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Iron Country – General Mifune's Mansion
The clang of steel echoed across the vast training ground, a rhythmic symphony of metal striking metal. General Mifune moved with practiced precision, his sword a blur as he sparred against one of his samurai. Around them, nearly fifty warriors performed disciplined drills in perfect synchronization, their blades slicing through the air with deadly grace.
A lone guard approached the edge of the makeshift ring, his presence unnoticed at first amid the rhythmic clash of blades. He stood still for a moment, then spoke.
"General Mifune, I need to speak with you."
His voice was neither loud nor respectful, yet it carried enough weight to disrupt the session. The training ground fell silent. Every samurai turned, their gazes sharp. It was more than rudeness—it was defiance.
The samurai sparring with Mifune reacted immediately, instinct overriding restraint. In a single, fluid motion, he leveled his blade at the guard, his stance poised for a decisive strike. His voice, when he spoke, carried the edge of an unsheathed dagger.
"How dare you speak to the general in such a manner? I should cut you down where you stand."
The threat was not an empty one. The guard had not simply been rude—he had broken an unspoken rule of respect, and in the presence of Samurais bound by honour, such transgressions were not taken lightly.
Before the situation could escalate further, Mifune raised a hand. The gesture was simple, yet it carried more weight than any shouted command. His expression was unreadable, his tone steady and composed, revealing nothing of his thoughts.
"Stand down," he said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the silent courtyard. "There is no need for violence. No true samurai would speak to me in such a way if he knew who I was—let alone a guard under my own roof."
A hush fell over the training ground, the tension thick as steel drawn from its sheath.
Mifune fixed the guard with a sharp gaze. His voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"Speak. Who are you, and what do you want?"
The guard straightened his posture, showing neither fear nor hesitation as he met Mifune's piercing stare head-on. His voice was steady, though there was a subtle edge to it, something unyielding.
"My name is Inoiki Yamanaka," he declared. "I assume my name carries enough weight that I don't need to explain myself. I came to see you personally. I would have preferred a more formal meeting, but your guards—" his gaze flickered to the surrounding warriors, "—were less than accommodating. They tried to turn me away, refused to listen, as if I were some common vagrant at the gates."
His tone sharpened slightly, though he remained composed.
"I have something of great importance to discuss with you, General. And I do not have the patience for bureaucratic pleasantries." He exhaled sharply. "That is why I took… unconventional measures. Even now, I stand at your mansion's gate."
The moment those final words left his lips, a violent tremor ran through his body. His entire frame stiffened, as if struck by an unseen force. Then, without warning, his knees buckled. His breath hitched. His fingers clawed at the earth as if trying to grasp something to anchor himself, but there was nothing to hold onto. His head jerked, his muscles tensing against an invisible grip. And then—just as suddenly—he fell fully to his knees, bowing low before Mifune in a display of sudden, desperate humility.
"Mifune-sama…" he gasped, his voice raw with strain. "Forgive me—I never intended to speak so rudely. I swear it. It was as if something had seized control of me. I was aware of what was happening, but I couldn't stop myself. I—" his breath came in ragged bursts "—I would never dream of disrespecting you… not even in my worst nightmares."
Mifune approached the fallen guard and spoke calmly.
"Do not trouble yourself over this," he said. "I know this was not your doing. Someone else was controlling you." His eyes flickered with understanding. "You look drained. Rest for now. I will deal with Inoiki."
Without another word, he turned and strode toward the mansion's gate, his movements purposeful and unwavering. His second-in-command, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, quickly fell into step beside him. Though his expression remained composed, there was a tension in his posture, a quiet unease that was difficult to ignore.
"Mifune-sama," he said after a beat, his voice low but urgent, "could it really be Inoiki Yamanaka? The same Inoiki from Konoha that I'm thinking of?"
Mifune didn't break stride, his mind already piecing together the implications.
"I can't say for certain," he admitted. "But if it is him, then there is only one man capable of such abilities—'The Silent Reaper' of Konoha."
His second-in-command exhaled sharply at the name, the weight of its reputation settling between them like an unspoken omen. If Inoiki Yamanaka had come to the Land of Iron, it could mean only one thing—something dangerous was about to unfold.
Mifune reached the gate of his mansion, his footsteps steady and deliberate. As his gaze settled upon the young man standing before him, he took in every detail with a seasoned warrior's eye. Blonde hair, sky-blue eyes, dressed in pure black from head to toe, with the forehead protector of Konoha resting neatly against his brow. The symbol of the Hidden Leaf gleamed under the fading light, a silent declaration of the boy's origins.
Inoiki had grown in the past two and a half years, now standing eye to eye with the general at 170 cm.
He carried himself with the poise of a trained shinobi, his presence quiet yet impossible to ignore. There was no need for introductions. The moment Mifune and his second-in-command laid eyes on him, they knew.
This was Inoiki Yamanaka.
Mifune studied him for a moment before speaking. "You are Inoiki Yamanaka, I presume."
Inoiki gave a small nod, his expression composed. "You're right. I am Inoiki." His voice was smooth, unwavering, carrying a polite formality that contrasted sharply with the weight of his reputation. "It's an honor to meet you, Lord Mifune. And I apologize for what happened with your guard."
Mifune gave a slow nod in response but remained silent. What was there to say? Words felt meaningless in the presence of a man like Inoiki.
The young shinobi had not earned the name The Silent Reaper without reason. His enemies never saw him coming—nor did they live long enough to comprehend how they had been killed. Stories of his missions spread through the ranks like whispers in the wind, always too unbelievable to be real, yet too frequent to be ignored.
Mifune gave a slow nod but said nothing. Even if he wanted to, what could be said? Inoiki had not earned the name The Silent Reaper for nothing. His enemies never saw him coming—nor did they live long enough to understand how they had been killed.
The title was well deserved. Inoiki could fly, and with his Psychokinesis, he wielded blades with terrifying precision. His enemies never stood a chance.
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