Amidst the carnage and chaos of this mindless feud, a lone, solitary man emerged from the shadows to bear witness to the massacre. His long, silver hair and purple and white warriors robe, were untouched by the battle, yet, his soul was heavy with the burden of this conflict. For wherever he looked, people, harmless plainsmen, were suffering the brunt of some distant dictators whim.

However, Genshu could not sacrifice the honor of his heart, and growing sickened by the scene that plagued his eyes, the samurai drew his sword, and charged toward the nearest attacker. Yet, the target of his rage sparked the moment of recognition that caused an unwise pause. The samurai standing in Genshu’s path was large, and very powerful, yet at the same time, his skill seemed superior to any man in the field. He was broad, his large chest covered by a black, sleeveless tunic, and his legs were covered by a baggy pair of gray leggings, which clung at the ankles. Yet, the memory of this man could not bring recognition, as his face was a blur of motion.

Genshu readied his sword, and swung at the dishonorable warrior, yet, his sword did nothing but pass through the presence of the man, dragging the very image of the village in accordance to the stroke. Genshu now found himself on a mountain top, the daylight transcending to darkness, yet, the fire of warfare still burned. He now found himself in the desolated campsite, a group of several armed boys, fending off an attack. These young men wore the uniforms of blue and white, yet Genshu could not make out the images of their attackers. It was as if a haze of mist shielded their identity.

Unwilling to allow this scene to proceed without his intervention, Genshu charged forth, sword in hand, yet the heat of the flames kept him at bay. He could see these boys although fighting hard, were overmatched by their attackers. As Genshu stared, focusing his eyes on the solders, he began to make out the symbol, embedded on their armor. Though, before Genshu could discern the identity of these men, the samurai in black and gray appeared before him. He stood, defiantly before Genshu, his face now fully visible. Yet, before Genshu could speak the name, the powerful man before him, struck him in the face with the flat of his hand. Genshu’s body jerked as he woke from his nightmare. He stared at the foreign walls, before remembering the inn at Ryoko, and the hellish image of the slaughtered Unicorn Youth Brigade. Though, what disturbed him more was the man who haunted his dreams. Genshu’s mouth was pained, and as he rubbed his hand across his lips, he wiped away a tickle of blood. Who was the man? His name escaped Genshu like the fleeing dream, yet he was all to aware of his existence. He could not place the attacker, yet he would have no time to dwell on the matter. A knock at the door snapped his mind to the present.

Angered, and edged by his vision, Genshu reached for his sword, startled to realize that he already had the weapon drawn, the sword clutched in his hand. Creeping toward the door, Genshu readied himself, tore the door open, and grabbed this intruder of solitude by the throat, pointing the tip of his sword at this man’s forehead.

“Urg….m…master.” Stated the kolbold in the purple coat, the story collector from last night, that Genshu remembered only vaguely. “What do you wish?” Genshu demanded.

“Uh…master, the…there’s a Highland ambassador here. They wish to talk to the town concerning the Unicorn Youth Brigade massacre.” Genshu released his grip on the kolbold, and turned back toward the bed. Retrieving his scabbard and belt, Genshu put these on before turning toward the kolbold.

“Don’t call me master. I have not earned the right.” Genshu’s low voice, a hushed whisper as he looked at the kolbold. A brief nod of respect, Genshu turned toward the door, walked down the stairs and into the town square, followed closely by the storyteller. Genshu noticed, what appeared to be the entire town, gathered within this square. Finding a discrete location near a shadowed alley, Genshu watched as a young woman, wearing a black gown stepped from the wagon. Her coal black hair, a striking contrast to her pale face. Yet, despite her beauty, charm and class, it was her words that brought a silence to the town.

"People of Highland," she said clearly so that her words would carry throughout the crowd. "Only a few short weeks have passed since I was in the Jouston City of Muse, striving for an end to this war. And now, with the attack on the Unicorn Brigade, that peace seems lost. Of that attack, only the boys' commander, Rowd, has been found alive. I can only imagine the pain and sorrow that must cause you all."

Genshu watched, as the stunned and shocked expressions of the people sunk through their disbelief. These people, many of whom lost their only child, or sibling, would suffer the rest of their lives.

"In the capital, the King's advisors urge him to declare war anew, and other to continue to strive for peace.” Jillia continued. “Each one of those advisors defends his place with parts of what has happened, but I fear all they truly think of is the politics of the matter. So I come to you, the people who were hurt by these events the most, to say what you believe should be done next. I will take your choice to the capital and see to it that it happens.

"Before you choose, let me say this. The boys slain will never be brought back, no matter what the choice is. If you choose war, many more people will die, Highland and Jowston alike." Jillia paused for their answer. The whispering renewed, but one voice was louder than the rest, speaking directly to Jillia. "My brother, my only relative left, was in that camp. What does it matter if a few more people die when those closest to me have already been killed? Those heartless monsters who did this can't get away with it!"

Genshu looked at the child who screamed these words of hatred, her pink blouse and mouse-brown hair, a striking contrast to her green pants. But was most surprising, was that her cries were echoed by the townspeople, each seeking vengeance for the loss of their loved one.

Genshu gazed at the distraught Jillia. Her worst fears seemed to echo through her eyes. Genshu saw her sincerity and passion yet he also felt her power, not in strength or magic, but in will. Yet these were overshadowed by the pain and anguish that filled her eyes. For the briefest of moments, Genshu felt a kinship, recognizing this young woman as a kindered spirit. Yet, as quickly as the feeling welled within Genshu, he quickly snuffed the emotion. He had no need for this.

And it was then, during this heated uprising of anger that Genshu’s former master’s words returned to him. “Emotion is a weakness, which may be exploited by your enemies.” And as Genshu watched the anger filter through the crowd, his face became ashen, and his eyes grew in unrealized terror. The enemy was not some ghost army from another nation the enemy was here. “Oh my lord.”

“Master, what does this mean?” The kolbold story collector asked, also disturbed by the mob scene, taking place in the Town Square.