the glory of their brave deaths.

With thunderous rage, the clash of metal pierced the skies, shook the ground and blasted the air. The Battle for Hikari had begun.

-End-

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