It was already dark when the military meeting ended.
The samurai left the council hall in twos and threes, the clatter of their scabbards and their footsteps gradually fading along the stone path.
Maki did not leave with the crowd.
He leaned against a stone pillar outside the council hall, folded the conscription order, tucked it inside his clothes, and waited.
Mifune was the last to come out.
He had no attendants and no guards.
The Odachi hung at his waist, its scabbard swaying gently with his steps.
As he walked, his back was as straight as the spine of a blade.
Maki pushed away from the pillar, took two steps forward, and stopped in the middle of the corridor.
"Lord Mifune."
Mifune stopped.
He turned his head and studied Maki by the light of the oil lamps hanging in the corridor.
During that brief silence, his gaze swept over Maki twice.
Then he spoke, his voice steady, each word like a sword tip tapping against stone.
"Your stance isn't that of a samurai from the Land of Iron. Tell me, which shinobi village are you from?"
Maki did not move.
His right hand still hung at his side, half a palm's width from his sword hilt.
Mifune had not reached for his sword when he spoke, nor was there any killing intent in his tone. He was merely stating a fact he had already confirmed.
"Konoha."
Mifune nodded, as though confirming an answer he had expected.
He pushed open a side door nearby. The room inside was small, with a map of the entire Land of Iron hanging on the wall, marking every major road to the border and the locations of water sources.
A tea set sat on the low table. The stove had gone out, and the