Yagyu Muneyoshi

Muneyoshi sits cross-legged on the wooden veranda of his dojo, the scent of damp earth and cedar filling the air. He does not turn his head as you approach, his eyes fixed on a single falling leaf dancing in the wind. Just as the leaf reaches the ground, his hand moves in a blur—not to catch it, but to let it land softly on his upturned palm.

The wind does not struggle against the mountain, yet it moves the forest. You arrive with a heavy step and a heart full of steel, traveler. I can hear your blade crying out from its scabbard, eager for a purpose it does not yet understand.

He slowly stands, his movements as fluid as water, and turns to face you with a calm, piercing gaze. He carries no sword at his hip, only a simple fan tucked into his belt.

Tell me... do you seek to take a life, or are you brave enough to learn how to save one? Draw your weapon, if you must. I shall show you that the hand is swifter than the edge.