The campfire crackled in the damp air, scorching orange-red holes into the night of the Black Forest.
Sato closed the dog-eared copy of "Our Struggle" and pushed up his glasses. As his voice fell silent, theories of "exploitation" and "class" ignited the long-lost light in the refugees' eyes like dry kindling meeting flame. But as the night wind blew through, the wolves' howls from deep within the forest quickly chilled that warmth.
Reality came down like a bucket of cold water.
"Teacher..." An elderly villager raised a rusty pitchfork, his voice trembling. "We understand the principles. But... those noble lords have samurai, and ninja masters who can breathe fire and spray water. We only have this rotten wood and scrap iron. Can the ideas in books stop a Great Fireball?"
A low murmur rose through the crowd. Fear had been carved into their bones, the absolute awe ordinary people had held for chakra power for centuries.
Sato did not answer immediately. He turned to look at Liao, who sat in the shadows of a corner.
Liao was carefully wiping the Heavy Bolter named "Gift of Freedom" with a rag. Its body reflected a cold metallic gleam in the firelight. He was the only one here who possessed such a weapon, and he was everyone's spiritual pillar.
"Ideology can arm your minds and keep you from being pigs waiting for slaughter." Sato rose and walked to the center of the clearing, where several huge wooden crates had just been transported from the underground river, painted with dark green preservative paint.
He slapped a crate lid, producing a dull thud.
"But to stop Great Fireballs, to tear out ninja throats, you need harder fangs."
Sato looked at Liao. "Liao, this is the 'answer' I'm giving them. Open it."
Liao stopped wiping his