The air in the safe room was as still as a block of frozen ice.
The heavy bulletproof steel door slowly closed behind him with a dull locking thud, shutting out all the noise.
Cold white emergency lights shone down from the ceiling's four corners, casting a hard metallic gleam over the steel walls. Even the air smelled of rust.
Three masters stood shoulder to shoulder like three massive shields, guarding Cengfeng Dieshui beside the sofa behind them.
Osako Ryushin stood in the center, sixty-five years old and head of Jigen-ryu, gripping an old tachi with a broad, thick blade and a subdued, chilly gleam along its edge.
He lowered his shoulders slightly, his shoulder blades sinking an inch-this was the opening posture of Jigen-ryu's First Sword. Every muscle and bone gathered strength like a bow drawn taut.
Yano Dousetsu stood on the left, a fifty-eight-year-old Itto-ryu expert whose blade was slender and long, its edge razor-thin.
The toes of his right foot turned slightly outward against the floor, and he shifted thirty percent of his weight onto the ball of his foot-Itto-ryu's preparation for a thrust. Once unleashed, it would strike like a venomous snake leaving its hole, heading straight for a vital point.
Yaegashi Shizuma stood on the right, fifty-two years old and fully licensed in Shinto Munen-ryu. His blade was heavy, and he specialized in blocking and close-range cuts.
His breathing slowed half a beat, his knuckles whitening around the hilt-Shinto Munen-ryu's Battōjutsu generated power through the hips, carried it through the shoulders, and delivered it to the wrists.
The three had never fought together before, yet their positioning was frighteningly precise.
Exactly one sword's swing separated each of them. An attack from any direction would be intercepted by at least two men at once.
Their triangular