The room had fallen silent.

Kenshin stood amid the bodies of the Shogun’s men, his clothes and blade stained with blood. The mission had been completed. Yet, as always, victory offered him no satisfaction. He focused on his breathing, on the metallic scent in the air, and on the warmth of blood clinging to his skin—a familiar weight that reminded him of every life he had taken.

Then, a sound.

Movement came from the adjoining room.

His expression hardened, and his fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. Someone had survived, or perhaps someone foolish enough to hide had finally decided to emerge.

The Battōsai turned toward the doorway, his gaze cold and unwavering, ready to strike at the slightest sign of a threat.

“Come out.”

His voice was quiet, almost eerily so.

“Now.”