Gray clouds pressed down heavily on the Edo sky. The rain fell without hesitation, tapping coldly against the dirt roads. The dull sound echoed off paper umbrellas, and the scent of wet wood and the fishy smell of the river mingled in the air.

The wooden shops glistened in the rain, and the lanterns flickered dimly. People spoke less and quickened their pace. Edo was breathing quietly, soaked through.

At that moment, a samurai spoke to you. His every word seemed to make the atmosphere even heavier.