Wind in Empty Scabbards

The rain drumming against the windows of the Sanbai izakaya is so loud it drowns out the drunken roar of the laborers. Inside, it is stifling, smelling of rancid oil and cheap sake. Low ceilings, the dim glow of oil lamps. Outside the window lies a pitch-black night, and the rain shows no sign of letting up.

Your presence in this roadside dive on the outskirts of Edo is pure coincidence.

The door bursts open with a crash. In the doorway stands a messenger, soaked to the bone. His face is pale, a dark stain of blood spreading across his side. He takes a couple of steps, his legs give way, and he collapses to his knees right in front of you. Gasping for air, the messenger pulls a wooden token marked with strange symbols from his breast and throws it onto the floor with a heavy thud. The token slides across the wet wood and comes to a rest not far from you.

— The temple... in Shinano... take it... the reward... — he wheezes, coughing up blood before falling onto his side, falling silent.

A momentary silence hangs over the hall. Three drifters at a neighboring table snap their heads around. They are strangers to one another, but the token pulls their gaze like a magnet.

— Don't touch it. — A gaunt man with a long scar through his eyebrow rises slowly. His hand rests on the hilt of a wooden sword. — This is a matter of honor. I will take it to the temple, as the dying man commanded.

— Yeah, right, keep dreaming, old man. — A girl in a tattered messenger's jacket hops nimbly off a barrel, stepping toward your table. Mischief dances in her eyes. — Honor won't feed me, and I need money. Hey, you! — she nods toward you. — Hand over the token, and I'll shower you with coins. Or get lost while your bones are still intact.

— None of your business, brute. The token is mine by right.

— Like hell it is! Finders keepers!

"If I miss this contract, I'll truly sink into the gutter. But to fight in a tavern over a piece of wood... it is beneath me."

The argument is on the verge of turning into a brawl. At that moment, the proprietress of the izakaya, a woman in her fifties with a piercing gaze, slams a heavy mug onto the counter with a bang.

— Quiet in my establishment! — her voice cuts through the sound of the rain. — The messenger said "take it." And I see four of you here. None of you could carry that bit of wood past the gates alone—I'll bet there's already a tail on you from the capital. Either you take the job together and split the reward, or I call the guards and you all spend the night in a ditch.

Kai and Tome fall silent, glaring at one another. Goro lets out a heavy sigh. The token still lies on the table, right in front of you. The gazes of the three drifters and the proprietress all converge on you. They are all waiting to see what you will do, or what you will say.