Pathway to Japanese Literature

(1) Harvest in Darkness

I am a painter, but my greatest pleasure lies not in painting pictures—it is in my “Night Walk.”
It is to wander aimlessly here and there through the city streets.
Above all, I supremely enjoy slipping through the mysterious darkness of backstreet alleys—those with sparse lamplight that evoke detective novels.
It was a certain winter night.
When I heard the clock strike nine, that familiar urge once again crept up fitfully into my head.
“Right. I’ll set out again tonight for a ‘Harvest in Darkness.’”
With my coat thrown on and my studio door left behind, my feet walked through the grimy back alleys of Senju in the northeast of the capital thirty minutes later.
Then, before me walked a man—also cloaked in a black coat and wearing a black hat.
I saw that the man was severely drunk.
And in the instant I caught up and passed him, when I stole a glance at the man’s profile, I could not suppress a shudder like a rushing stream of water.
His face was so unearthly pale it seemed almost otherworldly, and whether from drink, it bore a strange metallic luster.
In the darkness, I couldn’t make out much, but the terror of his eyes—dimly glowing with a pearl-like radiance—was such that I couldn’t bear to look at them for even a second.
Tall and in his thirties, the man’s overall air of dignity somehow piqued my curiosity.
When I deliberately positioned myself behind the man and began tailing him discreetly, he staggered this way and that for about one block before stopping upon seeing the shabby paper door of an izakaya there.
And just as he slid open the shoji door with trembling hands to step inside, a voice cried, “Ah! That madman from before is back again!”—and the man was shoved outside with full force.
And he thudded heavily against my chest.
I entered the izakaya and asked, “What happened?”
“Why, this is a genuine madman—he’s violent and causing trouble!” I placated the proprietress as she protested and led the man back into the izakaya.
The lamplight illuminated the man’s entire form.
I was even more astonished.

In the appearance of this man referred to as a madman, there was an unmistakable shadow of refinement.
I intuitively perceived that this man was someone who had plumbed the depths of a dire fate.
And I grew deeply interested in him.
“Here, have a drink,” I said, offering him a cup, and a hint of gentleness surfaced on the man’s fearsome features as he drained it in a single gulp.
He stared fixedly at me, then said, “Hey, you…
“I’m not a madman.
“Never, never is that the case!” As he spoke these words, tears welled up in his eyes.
In that instant, I found myself unbearably pitying this drunkard.
I felt such an urge to embrace him and sob uncontrollably that I cried out, “Of course not! You’re no madman!”
By the time I refilled the sake bottle, I had resolved to take this man home with me tonight.
“Hey, you…
“Why don’t you come to my place and we’ll drink again? Hm? I’m all alone.
“I’m so lonely I can’t bear it.
“You’ll come with me, won’t you?
“You.” Then, this man stared vacantly at me with his large eyes for a while before nodding emphatically.
I promptly left this izakaya with him.
When I helped this man out to the streetcar thoroughfare, it was already eleven o’clock.
I bought a bottle of liqueur, boarded the streetcar, and soon arrived back at my studio.
The moment we entered, he cried out, “You’re quite the painter,” then embraced his own neck and sucked his cheek.
When I lit the stove and set a cup of liqueur before him, he was utterly drunk.

Those eyes glowed somehow mournfully, somehow gently, somehow terrifyingly. And while offering me a cup, he said, “You’ll listen to me… you’ll understand.” “Because I’m telling this only to you—listen.” “Listen to my grievances.” As he said this and began recounting his lengthy history, I shuddered at the sheer bizarreness of this man’s true nature. The following is his story, and the “I” in the text refers to himself.

(2) Archaeologist and Count’s Daughter

I am an archaeologist named Toda Motokichi—though to call myself one sounds rather grand when in truth I’m merely a dabbler.
This is because my family was quite wealthy, and as the second son, I received an inheritance sufficient to ensure I’d never want financially—hence why I graduated university having learned nothing substantial, and even afterward idled about without pursuing proper work.
Yet precisely because I’d nominally chosen it as my profession, I grew quite passionate about archaeology and history, conducting minor research continuously and consequently spending two-thirds of each year traveling.
In my second year post-graduation, I married the daughter of a certain count.
This wife of mine, Toyoko, had been my acquaintance since boyhood and was the woman I loved most in all the world.
I cannot speak of Toyoko without acute agony.
Did these hands of mine kill that most beloved woman? Did the blood that once graced her rose-tinted cheeks, her ruby lips, and that voluptuous body now drip heedlessly from these palms?
Yet I cannot continue living without thinking of Toyoko.
Even were I to sacrifice all life’s happiness to the torment of recalling my wicked deeds, never—never—could I forget her.
She was truly an extraordinary woman.
Vibrant, masculine in spirit, and bold.
My existence began to shine resplendently the moment I united with her.
Thus arrived the summer one year into our blissful newlywed life.
Still childless and unburdened, we two discussed where to spend this year’s summer retreat.
When I asked, “Which do you prefer—mountains or sea?” she instantly replied, “The mountains.”
She then named a specific location she wished to visit.
It lay in the mountains of Shinano.
There stood a villa belonging to an aristocratic friend of Toyoko’s.
We resolved to borrow it.

I too agreed and visited that nobleman; when inquiring about it, I felt a twinge of unease—his account went as follows.
The mountain villa had been built by an eccentric collector among their clan and stood deep within the mountains.
For five or six years now, a notorious bandit with his gang had been haunting those surrounding peaks—descending into towns and villages to commit murderous robberies that left the police powerless.
Now only a caretaker couple remained stationed there, the place said to lie abandoned.
He strongly advised against pursuing it further.
I resolved to abandon the plan based on this counsel, but when I returned and told Toyoko, she refused to listen.
She insisted we must go to that mountain regardless.
Thus I reluctantly agreed to take the villa, and finally we set out together.

The only companion was a single maid.
Looking back now, it was truly the beginning of a calamitous fate.

When we arrived at the foothill village and requested a guide, the man we asked looked extremely terrified upon hearing we intended to spend the entire summer at that mountain villa. He advised that it would be better to give up. These bandits were apparently a different breed of men—whenever they committed robbery, they always killed. Their method remained consistent: they pierced the heart with a sharp dagger with such precision that not a single person who had actually seen them remained alive. For those who saw them were inevitably killed. Therefore, their leader was called the “Murderous Ascetic”…

Hearing such tales only intensified my unease.
However, once we arrived at the villa, we felt so satisfied that we completely forgot all such unease.

(3) The Utterly Mysterious Stone Cliff

The villa was located about five miles above Fumoto Village.
Standing on a cliff overlooking a deep valley, it was a sturdy Western-style house painted blue.
From its second floor, one could look directly out over the valley and the mountain opposite—a truly magnificent view.
Toyoko rejoiced like a child and boasted of her discernment.

One day, I resolved to survey the geological formations of these surrounding mountains. I departed from the villa early in the morning. “You mustn’t go into those mountains yonder, Kurekure,” came an old man’s voice that somehow carried an air of mysticism as I began ascending the slope above the villa.

In these sparsely traversed mountains, what passed for a path amounted to little more than intermittent footprints pressed into the earth. I climbed relentlessly upward along this sole human trail until—it being a clear summer day—I found myself breathless upon reaching what appeared to be the summit around one o’clock in the afternoon.

After resting briefly, I commenced my descent only to realize I’d lost my bearings without noticing when it happened—and thus tumbled into an exasperating thicket of mixed-growth trees.

With no alternative but to navigate by compass, I doggedly worked my way downward through the underbrush until emerging into a gently sloping valley where I made an intriguing discovery during my respite: a linear arrangement of stones running parallel to the ravine.

This was unmistakably artificial—a row of three-dimensionally carved rocks exhibiting considerable antiquity that immediately seized my professional interest as an archaeologist, belonging as it did to that category of stone formations which perpetually confound our field.

Following this stone row down the valley proved challenging; some rocks lay half-buried while others hid among tree roots, yet they continued endlessly along the terrain until approximately one *ri* later when they vanished from sight altogether.

Then, as I gazed absently ahead, I noticed a peculiar stone cliff a short distance up.
It was undoubtedly man-made.
I immediately climbed up to see it.
Upon closer inspection, there was a small entrance in a part of the stone cliff that wasn't readily visible.
The door stood open.
It closely resembled the remains of pit dwellings found across various regions.
My curiosity surged.
I promptly entered through that small gate.
After going in, the path remained level for a time with sections so narrow I had to crawl; halfway through, it widened considerably, allowing me to walk hunched over as it began sloping downward.
Here and there, it angled sharply.
When I considered carefully, the path appeared to spiral inward.
I advanced steadily by my flashlight's beam.

(4) Capture Without a Word

Before long, when I thought I had crawled quite far in, the path ended and I emerged into a large stone chamber.
Shining my flashlight around, I saw this was a stone-lined chamber about nine feet high and square-shaped. The interior lay empty, with an opening on the right leading to the next chamber.
What purpose could such an underground chamber serve?
An ancient tomb? Or a dwelling?
I scanned the ground but found no patterns—nothing lay scattered except pottery fragments.
So I entered the next chamber through the right opening.
The next chamber was nearly identical.
When I aimed my flashlight at the center, my pulse quickened.
There lay a rectangular stone coffin.
This was indeed an ancient burial site.
As I approached and examined it closely, I thought: This is an extraordinary find.
It bore patterns datable to the Suiko period.
Strange arabesque carvings adorned the coffin lid.
"Why would such an aristocratic coffin exist deep in these mountains?" I mused while studying the carvings—when suddenly I noticed something odd.
On the side of the stone lid ran a vertical crack that continued down into the coffin itself.
To my shock, the coffin's side formed an entire door.
Finding this strange, I tried manipulating the door, but it wouldn't budge.
By chance, my hand brushed against a carved floral ornament at the lid's corner.
Then the flower began rattling.

When I pushed it hard with my finger, strangely enough, the side of the coffin clanked downward. When I peered inside, beneath the coffin lay a vertical shaft. A faint light reflected from within it. I shuddered. "There’s someone inside here," I thought—and at that very moment, I abruptly recalled those rumors about bandits. Ah, so I had entered the mountain across from the one the villa caretaker mentioned; upon careful consideration, that was indeed the case. Since the mountain formed a U-shape, following that valley had led me into this side. Which meant bandits were inside here. As this realization struck me, a shudder coursed through my entire body—yet being naturally bold, I grew remarkably calm in that moment. I resolved to stealthily investigate the situation inside.

The vertical shaft extended four or five shaku before becoming a horizontal tunnel. Light seeped from its far end. I quietly slipped inside and descended into the horizontal tunnel. Crouching and crawling toward the light, I realized the tunnel’s end opened at the junction between a large chamber’s wall and ceiling. The instant I cautiously leaned out to peer downward into the room, what felt like a thick hand grabbed me—and I was dragged sliding into the chamber with a slippery scrape. Without a chance to protest, two men with fearsome faces bound my body. They then opened the left-hand door of that chamber and shoved me into the next room.

I was stunned. This room was truly resplendent—its walls draped in crimson fabric, gaslight blazing as vividly as a painting.

In the center chair sat a single imposing man.
The men seated me before him.
At that moment, I raised my face and looked up at this man’s features when suddenly I felt as though I recognized him.
And then I stared fixedly at that face.
A man still in his thirties—young and sharp-featured—unmistakably authoritative.
His eyebrows were thick, and his eyes held a bold imperial expression.
Suddenly I remembered.
“That’s it.
This is him.
This was none other than Nomiya Koutarou—the one I had long yearned to meet.”

(5) Delinquent Youth and Beautiful Youth

At this point, I must shift the story slightly. This was when I was still in my third year of middle school. In those days, as was typical for middle schoolers, I enjoyed a reputation as a beautiful youth. Though adored by many elders, none left as profound an impression on me as this Nomiya Koutarou. He was then in his fifth year—a delinquent reviled like vermin by the teachers yet wielding godlike authority among students through some strange alchemy. He possessed an utterly uncanny charm. Taciturn and pale-complexioned, he perpetually wore an air of dreadful melancholy. His physical prowess inspired awe; he excelled at judo, kendo, running—every athletic pursuit. While frequently embroiled in fights, his methods proved so viciously tenacious that those who crossed him inevitably endured horrific retribution. Even the teachers feared him too much to issue commands. Though academically deficient overall, he displayed freakish talent for mathematics alone—a subject he relished with peculiar intensity.

My association with him began during our first year. Smitten with me, he ceaselessly invited me to his home until I spent every day solely in his company. Parentless and solitary, he occupied a rented room at a temple where he lived in surprising luxury. Since he never taught me anything improper, I remained wholly untouched by his corrupting influence—or so I believed. Yet my family forbade our friendship, and their prohibitions only deepened my attachment until it curdled into pathological obsession.

Precisely when Nomiya entered fifth grade, he began zealously studying hypnosis—with myself perpetually conscripted as his subject.

Being constantly made to sleep by Nomiya was an abnormal pleasure.
I have no memory of what occurred while I was asleep, but when Nomiya employed various methods to induce sleep, I felt an indescribable pleasure.
And finally, I reached the point where I would lose all self-consciousness from just a single glance from Nomiya.
Nomiya himself had apparently grown quite skilled in this technique.
And so, in the spring when I advanced to the fourth grade, he had already been forced to leave school.
He said he had entered a certain mathematics school.
That school was in Tokyo, and since our middle school was in the countryside of Kyushu, the day for us to part had come.
On the day we parted, he grasped my hand with sincere tears welling in his eyes, so I ended up crying as well.

At that moment, he solemnly told me the following:
“I intuitively sense that a terrible fate lies ahead for me—one I must live within no matter what.”
“And you will inevitably become part of that fate.”
“Our reunion will assuredly come under such circumstances.”
I didn’t fully grasp his meaning, but we parted then and never met again until now.
Shortly after he left for Tokyo, rumors spread that he had slashed someone in a brawl and vanished; after that, all trace of him disappeared.
Even after I entered high school and began living in Tokyo myself, I could never forget him.
Whenever I thought of his name, a longing so fierce it brought tears to my eyes would surge up—a feeling that persisted no matter how much time passed.
This continued until around my university graduation.
I yearned desperately to see him just once more and searched repeatedly, but to no avail.
Yet after taking a wife, I found I had ceased thinking of him altogether.
Ah—to encounter him now in this sinister basement was truly like a dream.

(6) I Am a Murderous Ascetic

“Oh! You’re Mot-san, aren’t you?” he shouted.
He immediately untied my bonds.
“You’ve aged quite a bit,” he said while offering me another chair. When we settled into our seats, he and I stared intently at each other.
I stood dumbfounded, unable to form any coherent thoughts.
I particularly noticed how his features had grown strikingly sharp and tense.
As I kept looking, I realized he had become truly beautiful.
A wave of happiness washed over me.
The sheer satisfaction of finally facing him—this person I’d long yearned to meet—left no room in my heart for doubts about his current circumstances.

“I never thought I’d meet you here,” I said.
Then he calmly said.

“No.”
“I had long anticipated this reunion.”
“You actually came.”
“Now, do you remember the words I spoke when we parted that day?”
“At that time, I prophesied that you would surely partake in my certain fate—and indeed, you have come.”
“This was truly inevitable.” When he said this and cast his gaze deep into my soul, I suddenly became aware that this bizarre subterranean figure was someone with whom I had once shared an extraordinary bond, and along with that realization, a sense of responsibility, doubt, and wariness toward “the present him” welled up in my chest.
I became very anxious.
“Just why are you in a place like this now?” When I asked this, he smiled.
And then, suddenly pushing the chair forward, he grasped both my hands.
“Why am I in a place like this?”
“I will now clearly tell you what I am.”
“The people around here have dubbed me the ‘Murderous Ascetic.’”
“That is the truth.”
“I’m holed up in this pit because I want to kill people.”

I turned pale.
So then—was the rumored leader of the great bandits in truth my sworn brother from the past whom I had always admired?
When I gazed at his excited, triumphant-looking face, a strong will suddenly arose within my heart.
Already I now had my most beloved wife.
The beautiful and powerful friend who was here now had once been the possessor of my world.
Yet now my world belonged to Toyoko.
Nomiya was already a stranger.
And he was a great criminal deserving of abhorrence.
I would resolutely resist this friend.
Seeing that I had fallen silent, he smiled mysteriously again.
And he firmly shook my grasped hand and said:
"You've never forgotten me for even a moment, have you?"
"I too have never forgotten you for even a moment."
"And thus the day of our reunion has come."
"Shall we not live together without ever parting again?"
"There is something I must urgently impart to you now."
"It is truly the greatest pleasure on earth."
"That is why I intend to teach you the ecstasy of murder." I shuddered.
His musical words were rapidly drawing me in.
He was pulling me with a hypnotic power ten times stronger than that mysterious force from our middle school days.

Moreover, I brushed away the hand that was gripping me.
And I glared at him and shouted.
“What are you saying?”
“Our friendship is already a thing of the past.”
“Now I have a wife.”
“I am passionately in love with that woman.”
“There is nothing in my life but her.”
“I will of course not become a disciple of a criminal.”
“Quickly get me out of this pit.”
“You and I will never be friends again.”

(VII) Bizarre Hypnosis

He still smiled. And then, waving his hand as if to placate me, he began to speak. “So that’s your answer?” “Only natural.” “Since you feel no attachment to me now, I won’t force you.” “Yet I shall remain eternally obsessed with you.” “I will make you yearn for me again.” “Thus I shall briefly impart my philosophy.” “Know this absolutely: no pleasure in this world surpasses murder.” “To drain life’s sweetest wine to its dregs, your hands must embrace slaughter.” “I—who must forge comrades—have already slain two hundred ninety-eight souls.” “This path of murderous asceticism I walk is the world’s supreme art and noblest faith.” “You—most beautiful youth my eyes ever beheld—” “Will you not steep those fair hands in blood pulsing with life?” “No.” “No!” “Speak no more of these horrors into my ears!” “Never speak them again!” I shouted, pressing hands to my ears. He laughed—a dry rasp echoing from his golden robes’ folds. It held the timbre of a demon mocking creation itself. Then he rose abruptly, fixing me with a silent, penetrating stare.

When I, trembling with anger, glared at that face, everything before my eyes strangely transformed into mist and smoke in an instant, and just as I thought two terrifying eyes were shining like stars, my consciousness vanished completely.

When I suddenly heard a whisper at my ear and opened my eyes again, I found myself lying in front of the villa’s gate. When I got up in surprise, standing in the dim twilight was Nomiya Koutarou himself. The moment I rose, he uttered a solemn cry—then vanished abruptly from sight. “Farewell. We’ll meet again at midnight on the fifth day.” I watched his retreating figure briefly, but when I realized I could finally return home at last, such joy overwhelmed me that I dashed straight inside.

Toyoko had been anxious about my late return but rejoiced upon seeing me alive. Gazing at her face revived me like one returning from death itself. Yet I spoke nothing of these strange occurrences to anyone—something instinctively warned me against it.

Still—how had I been returned here unknowingly? Then it struck me: hypnosis! That word alone filled me with dread. Had he implanted some suggestion within me? He’d once mentioned how hypnotic commands given during sleep could persist after waking—and over years, he must have perfected such dark arts.

“We’ll meet again on the fifth night,” he’d declared—terror seized me then.

That evening I urged Toyoko we depart immediately, but she laughed heartily at my cowardice.

Had I told her about my mountain encounter, she surely would have agreed to return to Tokyo.

Yet I simply could not bring myself to tell anyone about that matter.
A strange force had sealed my lips.

(VIII) Eyes Became Bloodshot

From the next day onward, I began to show strange symptoms.
I would grow absent-minded for no reason and soon feel sleepy.
Yet my hyperactivity grew increasingly pronounced; everything I saw and heard seemed fascinating.
I was so happy that my fingertips began dancing on their own.
Bizarre fantasies ceaselessly assailed my head; I found myself singing at the top of my lungs and dashing around the villa like a child.
Toyoko was a bit surprised, but given her inherently lively nature, she was instead delighted.
My attachment to Toyoko grew even more intense, and day after day, I would take strolls with her near the villa, picking flowers and shooting small birds.
When we returned home, we would drink together, tilting the sake bottle.
Because this is a highland, though it’s called summer, the climate is spring-like.
I became recklessly fond of this pleasantness.
And yet, though I was fully aware of the imminent danger before me, I refused to leave these mountains.
Here, a strange thing occurred.
What followed was that I began to see nearly the same dream every night.
The dream is as follows.
I am standing alone on a certain mountaintop; there are large valleys to the right and left.
In the valley bottom to the right, a truly beautiful city glitters brightly.
However, the valley bottom to the left has become a large lake.
When I look closely, it is a lake of blood.
When I look up at the sky again, a single crimson star shines clearly and purely like a witch’s gaze.
I stand vacantly with my arms folded.

That was all there was to it.
I saw that dream every single night without fail.
However, had I been my usual self, I might have found this strange—but in my bizarre state, I paid it no mind at all. Instead, I remained perpetually unsettled, dawdling about aimlessly: no sooner would I read a few pages of a book than I’d puff tobacco until it stung my eyes; no sooner would I start painting than I’d fiddle with an iron dumbbell; I’d doze off only to jolt awake moments later—a state bordering on mania.
The fact that I was in such a state was something I understood all too well.
Moreover, I had entered a dual mental state where I seemed to willingly remain in it.

Four days passed in this state.
When the fifth morning arrived, I vividly recalled the things I had encountered in the mountains four days prior.
And I was struck by an indescribable terror.
"If I stayed in this mountain villa, there would surely be danger.
At midnight on the fifth day—that is, tonight—you must meet Nomiya face-to-face again.
So hurry—you must descend the mountain before today ends.
Faster—as soon as possible!" my inner voice urged, yet despite this, I ended up idling through the day exactly as before.
That day, my wife was unusually despondent, but she stared intently at my face and said, “You haven’t done anything...
“Your eyes are all oddly bloodshot,” she said.
Toyoko had begun to worry a little, as my condition was far too abnormal.

“Nah, it’s nothing.”
“I’m just in high spirits.”
“Nonsense!”
“When I’m in high spirits, you’ve got to be too!” I said as I walked through the garden, dancing strangely.
Yet when it turned around four o’clock that afternoon, I felt a strange paralysis in my spinal cord.
And I became sleepy.
I tried to force my eyes open, but I simply couldn’t keep them open.
Finally, I entered the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, falling into a deep sleep.

Before long, I abruptly awoke from the dream; when I looked around, night had already fallen completely, and a lamp was lit on the small table beside me. When I looked at my pocket watch, it was already eleven o’clock. On the neighboring bed, Toyoko slept, her quiet breaths passing through. I sprang up and pressed my head still for a while, and as I did so, I felt that tonight my mind was extremely clear. Somehow, I now felt like taking a walk in the garden.

So I shook awake Toyoko sleeping beside me.
"What is it?" Toyoko sat up in her pure white nightgown.
"Let’s take a short walk in the garden now." Yet she—who had never once opposed me until now—tonight said, "I shall refrain this evening," and lay back down.
I grew terribly angry.
"Then do as you please!" I snapped, starting to leave alone—but then Toyoko too sat up and followed after me, muttering, "You’re really strange."

(IX) A Single Stab with the Blue-Sheathed Dagger

The front garden of our house was situated on a cliff and covered a considerable area.
The terrain was endlessly uneven, and at night, it was dangerous without a flashlight.
I told Toyoko and went to get the flashlight from my suit pocket.
She ran off, but soon returned holding a flashlight and another strange object.
It was a single dagger sheathed in a blue leather scabbard.

“What have you done with this? Take it out from your suit pocket,” she said. I was startled.
“I don’t know either!”
“Let me see it,” she said. When I examined it, this was a Western-style dagger—truly sharp for stabbing.
Strange things do happen.
I hadn’t worn that suit in four or five days, but perhaps it had been placed there in that mountain cave.
With a sense of dread, I slipped it into my pocket, and we went out into the garden.

Tonight’s sky was slightly clouded, cloaked in true darkness. When I looked into the distance, the mountain’s shadow stood dimly black against the sky, and the oppressive force of the deep night in the mountains pressed upon me endlessly. We walked around in silence. When we arrived at a spot overlooking the farthest valley of the garden, I suddenly noticed a crimson lantern light flickering around the midsection of the mountain across from us. When I looked closely, the lantern light kept moving right and left. Judging by the distance from here to the mountain, it was unmistakably a large lantern being swung by someone. As I kept watching, my train of thought drifted to that mysterious star from my dreams. That star. That’s right. It’s exactly like that red star. As I continued to stare intently, the lantern was swung in circular or up-and-down motions. The lantern conveyed some kind of signal. My heart shuddered eerily. As I kept watching, I began to feel a strange sensation. I snapped to attention. Look! That lantern is clearly screaming to kill Toyoko. “Toyoko. Toyoko. Can you see that lantern?” I asked, and she leaned against me, peering into the darkness. The moment my concealed hand swiftly pointed at the sky, a scream like water erupted from beneath my throat.

When I came to my senses—astonishingly—I had already slain my beloved wife Toyoko with that blue-sheathed dagger in a single strike.
The dagger had pierced clean through Toyoko’s heart, leaving my hands drenched in crimson-hot blood.
Her pale face remained upturned in the darkness as she lay sprawled upon the ground.
I stood dumbfounded.
When I picked up the flashlight and steadily illuminated Toyoko’s face, tears welled in my eyes.
Why did I kill Toyoko?
Beyond the realization that I had finally become a murderer, there remained no space for other thoughts.
As I weakly rose and gazed toward the mountains, that eerie signal lantern had already vanished.

Something struck my back.
When I whirled around, a figure clad in black stood there, gripping a box lantern.
“Who’s there?” I shouted in a quavering voice—and at that instant, the figure hoisted the lantern high, casting its light upon his own face.
Nomiya Koutarou’s sharp visage, suffused with a ghastly blue radiance, laughed back at me.

**(X) Initiation into the Murderous Ascetics**

I was taken to that mountain cave that very night.
Looking back now, my true consciousness had been hidden away somewhere by Nomiya’s terrifying hypnosis ever since that first meeting when I fell unconscious before him.
The truly despicable thing was that while I felt a certain emotion over having murdered my wife, not a single shred of remorse arose within me.

“Now I’ve snatched you from your wife’s grasp.”
“From this moment, you must dwell in this cave.” As Nomiya spoke these words, I surrendered—there was nothing else to be done.
I steeled myself to obey Nomiya’s every word.
When I vowed never to leave his side henceforth, he gave a satisfied smile.
We drank sake together and renewed our brotherhood pact.
Nomiya laid bare all secrets of the criminal syndicate he commanded.
By his account, he kept ten elite lieutenants beneath him, with countless lesser followers under their charge.
These men inhabited seven hidden lairs scattered through these mountains—each cavern like this one.
Every last one bore a blue-sheathed dagger.
This blade served both as weapon and badge of membership.
They ranged far across towns to murder and pillage—not theft-driven killings, but slaughter for slaughter’s own sake.
Such was Nomiya’s dreadful design.
Ah, thus did I truly become an acolyte of this creed from that night onward.
Come dawn, a scout returned from the villa—Toyoko lay slain by Nomiya’s hand, while I stood vanished as though dead.
The maidservant had descended weeping at daybreak with Toyoko’s corpse, sparking uproar among the foothill constabulary.
Hearing this report then, I felt near tranquility—nay, snorted in derision.
How unspeakably vile it all was.

"As for what deeds I committed thereafter—oh my curious painter, please forgive me. I cannot endure the pain of recalling each and every one."

I was able to fly away like the wind.

Thus, I lived a life nothing short of cruelty in the mountains for five months thereafter.
During that time, I murdered twenty-three men and women with my own hands.
Truly, I had strangely acquired a talent for murder after entering these mountains and living with this ascetic.
Thus, I too finally became a “Murderous Ascetic.”
And my entire life was on the verge of blindness within this cruel pleasure-filled existence.

But ah—heaven saved me.
Even if this life resembles diving through a sea of pain, at least I am grateful to heaven for restoring me to an ordinary life.
On a snowy day in the fifth month, I came alone to the mountain villa—now completely abandoned, not a single mouse remaining.
And there I stood alone at the spot where I had killed my wife.
Then a sudden full-body convulsion struck me—I fell backward onto the ground and struck my head hard against a large rock there, losing consciousness for a time.
I abruptly awoke and, bracing my aching body, stood up.

Mura no Hakutotsuuchi 1914

**(XI) Madman or Drunkard?**

I let out a sigh of relief and looked around. At that moment, I came to my senses for the first time. I awakened from it all. The terrifying hypnotic spell of Nomiya’s sorcery had lost its effect the moment I struck my head hard against the rock. I quietly reflected on my past misdeeds. First, I thought of Toyoko, and tears streamed down my frozen cheeks. “Forgive me… Toyoko.” “Toyoko!” I shouted. I shouted loudly again and again. I killed my wife. I took the lives of dozens of innocent people. Even though those acts were carried out under Nomiya’s hypnotic suggestion, the dark blood of those people from these very hands now raises an unceasing cry toward my conscience. Having been in an unconscious state for over five months, I am now able to clearly recall all those deeds after regaining self-awareness. Could there be anything in this world as cruel as this?

With my aching body as it was, I descended to the foot of the mountain. However, the police did not believe my words. I was sent back to Tokyo. I did my utmost to proclaim my guilt, but no one believed me. All my deeds were treated as those of Nomiya Koutarou. And the police dismissed me as someone who had gone mentally deranged from grieving my wife’s death too much. I was finally made into a madman.

All of this was the story of this drunkard.

When I finished listening, I couldn’t help but shudder at the thought that such cruelty of fate could exist in these times.

The next morning, when he awoke, he left without a word, not heeding my attempts to stop him.
When I chased after him and went outside to look, his figure was already nowhere to be seen.
A shadow fell over my heart.
Two days later, his missing person notice was published in the morning newspaper.
I immediately reported that he had stayed at my studio.
However, even before that letter could arrive, in that day’s evening paper, I learned that the pitiable archaeologist Toda Motokichi had been murdered on the hill of Satake Haien and that his body had been discovered.
And without thinking, I brought my hand to my eyes.

The few lines of description were as follows.
"A sharp dagger with a blue hilt measuring approximately eight sun in length had pierced clean through the heart and remained embedded within." Ah—those dreadful members of the 'Murderous Ascetic' group were still operating covertly.