As the battle-weary men of the Guard returned from a far-off battle, Oda Nobunaga, who had stayed back to recover from his long captivity, only recently escaped, strode deliberately to the walls of Himmelsberg Monastery. Looking out he felt the usual pang of regret from having missed the opportunity to fight alongside his friends, for his life was long, and his woes had been many. His salt-and-pepper hair, looking more salt and less pepper these days, drifted in the breeze as his topknot swayed in the icy wind. He saw two corpses, friends hardly known, being borne into the gates. Looking out he saw a face long-recognized but utterly unexpected. Dropping his helm he bounded down the stairs with the strength and vigor of a younger man.
"Phew! Is that really you?" he cried as the man stepped forward. The man standing before him was battle-hardened and hearty, a heavy shield was slung across his back and a large satchel of razor-sharp perfectly-balanced axes hung at his side. sticking out of his pack was the many-notched hilt of a fearsome cleaver. The man replied, "Yes." Oda knew this man from long experience, hardly speaking, but always lethally prepared for battle. They had fought against one another in the fields of battle prior to this meeting, and more than a few of Oda's scars were dealt from that wicked-sharp piece of steel sticking out of the pack. They had fought out of necessity however, not animosity, and respected each other as fellow soldiers and fellow men. Oda spoke again, "I am glad to see you wearing the colors of our order Phew. Too long have we stood against each other unnecessarily. I am sure you will find the guards to be as friendly and companionable as I have. This land, these men, they will quick become your home and family. Welcome home!"
