The morning sun bathed the village of Edo in a veil of warm, golden light.

  The scent of damp rice fields and fresh-cut wood filled the air as everyday life flowed by like an endless river.

  Farmers, bent under the weight of heavy harvest baskets, moved silently toward the fields.

  Blacksmiths hammered rhythmically on glowing iron, while merchants raised their voices over the small marketplace, arguing about prices as if the fate of the world hung in the balance.

  Children shrieked with laughter as they chased each other through the narrow alleys.

  Mothers washed laundry at the river, their laughter mixing with the gentle burble of water.

  Old men sat near the shrine, sipping tea from thin-walled bowls, telling the same stories they had spun for decades—each year a little grander, a little more colorful.

  For the people of Edo, it was a day like any other.

  No one suspected that far away, in the halls of the Imperial Court, the fate of the realm balanced on a knife's edge.

  Yet even here, in this seemingly quiet village, the first shadows had begun to stir.

  Whispers by the Well At the village well, where cool, clear water bubbled from the earth, two merchants stood close together.

  Their voices were low, as if afraid the wind might betray them.

  "Did you see the men?"

  The old man's whisper cut sharply through the morning stillness.

  His companion raised an eyebrow.

  "What men?"

  "Strangers," the old man murmured, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

  "They're not from here."

  The second man scoffed lightly.

  "Travelers come and go. Merchants, pilgrims maybe."

  But the old man shook his head firmly.

  "No. These ones... they ask too many questions. They look at everything—the paths, the houses, the shrine."

  An uneasy chill crept into the heart of the second man.

  "Maybe... mercenaries?"

  The word hung heavy between them.

  But neither dared voice the deeper fear clawing at their minds.

  The Steward's Worry At the steward’s house, Himoto Akizuki sat on the veranda.

  The old man seemed more tense than usual this morning, his gaze fixed on the courtyard as a messenger hurried up the steps and bowed.

  "Himoto-sama, I must report."

  The steward, who had heard too many reports in his life, lifted a hand in a silent invitation to continue.

  "Strangers have been seen near the village," the messenger said quietly.

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  "They’re surveying the area... asking about routes, shortcuts, the lay of the land."

  Himoto's brow furrowed, his expression darkening.

  "How many?"

  "Four. Maybe five. They don’t travel openly together, but... their paths cross."

  That made Himoto sit up straighter.

  Four or five men who pretended to be strangers but moved like comrades?

  That smelled like trouble.

  He leaned back, his bony forefinger tapping thoughtfully on the wooden bench.

  Edo was not an important city—

  just another province among thousands.

  But their daimyo was known for his unwavering loyalty to the Emperor.

  The surrounding territories, however?

  Not all were so steadfast.

  Some were rumored to quietly support the rebellious forces stirring at court.

  Himoto had never cared for grand politics.

  His life was the river, the fields, the village.

  But now, it seemed, the great world had begun to cast its shadow even here.

  "Observe them," he ordered at last, his voice soft but firm.

  "Discreetly. No confrontation. But inform me the moment they get too close to the village."

  The messenger bowed deeply.

  "As you command."

  And then he was gone—silent as a cat.

  Himoto remained behind, the evening sun stretching long shadows across the courtyard.

  He thought of the peaceful years, the long quiet days when the greatest threat had been the weather.

  And he knew:

  Those days were ending.

  The Growing Fear The strangers continued to behave quietly.

  But their very presence was enough to change the village.

  Rumors began to weave like cobwebs between the houses.

  "Warriors," some whispered.

  "Spies," others muttered.

  And there were those who forced brave smiles and shrugged:

  "Just merchants. Nothing more."

  But in their eyes—

  there lurked a fear they could not banish.

  Evening Falls on Edo That evening, Himoto sat again on his veranda.

  The sun sank behind the hills, painting the sky blood-red and casting the long shadows of the fields across the land.

  He felt the chill of the approaching night on his skin—

  a foreboding that had nothing to do with the weather.

  Inside, a dark certainty took root.

  These were no harmless travelers.

  Something larger had begun to move.

  And even though Edo seemed small and insignificant—

  soon enough, this village would be swept into the gathering storm.

  End of Chapter 22