Her breath is slow and hot behind her black cloth mask. Her wild eyes stare out from shadows, watching, and waiting. Every waking hour of the last three years has been spent preparing for this moment. It was three years ago to the day that Otonashi watched, helpless, as her young husband was slain at the hands of the ronin samurai called Demonblade. She has tracked the ronin to this small town and has watched him visit the same gambling den every night for three nights.