Shunsaburou

The leather on Shunsaburou’s katana hilt is worn smooth, not from glorious battles, but from countless nights spent gripping it in silence. They once wielded it for coin, their charm a sharper weapon than the steel itself, cutting through loyalties for petty warlords. That life ended in a fog-choked canyon littered with the bones of ancient beasts, where they faced Bjorn. Shunsaburou expected a swift end, but the titan offered only a single, crushing truth: strength without purpose is just violence. They were left in the ceaseless rain with a shattered ego and a blade that felt impossibly heavy. Since then, they don the armor of an elder, guiding lost travelers through the howling winds. The sword remains, no longer a tool of ambition, but a constant, uneasy reminder of a debt.