"State your allegiance," one demanded, though his voice shook.
"To myself."
"Masterless? A ronin?"
"If labels make you comfortable."
They exchanged glances. A masterless samurai was dangerous—nothing to lose, no honor to maintain. Add the red eyes and the blood-soaked appearance...
"There's nothing for ronin here," the leader said, careful. "Move along."
I looked at them. Hosokawa colors. The same men who'd cut down Kurō's unit while they retreated. His memories supplied the details—these three had been laughing as they executed the wounded.
"You killed the Yamamoto unit," I observed, flat.
The leader's hand went to his sword. "War is war."
"Is it?" I tilted my head, considering. "I've watched a lot of wars. They're all the same. Except sometimes..." I smiled, feeling how wrong it looked on this face. "Sometimes they're educational."
"You were with Yamamoto?"
I moved. Before they can even reacts
