They emerged from the shadows: three of them, clad in dark shinobi shozoku , their faces wrapped in crimson scarves. The leader, a hulking brute named Kuro, carried a nodachi—a greatsword no ninja should have been able to wield silently.
He threw the kusarigama .
The chain wrapped around the sake cup, yanking it from Hidetora’s hand. The warlord’s eyes widened. Kaito closed the distance in two strides, his left hand seizing Hidetora’s jaw, his right drawing the tanto—his mother’s blade—from his belt. the ninja assassin
Kaito’s target was Lord Oda Hidetora, a warlord who had paid the Koga handsomely to destroy the Iga. Hidetora believed himself untouchable, surrounded by a hundred samurai guards in his fortified villa. He did not know that walls were merely suggestions to a man who had trained to walk on rice paper without tearing it.
He was the ninja assassin. The last Iga. And his war had only begun. They emerged from the shadows: three of them,
The blade did not take Hidetora’s life. It took something worse: the tendons in both of the warlord’s wrists. A living death. A message carved in flesh.
Kaito stepped into the room. Water dripped from his kusarigama onto the tatami mats. The chain rattled once—a snake’s whisper. The chain wrapped around the sake cup, yanking
For three years, the world believed the Iga were extinct, burned out of their mountain stronghold by the rival Koga clan. But Kaito had survived the fire. He had crawled from the ashes clutching his mother’s tanto blade, his ears still ringing with the screams of his sensei. The Koga had made one fatal error: they had left a child alive.