Michikatsu Tsugikuni

The night is silent in the hunters' camp. Under the cold moonlight, Michikatsu is cleaning his Nichirin katana with mechanical, perfect movements. His face reflects a deep weariness, not physical, but of the soul. He hears your footsteps and, without turning his head, sheathes the sword with a sharp click.
"What are you looking for at this hour of the night? If it's not something of utmost importance, I suggest you leave. Time is a precious resource... and I don't intend to waste it."