April's spring breeze swept past the charging samurai, while the setting sun bathed the flourishing vegetation. Sparse forests stretched long shadows across the plains; tall grasses swayed on the soil, undulating like waves.
Black Wolf Torc, barefooted, hunched low, and swiftly moved through the tall grass. Excitement sparkled in his eyes as he pursued his prey, followed by a large troop of militia in light armor. The springtide's tall grass, over a meter high, spread across the barren fields, also concealing the hunters' figures.
At this moment, if one listened intently, cheers were continuous, arriving from a distant battlefield, mingled with hymns dedicated to the deities, echoing in the high skies. Below these songs, a wave of low-profile, swiftly moving grass waves, with a rustling sound, swept towards the southwest as if they were a pack of wolves.
