This is a story set in Japan during Sengoku Jidai - The Age of the Country at War (also translated as The Age of the Warring States among others...)

A fine rain fell as two men drew their swords.
The taller of the two wore a short kimono of dark blue that seemed to flow over his body in an oily mass. The shorter combatant's kimono was of bright red; like a red dawn.
They stood facing each other in total silence.
Even the soft tinkling of the rain drops as they spread over the naked blades was barely audible. The trees around them were still, their leaves hanging dejectedly as though awaiting the necessary evil about to unfold.
Silence held sway.
Even the fine, hair-like grass made no sound as it received this new baptism.
The scene was still save for the gently falling rain.
The short fighter flicked his sword across and down, raindrops flying from the blade as it moved sharply.
Taking the sudden movement for an attack, the taller man rushed in to counter, his sword out to one side, ready to swipe in at the enemy's chest or neck.
His opponent neatly side-stepped at the last moment and brought his sword down on top of the other blade as it cut cleanly through air, the sound of metal striking metal echoed around the two men.
The taller fighter let his arm be forced down by the other's stroke and so kept his grip on his sword. He pirouetted on the balls of his feet and brought his sword out from under the other and again sliced his blade across at his enemy's chest.
The stroke was half-hearted.
As the short swordsman ducked under the blade, his opponent twisted the sword in his hand and slashed down onto the man's shoulder.
Blood gushed from the wound, drenching the red kimono almost black. The shorter fighter collapsed to the ground, his opponent's sword still lodged in his shoulder. He lay there in a slowly spreading pool of blood, his last breaths coming as rattling gasps. His dying eyes looked into those of his tutor and he knew, as he died, that he had been foolish and impatient. Impatient to learn and to learn quickly.
"Alas you refused to learn the true art," mused Hayashi Kikuchiyo as he tugged his blade from the body of his apprentice, tears running down his cheeks.

The rice harvest was into its second day when the news came that the daimyo himself was on his way.
Lord Nagamasa toured his fief once every year.
It was during those times that his samurai would ride out in search of anyone they could make an example of. Anyone who showed the slightest signs of discontent, or complained in any way about their life under their lord was taken away to be punished.
Such was the way these particular showed their loyalty to their lord and master. They were not typical of the warrior class. Most were dedicated to protecting their liege lords and would not have paid so much attention to what the peasants thought or felt as long as their lords were content with their service.
The tree-lined road from Lord Nagamasa's fortress ran for its entire length beside a sinuous stream that snaked its way from the mountains down to the sea.
In winter it rose almost to the level of the road and, once, had even burst its banks.
Three horsemen were riding down that road at the gallop when they came upon a man in a dark blue kimono washing his hands in the stream.
The riders drew to a halt amidst a cloud of dust and the dull scraping of the horses' hooves.
"You!" barked the lead rider, "Who are you and what business do you have in this province?"
The man in the blue kimono continued to wash his hands, dipping them in and out of the water gently and rubbing them to remove the blood that, fortunately, the riders had not noticed. Without looking up, he spoke.
"My name is Hayashi Kikuchiyo. I am merely passing through and I mean no harm."
Such was the great calm with which Kikuchiyo answered the rider that the latter was taken aback.
The rider, a young samurai who knew no better, was tired with scouting for the ambushes Lord Nagamasa lived in perpetual fear of.
He had, on seeing the man by the stream, hit upon the idea of goading him into a fight to relieve his own boredom.
Yet the stranger had refused to be angered by the immature samurai and the other was gradually letting his temper get the better of him.
"If you are passing through, then you had best go quickly. Our lord is travelling along this road today and he must not be delayed by vagabonds."
The young samurai smiled inwardly, thinking his brash tone would be insulting enough.
"I understand. If I should happen to come across any, I shall pass on your orders."
"You dare to be insolent with me?!"
Kikuchiyo rose slowly, arms at his side, his katana and wakizashi loose in their scabbards.
"I dare much, but never insolence."
"Is that a challenge?"
"Only if you choose to see it as such."
The young samurai's eyes narrowed as he thought this over.
Finding a conclusion he liked, he drew his sword, dismounted and motioned with the tip of his blade at Kikuchiyo.
"Afraid, old man?"
Kikuchiyo was actually only in his late twenties; however, the young samurai believed anyone older than himself to be ancient.
"It is pointless. I do not kill for killing's sake."
"You are afraid!"
"No. I am experienced."
"Draw your sword or die on mine!"
"What is this?" boomed a deep basso voice, "Am I served only by simpletons who cannot leave one lonely traveller to his toil?"
Kikuchiyo looked over the young samurai's shoulder at the new speaker; Lord Asai Nagamasa.
The twenty-seven year old daimyo sat astride a grey horse typical of the hardy breed that shared Nihon with the Japanese.
The daimyo's cortege stretched along the road as far as the eye could see.
Behind Lord Nagamasa were palanquins carrying his wife and daughters. Immediately behind them came rank upon rank of ashigaru armed with either yari or bow. Next came the samurai on horseback, also armed with bows; though their swords were worn at all times, the samurai's traditional weapon was the bow.
Finally there came the multitude of servants ready to take care of the cooking and any other tasks as required.
The dust from their passing rose high above the trees in a great ochre-coloured fog.
Lord Nagamasa, a bamboo switch held in his right hand, walked his horse slowly forward.
The young samurai had to struggle not to flee before the storm of anger etched so vividly over his lord's face.
"I must apologise for my son's conduct," said Lord Nagamasa, turning to regard Kikuchiyo, "I hope he has not offended you."
Kikuchiyo bowed in respect.
"Not at all. Though he may need to learn how and when to pick his fights."
Lord Nagamasa chuckled, a musical sound compared to his deep voice, "Ah, if only he had someone of your like to instruct him; perhaps then he might become an heir to be proud of."
"Would you allow me to tutor your son?"
"You would not be inconvenienced?"
"I should like nothing more. Actually, I have recently lost my apprentice; I've been searching for someone to fill his place."
"Excellent! I assume you can teach him a thing or two about weaponry; the tutors I've paid for in the past have been able to do nothing with him. Very well, you can have him for three years. At the end of that period, return him to me and we shall see whether he has been able to learn anything."
"But father!"
"Silence! You have been pampered for too long. A few years of this man's teaching should cure you of those ridiculous airs."