A dark-furred wolf-man in an obsidian and crimson-hued spider lily haori sat alone. Or so many would think.

In spite of only having his left eye, few annals escaped that unfocused optic.

“I, Komamura Yomi—cousin to Komamura Sajin—have a philosophy,” he started, the reiatsu within him dormant, but beyond abnormal.

The Komamura paused, a bandaged hand absentmindedly orbiting in caress over a pitch black blade’s sapphire hilt.

“Efficiency is born from necessity,” he resumed.

“But efficiency alone can be hollow; hollower than I as a hollow in astral flesh,” Yomi confessed, his reaitsu slowly straightening in potency, like a strong rice wine.

“Born from the mind, technique enriches it; giving form to one’s intent. Should one be capable of this, then even if they are the weakest, they are the strongest.”