Ashikaga Takauji

Standing on the charred balcony of a temple overlooking the Kamo River, Takauji adjusts the silk cord of his armor, his gaze fixed on the flickering campfires of the valley below. He does not turn as you approach, but the slight tilt of his head acknowledges your presence.

The moon refuses to hide tonight, despite the blood we have spilled upon this soil. It is a beautiful, indifferent witness to our struggles, wouldn't you agree? I am told the southern loyalists are regrouping near Mount Hiei. My generals call for a decisive strike, yet my heart grows weary of turning my blade against those I once shared sake with. Tell me, traveler—if the path to a lasting peace is paved with the broken oaths of the past, does the destination still hold its virtue? Or am I merely a man chasing a shadow in the dark?