While Ono Village was bustling with activity, In the mountain forest north of the village, a group of people were using the cover of the dense canopy to hide in the shadows.
There were a little over twenty of them, men and women, old and young, but without exception they all looked ragged and gaunt.
They wore coarse homespun clothes, and some even wore crude garments sewn from bark and animal hides. Patches covered patches, until the original color could no longer be made out.
The weapons in their hands were just as crude: long spears whittled from bamboo, sickles used for cutting grass, hatchets used for chopping firewood, and a few wooden bows made from bamboo strips and ox sinew. The bow limbs were already somewhat cracked, clearly having been used for many years.
Only the burly man at their head held a samurai sword.
The scabbard was badly worn, and several strands of the wrapping on the hilt had snapped.
On his back, a sleeping little girl was tied in place with an old, tattered cloth strap.
The girl was about five or six years old. Her cheeks were flushed an unhealthy red, her brows were tightly furrowed, and her breathing was rapid and scorching hot. She was clearly ill.
"Boss Yuki, that's Ono Village over there." A skinny mountain dweller reached out and pointed toward the village in the valley in the distance.
Another mountain dweller holding a wooden bow had bright eyes and clearly good vision. He narrowed his eyes and looked for a while, then said hesitantly, "But why are there so many people in this village today? It's so lively—Boss, are we still going?"
The burly man called Boss Yuki did not answer right away.
He turned his head and looked back at the