Pathway to Japanese Literature

I The senior retainers of Lord Tadanauki, who had been summoned to Ieyasu’s headquarters, were mercilessly berated by Ieyasu to disastrous effect. “When Ii and Todo’s forces struggled today, did you Echizen men nap through it all? Had you pressed behind both flanks to storm the castle, Osaka’s fall would have been at hand! But your commander is green, and you—Japan’s greatest cowards—have squandered this golden battle!” Having delivered this bitter rebuke, Ieyasu abruptly rose from his seat.

Honda Tomimasa, the senior retainer, had prepared some excuses regarding their forces' failure to coordinate in today's battle, but confronted with Ieyasu's domineering manner, found no opportunity to voice them. Rather than simply resigning themselves, they scrambled back from the headquarters to the Echizen forces' encampment in disarray, yet found themselves utterly perplexed about how to begin their report to their lord, Lord Tadanauki. Lord Tadanauki of Echizen, Junior Commander, was a general who had just turned twenty-one. When his father Lord Hideyasu passed away in the intercalary fourth month of Keichō 12, this general—having inherited the vast 670,000-koku domain at merely thirteen years of age—had until that time remained utterly unaware that any will more powerful than his own existed in this world.

He was a general who raised aloft the will he was born with—or rather, his self-will—like a cedar tree towering proudly atop a high mountain peak. When the deployment orders for this campaign reached the Echizen House, the senior retainers had approached their lord’s presence as though handling a festering wound—trembling with trepidation— “We humbly report that a most gracious letter of request from His Excellency has arrived, urging your deployment to the Osaka front.” The senior retainers had long since grown accustomed to treating their young lord’s will as absolute.

Yet today, they had no choice but to convey Ieyasu’s rebuke to Lord Tadanauki’s ears. They had to contemplate with mounting dread what effect His Excellency's fierce rebuke might have upon their lord—a man who since birth had never even dreamt of experiencing the emotion of being scolded.

When he heard they had returned, Lord Tadanauki immediately summoned them. “What did Grandfather say? Surely he must have bestowed some words of commendation,” Lord Tadanauki inquired cheerfully, even with a smile. When asked this, the senior retainers panicked as though only now grasping the situation. At last seeming to have steeled their resolve, one of them timidly began, “Your esteemed assumption is mistaken. His Excellency resents that the Echizen forces failed to coordinate in today’s battle,” he said, turning pale as he prostrated himself.

Lord Tadanauki, who had never once experienced being criticized or rebuked by others, possessed neither resistance nor restraint against such emotions. “Enough! What manner of command is this! I myself requested to lead the vanguard—not only was permission denied, but now I must endure such unreasonable words! So Grandfather’s riddle boils down to ‘Tadanauki, die!’? Then you lot die too! I shall die as well! In tomorrow’s battle, master and retainers alike shall drench spearpoints with blood, leaving our corpses exposed beneath the castle walls! See that every soldier steels himself accordingly!” As he shouted this, Lord Tadanauki’s hands resting on his knees began trembling violently until—unable to contain himself—he snatched the Nagamitsu blade from his page’s grasp, unsheathed it, and thrust it toward the senior retainers while—

“Look! With this Nagamitsu blade I’ll take Lord Hideyori’s head and thrust it before Grandfather’s eyes!” No sooner had he spoken than he swung the sword two or three times while still seated. Lord Tadanauki, barely into his twenties, was occasionally seized by these bouts of near-madness. The senior retainers too, knowing well the hereditary fits of rage dating back to his late father Lord Hideyasu, could only press their hands over ears and lie prostrate—waiting like men enduring a passing storm.

The morning of May 7th, Genna Era (1615), dawned completely clear of lingering clouds, the sky exceptionally serene and bright. The fall of Osaka Castle was now only a matter of time. Gotō Matabe, Kimura Nagato, Susukida Hayato, and other renowned commanders had already met their prepared deaths in battle on the sixth day’s fighting, leaving only Sanada Saemon, Chōsokabe Morichika, Mōri Buzen-no-kami, and their ilk awaiting the final clash.

Shogun Hidetada set out during the Hour of the Tiger on this day. He advanced the banners toward Okayama, appointing Matsudaira Tadayoshi, Lord of Chikuzen; Katō Yoshiaki, Assistant Director of the Left Horse Bureau; and Kuroda Nagamasa, Lord of Kai as the first vanguard. Tokugawa Ieyasu departed by palanquin during the Hour of the Rabbit. Todo Takatora arrived to join him,

“You should don your armor today,” Todo Takatora remarked, whereupon Tokugawa Ieyasu let slip that characteristically cunning smile of his while declaring, “To slay Osaka’s young whelp, armor proves unnecessary.” Clad in a white undergarment and brown haori over tied-bottom hakama trousers, he wielded a fly-whisk to constantly bat away swarming insects. Naitō Katō-no-kami Masanari, Uemura Dewa-no-kami Ienari, Itakura Naizen-no-shō Shigemasa, and some thirty close attendants advanced alongside the palanquin.

Honda Sado-no-kami Masazumi, in attire identical to Ieyasu’s, rode in a mountain palanquin and immediately followed close behind him. Looking out, the combined forces exceeding 150,000—stretching from Okayama Gate to Tennōji Gate—had their banners fluttering in the early summer wind, their helmet crests glittering in the sun. They maintained orderly ranks and fortified their positions, eagerly awaiting the belated attack order. But not only was the attack order not easily given; three shogunal envoys galloped on white horses through the various encampments while racing about,

The envoys proclaimed: “Due to Their Lordships Yoshinao and Yorinobu being deployed, the commencement of the vanguard forces shall be temporarily delayed. They are to withdraw their horses one or two *chō*, dismount, take spears in hand, and await further orders.” Ieyasu too, likely seeing today as the final clash, had wished for his beloved sons Lords Yoshinao and Yorinobu to claim at least one helmeted head. However, the hotheaded Mizuno Katsunari, upon hearing this order, disregarded the envoys and,

“The hour approaches the Snake (near 10 AM)! The enemy positions at Chausuyama Hill grow ever more fortified—convey to His Excellency we must engage battle posthaste!” he roared. But no sooner had these two envoys withdrawn than four more came galloping through the ranks of the combined forces in all directions—

“All units must not commence battle! Quietly await further orders!” was proclaimed far and wide.

Yet Lord Tadanauki, Junior General of Echizen—who had maintained last night’s fervor in an almost sleepless state while awaiting today’s engagement—no sooner heard this proclamation than he dispatched Senior Retainer Yoshida Shūri ahead at once. Leading the two Honda elders and a great army nearing thirty thousand men, he divided them into sixteen divisions, charged through the center of the Kaga forces’ positions, ignored their indignant protests, and recklessly pressed onward toward Tennōji and the front of Chausuyama Hill. There, slightly to the left of the vanguard forces under Honda Izumo-no-kami Tadayasu, he deployed his troops in a crane-wing formation.

It was at this very moment that the first military order from the shogun— "The castle garrison appears to be drawing in the besieging forces and awaiting nightfall. Issue the battle command swiftly," was proclaimed throughout the encampments. However, Lord Tadanauki had not waited for the military order to be issued. When Honda Tadayasu’s vanguard fired two or three probing shots at the enemy with their matchlock guns, the Echizen forces instantly unleashed a simultaneous volley of seven or eight hundred matchlock guns, plunged through the billowing smoke, and like a forest of sixteen divisions on the move, they all charged upon Chausuyama Hill.

The forces stretching from Aoya Gate to Chausuyama Hill were consolidated by Sanada Saemon-no-jō Yukimura and his son, along with Igi Shichirōemon Tōo slightly to the south, Watanabe Kuranosuke Tadasu, Ōtani Daigaku Yoshitane, and others—their total numbers barely exceeding six thousand. The Echizen forces formed an overwhelmingly large army; their commander Lord Tadanauki, appearing resolved to fight to the death this day, discarded his war fan upon horseback while brandishing a long-shafted spear, ignoring his retainers' attempts to stop him as he pressed his horse relentlessly forward. With their commander in such a state, every soldier rallied and fought as though become fire and water themselves. Wherever the Echizen forces advanced, enemy troops bowed like grass before them. Honda Iyo-no-kami Tadamasa struck down Nenryū Sadaibu—renowned within the castle for his swordsmanship—as the first of many feats. Aoki Shinbei, Otobe Kurobē, Hagita Shume, Toshima Shuzennokami, and numerous others distinguished themselves in battle. They cut through the Sanada forces arrayed from Chausuyama Hill to Kōshindō Hall in one swift motion. Nishio Jinzaemon killed Saemon-no-jō Yukimura; Nomoto Ukon slew Goshuku Echizen. Pursuing fleeing defenders, they pressed from Senbaguchi to Kuromon Gate, planted their banners, and set fires throughout the castle grounds.

3,652 enemy heads taken—none could surpass Lord Tadanauki in military merit this day. Lord Tadanauki had positioned his horse at Chausuyama Hill, but when he saw the Echizen forces’ banners and standards block the moat like a tide, overflow into the fortress baileys, form a sharp angle distinct from the besieging troops, and drive like a wedge into Osaka Castle, he bounded up in his saddle like a carefree child and rejoiced.

The vanguard member galloped back, When the report came—“Aoki Shinbei has achieved first entry into Osaka Castle”—Lord Tadanauki broke into a broad grin, “Shinbei’s martial exploit is foremost—have it conveyed at once that his stipend shall be increased by five thousand koku!” he cried like a madman, struggling to calm his rearing steed. What glory it was for a warlord! To think—even capturing the head of Saemon-no-jō, who had so harried the besiegers, and achieving before all other armies the great feat of first entry into the castle with our forces—what glory this was! So thought Lord Tadanauki.

When Lord Tadanauki reflected on his retainers' miraculous deeds, it all seemed to him a reflection of his own power, of his own will. Not only had the wound to his self-esteem inflicted by his grandfather Ieyasu the previous day vanished as if wiped away, but Lord Tadanauki's pride now gained severalfold in strength and ferocity compared to before. When Lord Tadanauki considered that among the nearly one hundred daimyo participating in the siege of Osaka Castle, none could rival his own military achievements, he felt his very body might shine with radiance from the abundant satisfaction swelling within him. Yet even that seemed not at all unreasonable. Born as the son of the peerlessly valiant Lord Hideyasu and considering himself the rightful heir of the Tokugawa house, today's military exploits seemed not merely natural but inevitable to Lord Tadanauki, who could scarcely contain the triumphant emotions surging within his heart.

“Grandfather has misjudged this Tadanauki. I must hear what he will say when I present myself at his headquarters.” With this thought, Lord Tadanauki hastened to Ieyasu’s side—the grandfather who had advanced his headquarters to Okayama Gate. Tokugawa Ieyasu had been leaning against his camp stool while receiving congratulations from the assembled daimyō, but when Lord Tadanauki arrived, he deliberately rose from the stool, took his hand, and drew him close while declaring: “Splendidly done! Only through today’s foremost merit do you prove yourself my true grandson! Your martial prowess appears to surpass even Fan Kuai of Tang. Truly, you are Japan’s Fan Kuai.”

The earnest Lord Tadanauki was so overjoyed by this praise that tears welled in his eyes. Not a trace of resentment remained within him for yesterday’s reprimand from that very same man. That night, upon returning to his encampment, he gathered his retainers and held a grand banquet. He felt himself stronger than all and surpassing everyone, yet even his grandfather Ieyasu’s praised phrase “Japan’s Fan Kuai” began to seem insufficient.

While he gazed at the sky above Osaka Castle—now fully darkened yet still ablaze with crimson flames in patches—and reveled in this spectacle as a testament to his great achievement of the day, he repeatedly drained large cups of wine. Nothing remained in Lord Tadanauki’s heart but triumphant, elated emotions. When the lords who had participated in the siege gathered at Kyoto’s Nijō Castle on the fifth day of the following month, Ieyasu took Lord Tadanauki’s hand and—

“Your father Hideyasu served me with utmost loyalty during his lifetime—and you have now demonstrated military devotion surpassing all other forces. This brings me profound satisfaction.” “Though I thought to bestow a letter of commendation for this, being of the same house may render it unnecessary.” “As long as my legitimate line endures, the House of Echizen shall remain secure as a massive rock,” he declared while bestowing his treasured Hatsuhana tea caddy upon Lord Tadanauki. Lord Tadanauki, bestowed with the highest honor, felt his very being radiate brilliantly among the assembled daimyō. He felt a sense of complete fulfillment—lacking nothing in all the realm—welling up within his breast. From the very beginning, his will had remained unconstrained by any limitations and his emotions perpetually abundant—by no means a recent development. From his earliest years, his will and emotions had overflowed freely as he pleased, subjected to no external restraint whatsoever. He had never known inferiority in any endeavor, nor retained any memory of defeat. In childhood archery contests, victory was invariably his. When Kyoto nobles brought kemari kick-ball to Fukui’s castle town and it became frequent castle entertainment, none could match his footwork. In games of Go, shogi, or sugoroku dice, he typically emerged victorious. As for essential samurai skills—archery, horsemanship, spearmanship, swordsmanship—his prowess advanced with startling speed. He rapidly outstripped initially equal peers among his close attendants, routinely demonstrating such progress that he soon defeated even household warriors renowned in those arts.

Thus, his sense of superiority toward those around him had been cultivated over the years. And he had nurtured deep within his heart the conviction that he himself was an excellent person of entirely different quality from his retainers. Though Lord Tadanauki's heart held the conviction that he stood superior to all within his household, since his deployment to Osaka this time, his rivals in military merit were daimyo of equal standing. He could not help but harbor some apprehension—might he prove inferior to some among them? Might he suffer unexpected disgrace in war, the most essential duty of a warlord? Indeed, during the May 6th engagement, having belatedly delayed his deployment time, Lord Tadanauki had suffered an unexpected disgrace that nearly shattered the unshakable confidence he had nurtured until then. Yet through the merits achieved in the castle assault on the 7th, not only was this wounded confidence fully restored, but by securing first entry into the castle and having his Echizen forces surpass the entire army in martial reputation, his conviction of surpassing all retainers now expanded further—beginning to believe himself superior to any among the sixty daimyo lords who had participated in the siege. Throughout the Osaka Campaign, it was indeed Lord Tadanauki's forces that had taken 3,750 enemy heads—and moreover, they had claimed the head of Sanada Yukimura, the castle's commander holding the title of Saemon-no-jō.

Lord Tadanauki engraved in his heart the Hatsuhana tea caddy and the laudatory title "Japan’s Fan Kuai" as certificates proving he was a man surpassing all others. His mind stood unclouded. The 120 daimyo and lesser lords lined up there all seemed to be gazing at Lord Tadanauki with eyes full of praise.

He had until now prided himself on being more exceptional than any of his retainers. Yet measuring himself solely against his own vassals left him unsatisfied. Now he was being received before all other feudal lords in the realm—the Retired Shogun himself taking his hand in welcome. Neither Lord Yoshiyasu nor Lord Yorimasa—both his uncles—had achieved any military distinction. Much less Lord Tadateru of Echigo Chamberlain rank—another uncle—who had met disastrous failure without even joining the seventh-day battle. The famed exploits of Date, Maeda and Kuroda domains paled like fireflies before moonlight when measured against Echizen House’s achievements.

When he considered this, not only had Lord Tadanauki’s sense of superiority over others—nearly wounded by Ieyasu’s past reprimand—been splendidly restored, but precisely because it had been wounded, this restored superiority now shone more radiantly and stood more potent than before.

Thus did Lord Tadanauki, Junior General of Echizen—bearing pride as if he were the foremost man in all the realm—leave the capital in August of that year and return triumphantly to his stronghold of Fukui in Echizen Province.

II

In the grand hall of Kitanoshō Castle in Echizen, countless silver candles now blazed with a dazzling brilliance. White wax had melted and dripped, piling high upon the candle trays—seeing this, one could tell the banquet had long since entered its later hours. Since assuming governance of his domain, Lord Tadanauki had made it his custom to host grand tournaments of martial arts—archery, horsemanship, spearmanship, and swordsmanship—by gathering young warriors of his household during the day, then keeping these same men through the night to hold unrestrained drinking banquets.

Lord Tadanauki was unbearably delighted, his heart melting at the title of "Japan's Fan Kuai" with which his grandfather Ieyasu had flattered him. He made it his daily sustenance to nourish his pride by crossing spears and exchanging swords with the young warriors of his household, thoroughly defeating them. Even now, with Lord Tadanauki seated in the place of honor, the young warriors forming a large circle in the sunken hall one level below were masters of martial arts selected from among the numerous youths of the household. Even boys still wearing their forelocks were mixed among them, but all were robust of sinew and bone, with vigorous eyes.

But the appearance of Lord Tadanauki, the castle lord, was even more outstanding and dashing than theirs. Though his figure was slightly gaunt yet refined, those piercing eyes radiated an almost unnervingly sharp intensity, and an air of fierce vigor overflowed between his brows. Lord Tadanauki opened his eyes—now beginning to swim with mild intoxication—and surveyed the entire assembly. When he considered that over a hundred adult men seated there in rows were all people who would not hesitate to brave fire and water at his command, he could not help but feel a ruler’s distinctive pride welling up from within his heart.

But his pride this night did not stop there. The fact that he had also defeated all the young men gathered here in martial prowess as a warrior doubled his pride.

He once again gathered his retainers and held a grand spearmanship tournament. It was a grand tournament of red and white teams, formed by gathering youths excelling in spearmanship from across the household and dividing them into two groups. And he himself took the field as commander of the Red Army. Throughout the tournament, the Red Army remained at a disadvantage. Each warrior who stepped forward was swiftly struck down one after another by the enemy, and when the Red Army’s vice-commander fell, the White Army still had five warriors remaining.

At that moment, Lord Tadanauki—commander of the Red Army—personally wielded a large three-ken shafted spear with fluid mastery and took the field with majestic valor. It was truly a momentum akin to mountains shifting. The White Army warriors were swiftly overwhelmed. The first to emerge was the chief page—a man who had long feared Lord Tadanauki’s ferocity. Before their spears could properly clash, his weapon was swept aside. Struck in the flank, he collapsed as though near death. The horseman and storehouse officer who followed were also struck down without a moment's pause. But Ōshima Sadaibu, the White Army’s vice-commander—eldest son of spearmanship instructor Ōshima Sazen—held the honor of being unmatched in spear combat within the household.

A whisper drifted through the air: “Even His Lordship’s ferocity might prove a bit much for Sadaibu.” Yet after seven or eight fierce spear exchanges, Sadaibu took a powerful thrust to the flank. As he reeled, Lord Tadanauki pressed forward and pierced his opponent’s vital point squarely in the chest. The entire household in the spectator seats roared with unrestrained applause. Lord Tadanauki, steadying his slightly labored breath, calmly awaited the opposing commander’s appearance. Within his heart surged the familiar pinnacle of triumph.

The commander of the White Army was Onda Ukon. From age twelve he had trained under Gondō Samon, a spearmanship master in Kyoto, and by twenty had cultivated such skill that he could even defeat his own teacher. Yet Lord Tadanauki feared nothing. When met with a sharp cry of “Ei!”, he charged ferociously. What manifested seemed less technical prowess than the very momentum of a lord commanding 670,000 koku. Just as the fierce clash approached twenty exchanges, Ukon took a violent thrust from Lord Tadanauki at his right shoulder and withdrew about one ken,

“I yield,” he said, prostrating himself. The spectators cheered as if to bring down Kitanoshō Castle itself. Lord Tadanauki was at the zenith of his triumph. Upon returning to his seat of honor, he raised his voice and

“You have all done well! Now we shall hold a banquet to honor your efforts!” he proclaimed. He had been in an uncommonly good mood of late. As the banquet progressed, his favored retainers came before him one after another. “My lord! Since Your Lordship braved arrows and stones during the Osaka Campaign, your martial prowess has ascended to new heights,” they said. “We can no longer presume to be Your Lordship’s match.” Mere mention of the Osaka Campaign made Lord Tadanauki grow innocently cheerful.

However, Lord Tadanauki had also become heavily intoxicated. When he looked around the gathering, a considerable number of people had collapsed in drunken stupor without retaining their composure. Some were getting boisterous; others were humming the Ryūtatsu ballad in low voices. The banquet's festivities were nearing their end.

When Lord Tadanauki suddenly recalled the women filling the inner chambers, the all-male banquet began to seem dreary to him. He abruptly stood up, “You are all excused!” he declared brusquely as he rose from his seat. Even those slumped in drunken stupor straightened their posture and prostrated themselves. The pages who had been dozing until now jolted awake and scrambled after their lord. When Lord Tadanauki stepped into the long corridor leading to the inner chambers, the cold early autumn wind cooled his cheeks. Outside lay a pale ten-day-old moonlit night, where bush clover flowers spilled faint white blossoms and insect chirps drifted from their shadows.

Lord Tadanauki felt like going down into the garden. He sent back the attending maids from the inner chambers and descended into the garden with a single page in tow. The garden’s surface glistened with a soft sheen of night dew. The faint moonlight cast the castle town below like an ink painting suspended within the crystalline clarity of the night air. Lord Tadanauki rejoiced at finding himself in such a realm of tranquility for the first time in a long while. Heaven and earth were utterly still and silent. Yet from the castle's great hall he had abandoned, the disorderly clamor of the banquet still leaked through. Moreover, since he had left his seat, the banquet seemed to have grown even more disorderly, with shouts of Azuma-ken strikes now mingling audibly in the commotion. But given the considerable distance, it didn’t reach his ears as an intrusive clamor.

Lord Tadanauki followed a narrow path through the bush clover, circled along the pond’s edge, and entered the arbor atop a modest hill. From there, the Shin'etsu mountain ranges appeared hazily in the air filled with faint moonlight. Lord Tadanauki found himself seized by a sentimental mood unlike any he had experienced throughout his life as a daimyo, and unwittingly spent half an hour there.

Then he suddenly heard voices. Where there had been utter stillness until now, with only the lonely chirping of insects, human voices began to carry through the air. From their tone, it seemed two people were approaching the arbor while conversing. Lord Tadanauki found it intolerable that the tranquil state he now savored might be disrupted by these unexpected intruders. Yet his mind was not so agitated this evening as to command his page to drive them away. The pair kept talking as they gradually drew nearer. Since moonlight didn't penetrate the arbor's interior, they appeared completely oblivious that their lord might be present there.

Lord Tadanauki had no intention of ascertaining who these two men were. But as the two voices drew nearer, he naturally came to recognize whose they were. The owner of the slightly hoarse voice was Onda Ukon, who had commanded the White Army in today's grand contest. The owner of the high-pitched, strained voice was Ōshima Sadaibu, vice-general of the White Army who had been thrust down in one motion by Lord Tadanauki earlier that day. The two had apparently been discussing today's Red-White contest for some time now.

For the first time since being born a daimyo, Lord Tadanauki felt a strange fascination with eavesdropping and involuntarily focused his attention in that direction. The two men seemed to have stopped at the pond’s edge, no more than three ken from the arbor. Sadaibu seemed to lower his voice slightly,

"By the way, what do you think of His Lordship's skill?" he inquired. There was a sense that Ukon had offered a bitter smile. "His Lordship's reputation?! If this were overheard, it'd be a matter for seppuku, I tell you." "Even in private, they speak of His Lordship. What say you of His Lordship's prowess? And His Lordship's actual prowess?" pressed Sadaibu with considerable seriousness, holding his breath intently as he awaited Ukon's assessment. "Well now! What splendid improvement His Lordship has made!" With those words, Ukon abruptly terminated his speech. Lord Tadanauki felt as though he had heard genuine praise from his retainers for the first time. But Ukon continued his words further.

“It’s not as hard as it used to be to concede victories to His Lordship.”

The two young warriors seemed to exchange glances and share a knowing, bitter smile there. Upon hearing Ukon’s words, a great whirlpool of emotions suddenly began roaring through Lord Tadanauki’s heart—this went without saying. Lord Tadanauki felt, for the first time in his life, as though someone had stomped upon his head with muddy shoes. His lips quivered uncontrollably; the blood coursing through his entire body seethed and churned, surging violently up to his head. By Ukon’s single remark, he was struck by an indescribable impulse—as though yanked down from the highest pedestal he had stood upon as a human being and cast to the ground.

It was indeed an emotion close to rage. However, it was entirely different from the rage that spills outward like an excess of power within one’s heart. That rage blazed ferociously on the surface, yet at its core had abruptly formed an incurable void of loneliness—a rage thus constituted. He was assailed by an acute loneliness—as though the world had abruptly become unreliable, as though he had realized that all of his life until now, every shred of pride he’d possessed, stood entirely upon a foundation of lies.

He grabbed the sword his page was carrying and resolved to cut down the two men on the spot, but not a shred of the fierce willpower needed to carry out such an act remained within his heart at that moment. Moreover, while he found himself despicable for having swelled with pride as a lord when his retainers flattered him with false victories, it also pained him considerably to think that by cutting down these two men now, he would have to let the entire household know he was aware of this shameful truth. Lord Tadanauki stifled the surging emotions within his breast and considered what course of action would be most appropriate. Having encountered this experience far too carelessly, Lord Tadanauki’s emotions—already prone to agitation—descended into irretrievable chaos.

Beside Lord Tadanauki, the intelligent page who had been crouching motionless like an ornamental statue since earlier fully understood this crisis. If he did not inform the two men that their lord was present here, he thought, some grave incident might occur. He let out two or three small coughs while observing his lord’s terrifying countenance.

The page’s small cough proved remarkably effective in this situation. When Ukon and Sadaibu realized there were people nearby, they were startled and clamped shut their blasphemous mouths.

The two men, as if in mutual agreement, hurriedly headed off toward the great hall.

Lord Tadanauki’s eyes burned with anger. Yet his cheeks stood ghastly pale. His emotional life since boyhood lay utterly ruined by Ukon’s single remark. When young and playing games, he had surpassed all attendants in skill; when contesting ceremonial archery, outshot every retainer; when practicing calligraphy, seen the old archivist slap knees praising his brushwork—all these memories now flooded his mind as vile recollections.

It was the same in martial arts. Whether he took up the sword or spear, he had rapidly attained such skill that he could immediately defeat any young warrior who faced him. He had believed in himself until now. He had believed in his own ability to the utmost. Even now, upon hearing Ukon and the others' blasphemous whispers, he found himself nearly convinced they were merely the bitter complaints of sore losers. However, Ukon's words today—when considering when and where they had been uttered—were neither joke nor lie.

Even to Lord Tadanauki’s ears, which had been filled with confidence, it could not help but be heard as the genuine truth. Ukon’s words remained as though carved into his earlobes.

When he thought about it, Lord Tadanauki found himself unable to distinguish where truth ended and lies began even amidst today’s splendid victories. No—not just today. In the games and matches he had attempted countless times since birth, amidst the innumerable victories and superiorities he had claimed, he could no longer discern how much was genuine and how much was false. When he thought this way, he felt an intense impatience that clawed at his very soul. Even he was not wresting false victories from all his subordinates. No—against many among them, he had rightfully prevailed. And yet the thought that his victories had all become tainted with impurity due to the presence of such unruly men as Ukon and Sadaibu now made him begin to feel a blazing hatred toward Ukon and Sadaibu.

But it wasn’t just that. Now that matters stood thus, even the great military exploits he had achieved on Osaka’s battlefield just three months prior began to take on in Lord Tadanauki’s mind the aspect of some dubious entity whose true nature eluded comprehension. Even the title “Japan’s Fan Kuai” that he had worn as his proudest honor now struck him as bearing an exaggerated quality akin to mockery. When he considered that he—treated so carelessly by his own retainers—might likewise be manipulated with ease by Grandfather, tears of humiliation began pooling for the first time in Lord Tadanauki’s eyes.

III

The young warriors who had become thoroughly drunk at the informal banquet were about to rise en masse and exit upon hearing the ninth strike of the timekeeper's bell when suddenly an attendant came rushing from the inner hall.

“All of you, be silent! By His Lordship’s decree: though tomorrow was to host the ceremonial dog-hunting archery, an urgent alteration has been made. Tomorrow shall also see a grand spearmanship tournament conducted in the same manner as today’s—the hour and schedule remain unchanged from this day’s arrangements!” he proclaimed, raising both hands and announcing in a booming voice. Among the young warriors, there were those who thought, Oh no, another day of this tomorrow? There were those who smirked cynically at the prospect of having to repeat today’s victory once more. Many of them, with the bold vigor that follows drinking,

“Let it continue daily for all I care—then tomorrow we can drink our fill of the lord’s banquet sake again!” they declared boisterously.

The following day, just as before, the castle’s martial arts hall was beautifully swept clean with red and white curtains hung across it. In the seat of honor sat Lord Tadanauki as he had the previous day—yet now he not only bit his lower lip incessantly but also had eyes that blazed brilliantly. The matches progressed under circumstances nearly identical to those of the previous day. However, since the previous day’s results remained vividly in everyone’s minds—and as many of the matchups had become rematches for redemption on one side—the shouts grew even more intense than the day before.

The Red Army’s position was even more dire than the day before. When Lord Tadanauki, the general, appeared, the White Army had six combatants remaining—including their general and lieutenant general—who had yet to fight. To the astonishment of the spectators among the household, Lord Tadanauki was agitated. He wildly swung the large practice spear with its padded tip like a man driven mad by fever. The first two men advanced fearfully, as though handling a festering wound. But they were instantly pinned down by their lord's fierce spear thrusts and prostrated themselves. The next two men, too, terrified by their lord’s fearsome aura, merely went through the motions of swinging their spears.

The fifth to appear was Ōshima Sadaibu. He was among those nursing faint misgivings about Lord Tadanauki’s conduct this day—behavior that seemed to transgress all reason. Needless to say, it had never crossed his mind that their lord himself might have been the one eavesdropping on their conversation the previous night. Yet he harbored a slight suspicion that whoever had cleared their throat in last night’s moonlit garden might have denounced them to their master. He bowed before his lord with redoubled solemnity.

“Sadaibu!” Lord Tadanauki appeared to struggle for composure, yet his voice quivered at an unnatural pitch.

“Sadaibu! Whether with spear or sword, true skill cannot be known without live blades and real steel! Matches fought with padded practice spears are nothing but shams in the end! If losing leaves no wounds, then under such circumstances, there’s no harm in losing after all! Tadanauki has had enough of these sham matches. If you can face me with live-blade spears honed at Osaka’s frontlines, then you too shall come at me with real steel! You need not regard me as your lord. Strike without restraint should you see an opening!”

Lord Tadanauki’s voice rose shrilly, the ends of his words trembling. Sadaibu turned pale. Onda Ukon, waiting behind Sadaibu, also turned pale just like Sadaibu.

However, the household members in the spectator seats struggled to comprehend Lord Tadanauki’s inner thoughts. Many trembled with fear at their lord’s madness. Lord Tadanauki had always possessed a temper, yet normally maintained an utterly open-hearted disposition; while tending toward roughness at times, he had never committed the slightest act of cruelty. Thus when the household members witnessed their lord’s conduct this day, their paling countenances could hardly be deemed unreasonable. However, though Lord Tadanauki had taken up live-blade spears today out of inextinguishable hatred toward Sadaibu and Ukon, there was also a hope within him to know his own true skill. If they faced him with live blades, they would not simply yield—they would surely confront him with every secret technique at their disposal. Then he would finally know his own true prowess. Even if I were to be injured in the process, he thought inwardly, how much more gratifying it would feel than to be ecstatic over false victories.

“Now! Prepare the live blades!” When Lord Tadanauki issued this command, two attendants—likely having prepared them in advance—hefted two heavy large-bladed spears and carried them out between the lord and his retainers. “Now! Sadaibu—make ready!” As he barked this order, Lord Tadanauki swept the sheath from his well-worn spear with its three-ken shaft. The killing intent radiating from the seven-sun spear tip—forged by Bingo Sadakane, master smith of blades—cast an icy pall over every heart present. Honda Tosa, the senior retainer who until now had silently endured his lord’s conduct, appeared before Lord Tadanauki the instant the blade was bared.

“My lord! Have you taken leave of your senses? For your august personage to recklessly wield blades and injure retainers would bring grave consequences should word reach the shogunate. I implore you to desist!” he entreated desperately, blinking his aged eyes. “You senile fool! I’ll brook no objections. Today’s live-blade duel stands as a resolution I’ve sworn to fulfill even at the cost of Tadanauki’s 670,000-koku domain! No protests whatsoever shall be permitted,” Lord Tadanauki declared with frost-laden dignity. There was an unassailable dignity about him, like autumn frost. In such matters, Lord Tadanauki’s will had ever been absolute. Tosa sealed his lips and withdrew in desolation.

Sadaibu had long since steeled himself. If this disciplinary action stemmed from their nighttime conversation reaching His Lordship's ears, he found himself with no grounds for protest. This was a reckoning any retainer ought to accept. Yet perceiving this live-blade duel as mere pretext for that reckoning, he fancied he detected his lord's hidden mercy within it. He resolved to meet his end honorably - pierced through by his lord's live steel. "Sadaibu shall face you with a live blade," he declared. Whispers of censure for his insolence rippled through the spectators. Lord Tadanauki answered with a wry smile.

“That’s what makes you Tadanauki’s retainer. Do not think of me as your lord.” “If you see an opening, strike without restraint!”

With these words, Lord Tadanauki brandished his spear and stepped back two or three ken while taking up his stance. Sadaibu swept the sheath from his live-blade spear, "Have at you!" he cried as he confronted his lord. All present were gripped by fearsome killing intent, their hair standing on end and breath bated, left only to stare transfixed at the duel between sovereign and vassal.

Lord Tadanauki had convinced himself that were he but to know his true capabilities with crystalline clarity, he would have nothing left to regret. Thus devoid of any awareness as a domain lord or consideration that his opponent was a subordinate, he confronted them with dauntless courage.

However, Sadaibu had steeled himself from the very beginning. After crossing spears about three times, he received Lord Tadanauki’s thrust at his left upper thigh, sent a thunderous impact through the ground, and sprawled backward. The people in the spectator seats let out a deep sigh in unison. Sadaibu's wounded form was swiftly carried away by some of his colleagues.

But in Lord Tadanauki's heart lingered no shred of victory's sweetness. The clarity with which he perceived Sadaibu's defeat as being as deliberate as yesterday's made his heart grow lonelier still than it had been the night before. When he realized that even Sadaibu would stake his life to foist this counterfeit triumph upon his lord, the anxiety, loneliness, and helplessness in his breast sank roots deeper still into those shadowed depths. Lord Tadanauki cursed himself—this self that remained unable to grasp truth though he endangered his own flesh and sacrificed his retainers' bodies.

When Sadaibu fell, Ukon showed not the slightest sign of fear; with a pale face and eyes ablaze with resolve, he stood holding the spear Sadaibu had dropped. Lord Tadanauki confronted Ukon—this man who had uttered such bold words the previous night—mustering his dwindling courage in the conviction that he would surely put up desperate resistance. But this man, like Sadaibu, deeply felt his own guilt within his heart. And he intended to atone for his sins by being honorably run through by his lord’s long spear.

In the course of five or six exchanges, Lord Tadanauki saw his opponent Ukon repeatedly create openings around what should have been the vital area of his chest. When he realized that this man too was determined to deceive his lord even at the cost of his own life, Lord Tadanauki found himself assailed by a gnawing loneliness. The very notion of being artfully maneuvered into claiming victory over his opponent now struck him as utterly farcical. Yet Ukon appeared desperate to be pierced by his lord's spearpoint with all haste; deliberately throwing himself against the weapon Lord Tadanauki thrust forward, he was decisively impaled through the right shoulder.

Lord Tadanauki had admirably vented last night’s pent-up fury. Yet this only planted a new desolation in his heart. Both Sadaibu and Ukon had guarded their lies even at the cost of their lives. When late that night Lord Tadanauki learned that Ukon and Sadaibu—carried wounded to his residence—had cut open their bellies and died in near unison, he could not help but succumb to gloom.

Lord Tadanauki thought deeply. Between myself and them hangs a membrane of falsehood. That membrane—that very membrane of lies—they strain desperately to uphold. This falsehood was no casual deceit but a frantic pretense clung to with mortal urgency. Today I had sought to pierce through that fraudulent veil with my live-blade spear, yet its rending was instantly sealed by their blood’s repair. Between myself and my retainers that membrane still persists unbroken. Beyond its barrier people commune as true humans do—but when they turn toward me, all don that shroud from crown to heel. Remembering how I alone remained stranded on this side, Lord Tadanauki felt an irritated loneliness assail his entire being with ferocious intensity.

IV

Ever since the live-blade duels, reports of His Lordship’s worsening temper plunged the entire castle’s populace into dread of Lord Tadanauki. Whenever His Lordship was present, the pages fixed their gazes and held their breath, refraining from the slightest motion. Even his inner attendants scrupulously observed proper etiquette in every step forward or back, resolved not to commit even the slightest transgression. The faint ease that had once existed between lord and vassals vanished without trace, leaving an air of murderous solemnity hanging before His Lordship. When retainers withdrew from His Lordship’s presence, they were left with a never-before-known exhaustion of body and spirit.

However, it was by no means only the retainers who had noticed that the relationship between lord and vassals was beginning to deteriorate in this manner. Lord Tadanauki observed one day as an attendant—intending to present a letter from the senior retainers—began crawling forward from four or five tatami lengths away. “Come forth without restraint! There’s no need for such formalities!” he said. Yet this admonition stemmed less from goodwill than from impatience verging on rebuke. The samurai retainers sought to reclaim their former ease through their lord’s words. But beneath this consciously maintained ease lay a gnarled core.

Since the live-blade duels, Lord Tadanauki distanced himself from martial arts practice as though he had forgotten it entirely. Not only did he cease the martial arts matches he had continued daily as part of his routine, but he even stopped taking up wooden swords or practice spears.

Lord Tadanauki—the young sovereign who had been arrogant yet magnanimous, violent yet innocent—abruptly ceased taking up wooden swords and short bows, and in their stead, increasingly found himself holding wine cups. From his youth he had possessed a natural capacity for heavy drinking, but never had he indulged in alcohol-fueled excess—until now, when he began frequently draining large cups, the first sprouts of alcoholic dissolution finally appearing.

It was during a banquet one night. Lord Tadanauki was in an uncharacteristically cheerful mood. Then, Masuda Kansuke—his foremost favorite page—poured sake generously into his large cup while...

“Why haven’t you been coming to the martial arts hall lately, my lord? Having grown somewhat complacent over your recent exploits, my lord, I perceive negligence.” Through such words, he had intended to show ample familiarity toward his lord.

Then, quite unexpectedly, Lord Tadanauki's countenance abruptly changed. In an instant, he snatched up the nearby cups and trays and hurled them at Kansuke's face like loosed arrows. Having received this unforeseen violence from his lord, Kansuke's face blanched in shock—yet this man of singular loyalty refused to dodge the blow. He took the cups and trays full to his face, blood streaming from his pallid features as he prostrated himself on the spot.

Lord Tadanauki stood up without uttering a word and entered the inner chamber.

Some of his colleagues rushed over to console him while pulling Kansuke to his feet.

Kansuke retired to his quarters that day under the pretense of illness but committed ritual suicide before the night had dawned. When Lord Tadanauki heard this, he merely offered a lonely, bitter smile.

About ten days had passed since that incident. Lord Tadanauki was playing Go with the elderly senior retainer Koyama Tango. The elderly man and Lord Tadanauki were playing a game of Go against each other. However, over the past two or three years, the elderly man had increasingly found himself losing more often than winning. That day as well, Tango suffered three consecutive defeats for Lord Tadanauki’s sake. Then, the elderly man offered a genial smile meant to please and—

“My lord has improved remarkably of late. This old man simply cannot serve as your worthy opponent anymore.” No sooner had a shadow of gloom swept across Lord Tadanauki’s face—which until moments before had been radiantly savoring consecutive victories—than he suddenly stood up and kicked the Go board placed between them. The black and white stones arrayed on the board went scattering, several striking Tango’s face. Though victorious in their match, Tango found himself at a loss to comprehend his lord’s erupting fury. He seized the hem of Lord Tadanauki’s hakama as the lord made to depart abruptly—

“What madness possesses Your Lordship! Has Your Lordship gone mad? With what noble intent does Your Lordship subject this Tango to such humiliation?” he shouted as if possessed by madness.

In the obstinate old man’s heart, rage toward Lord Tadanauki’s unjust treatment blazed like fire. But Lord Tadanauki paid no heed to the old man’s fury. “Hah!” he spat, shaking off the hand gripping his hakama before striding briskly into the inner chambers. The elderly man, having received this unreasonable humiliation from the lord he had nurtured with devoted care since childhood, felt bitter resentment as tears streamed from his aged eyes. As he recalled the benevolent and magnanimous deeds of the late Lord Nakatsukasa Hideyasu from times past, he lamented his own prolonged existence that had brought him shame. Honest Tango did not possess even a trace of the despicable heart that would intentionally lose at the board to flatter.

But by now, in Lord Tadanauki’s mind, every move his retainers made had come to be seen through a single lens.

The elderly man returned home that day, donned ceremonial attire, composed himself with proper decorum, sliced open his aged belly, and cast away his unwelcome existence. Rumors of Lord Tadanauki’s outrageous conduct finally began to circulate both within and beyond the domain. The combative Lord Tadanauki had until now frequently engaged in contests to savor his superiority over others, but after this incident, he abruptly ceased all involvement in such matters.

Given this, it was inevitable that Lord Tadanauki's life gradually descended into ruin. Within the castle walls, with no duties to occupy him, he wallowed in food and drink while seeking carnal pleasures. And when he ventured beyond the castle walls, he spent his days consumed by hunting. He chased birds across fields and hunted beasts through mountains. Yet no creature willingly threw itself before Lord Tadanauki's arrows merely because this was their liege lord's hunt. When removed from the human world and immersed in nature's realm, Lord Tadanauki felt a cleansing clarity—as though he had slipped free from the false membrane encasing him.

V

Until now, Lord Tadanauki had always heeded whatever the senior retainers said on every matter. When he was still called Nagakichimaru at thirteen—summoned to his father Lord Hideyasu’s deathbed and admonished with “After I am gone, consider what the senior retainers say as though I myself were speaking, and heed them well”—this precept he had cherished as sacred. But of late, even when hearing affairs of state, he interpreted everything through a warped lens. When the senior retainers recommended a certain man with effusive praise, he became convinced the fellow was a charlatan and obstinately refused to employ him. When they petitioned to censure another man’s conduct and insisted house confinement was fully warranted, Lord Tadanauki perceived him as a samurai of unyielding integrity and would countenance no punishment.

Throughout Echizen Province, that year brought a poor harvest of rare severity in recent years, and the peasants’ hardships knew no bounds. The senior retainers appeared collectively before Lord Tadanauki and petitioned for a partial exemption of the tax rice. But the more vehemently the senior retainers pleaded, the more Lord Tadanauki grew to loathe adopting their counsel. He himself, while harboring considerable sympathy for the peasants in his heart, found it displeasing to yield to the senior retainers' will. And, half-heartedly listening to the senior retainers’ tedious arguments,

“It shan’t be! If I say it shan’t be, then it shan’t be indeed!” he roared. Why he had refused—even he himself did not understand.

As these emotional disparities deepened between lord and retainers, the domain's governance grew increasingly disordered—until rumors of Lord Echizen's outrageous conduct even reached Edo's shogunal headquarters.

But Lord Tadanauki’s turbulent state of mind now began encroaching upon the very foundations of his existence.

It happened one night. He had secluded himself in the inner chambers since evening and, with his beloved concubines before him, repeatedly drained large cups of sake.

A beauty called Kinuno, whom he had summoned all the way from Kyoto, now solely commanded Lord Tadanauki’s favor during this period.

Lord Tadanauki continued drinking from the sixth half-hour after sunset—still early in the night—until the ninth hour approaching midnight. However, the beloved concubines who did not drink alcohol merely repeated the monotonous task of refilling his cup time and again. Lord Tadanauki abruptly opened his drunken eyes and looked at Kinuno, his beloved concubine seated in attendance upon him. Yet the woman—likely exhausted from consecutive nightly banquets— appeared to have momentarily forgotten her lord’s presence, her beautiful double-lidded eyes half-closed as she drifted drowsily into shallow sleep.

Staring fixedly at that face, Lord Tadanauki found himself ensnared by yet another new suspicion. The loneliness of this woman—who had surrendered herself body and soul to an absolute sovereign, who exercised not a shred of personal will from dawn till dusk, who was treated as a mere puppet—seemed vividly revealed in that inadvertent shallow slumber.

Lord Tadanauki thought. This woman too held not the slightest love for me. Her charming demeanor and alluring coquetry were nothing but surface-level artifice. It was nothing but a desperate last resort—she who had been purchased with vast sums she could not refuse, placed before an absolute sovereign with no choice but to strive for his favor however she could.

But not only did this woman not love him—Lord Tadanauki wondered—had there ever been even a single woman who had truly loved him from the heart until now? He had until now never experienced the slightest human compassion between people, and only recently had he begun to realize this. He had never even known the affection between friends. From his youth, he had gathered countless pages of similar age around himself. But they had not interacted with Lord Tadanauki as friends. They had merely submitted. Lord Tadanauki loved them. But they never loved their lord in return. They had merely submitted out of a sense of duty.

Setting aside friendship—what of love with the opposite sex? Since his youth, he had gathered many beautiful women around him. Lord Tadanauki loved them. But how many among them had loved him in return? Even when Lord Tadanauki loved, they did not love him in return. They had merely offered their submission unquestioningly. He still dominated many people around him. But they offered Lord Tadanauki nothing but submission in place of human compassion.

Upon reflection, Lord Tadanauki had been receiving submission as a substitute for love, submission in place of friendship, submission instead of kindness. Of course, among these might have existed genuine love moved by human compassion, true friendship, pure kindness. But through Lord Tadanauki's present lens, all appeared as chaos, uniformly shrouded beneath the two characters: *submission*.

Cast into a realm above the world of human compassion, surrounded by multitudes of vassals yet steeped in desolate solitude—such was Lord Tadanauki's existence.

As this awareness intensified, his life in the inner chambers became as desolate as chewing sand.

He now saw with glaring clarity that the love from the women he had cherished until this moment had always been impure. When he showed them affection, every woman would meekly comply with his every whim. But that was not them loving him—it was merely them fulfilling their obligations as subjects before their lord. He had grown utterly weary of consuming duty and submission instead of love. As his life grew increasingly disordered, he came to desire women with more vitality—not mere puppets of the opposite sex—to love. He wanted to love a member of the opposite sex who would at least show human-like resistance—even if they didn’t love him back from the heart.

To this end, he had the daughters of high-ranking retainers in his household brought to the inner chambers. However, they too endured without showing any resistance, treating Lord Tadanauki’s words as nothing more than their lord’s decree—an irresistible command they could not oppose. They faced Lord Tadanauki with pure sacrificial devotion, like human sacrifices offered before a deity of manifest power. Even when facing those women, Lord Tadanauki could not feel the slightest lustful inclination.

His dissatisfaction persisted still. He thought a woman already betrothed might show some resistance. He ordered a search for daughters with fiancés. But those women too, contrary to Lord Tadanauki's expectations, rendered their lord's will absolute and elevated him to something beyond human.

From around this time, voices criticizing Lord Tadanauki's debauchery arose even among the retainers in his household. However, Lord Tadanauki’s outrageous acts showed no sign of abating. Having obtained daughters with fiancés yet finding no consolation, he committed even more heinous acts. It was that he had me search for those with amorous reputations among the household’s wives and summoned three of them to the castle at irregular hours without allowing their return. There were even those who lamented that their lord’s outrageous conduct had reached its peak.

Despite multiple entreaties from her husband, the wife was not returned. The senior retainers vehemently admonished Lord Tadanauki for deeds that transgressed the principles of human morality.

However, the more the senior retainers admonished him, the more Lord Tadanauki became fascinated with his own deeds. Of the three retainers whose wives had been taken, when two came to know the truth of Lord Tadanauki’s cruel scheme, they seemingly concluded that the bond between lord and vassal had reached its end; as if by prior agreement, they successively committed ritual suicide. When the lateral inspector delivered this report, Lord Tadanauki drained the cup he held in one gulp, let out a faint wry smile, and remained utterly silent. The entire household’s sympathy converged unanimously upon the two dead warriors. “Truly samurai!” “A splendid end indeed!” some even extolled. Yet people considered the cause that had led these two men to their deaths to be nothing more than an unavoidable natural disaster. They regarded it as a kind of inescapable fate.

When the two men had died one after another, the household’s interest converged upon Asamizu Yoshiro—who, though his wife had been taken, alone remained alive. And there were even those who denounced the man—who had lost his wife yet failed to slit his belly—as a coward.

However, four or five days later, the man appeared nonchalantly at the castle and requested through the inspector to have an audience with Lord Tadanauki. However, the inspector tried in various ways to placate and coax Asamizu Yoshiro. “But no matter how you protest—he remains our lord.” “If you go to the audience now, you will certainly be executed.” “We all understand the lord’s tyranny, but no matter how we protest—he remains our lord.”

But Yoshiro retorted defiantly.

"Even if it costs me my life, I must have this audience." "Even if my body is hewn into eight pieces, I shall harbor no regrets." "I implore you to grant me this audience," he pleaded with desperate resolve. The inspector, left with no choice, conveyed the plea to one of the senior retainers stationed in the White Hall. Upon hearing this, the elderly senior retainer remarked, "It seems Yoshiro has lost his senses. "Though we understand our lord’s unreasonableness, in this case cutting open one’s belly to offer deathly admonition is a vassal’s bounden duty." "The other two understood their duty well enough, but that wretch Yoshiro seems to have lost his senses after having his wife taken." "I never took him for such a fool," he whispered.

The senior retainer, still grumbling under his breath, called a page and reluctantly had the matter conveyed to Lord Tadanauki’s ears.

Then, contrary to all expectations, Lord Tadanauki’s mood remained unclouded. “Hah! Hah! Hah! So the wretch Yoshiro has come crawling, has he?” “He’s finally crawled here!” “Let him through at once!” “I grant you an audience,” he declared—and for the first time in recent memory, a radiant smile drifted across his cheeks.

After a short while, before Lord Tadanauki’s eyes appeared the figure of Yoshiro—dazed like a sick dog. He appeared worn from days of mental strain, his complexion pallid, his entire face suffused with an indefinable air of murderous intent. And within those pupils ran two—no, three—streaks of blood.

For the first time in his life, Lord Tadanauki saw one of his retainers before him displaying true emotions openly on their face.

“Yoshiro! Come closer!” said Lord Tadanauki with a warm countenance. Somehow feeling he stood as one human being facing another, he even sensed an unexpected familiarity toward Yoshiro. The membrane separating lord from vassal had dissolved, leaving them facing each other simply as fellow men.

Yoshiro slid closer across about three tatami lengths, then let out a groan as if escaping from the depths of hell. “Lord! The way of lord and vassal is but a trivial matter compared to the great path of human morality! This is how I express my resentment for having my wife taken!” No sooner had he spoken than Yoshiro leapt like a swooping swallow and lunged at Lord Tadanauki. In his right hand already glinted a dagger. However, Yoshiro had his dominant wrist effortlessly seized by the nimble Lord Tadanauki and was pinned down on the spot. One of the attendants, thinking himself helpful, tried to hand Lord Tadanauki’s sword—which a page had been holding—to him. However, Lord Tadanauki instead shoved that man away.

“Yoshiro! Truly, you are a samurai after all,” Lord Tadanauki said as he released Yoshiro’s captured hand. Yoshiro, still clutching the dagger, kept his face lowered in prostration. “Even your wife—when her life was claimed—refused to obey my words.” Lord Tadanauki declared, then erupted into hearty laughter from his very core. “You’re rare specimens among my retainers.” Through Yoshiro’s rebellion, Lord Tadanauki had obtained twin joys. The first lay in feeling himself permitted—through being hated and nearly slain as a mere mortal—to finally step into humanity’s realm. The second resided in his magnificent suppression of Yoshiro’s desperate dagger thrust—this same Yoshiro renowned as Echizen’s swiftest armsman. No trace of deceit or pretense could he detect in this contest. For the first time in years, he relished victory’s sweetness untainted by doubt. Within Lord Tadanauki’s breast, a portion of that festering gloom began dissolving—it seemed a radiant clarity now dawned before him.

Yoshiro, who pleaded "Just let it end here—execute me as I am," was not only dismissed without censure but also saw his wife immediately granted release from service.

But Lord Tadanauki’s joy never lasted long.

The Yoshiro couple, having been dismissed from the castle, that very night resolutely committed suicide lying side by side—though the precise reason for their deaths remained unclear, it was likely due both to shame at having raised blades against their ancestral lord and to profound gratitude toward Lord Tadanauki’s magnanimity in sparing their lives. But upon hearing of their deaths, Lord Tadanauki felt no joy whatsoever. Considering that Yoshiro had committed suicide with such resolve, even his earlier act of confronting Lord Tadanauki with a dagger now began to seem suspect. It now appeared nothing more than a ploy to be honorably slain by Lord Tadanauki—and if this were true, then his lordship’s masterful seizure and subduing of that skilled arm differed little from his triumphant defeats of enemy commanders in the Red and White mock battles. As he pondered this, Lord Tadanauki found himself plunged once more into profound, abysmal despair.

Lord Tadanauki's outrages grew ever more extreme thereafter, as history records. In the end, he not only wantonly cut down his retainers but went so far as to seize innocent citizens and subject them to murderous blades. Particularly, the legendary tale of the "Stone Cutting Board" passed down through oral tradition remains something that makes people turn their faces away even a hundred generations later. But the reason Lord Tadanauki dared commit such atrocities was likely because his retainers did not treat him as a human being, so in the end, even Lord Tadanauki ceased to treat his retainers as human beings.

VI

However，Lord Tadanauki’s outrages could not continue indefinitely. As his transgressions multiplied，the shogunate’s senior councillors—Doi Ōi-no-kami Toshikatsu and Honda Kōzuke-no-suke Masazumi—devised plans through me to abolish Echizen’s lord. Yet given Tadanauki’s peerless martial prowess and status as Tokugawa Ieyasu’s direct heir，direct confrontation risked catastrophic consequences．They ultimately resolved to dispatch his birth mother，the nun Seiryōni，to Echizen，tasking her with subtly conveying the shogunate’s intentions．

Lord Tadanauki rejoiced at this long-awaited reunion with Her Ladyship his mother, yet accepted the edict of domain confiscation with unexpected ease, cast aside his 670,000-koku fief like worn-out sandals, and departed for his place of exile in Funai, Bungo Province. En route at Tsuruga, he took monastic vows and received the dharma name Ippaku. It was May of Genna 9, and Lord Tadanauki had just passed thirty years of age. Later transferred from Funai in Bungo Province to Tsumori within the same province, he was granted 10,000 koku as a household stipend by the shogunate, spent his twilight years without incident, and passed away on the tenth day of the ninth month in Keian 3. He died at fifty-six years of age.

No historical records remain regarding Lord Tadanauki’s later years. However, there exists only one volume—"Lord Tadanauki’s Conduct Record"—compiled by Takehana Uemon-no-shō Shigetsugu, lord of Funai Castle who had been charged with Lord Tadanauki’s protection, who had his retainer document Lord Tadanauki’s deeds and sent it to Doi Ōi-no-kami Toshikatsu, the shogunate’s senior councillor. One passage reads: “After Lord Tadanauki was transferred to Tsumori in this province, not a single instance of violent conduct occurred—he lived peacefully.” He often remarked that when he lost his 670,000-koku house and domain, it was as if awakening from a nightmare—he thought of nothing but how refreshing it felt. He declared: “For all my future existences, never again shall I be reborn as a daimyo—though moving among multitudes, I have often endured hardships as if cast into a lonely hell.” Regarding his domain confiscation, not the slightest regret could be discerned in him. …In idle hours, he would summon even village elders and monks to his side, engaging them in games of Go—a demeanor from which not a trace remained of the tyrant once rumored to surpass even King Zhou of Yin. With Old Monk Kōzan of Jōkenji Temple in Tsumori particularly, he was on intimate terms, the old monk having said: “Were one granted 670,000 koku, anyone would be moved to imitate King Zhou. “It is not Your Lordship’s inherent wickedness,” and such words being conveyed to him, he showed no sign of anger and laughed graciously. In the end, he even summoned lowly peasants and townspeople into his presence, taking great delight in their blunt words. “Your Lordship comported yourself with utmost prudence in all matters, showed compassion toward attendants, and demonstrated care for subjects—so much so that people remain perplexed to this day at how one who forfeited his domain could appear no lawless man.”