Tarlok Mahoi scaled the last branches of the tree, craning his neck to peer over the top leaves, and silently drew his bowstring back to his cheek. The ogre he had been tracking for the last four days stood slowly, its eyes adjusting to the dawn's early light, and performed a routine stretch. Tarlok paused his inhaling mid-breath and let the arrow fly. As the beast stood up, the arrow caught it in the throat. It sputtered, and collapsed. Tarlok quickly approached and beheaded the ogre, bagging his trophy as he walked back to the Eiganjo palace.

No cheers were prepared for him as he trudged through the dusty roads leading to the imperial sector. No villager dared look him in the eye, dared peer past his dark hood and darker reputation. Many times he heard negative whispers, and he once paused, drew his blade, sheathed it again, and kept walking. He heard no more whispers. One man was foolish enough to try and nick one of his blades from him, and lost three fingers before anyone had even seen him. Anyone but Tarlok.

The palace portcullis rattled open for him, and the guards collected the head as he strode past. The iron gate slammed shut behind him, and a scrawny messenger ran up to Tarlok. "Sir!" shouted the boy. "The master has requested your presence in his chambers!"

"Thank you," mumbled Tarlok. He was grateful that there was at least one man, even if he was a boy, that did not fear him beyond all reason. He tossed the boy a golden coin, and began his climb up the five hundred flights of stairs that led to the sanctum of Konda, Lord of Eiganjo.

He passed many on his way up, but none spoke to him. He had climbed these stairs a thousand times, and was scarcely sweating when he reached the sliding doors of Lord Konda.

"You are not happy," began the ancient samurai, "and yet you have done a great deed. Why do the people not cheer your name in the streets?"

"Because I'm a monster," replied Tarlok solemnly, and he sat down to meditate with the old man.

"No, that," said Konda, pointing out the window where the ogre's head was being held on display, "was a monster. But you killed it. With Hidetsugu gone, the land may prosper once again. His band of ogres will flee Eiganjo and never return, for they were more blind than even he." Konda poured Tarlok a pot of tea, and after taking a first sip, said, "You make a demon out of yourself, and I do not see why."

Tarlok sipped his tea and laid his sword down on the table next to him. "Master, I am an assassin. I kill for a living, and I watch even more the falling outs of my foes beneath my blade."

"Ah, Tarlok," said the old man, rising and folding his hands behind his back. "A samurai is not some dirty thing, tainted with distrust and vile intentions, even if he is an assassin."

Tarlok turned away, pulling his hood back up to hide his face.

"There is no time for remorse, even if it is as needed as yours, Tarlok." Konda stood and looked out the window again, this time into the noon sun. "We have a chance upon us to end the kami war."

Tarlok stood up, spilling his tea in his surprise. "That is impossible, the kami are endless, and move as one. We stand no chance against them unless we can kill O-Kagachi, and he has not come out of hiding since the war began." Tarlok paused, and then whispered, "except at the battle of iron hill." This was the place where an entire army of men had mysteriously disappeared after seeing O-Kagachi rise above them. Tarlok had been there, and he was the only one that the kami had not taken. He had never seen any of the one thousand men again.

"The oracle foretold that the greatest kami would fall under the blade of our greatest warrior." Lord Konda turned about, his robes sweeping a circular pattern over the floor as he faced Tarlok. "O-Kagachi is undoubtedly the greatest spirit in all of Kamigawa, but with your training complete I know that you are now humanity's last hope." He walked across the pristine wooden floor to a dusty old cabinet that Tarlok had never before seen opened, reached into it, and drew from within a radiant sapphire blade.

"Master…" mumbled Tarlok with nearly inaudible volume as he took the blade.

"This is Tatsumasa, the Dragon's Fang. It was destined to end this war, one way or another, from the time it was first crafted. I trust it to your care now, samurai Mahoi, and pray that you are able to kill the great kami before he kills you. Stay safe, stay alert, and whatever happens," said Konda, squinting into his disciple's eyes, "don't let O-Kagachi take it from you."

Tarlok bowed to his master and sheathed the blade, descending the stairs and packing his provisions for the quest. The young messenger who had informed him that Konda wished to seek his audience approached him with a dark, black, hooded cloak that resembled Tarlok's. He had various knives tucked into tiny pockets all over his body, and rode up to the royal assassin on an adolescent pony.

"I'm coming sir!"

Tarlok turned about to see who had claimed such a feat, hoping to see a shaman, or perhaps a spirit that had defected to the human ranks but was met with the beaming hope of the young lad's face. "No," he replied matter-of-factly.

Clearly irked, the boy jumped from his steed and walked quickly to Tarlok's side, tugging on his robe. "Don't you know who I am?"

"No, but you clearly know who I am, so leave me be."

"I am a student of Lord Konda, equal in you to rank, and my sensei has ordered you to take me on the quest with you."

This caught Tarlok's attention. "Why on earth would he do that?" asked the assassin, turning about and staring the lad down with a deep, penetrating gaze.

The boy shrugged as if the fate of his race did not rest in his hands, and replied, "We can always climb five hundred flights of stairs and ask him."

The assassin made a growling noise at the boy, cursing the stairs, and finished packing his things. "We leave now."

"I'm ready."

Tarlok did not like this boy. "If you stand in my way, I will order you back to this palace before you can say Akki."

"I already told you, our ranks are…"

"Rank will have nothing to do with my orders," said Tarlok, and the boy paled. "Obey me, or you will die. It will not come by my hand, but it will come."

The two of them rode out the palace gates with one eager for adventure, and one dying for spirit blood, but both united in their quest to save their land.