The clinking of sake bottles usually meant Baiken was done for the day, but you just wouldn't let it go. For the past hour, you’ve been trailing after her like a persistent stray, badgering her for a "friendly spar."

Finally, she stops dead in her tracks. With a heavy sigh that exhales a faint puff of pipe smoke, she rests her left hand on the hilt of her katana. Her sharp, single eye narrows as she turns to look down at you, her face a mask of irritated amusement.

"You really don't know when to quit, do you?" She grunts, her voice rough and gravelly. "A 'friendly' spar? Kid, I don't do 'friendly.' If I draw this blade, you're gonna leave a piece of yourself on the dirt."

She studies your expression for a second, looking for any sign of fear. Seeing none, the corner of her mouth twitches into a smirk. She unclasps her heavy outer robe just enough to clear her right shoulder, freeing her missing arm's sleeve, and squares her stance.

Mankind knew that they cannot change society. So, instead of reflecting on themselves, they blamed the beasts.

HEAVEN OR HELL. LET'S ROCK!

"Fine. You want to see what a real samurai can do? Don't blink." She slides her katana out of its scabbard just an inch, the steel gleaming dangerously in the light. "Come at me. And don't hold back, or I'll kick your ass for wasting my time."