Page 88 of The Dragon 2
It shimmered.
Even from a distance, I could smell the old oil still protecting it. Could see the tiny engraving near the guard: the family crest of a once powerfuldaimyo, now long dead.
“My gift to you this evening.” Jean-Pierre gestured to the blade with a quiet bow of his head. “This tanto once belonged to a French collector during the Edo period. It has passed hands for centuries. Quietly. Illegally. It should never have remained in France.”
He placed his hands to the side.
“The proper place for it is in Japan. In itsrightfulhome.” So smooth, Jean-Pierrelookedat me—not just across a balcony, but across continents, across centuries.
Across salt and sword.
And for a brief moment, the fire in me dimmed. This wasn’t a warning. It was a peace offering and even a gesture ofrespect. A Frenchman giving back what France had taken. A knife, returned to a warrior. This wasn’t just a gift.
It was submission disguised as respect.
I would not forget it.
Despite all my calculations, all my suspicion and cold analysis, I felt it land deeper than any blade could.
The Butcher wanted an alliance.
And this?
This was how men from my culture asked for friendship.
Not with handshakes.
Not with smiles.
But with artifacts, bloodlines, and history.
I nodded. “I’m honored.”
“And that makes me very happy.”
I made sure not to show I’d been caught off guard. Honestly, I hadn’t brought a gift. My mind had been occupied with other matters—war and my Tiger.
Damn it. How could I mess this part up?
As if Reo heard me, Toma walked over, holding a slim black box.
What is this?
Toma set the box down on the table. “This is from the Dragon.”
I glanced at Reo. He winked. Of course he’d thought of a gift. I turned back to Jean-Pierre. “I hope this gift lives up to your tastes.”
“I know it will.” Jean-Pierre opened the box and I was genuinely curious to see what Reo could have gotten him.
Inside was a bundle of something wrapped in a soft layer of archival silk. Ivory white. Carefully bound with thin cords and some special gold seal dangled from it, shaped as a musical note.
What is this?
My instinct read it as fragile—valuable.
A document.
Paper, but not just paper.
