The ground beneath his feet was dusty, trampled from the thousands upon thousands of feet that had marched over it. He kneeled down, running his hands through the dirt, the soft grains felt soothing, almost beautiful. He took a handful and stood up, letting the sand run through his fingers. He heard a war cry ahead of him, his dark eyes slowly looking up, seeing an army of a hundred walking toward him, their black clothing under the sun overhead. He unsheathed his katana sword, and got into his stance, holding the sword in front of him. Mitsurugi looked at the faces of the warriors walking toward him with a determined, yet, indifferent look. The warriors stopped, shoulder to shoulder and held up their weapons, the new weapon, the rifle. He stared at their barrels, watching all of them pointing directly at where he was standing.

A man yelled, "Fire!" The front riflemen unleashed their barrages of bullets, white smoke clouding where they stood, blinding them to whether they had shot the samurai. They froze, looking forward, hearing the sound of someone running toward them. "Reload! Reload!" ,the commander yelled, trying to get his men ready to fire again.

He heard a scream as the sound of a blade tore through flesh, then another. He looked and saw his men being cut down by the samurai, most of them unable to even react before the man sliced through them. Some of them started to flee, unable to fight back against the man, others stood and fought, trying to spear the man with their bayonets but were easily cut down. The commander unsheathed his own sword, a katana, and charged forward to meet the samurai.

He kicked and cut his way through the riflemen, with their primary weapon spent, they were nothing more than easy targets. He stopped, sensing the commander charging toward him, he quickly spun around, and blocked the commander's attack. The two katanas locked together, Mitsurugi looking into the eyes of the commander. He pushed his sword forward and drove his katana upward, cutting into the commanders chest and face, he screamed, falling to his knees. Mitsurugi sliced his head off, then looked around him, waiting for anyone else to come and fight, but none did, they all had fled. He flicked his sword, sending the blood off the blade, into the dirt and resheathed it.

The rifle, once a powerful adversary, now it was a handicap to those who used it. Mitsurugi wanted to fight a real warrior, not men who hid behind their guns, or even the other samurai that inhabited his country. He looked into the west, knowing the knight waited for him, Nightmare, the azure warrior who carried SoulEdge.