Crossing his arms negligently, Chan Basho pushed his way slightly to the left, edging in front of an excited villager so that he had a good view. Before him, the two samurai stood facing each other, swords' tips almost touching. They seemed like statues, so motionless they were and gradually this stillness infected the crowd surrounding them, spreading like ripples until the whole village was poised in silence waiting for the inevitable strike. It came at last, preceded by a deafening shout from the samurai facing Junzo. Even expected, it made Chan stagger. Facing the onslaught directly, Junzo didn't flinch, his ears protected by melted wax and he stuck swiftly at his leaping opponent. Beside him though, Chan saw both Jiro and Yabu blanch, while behind them one of the villagers flopped to the ground in a dead faint. His attention flicked back to the fight, but the old general could see it was already over. Junzo's opponent was still on his feet, but one hand clutched a tunic already red and sodden. A moment more and he collapsed to the ground, to lie in a swiftly spreading pool of blood. The pent-up emotion of the last few minutes exploded as the villagers variously muttered or chattered excitedly, and Chan saw money changing hands. The wandering samurai who had so propitiously approached them the night before strolled over and proposed a drink to celebrate before they all took their various roads.
On the way back to the inn, Chan approached the young samurai lord and with apologies informed him that he would be leaving their party. His apologies were sincere - the young man had shown himself well in the trials that had confronted him and Chan thought that such a leader could benefit from the advice his years of campaigning could yield. Another thing, he thought to himself - sake was going to be much harder to come by once Ogame and his purse moved out of sight. With luck, it wouldn't be that long, but still he accepted the offer of drink before parting with alacrity.
It turned out that the paths of his samurai acquaintances and the ronin Gen would run together, and they left shortly before noon on purchased horses. Chan watched them go from the shelter of the mill, and his eyes also noted one other watcher. The monk smiled, one hand absently scratching his stomach. He had spotted the watchers two days before and decided it would be a good idea to stalk them in turn. He waited for the rest, but as the minutes passed, his amusement faded. He sipped from his flask sparingly. It was already half empty. Still the other watcher stood, as the mounted samurai passed the crest of the hill and out of sight, their servant trailing after. Then he turned and walked slowly back into the village, apparently unconcernedly. Chan frowned, perplexed. Perhaps he had been mistaken? Or had the watchers simply been sent by the Aomori lord to ensure no trouble on his territory? The answers lay with the other watcher, and Chan moved from his shelter to follow the man. His target walked through the village and then turned and slipped between two houses, glancing once behind him. Chan followed after, and a cautious look revealed that the alleyway was empty. The monk was between the houses when the man stepped out to block the end of the passage. Two others stood beside him.
His unknown opponent bowed mockingly and spoke in Chinese. "Hello, General. The Red Banner has a score to settle with you."
He raised his hands and the ragged sleeves of his worker's tunic slid down to reveal muscular forearms. Forearms wrapped in intricate tatoos depicting red dragons. Beside him the others crossed their arms revealing the same markings. The Years rushed away from Chan as he recalled the last time he had seen those markings. The Red Banner Society! Here! But what did this portend? His nerves afire, the monk wheeled, but he realised the other end of the alley was similarly blocked. He raised his sake flask in one hand, regretting its emptiness, even as he realised that it had not been the young lord these men trailed, at least not alone. It was himself they wanted. Taking one last long draft from his flask, he drew himself into fighting stance, as his enemies rushed from both ends of the alleyway.