Chapter 8

Inside a large, crowded inn, the atmosphere is lively. Strangers gather around, laughing and murmuring over their drinks. Mugs of ale clink together, and the scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread fills the air. 

But down in the basement, the energy was completely different. The noise from above was muffled, like a distant hum. The wooden floorboards creaked as people moved around upstairs. Shadows flickered across the stone walls as the flames of a few candles struggled against the darkness.

At the massive wooden table near a lone figure stood, hunched in concentration. His cloak hung loosely around his shoulders and his woolen tunic and trousers were simple, practical. In his hand, a small, sharp dagger moved in irregular strokes, carving the curves of rivers and the harsh angles of mountain ranges into the wood just as in the system. His face was taut with focus, brow furrowed as he traced the map's details, barely acknowledging the quiet presence at his side.

The man standing nearby was tall and imposing, his posture straight and steady, his blue eyes observing . His strong jawline and dark mustache gave his sharp features an air of confidence, while his wild, neatly trimmed black hair hinted at an untamed edge. He wore a sleek black hakama that moved gracefully with every shift of his body, paired with a matching kimono. 

The difference between the two men was like day and night. One might assume the tall, refined figure commanded authority over the simple man carving at the table. Yet, the roles were reversed. The man in the tunic—weathered and weary—was the one in charge.

The carver paused, taking a deep breath as he stepped back to inspect his work. His expression soured at the sight of the jagged, uncooperative lines, and he released a tired sigh. Dropping heavily into a nearby chair, he stretched out his legs, his boots coming to rest on the half-finished map. The man leaned back, closing his eyes and trying to gather himself. 

The man beside him hesitated. The urge to speak, to remind his lord that such behavior was unbecoming. But he kept his lips tightly sealed, not daring to voice what he was thinking.

Then suddenly he noticed another presence descending the stairs, though with a quiet grace that was both deliberate and unsettling.

The samurai finally broke his silence. "Master," he said, addressing Kartiga, who was still lounging in the chair, eyes closed and body relaxed.

Kartiga didn't bother to open his eyes. "Hmm?" he replied lazily, as though it took all the energy he could muster to respond.

"Kage(shadow) is here," the samurai informed, his voice laced with irritation. 

Kartiga's eyes fluttered open, but he made no effort to rise from his seat. Instead, he turned his gaze toward Tanaka, who seemed to glance briefly at Kai, standing at his side. Kartiga sighed softly, shaking his head. He had grown accustomed to the fact that samurai and shinobi rarely got along. They came from different worlds—different traditions, different methods. But in the end, what mattered most was the loyalty from both sides. Loyalty to Kartiga, which he knew he could count on.

Still, Kartiga couldn't help but wonder why Tanaka, despite his ability to work alongside the other shinobi above—who, after all, performed their duties as inn workers—seemed to hold a particular distrust towards Kai. Was it because Kai had earned the role of being too close to him? Or was it just the nature of the samurai way, which was built on openness and honor, conflicting with the more secretive, calculated methods of the shinobi? Tanaka was a man of direct action, and shinobi, with their hidden ways, were difficult for him to understand or trust. Kartiga thought about it for a moment before dismissing it. Did it really matter? They were all here for the same purpose in the end, serve me.

As he stood from his chair, Kartiga stretched his arms before reached for his dagger, a tool he now carried with him, and slid it into the folds of his cloak. His hand lingered on the hilt for a moment, checking the familiar grip before glancing at Kai.

Kai, as usual, stood silently, waiting for Kartiga to move, and once Kartiga had risen, the shinobi gave a respectful bow before turning toward the door.

Before Kartiga could leave, however, he turned back to Tanaka, who had remained rooted in place. And there was something in Kartiga's mind that made him pause for a moment, carefully selecting his words before speaking.

"Tanaka…" Kartiga's voice was softer than usual, a slight hesitation making his words deliberate. He knew how Tanaka could be at times—proud and honourable, devoted, but not always open to compromise. "Avoid wearing your hakama outside," Kartiga said, his tone calm but firm, like a reminder rather than a command.

For a second, he considered saying more, perhaps cautioning Tanaka against carrying his katana. The samurai's pride had always been a delicate thing, and the last time Tanaka had been mocked for his attire and his name, it had escalated into something unpleasant, far beyond what Kartiga was expected. 

For a brief moment, Kartiga's thoughts drifted back to the first time he had encountered Tanaka, just after he had summoned him using the system. It hadn't been Tanaka who approached him, but rather him who had taken the first step, following the echoes of commotion outside the inn. He remembered the scene as if it were frozen in time: a bloody, brutal moment, one that would remain etched in his memory forever.

Hiroshi Tanaka stood alone in the middle of a bloody scene. His katana, stained with blood, showed that he had fought and killed those laid dead. There was no fear in his eyes, just a cold, quiet strength. And it was the first time Kartiga had truly seen what a man could do with a sword, so close. Even with the blood on his hands, he didn't hide from it. just walked up to Kartiga and, without a word, Tanaka knelt down, bowing his head. "Master.".

Kartiga quickly pushed the thoughts of the past aside and focused on the present. He couldn't get lost in memories. "Just... keep a low profile for now," he said after a pause. He hoped it would be enough.

"Yes, master," Tanaka responded in his usual respectful tone, but there was something in his voice that made Kartiga wonder if Tanaka ever fully accepted the way things were. The samurai would always follow orders, but there was a part of him that could never quite let go of his own pride.

Kartiga turned and made his way toward the stairs, with Kai quietly following behind. Before he left, he glanced back at Tanaka, who stood still, bowing low. He remained that way until Kartiga was out of sight.

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Sorry for the delay, everyone! I got busy recently, but don't worry—we'll continue our regular releases as long as nothing unexpected comes up, like last week. By the way, Season 1 is about to start, so don't forget to add it to your collection!

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