Perhaps coming into the heart of the enemy camp was foolish. Ujiwara didn’t care. He had to find the White Feather—to defeat her. His cares for the coming battle, Hukama’s war, didn’t seem to matter right now.

Later.

That’s what he told himself. At heart, the Sword of a Thousand Suns was a duelist. A legendary warrior who would make his own mark on history as the greatest duelist who had ever lived. This was his sole ambition.

Then will you be proud of me, father?

He had removed his mask now that he was in the enemy’s camp. He surveyed the goings on from a small hill as he sat among the grass. Slipping in had been easy, as it was for any skilled warrior. The temple grounds were a scurry of activity. Smiths, leather workers and fletchers were hard at work, soldiers trained, men bathed, cooked, did laundry. An array of tents were packed tightly among the outskirts of the grounds and nestled against the foot of the mountains.

Making sure not to stay too far out of the way, he had sat atop this hill a few feet from a cook fire. No soldier would challenge him in the middle of the camp, as they would think he simply belonged.

He doesn’t even know I’m his son, he thought, thinking of his father and feeling irritated with himself. Why do I care so much?

He narrowed his eyes.

The White Feather would be a prominent figure among them, would she not? Surely she wouldn’t be hard to spot, as she was a woman among these thousands of men and probably wearing white, as she had when he had faced her the previous day.

Ujiwara made a fist with one hand, rubbed at his katana hilt with the other. He was beginning to feel impatient when he spotted a woman. She wasn’t the one he wanted, but for some reason his eye was fixed on her.

She approached a gaijin—a westerner? Yes. The girl was flanked by a small host of other figures, several of them also women. She bowed to the foreigner, and then, to her surprise, he embraced her. Ujiwara watched as she returned the gesture.

The foreigner was wearing traditional robes, but at his waist he had a straight, double-edged sword. Typical. He sniffed with derision, then made a sound of displeasure.

Where is the White Feather?

He couldn’t wait atop this hill forever. Ujiwara stood, deciding on a new course of action as he watched the foreigner enter what looked like a command tent. So, he’s no common gaijin.

Eyes roving the camp, they instinctually swept to the weakness he could exploit—to the woman that foreigner had embraced.

He cares for her. Good. He could use her—use him to find the woman he wanted…

An unbidden smile came to him as the camp horns were blown, signaling movement and action.

It’s time for the final confrontation.