Story:

Shiro stepped forward, bowed deeply, and rescued the occasion.

"Tono-sama of Uesugi—Dragon of Echigo. I am Shiro, senior battle miko of the Yamato Shrine. On behalf of Shrine Master Kannagi Chitose-san and every soul on the holy mountain—you have our gratitude beyond what words can carry."

"You rode to our reinforcement when no one in the realm owed us a banner, and you have saved the shrine, and the central land of Yamato with it. Thank you. Thank you, from all of us."

The blue-haired warlord looked up from her fifth mountain, chopsticks pausing.

She swallowed—politely, one visible, deliberate swallow—and then, still holding her bowl, gave the visitors a small, courteous inclination of her head.

"Kenshin," she rumbled.

Shiro blinked. Blanked. "...My lord?"

"Kenshin." The Dragon gestured with her chopsticks at herself, patiently, as if to slow students. "Just Kenshin. Is fine."

Shiro's mouth opened, closed, and produced a small strangled sound of protocol falling down a well.

Addressing the Dragon of Echigo—the most feared warlord of the age—by her bare given name, like a tavern acquaintance?

"...Kenshin—sama," Shiro attempted.

"Kenshin," Kenshin corrected, and took another enormous bite.